Instinct caused her to gasp, but Sarah drew in no air as the Goblin King's pale hand cut off her breath. His touch was light, his fingers no more than resting against her bared throat, but that touch seeped into her vulnerable flesh like poison. She felt a great and terrible pressure on her windpipe, that seemed to squeeze her from the inside out. She found she could not pull herself away from it, no matter how much she tried to twist her body away from him.
She was rooted firmly to the spot.
She was helpless, trapped by his unyielding and unkind hand.
She was entirely at his mercy.
"Please, don't fight me, Sarah. This is the only way," he said, his words soothing, in spite of the hand at her throat – smoother than ever, even faced with her obvious fear. "Trust me. This will only take a moment, then it will all be over, as perhaps it should have been from the very start."
With panic lodged in her throat, she brought her own hands up to fight him as best she could. It was no use. She tugged and she tore at his fingers – fingers that had once been so gentle, almost delicate in their caresses – now as firm as iron in their grasp. With every ounce of strength she could muster, she tried to wrench them away from her throat, finding, to her dismay, that they would not budge an inch. There was no question that he was stronger.
Despite her fear, she had no breath to scream with.
He had promised her no harm, most lenient so far in their game, yet now he refused to bend to her will as she struggled to free herself. Sarah's eyes widened in betrayal, meeting his hard stare in the hope of finding mercy, but seeing only cold determination in it. His gaze was almost clinical with his detachment, watching her as if she were no more than a butterfly in a killing jar as he stole the air from her lungs. There was no reason in those eyes; no hint at how, in his love, he could do such a thing to her, and that was most terrifying of all.
In her growing desperation, she turned her nails on him, but her scratching and clawing seemed to make no difference, even as it raked deeply into his bare skin. Her mouth opened and closed, useless, unable even to beg for his forgiveness for however she had wronged him. Already, she could hear the blood pounding thickly in her ears. Her mind screamed for her to fight harder, but she was quickly losing the will to, sinking faster and faster towards that place where she would no longer be able to fight at all.
Dizziness stole swiftly over her, sweeping her body with the crude caress of a lover who has been made rough with his greed. She could not hope to fight it. She felt her knees starting to buckle, weak as water as her whole body swayed in his grip. The hands that battled his lost their strength, slipping down, down, to hang loosely by her sides. Her eyes rolled in her head as she sank closer toward unconsciousness, using her last bit of strength to find his – to implore him again for mercy. Still, he held her, and she saw not a flicker of emotion in his strange, cold eyes, even as her own vision began to blur.
Then, all at once, he released her.
Her neck and her feet were free once more, and Sarah stumbled back from him the moment she was able. She was desperate to regain the air she had lost, but still she could not seem to draw breath. He had done something to her – closed her throat off with some magic of his – and she was choking. Oh, god, she still couldn't breathe. She sank to her knees on the rough ground beneath them, gasping for air that just would not come. Dizziness rocked her forward onto all-fours, hardly caring for the grit and small pebbles that dug into her palms.
Dimly, she saw Jareth's boots moving closer; felt his hand come to rest between her shoulder-blades as her own hands splayed upon the cold ground, struggling even to support her own weight, now.
"It's almost over, love. Let it come; don't resist," he said, and though he had left her dying before him, all traces of anger had drained from his voice.
I can't, she wanted to sob to him. Don't you see that I can't?
There was something pressing at the inside of her throat. She gagged and spluttered, then gave a hard, heaving cough, and felt it dislodge. She retched and spat, and whatever it was went tumbling from her lips. Cool, sweet air rewarded her at last, and she wheezed and gasped and drank it in with deep, shuddering gulps. She had barely noticed the light breeze before, but felt it now against her face and swollen lips, and she arched like a cat, throwing back her head to embrace it.
Air. Blessed air.
It soothed her ravaged lungs and senses, calming her panic as it sank in that she was breathing at last – that she was still living. If they had been near the Bog of Eternal Stench, she thought she would have inhaled its stink just as gladly. She breathed hard and deep, greedy for oxygen. In her relief, she almost forgot to be afraid.
Almost.
When the frantic hammering of her heart against her ribcage had finally begun to slow, she looked down, and saw a wet, faintly goldish scrap of flesh, lying between her hands on the rocky ground. As she looked on, it began to blacken and wither, rotting away to nothing before her eyes. Disgust roiled up in her belly, and she pushed herself away from it – further away from him in the process – then swiped at her mouth with the back of one hand.
"What was that? What the hell did you do-" she croaked, and then stopped. As she spoke, the sickly-sweet echo of peaches stung her tongue, and she grimaced at the long-forgotten flavour. She hadn't been able to bring herself to touch the fruit for years, now, not since-
But any normal food would have long since-!
It had never been normal food.
She cast a sharp glance upwards. Jareth had taken a respectable step backwards, giving her space, but he was still too close for her liking, right then. "The peach? That thing was actually inside me all this time?" Her voice still sounded weak and hoarse, and she reached up to her clogged throat by instinct, pausing when she caught something cold and solid beneath her palm.
The necklace.
More of his godforsaken magic.
He'd freed her from one set of chains, only to loop another around her neck – and she had been fool enough to accept his gift.
Anger surged, sudden and hot through her body, and her hand closed into a hard fist around the moonstone. In the time it took her to draw breath, to prepare herself to rip the cursed thing from her throat, she saw his eyes flicker – saw something dawn in them that was close to despair. She felt a responding cold spike, deep down within her belly, and it caused her to relent. She let her hand fall open again.
The moonstone glowed brightly in her palm, and slowly, she let it rest against the hollow of her throat once more. Love. Protection. There was no harm meant in this magic, pale and pure as it was, lacking that awful orange aura of menace and rage that had tainted those earlier crystals he had used only to destroy. It truly was a gift; nothing more. She looked up at him.
"No. You didn't … you'd never …"
"Hurt you," he finished for her, and there was a sense of weariness in his deep voice. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"How can you even ask me that? One minute, you're kissing me; the next, you wrap your hand around my throat! What am I supposed to think? For a minute, I thought … I thought-"
"That I meant you harm." He sighed deeply. "I gave you my word, Sarah. I gave you that promise long ago. You have come to know me, but even now, you still can't bring yourself to trust me."
She lowered her eyes again. For whatever reason, he had chosen to free her, and yet her first instinct had been to accuse him of trying to harm her – to believe him worthy of ensnaring her again. Guilt and shame clung to her breast in equal measure, and for a moment, she couldn't speak; couldn't bear to raise her eyes above the level of his leather boots. After a time, even that became too much, and she turned her face away, cheeks burning with her remorse.
He did not move; stood waiting for her, as he always would. Sarah cleared her throat, more for something to occupy her voice, than out of any real need or discomfort. "Thank you," she said at last, to the amulet that lay upon his chest. It was the closest she could come to his face, then. She knew she owed him more. Wincing inwardly, she risked a timid glance up at his face, regretting it the moment she saw the pain in his expression.
"I know, deep down, you wouldn't hurt me. You just scared me for a minute there," she said, as softly as she could. " Old habits die hard I guess," she said, trying for humour, and finding none in his face. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know it isn't much, but I really am."
Jareth gave a curt nod that revealed nothing, his words clipped and cool. "Your apology is accepted."
She rubbed at her throat, her gorge rising at the thought of the rotted fruit that had come from it. Still, she was free of it now – free of him – but she couldn't imagine why. "I don't get it. Why remove it now?" she asked.
Jareth cocked his head to one side, staring back at her with a calmness she would have thought impossible only minutes ago. "I gave you your choice back, Sarah. No matter what, you have already won your freedom from that which binds you to this realm, and to me."
She climbed slowly to her feet, and scoffed her disbelief. "Just like that, huh? What about the wager – Sarah wins, or Sarah has to bow to you forever? I can't imagine you've managed to forget about that, just out of the goodness of your heart."
"Whether you choose to believe it or not is irrelevant. It's gone, as you saw with your own eyes."
Once more, she felt lost in his game. His castle stood before her – she could see its towers, now – but it was still far into the distance; far from her reach. If there was any chance of getting to it before her time ran out, it was a slim one. She could see no possible reason why he would surrender the only hold he had over her, with his victory in plain sight.
"Why would you do that?" she demanded. "Why would you cut that tie between us when you're winning?"
"Winning at what cost, Sarah? That any victory I might have be forever tarnished by your doubt and accusations? That if you finally find happiness with me, you believe it all to be caused by some enchantment?" He gave an exasperated sigh. "You still think I long to keep you captive – that I wish to see you weep in despair. I freed you, because I cannot accept the blame, should you make the choice to remain with me. Your chains are gone. Whatever decision you reach will be entirely your own – not mine."
Sarah shook her head, and buried her face in her hands. "Why do you keep doing this to me?" she moaned. "This game is tough enough as it is, but you keep changing the rules, and I can't keep up."
"Spare me your self pity, precious."
She almost growled in her frustration, lowering her hands so that she might stare him down. "Why do you keep on helping me? Why do you have to be- … why can't you just be …"
"Evil?" he asked. "Yes, I quite wondered when we were going to come back to me as the villain. It never occurs to you that I might wish for redemption – for us to put behind the troubles of our past. You give me soft words and promises in your every kiss, and yet refuse to acknowledge that you care for me at all, nor I for you. It pleases you to go on denying that we two possess anything but fear and contempt towards the other, to ease whatever other thoughts are burdening your own mind."
He clapped his hands together once, his face lighting in a tight mockery of a smile. His words were high and airy, and full of dark humour. "So! Once again, I must sweep my cloak and recite my villainous words, and allow for the brave Sarah to vanquish me, or else rub my hands and snicker wildly as I keep her locked away in my dungeons. What a delightful dark fairytale this must be for you, with all its seduction, and yet none of the consequences. How precious. How your teenage self would have pouted and swooned."
Sarah's jaw clenched. "You don't have to treat me like I'm still that girl."
"Oh, but you must be, love, for am I not still forced to cater to your whims of old? Do I not still have the exhausting task of living up to your expectations of me – however low they might be? You expect your dark prince, the torrid romance of your fantasies, and yet you're too afraid to admit aloud that you want any of it … but it's not just that, is it?" His eyes commanded her own, and the sense of guilt they invoked was stifling. He went on.
"You long to keep me caged, until such time as you see fit to ask something more of me. All this time, you've chosen to deny what I offer you – anything that would in some way cause you to need me, the way I have always needed you. I offered you my service, my love – I offered you my kingdom, damn you, and asked for so little in return. You denied them all, crushed them in your fist, and yet still you demand more of me. You want for me to sate that hunger in you, but only on your terms. Am I truly deserving of nothing but your hatred and distrust after all these years? Am I so very far from the man you would desire that you must refuse me everything?"
Sarah shook her head. "You know that's not true. I … I don't hate you. You know that."
"Do I?" He raised his stubborn chin, staring down the hard ridge of his nose at her. "Tell me one thing you have given me – one single truly selfless act, where you have shown me in some way that I am worthy of your affections."
She frowned, and opened her mouth at once to speak, to deny it … and stopped. Her mind had drawn a blank. The kisses they had shared had been fuelled only by her own lust and longing. She had allowed for him to take the first – so many hours ago, now – because her own body had willed it. She had taken her own from him without thought, simply assuming that he, in his obvious desire for her, would respond, and she had not been disappointed. What had come after had always been at her own will, not his.
He had teased her, demanded that she yield to him before he would grant her pleasure, and then – when she had refused him yet again – had given it regardless. He had been granted permission by her own words and actions; given no more than what she herself wanted, heedless of whatever his own feelings might have been. She had given him nothing.
Nothing, tra-la-la?
Oh, how that mockery burned her now. Even as she pushed it away, her own words of all those years ago came back to torment her, playing over and over in her mind.
You have no power over me.
You have no power over me.
You have no power over me.
Six years. Six years, she had been allowed to bask in her victory, the knowledge of the Goblin King's longing and love tucked away securely in her pocket, and brought out only at those times when her own lust caused her to long for him in return. How she had thought herself tragic to have been plagued with those desires – too stubborn to make any attempt to call upon him, but driven mad by that need to have him. She had no concept of what true madness was.
Oh, yes, she had suffered – had even felt the pain of the Bog's deep and powerful longing, but for a few minutes. Even so, the desperate agony she had seen in Jareth's eyes after, when he had saved her from its clutches – that was true madness. He had suffered it all along.
It was a weight she had made him bear – alone – ever since his defeat. Six years. Six years of nothing, except that which she, on occasion, allowed him. Six years of loving her deeply, and never once knowing for certain if she would ever accept that love – without even the ability to ask such things of her. Six long, cold years, in which only her dreams could bring them together – six years of never being able to call on her by his own will. No, only her power could do such a thing.
He had been her slave all along, and she had been a distant and cruel mistress. The peach had been the single, small scrap of control he had ever been able to wield, and now even that had withered and died between them both – by his own doing. For her. She was her own woman, as she had always been – but he would be forever hers. How deeply the thought of such pain and misery now cut her.
"It's hard to do, isn't it?" he asked, in a softer voice. "Having to analyse your every word and action – to pore over them for some greater meaning, to judge if you have, at any point, given me cause to go on." He gave a weak smile. "I know the feeling well. I've had nothing but time to think on even the smallest gesture within your dreams – time where I've lived our last real conversation over and over, in an attempt to glean where it all went wrong."
Just fear me , love me , do as I say and I will be your slave.
How had she never known?
Jareth cocked his head and simply looked at her for a moment, and then took a small step towards her. "You have always feared me, and perhaps I was wrong to demand such a thing of you. Never, I think, has there been a time you have ever done as I've said. I won't let that other – your love – be said to have been forced by me. If I am to have no power over you, then so be it. If you do find it in your heart to love me, then you must know it is by your own volition, not by any magic's doing. If you do not…"
He trailed off, as if his words had only just begun to hit home for him, as well as her. There was that deep sadness in his eyes again when they flicked away, staring far beyond her, but when he looked upon her again, he managed a small smile. Again, for her. "If you do not … well, it's been fun while it's lasted, hasn't it, love?" he said, finally.
God, those sneaking tears again - where had they crept from? Her throat felt lined with them, her first attempt at reply emerging only as a hoarse croak. She swallowed hard. "I'm starting to think the woman you've been waiting all this time for isn't really worth it, is she?"
In spite of everything, Jareth laughed softly. "After all these years, still wanting you more than life itself, you would ask me to dignify that with a response?"
"I guess not." She sighed, freeing a little of the weight that had sunk into her chest. It felt like she had nothing but exhaustion left to give. Never had she been so very drained of everything. The tears felt so, so close.
"Are you all right?" he asked again.
Slowly, she nodded her head – but was she, really? Once more, he had loosed the bonds that held her – this time for good – and now she had been cast entirely adrift, with no will to possibly guide her, but her own. Right now, that will was guiding her right back to him, and it frightened her badly. He was right. She had been relying on the decision being made for her – either she would win, or he would win. She had never allowed herself to think of going to him willingly – of freely accepting the power of his love over her. It made everything far too complicated, yet if she took the freedom he had given her …
"What if I just decide I want to leave right now, now that you have absolutely nothing to hold over me?" she asked, perhaps a little too forcefully.
"Then … you will leave." He sounded as lost right then as she felt. "You have only to ask."
He could be completely out of her life in less than a heartbeat. He was willing to let her go, if she asked it of him. The thought was a sobering one; the power such a decision demanded more than she could bear. She forced herself to meet his gaze. "After all you've done, I guess … I guess I at least owe it to you to finish this thing – see it to the end."
Relief flooded his expression; perhaps, even a whisper of hope, but he was quick to guard it from her. He arched an eyebrow, and then nodded. "Very well." With no more than a flick of his wrist, he sketched a clock face in the air between them. "You have precisely one hour and thirteen minutes left to reach my castle, for whatever that's worth."
"Wait. Please, not like this."
He only shook his head. "Sarah, please, I haven't the patience, nor the strength for this conversation to go on any longer. Say whatever it is you wish to say, and let's have done with it." He sounded so tired. When, still, she hesitated, he rolled his eyes; sketched a mocking half-bow before her. "Come, now. Far be it from me to silence you this way. I am, after all, your willing-"
"Please don't." It was more than she could bear to have his taunts and his scorn right then.
He relented, with a sigh, his tone softer. He would always relent. "What is it, love?"
Sarah took a hesitant step towards him. "I think it might be, and that scares the hell out of me."
"Might be …? I'm afraid I don't follow."
The next step was more difficult, bringing her close enough to touch him, if she so wished – and suddenly, the need to was overwhelming. She reached out, a little clumsily, and laid her right palm flat against the middle of his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing anchored her; gave her strength. Despite his claim to impatience, he seemed content just to allow her to touch him, his strange eyes searching hers, once again, for some deeper meaning.
"Love," she said, finally. "I'm not sure, but I think it has to be, with how much it burns me to think of … of leaving you here. Of having to be without you. I thought that was what I wanted, at first - to be free of you, but now …" Through her fear, the words came easier than she had anticipated, perhaps needing to finally free herself of them before they could drown her. "I'm still learning, just like you. There's always been this dynamic of power between us, but from my side of things, it's always been tipped in your favour. I've never seen it from your side before. I've taught myself to hate you, for making me feel things I've never …" She shook her head. "It's always seemed wrong to want you, when I'd be nothing more than a notch in your bedpost."
He seemed to surge forward at that, but she restrained him with nothing more than a gentle press of her palm. "I know," she said. "I know, now." She had to search for the right words a moment, content at last that they were the truest thing she could offer. "Time moves differently for me. What's no more than a drop in the ocean for you could be years of me the way I am, trying to figure out what I want out of my life. I've never known love – never known, or ever will know half the things that you have. All I know right now is that I still want you in my life."
She drew in a deep breath; continued. "I … I think we both have some understanding of what that means, but I just don't know if it'll ever be exactly what you want from me. I don't know what I want, but I know that a part of me wants you – cares for you." His eyes were beautiful as she gazed up into them, and they made her feel strangely like crying again. "Is that enough?" she asked. "I don't know how to make it more."
It was a long time before he spoke. "It's something. More than you let me dare hope, for a while."
Sarah could feel the weight as it slid from her chest. She moved closer to him, letting both palms rest on his chest, now. "You're … you're not what I expected, and that scares the hell out of me, too. "I'm sorry," she said again.
Jareth nodded. "Accepted." His recognition was softer, this time, and it made Sarah's stomach knot to see that his eyes had regained some of their former light with her admission.
She knew something more was needed – something that would reassure them both that all was not quite as lost as it seemed. A sacrifice – one she burned to offer him.
She could give him herself.
Slowly, hesitantly, she let her hands start to move, to stroke soothingly at his chest - the first time she had ever sought to touch him for something more than her own need. She traced the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath; the warmth of his skin that radiated through his clothing. Her fingers twisted into the lapels of his shirt.
"I want this – I … I want you." The words felt right on her lips, and she had to repeat them. "I want you," she said again, more sure of it, this time. "I want to make things better between us, somehow – at least let me show you that." Her eyes searched his, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "Can we make everything else go away again – everything but us – while you make love to me?"
His hands came to hold her hips, at last, and her whole body revelled in the contact. "Gods, Sarah." His eyes blazed with sudden heat – lust and something far more. There was a barely-restrained longing in those words, his voice rumbling low with a passion that made her long to press her lips to his throat, that she might feel it. She found herself tipping her face up toward his, urging herself on; urging him to come to her at last.
"Please," she said, softly. "Please, let me … let's …"
Their respective surrender came together. Time itself seemed to stand frozen in awe as their lips met, as their bodies melded; as if salvation had at last been found.