"I'm headed straight for the castle
They wanna make me their queen
And there's an old man sitting on the throne
That's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean"
Halsey, Castle
If she had been the protagonist of a novel, Sarah Williams would have no doubt introduced this new chapter of her life with: "You may wonder how I got here".
But after what she'd done, she could hardly be considered a heroine anymore. Heroines don't come and almost stab to death their love interests - if that's what he could be called. Somehow, she always knew it would end like that. With one of them on the floor, begging for mercy. She didn't imagine then that she would be the one in power.
But she did wonder how things ended up like this. The plan had been quite simple, after all. Challenge the High King of Faeries (the most important person in the Underworld) to a duel ("If my champion wins", had said Lady Aoif, "then the Court of Roses will give you a bride, my King"), then stab him with an iron dagger to defeat him ("I yield", he had spat, eyes cold with fury, making her shiver) , reveal your identity to him as he slowly realizes his sworn enemy is alive and well (oh and she had beat him. Again.), reveal that you are the champion and the bride (she still couldn't comprehend that look he had given her - was it relief? Desire? Hate?), marry him, be queen, improvise a little bit, find a way to save Toby's future children and, at the same time, stop Jareth from using mortals as magical wells. Oh and steal for Lady Aoif the necklace he always wears ("I promise", had told her Aoif with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "I will tell you why I need this, when the time is right" - and Sarah had believed her), find a way to get divorce, and finally go back to America and hope the Goblin King won't try to get revenge.
She never said it was a perfect plan. Just that it was simple.
She had expected him to lash out his anger on her. She had expected him to try and seduce her, and when that ultimately failed, reveal to her his real, monstrous nature. After all, he was the villain of the story.
But what she had not expected was to find herself bent on his desk, with his lips devouring her neck, her hips firmly pressed against him, and a finger tugging on a nipple - his finger, her nipple. His breathing was desperate, as if he had always desired this and couldn't quite realize this is happening, but the worst is - she is as desperate. She moans - loudly, and she just knows everyone in the next room can hear them. Can hear her.
So, yes. You may wonder how I got here, and the thought almost makes her laugh.
You have no power over me, she had told him so many years before. She had completely meant it then.
She's not so sure anymore.
.
A month before
"You traitorous bitch!"
Niamh, high in the air, carefully avoided the shoe her best friend, Sarah, viciously threw at her. She winced, having clearly underestimated the anger her friend would feel at the reveal of her true nature. And why they were even friends in the first place.
"Sarah, I can explain, but I need you to calm down!"
This had the opposite effect. Instead of calming, she was fuming, and Niamh could almost see her eyes become red and smoke coming out of her nose. And of course, being the faerie she was, the thought made her laugh. Out loud.
This time, Niamh didn't avoid the chair Sarah threw at her. She fell on the ground with a big OOF, and grimaced. She had hurt one of her wings.
She heard her best friend's shocked exclamation.
"Oh my god Niamh I'm so sorry, I didn't mean… I mean yes I DID but… Are you alright ?"
Humans were cute creatures. One moment they hated you, and the next they loved you. They meant no harm until suddenly, harm was done. They were so unlike her kind. Fae's feelings were eternal. They hated for life and loved for life. And these feelings run deep. They loved and hated with a burning passion that lasted all eternity.
She simply smiled.
"Come and help me, dummy."
She raised her head to observe her friend's reaction. She was unsure - guilt and anger and affection could be read on her face. But in the end, friendship won. She sighed and gave Niamh her hand. She took it, grinning.
Adorable.
"Thank you, love. Now, can we please have a calm and normal conversation before you start throwing objects at me again?" She laughed. Sarah gave the most dramatic sigh she had ever heard (and Niamh had known King Jareth for a long time), and simply nodded.
Niamh led her to the couch in Sarah's room, and they sat. After a moment of silence, her friend asked, her voice full of concern: "Will you be alright? Your…. Wing…" she swallowed, as if she had troubles saying this specific word, which she could understand, she supposed.
"I'll be fine, sweetheart. And I owe you an explanation - about my wings, my pointy ears and… Well, everything." It wasn't often that Niamh was at loss for words (faeries were talkative creatures, after all), but she honestly had no idea on how to explain this mess. So she chose what was the simplest: she began by the beginning.
"I am not exactly a faerie. My father was a fae and a lord of the Court of Roses, where I was born, but my mother was something different. A gelfling." Sarah was transfixed on her words, and Niamh remembered how much her friend loved stories. Especially stories with magic. "Gelflings are a near extinct species - a massacre happened in their lands, centuries before. I inherited most of my traits, from my magical abilities to my physical appearance, from my Fae father, except for two things: I have my mother's wings, and her deep connexion with nature. Which makes me a bit special here since, as I have told you, there are almost no Gelflings anymore. And I am the only one of my kind." She smiled sadly. It had been lonely, growing up in her skin.
"Thanks to my connexion to nature, I am able to freely navigate between worlds: the Aboveground and the Underground. Which, you can guess, is a valuable asset." Sarah nodded, her eyes never leaving her own. She was drinking her words. "Anyway. I grew up here, in the Court of Roses, alongside my half brother, Bran. Wait, why are you smiling?"
Sarah's grin was wide. "I knew it. I knew he was your brother."
Niamh frowned. Humans could be as cute as unpredictable.
"Anyway. We grew up here, under the tutelage of Lady Aoif, and the supervision of my father. Truth to be told, I have never really known my parents. They both still live, as well as Bran's mother, but the Court of Roses is very large, and so they live in their own estate rather than in the main city."
A moment of understanding passed between the two women. They both knew what it was like to grow up feeling a stranger to their own families.
"So when you told me your parents lived in the countryside and rarely visited, you didn't lie. You just didn't tell me which countryside."
They both laughed at that. "Faeries cannot lie, but we can omiss details".
Sarah grinned and gestured to her to continue her story.
"Given my nature and abilities, when Lady Aoif sensed you coming to England, she naturally chose me. My mission was, as you know it, to grow close to you. Close enough for you to trust me and open up to me, until I could finally bring you here." Guilt was a surprising feeling, one she didn't expect to feel one day. Faeries weren't prone to guilt. But when she looked up and saw Sarah's cold, hurt eyes, she was seized by shame.
"Was our friendship even real?" Niamh winced at her friend's hurt. She felt betrayed, and she couldn't blame her.
"Of course it was!" She protested. "The moment I saw you, I knew why you had defeated the King. You were not like the other humans - you were special. I immediately liked you. I know it is not much of a consolation, but Sarah, you are my best friend. And a fae's love is eternal".
Her friend smiled sadly. "And a fae's hate?"
Niamh sighed. Jareth had a reputation, and everyone in the Underground knew of his deep hatred for the human girl who had bested him. It was almost an obsession. Sometimes, she thought… But no. Faes cannot lie and so she had no reason not to believe Lady Aoif when she had told her the King had never loved Sarah.
She took her friend's hand.
"For faes, love and hate are very alike, Sarah." She told her in a voice that, she hoped, was gentle enough. "And often, they are characterized by one thing: passion. The desire to possess the other, until there is nothing left. It's hot, and cold, and it burns."
Sarah breathed, nervous.
"How can I even survive this ?"
Niamh smiled, in the way only faeries can.
"We will teach you."
.
"Straight up your back, Lady Sarah."
Sarah pulled a face. When Niamh had told her they would "teach" her, she hadn't imagined this. This… Was akin to torture. She was some sort of Mia Thermopolis from the Princess Diaries series, except Mia never had to marry her arch nemesis in order to protect her little brother and her kingdom.
She had been here for two weeks now. On Mondays, as it was the case today, she had to learn good manners and dining etiquette. She had thought, at first, that this would be a piece of cake: her mother was an important woman, and she had taught her the basics of polite society. She could use complicated cutlery and could talk like a real lady. But it turned out that rules, in the Fae society, were… Different. They didn't use the same cutlery, the same language, the same manners. Sarah had to forget everything she knew in order to be 'properly educated', and that was insulting.
Tuesdays were history lessons, about the Faeries. She had to learn each different race living in the Underground, the role they played, the relationships they had with one another, the different courts, who was married to whom… She wasn't sure that a whole life would suffice to remember all of this. But this had the benefit to teach her precious information on Jareth and especially his family, that she could use later. She was astounded to find out that his ancestors were none other than Hades, the 'God of the Dead', and Persephone, the 'Goddess of Spring'. And that she had visited their kingdom, though Aoif had told her she couldn't remember it - most mortals were not supposed to find a way to cheat death, after all.
"But I don't understand.", Sarah had told Aoif. "My kind worshipped these… People for centuries. Did they know the truth?"
Lady Aoif had smiled then, always looking so sad. "These days, the veil between magic and men was thin. We didn't coexist, but they believed in us and feared us so much that we never feared for our magic. We were arrogant to believe this would last."
She was even more stunned when she had learned Jareth's grandparents were none other than the famous Oberon and Titania. She had written her Master's thesis on A Midsummer Night's Dream. She truly felt like she was at the center of a mean joke, and was only now discovering it. It was humiliating.
"Shakespeare", had told her Niamh, after her lesson, "Was a human and a close friend of Titania and Oberon. They appreciated his poetry and his wit. They allowed him and his wife, Anne Hathaway, to live in the Underground, and to write as many stories as he wanted to. They gave him knowledge no mortals could ever know. It's not a surprise he is the most famous writer in your world!" she had finished, laughing. Sarah didn't want to laugh. She wanted to vomit. It was as if her whole world was a joke. A lie.
A voice woke her from her reverie. "Lady Sarah.", told her her preceptor, clearly annoyed at her student's lack of attention.
"My apologies" Sarah muttered. She had to be careful and stop daydreaming. If she wanted to survive what would come to her, she had to be prepared. And the only way to do that was to learn. She had almost forgotten what it was like being the student, and not the teacher anymore.
Wanting to prove her willingness to make an effort, she took the oddly-shaped fork and knife, and started cutting the juicy meat on her plate. As she was about to put a piece in her mouth, her preceptor sighed loudly. "Lady Sarah, your salt!"
Right. The salt. Faerie food was poison to mortals. Not the kind of poison that would immediately kill her - no, that would be too kind, rather it would put her in a daze, trapped in a dream forever, until she eventually dies. She shuddered. She knew already how it felt like to be trapped as such. It was both exhilarating and frightening. She never wanted to feel that again. Thankfully, a mortal could still eat Fae food without fearing for its life thanks to salt. It was tasteless and annulled the food's magical properties. That was her very first lesson here: always, always carry salt. It was a matter of life and death. And she had almost forgotten. Again.
She sighed, and shook her head. Concentrate, she told herself. Concentrate.
.
Faeries learn to dance before they learn to walk...
It is a terrifying thing, to feel your body move when your mind screams at you to stop. But she had to learn everything she could about the Fae folks. And there wasn't anything they loved more than dancing.
But fae dances, like their foods and their songs, were lethal to mortals. They trapped them in their rhythmic music, making them dance, dance, dance until they died.
The faes were mischievous and had little understanding of human's mortality. Everything was a game for them - and what was more fun than a little mortal crying in despair, begging for the music to stop, as they danced to death ? Nothing. They were cruel and sadistic and it wasn't even their fault. It was just... Nature. The strong against the weak.
But they would come to fear her, too.
Faeries learn to sing before they learn to talk...
She was growing tired. Her feet hurt terribly. She looked at her dance instructor, begging her with her eyes. Never out loud. Never make a bargain with a fae.
Her instructor nodded, and the music stopped altogether.
"You did good, Lady Sarah. You will make us proud."
She simply collapsed, exhausted. One foot bleeding.
.
"Iron", told her Bran, who was also her fence instructor, "Is lethal to Faeries. Simply pricking our finger could kill us in the span of 5 minutes. That is why we don't have much of this material in the Underground, less so iron weapons."
Bran, like all faes, was beautiful and cunning, but he lacked the mischievousness Niamh or even Lady Aoif could possess. Truth to be told, he was rather aloof, and he barked at her rather than simply talk to her. Still, they had one thing in common: they both enjoyed peace and quiet. The fact that he possessed the ability to simply sit in silence was something Sarah appreciated.
But today, though she didn't know why, Bran was in a bad mood. Usually, their fencing routine went this way: attack, parry, attack, parry. And Sarah honestly believed she was getting good. But today Bran had shown a viciousness she had never seen before: in a true faerie fashion, he tricked her, making her believe he was doing a certain move then do something she hadn't expected, he circled her, and attacked her ferociously. She knew it was for her own good - she had to be prepared for her inevitable confrontation with the Goblin King, but she felt his anger today was something personal. As if he had seized the opportunity to blow off steam. She couldn't keep up with him. It wasn't until she was exhausted and bruised from head to toe that he had stopped the lesson of the day. Instead, he proceeded to teach her about Fae weapons.
"But Jareth certainly has millenia of fighting experience", she told Bran, giving voice to her apprehension. "Surely, even with iron, I will never defeat him."
Bran sighed, exasperated. Sarah pulled a face. It wasn't an unreasonable fear - it was a simple truth.
"In a normal duel, no, you would never defeat him. Even a lifetime of training wouldn't help you." He answered her, his voice always full of bark. She looked down. It was one thing to know something, it was another thing to hear someone else confirm it. "But I didn't show you these tricks today for nothing. Now that you know the basics of fencing, the rest of your lessons will be dedicated to one thing: tricks, and manipulation."
She looked at him in dismay.
"He is the King of Tricks", she answered him, uncertain. "How will he not see through it?"
At that, Bran had a cold smile.
"Oh, he will. But," and his voice gave her chills. "You have one thing he doesn't have: you can tell lies."
She didn't know what to answer. She didn't even see where he was going with this. Seeing her confusion, he explained:
"When Lady Aoif will challenge him to a duel, they will both impose condition. Lady Aoif will impose he doesn't use magic, and he will impose you don't use iron. As you will be clad in armor, he will not recognize you - he might even think you are a youngling. In other words: he will not expect Lady Aoif's champion to be able to lie. His arrogance will be his downfall."
Sarah felt a trepidation she had never felt before. The prospect of tricking him, to beat him at his own game in such a way… It was exciting. No, worse: exhilarating.
"But", Sarah said in a flash of concern. "I might kill him if I use iron on him. Wouldn't that destroy the purpose of this whole affair?"
Again, Bran sighed, but this time Sarah was the one annoyed. She had enough of him patronizing her. Narrowing her eyes, she looked straight in his eyes, crossing her arms against her chest, waiting for his answer. Daring him to patronize her again. He looked at her strangely.
"You will not kill him. He will be furious, but the King wants to live. He will yield." Sarah nodded and opened her mouth to talk again, but Bran interrupted her. "But in order for it all to work, you will have to show a viciousness only the Faes can show. You will not fight with an iron sword, but we will hide a dagger on you. And when the moment is right, when he will believe he is about to win and arrogance overtakes him, you will have to strike hard, to plunge that piece of iron where he didn't expect you to. Can you do that, Lady Sarah?"
She almost wanted to protest, to say that she had never been vicious in her life, that she would never be like them. But deep down, it is what she wanted, wasn't it? She wanted to be like them, to be more than them. Or else she would have never accepted Lady Aoif's proposition. It was for Toby, she reminded herself, but she knew, deep in her core, that it wasn't just that. She loved danger and its thrill. She loved fairy tales with a dark twist. She wanted to be the heroine none would expect, the heroine who would not hesitate to strike down her enemy. She wanted to be powerful. She wanted power. That was the tragedy of all human beings.
So instead of saying no, all Sarah could say was, "Yes. Yes, I can."
And she did.
.
She didn't recognize the woman looking at her in the mirror. Her piercing green eyes were surrounded by black makeup, like war paint. In a way, she supposed she was going to war. But there would be no heroic death and noble ends in this story. And she could blame none but herself.
Her hair was secured in a complicated, intricate braid. She looked like one of those Viking warriors, those who didn't fear death and welcomed its embrace.
The armor she was wearing didn't reveal her gender. It was beautiful, white with rose patterns. With the helmet on, she could easily pass into a young Faerie boy. It was the intent, after all. She had to appear as unobtrusive as possible. Lull the Goblin King into a false sense of security.
After all, today was the day she would best the High King of Faeries at this own game.
They were near the end of August, and it was time for Lughnasadh. There would be ceremonies, contests, feasting and… Matchmaking. Whoever would dare it could challenge the Goblin King to give him a bride. It didn't necessarily have to be a duel - it could be anything. He could be challenged to run his own labyrinth, to kill a certain amount of ferocious beasts… So far, he has never lost. Today will change. Hopefully. She didn't want to think about the repercussions if she failed to best him today. Toby - and herself would be in grave danger. She couldn't lose.
She heard the door of her room open, and she looked from the mirror.
Lady Aoif approached and smiled at her, seeming, for once, genuinely happy.
"You are so beautiful, Sarah", she told her, caressing the silk of her hair. "You will make us so very proud. I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to help me."
Sarah smiled in turn. She trusted Aoif with all her heart, and the two had grown close over the last month. She reminded her so much of her own mother.
"I hope I will not disappoint you, Lady Aoif. You have been so generous with me and…" Aoif shushed her with her finger.
"You will not disappoint me, Sarah. And you will not fail. I trust you."
Sarah bit her lips with apprehension, but nodded anyway. She had to trust herself.
Aoif clasped her hands on Sarah's shoulder, and they both looked at their reflection on the mirror.
"Come, Sarah, we are leaving. Are you ready to be the future High Queen of Faeries?"
She was.
.
Jareth was on the verge of being very, very drunk. His castle was bursting with life, richly decorated with silks, cushions, fruits and fairy lights. Almost all the nobility of his kingdom was here, drinking, dancing, singing and laughing loudly. All of them were in a festive, joyous mood. All except him.
He didn't talk nor did he laugh. He was drinking, quietly, on his throne. Had been for the past month. He was still the dutiful King he has always been - taking babes, taking care of his kingdom. It kept his mind occupied. But being alone was a nightmare. His mind was transfixed on Sarah. The beautiful and dead Sarah. How he had never told her how much he hated and loved her. How he never had the opportunity to taste her, at least once. He would give everything in exchange for a night - one night, it was all he asked. But even the God of Death wasn't willing to give him that.
He was King and yet he was powerless. Useless.
Faeries hated and loved for life. He would never have someone like her again. There would never be someone like her again. Yet he tried to convince himself that he could find someone else - and when he wasn't completely drunk, he found lovers to warm his bed. Brunettes with big green eyes. But they were too thin, too tall, their ears were too pointy to pretend it could be her.
He was a pathetic excuse for a man, for a King, and he hated himself for that. Hated her even more for having this power over him. Hated her and her damn mortality. Not that it mattered anymore.
He refilled his drink with more wine. None had challenged him for a bride yet, but he knew that would come soon enough. Lughnasadh was a time for matchmaking, after all. He knew sooner or later he would have to take a wife. He had been ruling far too long without an heir, and soon enough the Elders - with his parents, would come to him to urge him to do something about this.
The only person he had ever wanted like that was Sarah. But a King's duty always came first. It was not like he did have much of a choice.
A woman came to him, dressed in transparent silk, and started to dance. He gave her no attention at first, but soon he realized she had black hair and green eyes. If he could squint hard enough…
"You." he ordered her, smiling devilishly. "Come here, sweetheart."
He could feel Oisin's worried gaze on him, but he resolutely ignored her. His chambellan was a cold fae with a heart of gold, his most loyal servant, but she was particularly blunt and wouldn't hesitate to show her disapproval. He didn't need her patronizing.
The other faerie smiled, coyly, and sat on his lap, still dancing. She was beautiful, and sensual. Everything he needed at the moment.
Faeries were not scared of their own sexuality. Sex was sex, simple as that. They were not shy - it was an alien concept to them. He knew most of his subjects were probably fully taking part in an orgy at the moment.
The girl grinded against his cock, and he was responding accordingly. He groaned, and tasted her breast with his mouth, his tongue dancing around her nipple. She moaned - loudly, promising him a night of respite, far from Sarah and his memories. The girl was already hot and wet for him. He didn't know her name but he couldn't care any less. He was about to unzip his trousers, ready to take her here and now, on his throne, when he heard someone next to him cough, embarrassed. He sighed, loudly.
"What is it?" he barked at the little goblin watching him with anxiety.
"Y-your Highness... " the goblin - he recognized him, his name was Kreelb - cleared his voice and announced, with little more confidence: "Your Highness. Lady Aoif and her Court of Roses are here."
Jareth malaxed his temple. Aoif being here only meant one thing: troubles. The woman had lost her mind when… No. He wouldn't think about that. Not now.
The Court of Roses was far from his kingdom, and since the accident (which wasn't even one, wars after all are never accidents), he rarely saw her. He had spies in her lands, but they couldn't get close to her castle. They always ended up mysteriously missing. He knew that she had them killed, but he was tired of fighting his kind. Besides, Lady Aoif had never been a concern. She nursed her madness alone in her gardens, and that was enough for him. She was not a threat.
Which is why her coming here, now, was strange. He hadn't seen her in eons. She meant troubles and he was sure of that.
Aoif and her court approached, and bowed to him. She was still a beautiful woman, though he could see the vacant look in her eyes. He nodded to them, dismissed the woman on his laps, and rose on his feet to approach them in turn. He had to play the diplomatic card.
She was surrounded by various males and females, some he recognized, others he didn't. He recognized Niamh and Bran, Aoif's wards, though the last time he had seen them they were still younglings. He eyed Niamh's wings. Gelflings and faes produced children with strong magic. He had to be particularly mindful of this one.
He took Aoif's hand and kissed it. He didn't know why, but he was immediately reminded of this night, a few centuries before, before the Witches had prophesied his downfall at the hand of a mortal girl. He could see in Aoif's eyes that she had the same thought - even though, of course, she had no idea about the prophecy.
The predator in him sensed someone staring at him. He surveyed Aoif's court once more, and he noticed him - or she ? he certainly couldn't tell, all clad in armor, behind the others. The person had a helmet on, which didn't help Jareth recognize him. Or her. He guessed, from its size to its armor, that this person was traveling with Aoif, and was very young. The boy (he had decided it was a boy, for now), was staring at the bulge in his pants. Jareth laughed. "What is it, boy? Never seen a man's desire before?"
The boy said nothing. He continued to stare, silent under the heavy helmet. What an odd little thing.
"My King", said Aoif, her voice loud and clear. "Tis not often that my court and I come out of our lands. Today, however, is one special occasion: Lughnasadh. Today is a day for celebration and feast. Today is a day for love." Jareth shook his head. He knew where this was going, and he was afraid he had completely underestimated Aoif's madness. Her own smile was wild, and her eyes glinted, as if she knew something he did not. "I, Aoif, High Lady of the Court of Roses, challenge thou, Jareth, High King of Faeries, to a duel."
In a moment, the room was silent, all eyes on them. Waiting anxiously.
Jareth sighed.
"Oisin!" he called for his chambellan. In a moment, she was by his side, standing tall next to him. She entirely contrasted him. Her hair was short and black while his was longue and blonde, her eyes were midnight black when his were a mismatched blue. Her face always remained blank of all emotion when he always smiled like he was the Devil himself. Perhaps he was. "You will be the referee of this duel. Please state the rules."
She simply acquiesced, and asked the assembly:
"Who shall be your champion, Lady Aoif?"
Aoif smiled and gestured at the boy. There was a moment of silence, and Jareth burst into laughter. The rest of his subjects followed - except for the Court of Roses.
"Surely this is a joke. This boy isn't even a man yet. You've gone mad, Aoif." he told her, amused. He would kill this boy in the blink of an eye. He didn't stand a chance against him. But that would teach Aoif a well-deserved lesson.
The High Lady in front of him said nothing, still smiling, though it didn't reach her eyes. The boy in armor didn't move - apparently unphased. Still staring at him, as if Jareth was just an ordinary man, and not his King. Alright, then. That would teach him a lesson, too.
"Lady Aoif's champion is accepted. Who will be yours, Your Grace?" inquired Oisin.
"I will be my own champion." he stated, immediately shutting off anyone wanting to compete for him. A duel was perfect.
Oisin nodded. "Should the Court of Roses win, what shall they gain?" she asked Lady Aoif.
"If my champions wins, then the Court of Roses will give you a bride, my King. Of our own choice." she simply answered, her odd smile still in place.
He had expected that as much. Why ask for a duel, if not for this reason? He hadn't expected Aoif and her court to be greedy for power, but he shouldn't be surprised. Her husband, Connlach, had been greedy. Of course his wife would be too. He nodded, agreeing with the condition.
"Should his Majesty, the High King of Faerie, win, what should he gain?"
At that, Jareth smiled, always the Devil. He needed to be the Devil at the moment. He needed to lash out his anger and sadness and mourning. "Shall I win, I will have Lady Aoif disposed. She will forever be banned from my Kingdom. Should she return, she would instantly die."
The boy in armor reacted to that, and he silently inquired his Lady. But she ignored him in turn, and acquiesced to the condition, always so grateful.
"You are now free to state the rules of the duel. Your Majesty ?" asked him Oisin.
"You shall not use iron." was his immediate answer. He was fairly confident in his success, but iron was lethal to him and his kind. Jareth was bold, but he was no risk taker.
"Do you agree with that term, boy?" inquired Oisin. He nodded, agreeing.
"And what should be your rules?" she asked again.
Aoif answered in his stead. "The King shall not use magic to win this duel." The boy in the armor acquiesced again.
Jareth smiled, amused. "Cat got your tongue, my boy?"
Of course, he didn't obtain an answer.
"The terms of the duel have been enunciated. You may now shake hands." said Oisin out loud.
Carefully, the boy approached Jareth, and raised his hand, shaking. He almost felt pity for him. Still, he didn't fall apart, and for that Jareth could respect him. He took his hand, and shook it. For the briefest second, he felt a flicker of… He was not sure. Like his soul recognized something in the boy, a fleeting moment where he could almost sense the boy's thoughts and heart. It lasted but a second, but it was enough to give Jareth a moment to pause. He eyed the boy strangely, and by the way his hand was still shaking, he assumed he had felt it, too.
But the moment passed, and the boy steadied himself. Jareth mentally shook his head. He would muse on what had happened later, after the duel. After he had won. As was custom, the boy bowed to him, and then assumed a fencing position.
It was time for the duel to start.
He let the boy attack first, to test his strength. Soon enough, he was confirmed something he already knew: the boy was weak, and probably wouldn't survive this encounter. It wasn't that Jareth actively wanted to kill him, he parried his attacks with the ease his millenia of experience gave him, but he simply was too strong and a single blow could strike the boy down.
Truth was, he pitied him. The boy was ridiculing himself, and most of his subjects were now openly laughing at him. Yet Aoif kept smiling, and that didn't bode well with him, for it either meant she had completely lost it, or she was plotting something and things were turning out in her favor. He had to be careful and put an end to this farce of a duel. He couldn't care less about this boy's ego, he had centuries to get over it.
This time, he was the one to attack. The boy parried as he could, and Jareth inclined his head, silently congratulating him. But that wouldn't be enough. He did something the boy obviously didn't expect.
He punched him in the face.
He heard the boy's breath hitch, and he fell.
The duel was soon to be over.
Kneeling in front of him, Jareth cruelly smiled and said :
"Yield, my boy."
He felt it rather than saw it. The pain he suddenly felt was so strong, so intense, that he immediately fell to the ground, next to the boy.
Iron. That lying, traitor mortal son of a bitch had hidden an iron dagger and had stabbed him in the only part of his body that wasn't armored: his feet.
He kicked the boy as hard as he could, he yelled and he insulted him with all he had, but the boy was vicious and wouldn't let go. Jareth felt a hot fury run in his blood, he would kill him, and Aoif, and the damned Court of Roses, he would kill every traitors he could get his hands on -
But he felt his strength diminish. With each passing second, he felt life abandoning his body and he realized: the boy had won. If Jareth didn't yield now, he would die, on this very floor, in his own castle, without an heir or a wife. It would be the end of his line. The end of the Underground.
He wouldn't even be with Sarah. Mortals and faes didn't go to the same place when they died. He would be dead and alone forever.
He knew his subjects were watching, silently judging him. He felt shame and anger in him, and he promised himself that one day, he would have his revenge. This was not the end: this was only the beginning.
And so, with all the rancour and fury he could manage to have despite his weakened state, he spat :
"I yield."
And as soon as he had said the words, the iron dagger was gone, and the boy was on his feet, still stunned by the punch Jareth had given him, and he felt a vicious satisfaction in that.
He rose too.
"And to whom do I have the honor ? Who betrayed our laws in such a traitorous way ? Show yourself !" He intimated.
The boy watched Lady Aoif, asking her for permission.
"Why, my King", she asked him with her poisonous voice, "don't you recognize your own wife?"
And so the boy, who in truth was a girl, removed her helmet, and Sarah William's proud green eyes and bloody nose pierced into his very soul.
"She will be your downfall".
The Three Witches had warned him, so many centuries before. It didn't scare him then.
It does now.