Beginning of the End
The bathwater was hot enough to burn, just the way Jareth liked it. The blistering heat was a balm as he submerged himself. It felt good to hurt in a way he could control; the instant flushing of his skin to a bright red felt cleansing. He stayed beneath the surface, listening to his echoing heartbeat, until the images of blood and death faded from memory. When his soul was quiet once more he resurfaced with a muted gasp, hair plastered to his face, resting both arms against the cool porcelain edge. Red clouds rose from his skin and dispersed like ink in water. He watched distantly as the grim evidence of his day's work melted away into nothing. A faint metallic tang reached his nose. He must look a terrible jester, blood and water like paint trickling down his ashen cheeks.
Outside the wind hurled itself against the windows like a demon desperate for entry. He imagined trees being uprooted and unfortunate birds being tossed about until their poor necks broke. The weather was always at its most violent towards the end of winter, reminiscent of a feral creature sensing its inevitable demise, eager to go down fighting. He was glad to finally be inside again, even if he'd been too late to see Sarah before she went to bed.
Jareth summoned fruit from the bowl he'd found outside his bedroom door. Sarah often left him snacks when he didn't return in time for dinner. Tonight was a bowl of peaches, ripe and sweet. He wondered ruefully if she was trying to make a point with that, juice dripping down his chin as he leant back against the headrest and closed his eyes. If only she were here, her slick back pressed into his chest, he could feel truly content. If only.
He shouldn't have told her about Lina. While things were no different between them, he could sense reluctance on her part to engage in anymore flirting. He suspected he'd scared her with tales of punishment for loving the Fae.
"You're a fool, Jareth," he grumbled with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. The half-eaten peach was cast aside, no longer appealing. Maybe he could have kept her a secret from his mother, if he hadn't said anything. Maybe they could have happily fallen in love and healed the Goblin Kingdom together without Mira ever knowing of Sarah's existence, if only he'd kept his mouth shut. But that day had pushed him too far. His brief winter respite with Sarah had softened him and he'd been utterly broken by a gruesome death in the Labyrinth. And she'd tended to him with obvious affection and concern, had cried and clung to him like she'd been broken too. How could he have turned her away, told her nothing? He couldn't have, and that was why he sat there alone trying to wash away his torment.
"Do you think they're all really different without me?" Sarah asked of her friends, toying with the leather bracelet she'd found to cover her marked wrist. It'd stopped hurting but she couldn't help feeling a little sick each time she saw it.
"I'll bets they have an easier time tryin' to eat," Hoggle grumbled half-heartedly. "How's a goblin supposed to get by if you keep winnin' his lunch?"
"I suggest you attempt to play a little better, my good fellow," piped up Didymus.
Ludo's laugh was a low rumble that sent his pile of cookies toppling over.
They were playing poker and using their lunch as betting chips. Sarah had won a few times now and Hoggle's supply was running low. "But really though, it's weird to think what's changed because Sarah Williams wasn't there." She raised the bet by a quarter of sandwich. "Maybe my mum and dad never split up." The thought was purely fantasy; Sarah was well aware that her parents' divorce had had nothing to do with their daughter. Still, it tickled her to think of the possibility that they might be living a happily married life together. Then she remembered the Queen's threatening mirror image of Toby and Alice, and her bubble burst. God, I'll bet they're both absolute nightmares with nobody to save them from Karen's influence.
"Maybe they get to eat a full meal," Hoggle grumped.
"Oh, here then," Sarah rolled her eyes and threw him a few of her crackers. "If you didn't want to play for food you should have said so."
He snatched them up greedily. "I ain't got nothin' against playin' for food," he mumbled through a mouthful of cracker. "I just didn't expect to lose, is all. Dwarves invented poker, yer know."
"One should never underestimate Miss Sarah Williams, good sir," Didymus chastised his friend. "She is a force to be reckoned with, even for a knight such as myself. I will gladly concede to her greatness any day." He folded his hand.
"Thank you Didymus," Sarah gushed in a pointedly sweet voice, winking cheekily at Hoggle. "You see? He understands how fantastic I am."
"Sawah wonderful."
Jaws around the table dropped as one. Hands froze mid-air. Sarah, Didymus and Hoggle exchanged shocked glances. "Ludo – did you – did you say something?" Sarah stuttered.
The hulking goblin flashed his fangs at her in a broad grin. "Sawah wonderful," he said again. His voice was just as she remembered it: lumbering, careful, full of meaning though short of words. Sarah jumped to her feet with overwhelming joy.
"Oh my god! Ludo! You spoke!" she cried happily, scattering the cards in her effort to reach him. Hoggle and Didymus cheered, the little goblin clapping with delight and the former dwarf throwing triumphant hands up into the air. Ludo swallowed her up in a crushing hug, repeating the two words again as she placed a chaste kiss on his bumpy forehead. Why he chose that moment to speak she couldn't understand. She'd spent months trying to engage him in conversation with no result. For Ludo to find his voice in such a commonplace moment of easy companionship was a shock indeed.
They celebrated by throwing their cards to the floor and digging into the winnings with delight, chuckling and shaking their heads in disbelief. Didymus did a sweet little jig on the table. It was an unexpected lunch, certainly. Sarah ate with her friends whom she had grown to love as family. For a brief while she was granted peace of mind. She stopped thinking about the Above and her future and goblin hordes and sacrifice. She was immersed in this world, with this strange little family she had found. As she dipped cookies into milk and wiped crumbs from her lips with the back of her hand, Sarah felt wonderfully content.
"You want me to what?"
Sarah had prepared herself for Wick's reluctance. She let him pace the floor a while, patiently scanning through fresh pages of her novel as she waited for his panic to wear itself out. It wasn't an appealing favour, truth-be-told. The Elf had already gone to so much trouble for her, gathering information on the goblins and the royal family. She'd learnt a lot about Jareth's daily duties and had been able to better support him because of it.
The Goblin King wasn't even aware of it yet Sarah was able to be there with distractions and kind words whenever she knew of bad days. And she would conveniently place herself in Jareth's way on good days, pressuring him into letting her help with the rebellion. It was a system that seemed to be working, at least in terms of sustaining Jareth's sanity. Sharing the burden with her, however small a part of it that was, seemed to be good for him. They spent many hours together discussing negotiation tactics and proposals.
Her Summer Room was a common place they would inhabit. Not just because she craved the sunshine, either. Jareth had taken to wearing nothing but a crumpled pair of grey pants rolled up to the knees as they sat in the sand. His dulcet tones would speak of the politics of goblin conduct and she'd nod occasionally, finding it hard to follow. There was an undeniable allure to his vulnerability in those moments, the sun gleaming on his taut skin, his bare feet burrowing into the sand. It was a sight she'd allowed herself to indulge in more than once under the pretence of helpful conversation. Her resolve to be more emotionally distant with him had had no hope of lasting too long, if she was honest. His eyes were quickly becoming the deep wells into which she fell further each day.
Through it all however, there was rarely a sign that the goblins were being appeased. They had been betrayed by their King too many times to have any respect left for him. The pressure showed in Jareth's eyes too often, when he thought she wasn't looking.
And so here Sarah was, about to beg her friend for the biggest favour of all, because she couldn't stop thinking of ways to make the Goblin King smile.
"I know it's a lot to ask," she admitted soothingly.
"A lot to ask!" Wick cried hysterically. "Spying on the Queen was a lot to ask! Stealing reports about the rebellion was a lot to ask! This is insanity, Sarah." He stopped pacing at last, staring at her with eyes as wide as they'd ever been. Wide with pure disbelief.
"But you already know where she is," Sarah countered, "And what she does. And who she is! It can't be that hard to find her."
"Finding Lina is not the difficult part," Wick replied with a shake of his head. "You want me, a servant Elf, to leave the Royal Palace without permission and enter the Dust Bowl on the pretence of locating the Fae Princess serving penance. And then you want me to secret her away so she and her brother can have a little reunion. Sarah, you're asking too much of me this time."
She took a deep breath. "They haven't seen each other for over a century, Wick. One hundred years. All because she fell in love and Jareth took the punishment for her. Can you imagine how much they miss each other?"
"I'm an only child," he sniffed.
"Oh come on; that doesn't mean you're completely apathetic."
"It doesn't mean I'm a fool either."
"I'm not saying you are. I think you're very brave, Wick."
The Elf snorted and huffed, taking a seat on the carpet. He never seemed interested in using a chair. "You're just trying to sweet talk me."
"I'm not," she replied earnestly, putting her papers on the desk and sitting down in front of him. "Honestly Wick, I'm not. I think you're a very brave person. You've helped me so much despite what that bitch of a Queen would do to you if she found out. You're always there for me when I need you, and I'm really grateful for that."
He brushed the back of his fingers tenderly across her forehead. She'd learnt this was an Elvish sign of platonic affection. "I care about you, Sarah. You're a good person. A bit demanding and stubborn, yes…but you have a kind heart, unlike a lot of the Fae I serve. I'm worried about you."
Wick was usually honest but he'd never spoken so fondly of her before. She regarded this strange being, rakishly thin with a shock of black hair and the most disarming sharp-toothed smile she'd ever encountered. How had it come to be that she'd found better friends in Elves and goblins than she had in humans? "What are you so worried about?"
"That you're becoming too involved with Jareth and you won't be able to finish your job."
Sarah couldn't respond. She'd begun to suspect this herself recently. The fate of Lina's lover had made her scared for her own life. But the more she felt for Jareth, the more she'd begun to fear what his punishment would be. He was already the Goblin King, what more could the Queen do to him? She'd begun thinking it couldn't be that bad a thing, to keep him on the throne. It might save him from an unimaginably worse fate. "I've been thinking about that too," she told him tremulously.
"Sarah." Wick wrapped her hand in both of his, clutching them tightly. "The Queen can take more than your brother and sister from you. Don't do this to yourself."
"Don't you understand what you're trying to do, Wick? You're trying to protect me from a fate just like Lina and Jareth's." Her free hand clenched over his. "That means you know how much they're suffering. And you know what seeing each other would mean to them."
"Don't you care about your family?" he asked, verging on something akin to actual anger.
"Of course I do," she replied firmly, soothing him. "Really Wick; I understand why you're worried. But it's a consequence I will deal with. I'll protect them with every last breath in my body, if it comes to that. But for the moment, all I'm asking you to do is find a way for two siblings to talk. Just for a couple of hours."
He let go of her hands, wrapping his arms around his middle. "I've never met anyone like you before," he muttered. "You're lucky you aren't more trouble than you're worth."
Hope blossomed in her chest. "So you'll do it?"
"I'm not promising anything. I'll research some gateways and see what I can find. But if I can't find a safe way to get there in the first place I'm not doing it, understand?"
Her hope bloomed into a wide grin; she reached across and threw her arms around him. "Thank you, Wick, thank you thank you thank you –" she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.
"It's not a promise!" he repeated firmly, though made no effort to be released from her hug.
"I know. You do what you can. I owe you so much, Wick. I'll never be able to pay you back, even if I lived as long as the Fae."
"I'll have to get back soon," he replied gruffly, smoothing down his clothes once she'd let go. "Helping me make up another report for the Queen would be a good place to start."
He couldn't understand her determination to persist in this. But then again, if Jareth were to start questioning Sarah's will now he'd need a good few decades to find the answers.
"I did tell you they'd survive the winter." The wind carried his voice to Sarah, who was crouched over her garden. She shovelled away piles of half-melted snow from around her flowers and bushes. Although winter was in its final death throes the air was still frigid and the wind insistent. Most of the snow had melted into wet sleet, showing the ground for the first time in months. He huddled deeper into his coat, shaking his head at her. Why she couldn't have just waited until spring was beyond him.
"What if the magic didn't last?" she replied over her shoulder. "I put a lot of effort into this garden. I want to see if it's still okay."
"You doubted my magic?" he enquired, feigning hurt. "You should know better than that."
As she shovelled away the last piles of dirty old snow her favourite flowers sprang up from the ground. They were luscious and vibrant as if it were the middle of spring. She laughed with relief and delight, kneeling down in front of the Irises. "I knew they'd be fine," she said without taking her eyes from the flowers. "I just wanted an excuse to get out for a while. It's been a long winter."
Jareth thought of their heated discussions by the fire, of tactical plans she paid little attention to and the flush of her cheeks whenever they'd been in her Summer Room. "Indeed it has," he replied. "Though not entirely unpleasant." He walked over to her and knelt down, inspecting the garden. It was lovely, but he had more of a desire to visit his web garden after so long without it. Before he could voice this however Sarah made a statement that surprised him.
"I want to go the Harvest Festival." She said it without looking at him, toying with rocks that had been shifted out of place.
"Absolutely not." Even taken aback as he was the answer came quick and firm.
"Why not?" She faced him now, those beguiling eyes bright against the grey around them. "The boys told me it's coming up soon. And I'd…I'd like to go. With you." Heat suffused her cheeks but she didn't turn away.
He stopped feeling the chill in the air. "Humans aren't allowed," he said rather hoarsely.
"Disguise me," she countered easily.
"It isn't customary to bring a date."
"Then we won't be customary."
"I –"
"Jareth." She drew him up short with the way she said his name. Demanding and pleading all at once, submissive and assertive. Only Sarah could manage to pull that off. "It sounds like a great way to celebrate spring. You deserve a break from the hell you've been going through."
"You forget my detestation for the Fae, Sarah."
"Do you detest dancing? And good food? And games?"
Oh, she was a sly minx. "Not necessarily…"
"And if you did those things with me? Wouldn't that be fun?"
Her smile was coy and he knew he was being played but he didn't care one little jot. Still, trying to regain some semblance of willpower Jareth feigned a roll of his eyes and a heavy sigh. "Very well then Sarah, I suppose we could pop in for a short time." He was already dreading the dangers of having Sarah beside him under the Lights, drunk on Fae festivities and possibly wearing something skin-tight. It would be more than difficult not to ravish her in front of his own mother if he let himself get too worked up.
But then she grinned, and hugged him excitedly, and he couldn't help but smile too.
The gardens became a wonderful refuge after being cooped up inside for so long. Sarah spread a thick blanket beneath a tree readying itself to burst with new life. Though the crisp scent of winter still clung, signs of life were noticeable everywhere: in the tiny green buds of bushes ready to bloom, in the rustling of branches waking from a long slumber. Inhaling the fresh air deeply, she began emptying her basket. She set down two empty mugs, a variety of muffins and carefully selected books. A translated copy of Elvish short stories for herself and a handful of different anthologies for Jareth. He'd also seemed to be really enjoying Sherlock Holmes recently, so she'd thrown in The Hound of the Baskervilles in case he wasn't feeling poetic. She waited ten minutes to be polite but when he didn't show she gave up and started on a chocolate chip muffin. It wasn't a particularly windy day but the air was still sharp enough to bite. She huddled into her coat and picked up her book, hoping he would arrive soon.
"Good to see you waited for me."
She glanced up as Jareth appeared a few minutes later, warmth pooling inside her at the sight of him. His hair was incredibly windswept, sticking every which way. He wore a sweeping black overcoat with a large collar that gave him the look of some majestic wild bird. "There's only so much self-control I have when it comes to muffins. You're lucky I left you're favourite for you."
"Is the supply running low?" he queried, taking a seat beside her. One flick of his wrist and the two mugs had filled with tea. He picked up the blueberry muffin and began picking at it delicately.
"You wouldn't think a magical self-sustaining kitchen would fail to keep up with the amount of muffins a few goblins can eat," she replied with a shake of her head. She picked up the mug and held it to her lips, grateful for the steam that warmed her cheeks. "Forgetting something?"
"Mmm," he replied through a mouthful of food. He made a sweeping gesture and plucked a glass jar full of flames out of the air. It gave off a comfortable heat when put between them, chasing the sting out of the air. "What have you got for me today?" he enquired when he'd finished, reaching for the books Sarah offered him. "I've read this Dickenson so many times I could recite it in my sleep…I think I've had my fill of Tennyson for the moment…ah, a little Holmes. How did you know?"
"You've been saying 'elementary my dear' about five times a day. Hard to miss." She settled onto her stomach with the Elvish book spread beneath her chin. A smattering of crumbs soon formed beside her as she picked chocolate chunks from her muffin. Though she heard him sipping at tea and rifling through pages, Sarah knew Jareth was watching her by the delightful prickling of her skin. Her breath came a little lighter; she toyed self-consciously with a lock of hair. When the feeling left she took her turn. He sat propped against the tree trunk, long legs stretched out. The mug sat comfortably in his two hands, the book was floating just in reach, turning its own pages as he read. She could tell that he wasn't actually reading. He tended to silently mouth the words when he was. There was a tension in his posture that didn't exist when he was truly buried in prose.
Time seemed to fly by when you were mentally preparing to betray the man you were falling for. When had she started to know him by heart? When had he become such an intrinsic part of her daily life? Her fingers played with the bracelet on her wrist. It seemed as if it were only seconds ago that she'd forced that vow from the Queen, securing her own safety. Now she studied Jareth and felt as if she were being pulled apart at the seams. How could she do this to him? How could she have made those demands of the Queen and not once thought to ask what about your son? Maybe she hadn't changed enough in ten years – maybe there was a part of her that would always be selfish, she thought dismally.
"Am I that much of a distraction, pet?"
His question startled her from the troubled thoughts. She realised with a flush that she'd been staring at him openly for several minutes. "You were watching me too." The pathetic tone in that statement made her cringe inwardly, yet he didn't grin smugly as she expected.
"I suppose I'm a little distracted myself," he sighed, his book falling to the way side. "I wanted to talk to you about something."
Her heart started to race. Oh god. "Like what?" she managed to ask lightly.
"The Elf I…accosted a few weeks ago. How did you say you knew him?"
Oh shit. Play it cool Sarah. But then again, another part of her thought let him find out. Let him unravel her plans and take the responsibility out of her hands. Maybe it would be kinder to just let him be mad at her. "I met him when I was here last time. In the Labyrinth."
"And how did you come to meet him again?"
She'd had this answer prepared for a while now, in case he ever thought to question her. "If I tell you, you have to promise you won't be mad with him."
He raised a brow silently.
"I mean it! You gave him a real fright that day. I don't have many people to talk to and I don't want you to scare him off."
Jareth set his tea down on the blanket slowly. "Very well, Sarah. I shall hold my temper. For you, as always."
"He likes your gardens," she said, which wasn't in itself a lie. "He's been sneaking onto the castle grounds just to admire them. I bumped into him one day by the statues and we've been spending time together ever since." No, it wasn't all a lie. God, just tell him the truth. Tell him you're a nasty, manipulative, stupid woman who's falling hopelessly –
"Did you know he works for my mother?" Jareth's question stopped her thoughts from spiralling out of control.
"He told me he serves Fae," she replied, both proud and ashamed of the confidence in her voice.
"Hmmm." Jareth's gloved fingers tapped a muted beat against the mug. "You know he might be using you to glean information, don't you?"
"Wick's got a good soul," Sarah told him firmly. "Two of them actually. I know him. I trust him."
Their shared look held steady for a few moments, Sarah both fearing and hoping that he would let the matter drop.
"Well then," he sniffed after a while, returning to his book. "If he's such excellent company I'll refrain from damaging your relationship. I'm glad for you."
The words were too cold to be genuine. A wry smile curved her lips. "You wouldn't happen to be jealous, would you?" Then, before he could respond, licking her lips: "Because you don't need to be." How could he not hear the samba that was breaking free of her chest?
"I know," he replied in an undertone. Though his eyes never strayed from the page she felt as if he were staring right through her.
They resumed their companionable quietness, reading well into the afternoon, sharing thoughts on plot and writing style. She was laughing at the something he'd said, wishing he could freeze them in this moment forever, when his face turned vacant. The next moment he was called away by duty, another dreaded wish. She picked up his book, folding it at the top corner so he could find his place later. Then she pressed it against her chest, eyeing his empty spot on their blanket and wondering what horrors he was facing for her and for Lina.
In the days leading up to the festival Sarah grew increasingly anxious. Her usual sources of comfort became irksome: Hoggle's grating voice was aggravating; Didymus' high energy drove her to snap at him and she had no patience for Ludo's rumbling random selection of words. Wick's search for safe gateways was proving fruitless, sending her into deeper despair. The last chill of winter was fading but she couldn't find joy in it. Books gave no comfort; the grounds couldn't hold her attention long enough. Even Jareth's company couldn't settle her. Why was it that the most ordinary moments between them – sharing lunch, walking the gardens, discussing poetry – could stir so much affection in her? One evening he poured her a mug of hot cocoa and she very nearly jumped him then and there. She was beginning to question her sanity.
For the entire day leading up to the first night of the Harvest Sarah was a wreck. She buttered a notebook instead of her toast, cut herself shaving twice and couldn't find her way around the castle at all. Her mind was abuzz with dozens of worries: what if she was discovered among the Fae? What if she had too good a time and forgot why she was there? What if the Queen was there? How could she stand by Jareth in good conscience? What if Jareth said the thing? There was so much that could go wrong. And yet despite all of this when the time came to get ready Sarah couldn't stop from marvelling at the dress Jareth had created for her.
He'd told her he'd take care of the necessities and boy, he had. It was strapless, divinely emerald and seemed much as the Queen's had, to be spun tightly around her like an entrancing web of silk. Feint silver vines trailed diagonally from bust to hem. There was something oddly familiar about the curve of the leaves and the flowers; when Sarah inspected them closely she realised they were shaped by words – all her favourite poems. Her hair hung low against her back; a thin strap of silver ribbon served to keep it out of her face. Looking in the mirror, Sarah felt beautiful and raw in a way she never had. Only the silver bracelets covering her vow mark took away from her good spirits. It was almost impossible to believe that the woman staring back at her was the same Sarah Williams who head-banged to Pearl Jam and wore chunky old sneakers everywhere. The thought made her realise there were no shoes to be found for the outfit. With a frown she glanced around the room, thinking she might have missed them.
"Fae don't wear shoes to the Harvest," said a low voice from the door.
There was no need to question her sanity now – the only sane way to react to his appearance was with a flushed little shiver. Jareth wore tight pants black as sin and no boots for the first time since she'd met him. He looked a delicious Fae pirate in a heavy coat the same colour as her dress that swished around his ankles as he walked. A silver silk scarf hung loose around his neck. It was decidedly less elaborate than anything he'd worn before but the effect made Sarah's mouth dry. She hadn't realised she was staring at him until he was suddenly upon her, appraising them both in the mirror.
"We look quite the pair, don't we?" he enquired, eyes fixed on her reflection with such emotion that she had to look away.
"Thank you for this," she murmured, smoothing a hand down her leg. "It's wonderful." If she felt raw before she felt positively naked now with the way he was looking at her.
"That it is. It's incomplete however," he said in a strangely tight voice.
"What's missing?"
"Humans aren't permitted at the Harvest, remember? We're going to have to do something about that pretty little face of yours." He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the mirror, and gently pressed his fingers to her temples.
"You're not going to give me horns or anything, right?" Sarah asked breathily.
He chuckled deep in his throat. "We aren't Goatmen Sarah."
"Well how should I know?" she replied huffily, comforted by the familiar sensation of being irked by him. "I don't –" she was overpowered by a heated tickle as if he'd just kissed his way down every inch of her spine. Hot with the thought, Sarah was almost relieved when he released her and stepped back.
Checking her reflection she gasped with delight. Her skin glowed almost pearlescent. Her hair shone ebony with a brilliance no shampoo could ever have managed. At the corners of her eyes were delicate sweeping lines of silver and green, spiralling like tiny flower vines from her eyes across her temples and disappearing into the line of her hair. They were intricate and impossibly detailed. Hesitantly she touched them with a finger, surprised to feel nothing but skin.
"Were you expecting paint?" he enquired drolly and she blushed.
"A little. They look…I look a witch or something."
"You don't like them?"
She grinned. "They're beautiful. I feel like I'm living in a fairy tale."
"Just remember…Fae tales rarely have the happy endings of your childish human stories."
"Why do you have to ruin it?" She noticed for the first time how he was looking at her. There wasn't pride in his work, or the hunger she'd noticed before…there was something that clouded his eyes with shadow. "What?" she asked hesitantly, worried he might have done some unseen damage with the spell.
"You look like a Fae."
The disappointment in his voice confused her. "That was the point, wasn't it?"
"Indeed, but…" he shook his head and forced a smile. "Never mind, pet. You look divine. Shall we go?"
"Jareth –"
She was cut off as he took her hand and whirled them away, her stomach lurching with the familiar sudden motion.
The first thing she noted was the heat. The air was thick and potent with the scent of a thousand flowers. A fine sheen of mist clung instantly to her skin, making her feel as if she'd bathed in perfume and glitter. The result of this heady mixture was a deeply satisfied smile as she was reminded of sex and heat and skin and candlelight.
"…a feeling you might react this way."
Someone was saying something. A familiar voice. "Hmm?"
"Sarah." Hands took firm hold of her shoulders. "Look at me."
Jareth. It was Jareth's voice calling to her. Jareth's eyes staring into hers with concern. What was he worried about? She felt wonderful. She tried to say so but her tongue felt thick as if she'd been drinking all night. Jareth swiftly placed his fingers at her temples and muttered something. There was that heat again: the shiver-inducing-kisses-against-her-spine sort of heat.
The fog cleared from her mind. She blinked a few times. "What the hell," she murmured in slowly, "Was that?"
Jareth looked angry, of all things. "I told you humans weren't allowed here," he whispered fervently to her. "The magic in the Field is strong enough to dull Fae senses given enough time. The Fates only know what it would have done to you. I've put a shielding spell on you for now. It should keep your head clear." He glanced around in concern, checking that they weren't overheard.
Only then did she truly take in their surroundings. They stood at the edge of a vast field bustling with life. She couldn't even see where it ended; it just seemed to stretch on into the darkness under a night sky washed with luminescent lights. Into this ethereal atmosphere stretched dozens of enormous trees pulsing with soft energy. They filled the centre of the field like silent giants, watching the festivities around them. Hundreds of Fae created a flowing crowd that met and parted as if the entire field were taking part in a dance. Trellises overflowing with flowers covered pathways to where there were games being played, firesticks twirling, and scores of dancers swaying. The smell of smoke and food wafted from scattered campfires. Over it all drifted the song of the Fae; lilting voices rose over the accompaniment of stringed instruments. It was not unlike Spanish, Sarah thought, swaying though she couldn't understand the words.
"I shouldn't have brought you here," Jareth muttered, spoiling her wonder at the view before them. He had a dark look on his face that reminded her of his dislike for the Fae.
"I know you don't like them," she said quietly. "I'm not too fond of them myself – present company excluded. But it looks like so much fun. Don't we deserve a little fun?" She touched the crook of his folded elbow, willing him to relax.
"I am hungry," he admitted.
"Me too. Let's go find something to eat, okay?"
"Very well…but stay close. I'll need to translate if we speak to anyone. They won't be speaking English."
Looping her arm through his, Sarah urged him forward into the mass of revellers. "How're you going to do that without them suspecting anything?"
"A Hearing Illusion. They'll hear you speaking in Fae and you'll hear English. If you stay close enough they shouldn't notice the spell." He was snatching glances at her; she could feel it. "And another thing to remember: your name is Ilyena Al'Raven. You're a noblewoman from Verona."
"Right." She repeated the names under her breath a few times, determined not to make a fool of herself. He gave her a few brief points to remember in case a question should come up, but reassured her that he could control the conversation. Not that he seemed at all interested in other company – he led her through the crowd with nimble ease in search of food, disregarding those around them. As they walked Sarah snatched casual glances at the Fae. She was curious, having only ever seen Jareth and his mother. They weren't all as beautiful as she'd worried they would be, preparing to feel like a duck among swans. But like the Queen, most of them were stretched too thin to be properly good looking. There was something unnerving about their grace and fluidity, their sharp expressions and complicated array of facial markings. They weren't unattractive in any way, just so distinctly other that Jareth seemed positively American in comparison. Or perhaps she was just used to him now.
They reached a set of low wooden tables overflowing with food. Most of it was recognisable - fruits, vegetables and rice dishes, various meats – yet Jareth instructed her discretely on what would and wouldn't poison a human. At last, laden with a plate of safe delicacies, they made their way to a patch of grass where others were eating. There were no chairs – they sat down on the soft grass and picked at the food. Sarah adored the sweet fruits and the fragrant rice but couldn't quite stomach the meat, which had a strange blue tint to it. Apparently it was some sort of fish. She was making a joke, trying to get Jareth to relax, when someone came to join them.
"I don't believe it," remarked a drawling voice. The man was milk-skinned with a mop of black hair and hard eyes. The only colour to his dark attire was the crimson markings like tiny flames around his eyes. "If it isn't the Goblin King himself, leaving his draughty castle to mingle with the commoners at last."
Sarah felt Jareth tense instantly beside her. "Killian," he acknowledged. His voice was calm but his smile brittle. "I see you've left that ample palace of yours long enough to acquire free food."
Killian placed himself in front of them with his heavy plate and began to eat, completely unflustered. "I must uphold my reputation," he replied in that same lazy tone. "Let it never be said I leave well enough alone when something is there for the taking. Speaking of which…" his gaze flicked over to Sarah. "Where did you find this lovely specimen?" He smirked. "You didn't forge her out of goblins, did you?"
"Curb your tongue," Sarah snapped before Jareth could reply. "I'm a noblewoman, not some object to be subjected to your scrutiny. Don't speak of me as if I'm not here."
Jareth stared at her in surprise. Killian chuckled, pushing his plate away with amusement. "Such a spark!" he exclaimed. "It's getting so hard to find women with spirit these days. What's your name, my noble lady?"
"Ilyena of Verona," Sarah replied shortly, holding out her hand palm downwards as Jareth had told her. Killian took it in his and placed a chaste kiss against her fingers. His lips were cold and hard as his eyes.
"Perhaps we'll see if that fire of yours is just as present on the dance floor," he said, releasing her hand.
Sarah felt Jareth's fingers flutter against her arm. His expression was calm but a storm raged in his eyes. "I think not," he replied in a thin voice.
Killian shrugged lazily. "No bother then." He picked up a glass of wine and took a sip, apparently bored. "I heard tell of a string of nasty deaths in your Labyrinth of late," he remarked casually.
"You shouldn't believe everything you hear," Jareth replied coolly. "You know rumours are a disease in this place."
"You shouldn't speak of your own mother's realm so poorly," Killian countered. "Especially since you are the one spreading disease. Fatalities in the Dwarf realms are getting a little high, aren't they Jareth? Did you think we hadn't noticed?"
"Are you going to make your point, Killian?" Jareth asked, a dangerous edge creeping into his words.
"You know what my point is," the Fae replied bluntly. "Word is spreading. If word spreads, these little 'incidents' of yours will become total rebellion. The Dwarves I could care less about, but you know that even the Fae can do very little against thousands of purebred goblins."
Sarah decided to step in. "Dance with me," she said firmly to Jareth, who looked about ready to tear strips off Killian. "I'm tired of your politics." It took a few insistent tugs on his arm before he relented, getting to his feet.
"Excuse us, Killian," he said flatly. "Enjoy the Harvest."
They left the awful Fae behind swiftly, Jareth muttering under his breath as he took charge and pulled Sarah along beside him. "Of all the people that had to be here…" he growled.
"Who the hell was that jerk?" Sarah asked heatedly.
"His father owns a lot of land. Killian seems to thinks that makes him a lord. He's a spoilt false noble who delights in gossip and causing trouble when there's none to entertain him."
"I'm sorry, I forgot there might be people here who'd want to talk to you about…you know…"
"My inability to maintain control of my kingdom?" he snapped.
He hadn't spoken to her like that in a long time. I deserve it, she thought. It's my fault anyway. She hated that even here, during what was supposed to be a fun break, she caused him pain. "Dance with me," she said again.
He blinked at her, anger replaced by confusion. "I thought you were just trying to take me away from Killian."
"I was," she replied gently. "But we're here anyway, and there's music…why not?"
They had indeed found the source of the music - a band of musicians under a great vine twinkling with soft lights. The song was somewhere between jaunty and lazy, enough to keep people moving without any urgency. It made her think of Spain in the afternoon sun. Jareth's expression became genuinely tender.
"Indeed," he murmured, eyes glittering. "Why not?" He led her into the midst of dancers, ignoring the few who cast them curious looks. Sarah laid her hand against his shoulder, which he covered with his own before splaying fingers along her waist, drawing her close. It was an intimate pose but the music was just fast enough to tug them along the necessary steps, back and forth with little time for lingering. "Try not to swoon;" he teased. "I'm especially handsome when I'm dancing."
She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "I'll do my best. Be gentle with me; I don't do a lot of formal dancing."
"Oh? What do you usually do?"
"Jump around like a lunatic in a big sweaty crowd full of grunge fans."
"Grunge?"
"It's a type of music, rough and distorted rock. You wear lots of flannel shirts."
"You're always full of surprises, Sarah." Jareth squeezed her hip as he spun them in a tight circle. "Here I picked you as a soft acoustic sort of woman."
"I like a lot of different things," she replied with a shrug. "I'm really enjoying this song, actually." At his amused smirk she raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"She's singing about making love to a tree."
"She's what?"
"Listen."
Without concentrating the words sounded vaguely foreign, but when she closed her eyes they reassembled themselves in her mind. They spoke of breasts against rough bark and the tell-tale rustling of leaves.
Jareth laughed at the look of shock on her face. "We can be quite crass during the Harvest. It's the only time of year we have to let loose."
Sarah couldn't help but laugh too. "Guess it's not so sweet after all."
"I suppose not."
They were quiet for a while, flowing through steps together like they'd been doing it all their lives. Jareth was a strong lead. He had her moving into the next pose before she even knew what was happening, his hand on her hip a firm guide. Each subtle squeeze of his fingers made her wriggle closer to him in need. He was aware of this from the start, the beautiful bastard, applying more pressure until she was pressed flush against him. She wanted to rake her fingers through his hair and kiss that smug grin right off his face. She very nearly did before the music changed abruptly and they were swept brusquely away into the arms of various partners.
Though at first it was frustrating being dragged away from Jareth, eventually Sarah found herself having too much fun to mind. The dances were fast but not complicated, involving a lot of twirling and swaying that Sarah picked up quickly. What she lacked in grace she made up for with enthusiasm, whirling from partner to partner with a dizzy grin. From what she'd known of the Fae beforehand it surprised her to see them so uninhibited, laughing and moving with easy dignity. They danced late into the night, more and more people joining in until she could barely make out Jareth in the sea of elfin faces. When the last beautifully vulgar song rang out over a panting crowd she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned. Jareth was wonderfully flushed from head to toe, out of breath and thoroughly ruffled.
"It's late," he breathed, offering his arm. "Time to go."
"Fine by me," she answered with a content yawn. "I'm exhausted."
They returned to the castle in a whirl of shifting black, making Sarah dizzy in her current state. She held onto his arm a moment longer while the world reasserted itself. After it did she was still second guessing her vision: they'd left one party and arrived at another.
The entrance hall was a mess, littered with food scraps and upturned furniture. Empty ale glasses were scattered across the floor. There was some kind of dripping brown mess splattered up the landing.
"What in the name of…?" Jareth growled, dropping Sarah's arm and striding up the stairs. Even his coat swished in irritation. They followed the mess for a few silent minutes. All along the corridor walls were miscellaneous splatters and piles of ruined goblin fodder. A goat rounded the corner covered in paint. It saw them, bleated fearfully and shot off. Jareth was swearing under his breath by the time they reached the kitchen. The door flew open with a look from him and they found the culprits.
Didymus lay snoozing on the table clutching his dulcimer, moustache twitching. Hoggle was flat on his back under a chair, snoring gutturally. Ludo and a handful of Elves that included Wick were all spread out in various states of drunken sleep. Jareth looked utterly furious but Sarah couldn't help it – she started to chuckle. It was as if they'd come home to find their teenage children after a secret kegger. The Goblin King's incredulous expression only made her laugh harder.
"Sorry," she said after she'd calmed down. "Sorry, I shouldn't laugh…but it's pretty funny."
"They invited a gang of Elves into my castle and disgraced it," Jareth complained sourly. "How is that funny?"
She didn't answer immediately, overcome by fondness. They were an odd bunch, these mad creatures. But they were her family now and she felt responsible for them. "Don't be too hard on them," she chastised him softly. "You can just magic away the mess, right? So they had a little fun. No harm done, hmm?"
"It's the principle," Jareth replied stubbornly. "Do they really think they can just – just cavort around while the King's away and not expect – will you stop sniggering at me?"
She covered her mouth and leant into his shoulder, still smirking. "Jareth, you've been picnicking and reading with me every week for months now. Don't you think they've caught on that you're actually a bit soft? And maybe they think of you as a friend?"
"I am not soft," he said indignantly.
"You are when it counts," she replied quietly, still leaning into him. "I don't think a little goblin party really matters all that much to you."
Sweeping a disapproving gaze over the drunkards once more, he finally settled on Sarah with a relenting sigh. "If it's these particular goblins, I suppose it doesn't."
A jaw-cracking yawn overcame her. "So that's settled then. We'll leave them be, you'll magic up the evidence and I'm going to bed before I hit the floor." She stretched her arms high, rolling her neck. "Boy, those people can dance. My feet are killing me. And we didn't get to see anything else."
"We have an entire week," he answered distantly, clearly watching her arching back.
Exhausted, she completely forgot they might not have another day if the longing in his eyes was an indication of anything. "Mhmm, can't wait," she yawned again and then ushered him out of the kitchen, closing the door behind them. "I'll have a talk with the guys tomorrow, okay? I think their hangovers will be punishment enough."
"Let's hope so," Jareth muttered. He took Sarah's hand and transported them to just outside her bedroom door.
Drunk on the need for sleep Sarah reached up and patted his cheek affectionately, bidding him goodnight through another yawn. He took her hand from his face and planted a swift kiss in her palm. It was a tender moment of familiarity that she took for granted in her hazy state. For a blissful moment she forgot they were both caught in a tangled web that would only end in heartbreak. For a moment Jareth was simply warm and handsome and meant the world to her. For a moment she rose up on her toes and placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth.
And then the thought came that if she didn't go to bed right now she'd fall asleep right there on the floor. He caught her arm to stop her tuning away from him.
"Wait –" he pressed his hands against her temples and a familiar heat washed through her.
Closing her eyes with the blissful sensation, Sarah grinned. "I look human again, don't I?"
"Wonderfully so."
"Just little ol' human Sarah. Bye bye Ilyena of Verona. Until tomorrow."
"Go to sleep precious," Jareth murmured tenderly, watching her sway on the spot.
And with a nod, closing the door as they parted ways, she did.
Apparently she hadn't slept as late as some. Not only was Jareth nowhere in sight for breakfast – if you could call it breakfast after midday – but the notorious party crew were still fast asleep when she arrived in the kitchen. All the Elves except for Wick had disappeared, of course. Likely to save their skins from the wrath of the Goblin King should he have found them. Everyone else was just where she'd left them in their various undignified positions. Stepping gingerly over Ludo's enormous protruding feet, Sarah cooked up a giant pile of bacon and eggs. When they were done she picked up a glass and clanged her fork against it. The ringing was loud enough to rouse her dozing companions, all of whom groaned in various tones and clutched their heads.
"Morning boys," she sang happily. "Breakfast is ready if you can stomach it."
"Sawah loud," Ludo rumbled, covering his eyes with a great clawed hand.
"Oh woe is me," Didymus squeaked, casting aside his dulcimer dramatically. "What terrible disease hast forsaken me? Surely it is some black plague and I am doomed…"
"It's called a hangover, my noble knight," Sarah replied cheerfully, setting her heaped plate on the table with a loud clang. "You're in no danger. At least not from disease. I had to have a good talk with Jareth to save your goblin butts last night."
There was a croak from beneath the chair beside her. "Jareth found us?" Hoggle wailed, struggling to his feet. "W-was he mad?"
"What do you think?" she stuffed bacon into her mouth hungrily. "But don't panic. I smoothed things over for you. Just…don't go throwing anymore wild parties while we're out, okay? At least for a little while."
There was a general sound of groaning and scraping as the group settled into chairs around her. Wick dragged himself into the seat closest to Sarah, looking decidedly greener than usual. He held a hand to his mouth at the plate she offered him. In fact, only Ludo seemed interested in consuming food. Which worked out well, as he ate enough for all of them anyway.
"My lady, you have my most sincere gratitude for defending us against the King," said Didymus, reaching for the teapot she'd prepared.
"Yeah well, looks like I'm not the only one who can't hold my ale," she teased them all. "Guess we're even now huh?" More sullen groans came in response. "What got into you guys last night? Caught the Festival fever did we?"
"Not so loud," Hoggle hushed her, resting his bulbous head on the table. "Hoggle ain't a young Dwarf, yer know. I needs a minute."
"Hoggle ain't no Dwarf, either," Sarah countered.
"If you must know this instant," Didymus said, "We were endeavouring to celebrate the tremendous news our good friend sir Wick came to deliver." He paused to give an oddly polite burp. "Though I'm afraid we let the celebration overtake us. One minute we were excited noble sirs toasting to fortuitous news, the next…we were rapscallion goblins with a host of Elvish revellers."
"Yeah," Hoggle chuckled despite himself. "Turns out Elves can't hold no ale any better than you can, Sarah."
Wick was silent throughout all this. Sarah noticed it was because he'd gone back to sleep, chin propped in his hand.
"What good news?" she asked quickly, setting down her fork. "What did he say?"
The goblins all scratched their hands. "Er, I can't seem to remember," Hoggle said. "What about you Didymus?"
"My apologies sweet maiden, I have no recollection of the evening."
"Ludo?" Sarah turned to the gentle giant with hope in her eyes.
"Elf dreams," the goblin replied, but that was all he could remember under her persistent questioning.
Unable to make sense of the information Sarah got up and leaned over the Elf. "Wick," she whispered urgently, shaking his slim shoulders. "Wake up buddy."
"Mhmmmnomoreeeeaaaalee…" the Elf mumbled incoherently.
"Wick, come on. What did you find out?"
At another shake from Sarah his chin slipped and his head hit the table with a solid thump. This didn't seem to affect him in the slightest.
"I bets he'll be out of it for a while, Sarah," Hoggle said as she tried rousing the Elf again. "Got a body like a stick. Not much space for all that ale to go. Bet it'll come up sooner or later."
Her hands slid from Wick's shoulders to his forehead. It was damp with sweat but not overly warm. Worry replaced her curiosity. "He'll be all right, won't he? Goblin ale won't kill him?"
"Don't worry yerself, he'll come good," Hoggle waved a hand. He sniffed thoughtfully. "But I reckon he'll wish it had, when he wakes up."
The Elf was snoring quietly now. Sarah smoothed the hair from his face. "Doesn't he have to get to work?"
"The Elves get holidays during the Harvest, let him sleep," Hoggle told her, getting to his feet. "Speakin' of…let's see if I can get to bed without Jareth findin' me."
"A wise idea," Didymus added, finishing his tea. "I might well join you, sir Hoggle. Rest doth sound an enticing plan."
"Sleep," agreed Ludo, lumbering to his feet.
Sarah would have chastised them for their laziness, but she knew you could never sleep enough when you'd had too much to drink. "Ludo, will you help me take Wick upstairs?" she asked instead. "He can sleep it off on my lounge."
Though it was awkward with Ludo's short legs and Wick's long limbs hanging from his arms, they eventually made it to Sarah's rooms. She took the pillows from her bed and placed them under Wick's head as Ludo placed him on her lounge in the drawing room. The goblins made a hasty, stumbling retreat to their own beds, and Sarah was left to herself.
She spent most of the afternoon reading beside Wick. The poor thing must have bitten off more than he could chew last night. He slept the entire time, only stirring once to groan and whimper. She fetched a cool towel for his face and stroked his hair until he settled again. Her thoughts drifted between hoping Jareth was all right at work, burning with curiosity at Wick's news and excitement for the night ahead.
Although her feet weren't quite ready for another round of vigorous dancing, she wondered what the second Harvest night had in store for them. Fresh with memories of whirling bodies and flushed faces, it was easy for Sarah to forget she had ulterior motives for attending the festival. She read her book, occasionally recalling the pressure of Jareth's fingers on her hip and the flutter of her lips against his skin.
He almost decided against going on the second night. The day had been filled with back-to-back meetings, a common result of the realm being locked away for the winter. Coming out of hibernation always meant returning to a doubled workload. By the time he'd arrived home he was tetchy and sore from a long day arguing with demanding councillors, townspeople and Fae politicians. The thought of subjecting himself to more company all night had been enough to make him groan. Until he'd found Sarah, brimming with excitement and awaiting a new outfit for the evening. How could he have refused her? So he'd conjured a dress that bared more of her back then was strictly necessary – because if I'm going to do this again I'm getting a little more skin out of it, he'd thought peevishly.
Now here they were, Sarah once more disguised and adorably trying to contain her wonder, and he supposed he could handle another long night. But if anyone tried taking her away for a dance he wouldn't be held accountable for his actions. Even Fae life was too short to miss a second of Sarah Williams in a backless gown the colour of his own eyes.
"What would you like to do now?" he asked, caring little for the answer. She could have suggested they take a swim in the Bog and he'd have jumped in headfirst so long as she stayed by his side. As it was, they'd eaten and had a few drinks while admiring the work of the fire twirlers.
"The trees," she replied contentedly, slowing her enthusiastic pace to match his own. "I'd love to see the actual Harvesting."
"Then follow me, my lady," he said with a gentlemanly bow. She took his arm with an amused smile. Watching those dark lips made him wonder if she even remembered pressing them against his last night. It certainly hadn't been anything other than a sleepy affectionate good night kiss…but it had been enough to keep him awake for several hours afterwards.
They strolled under the decorative trellises, Sarah's fingers trailing along the vines and flowers as they went. The night was even warmer than the last; as she craned her head back to take in the sky he contemplated tasting the line of her damp throat. The thought made him shiver with need and agitation simultaneously. The cursed woman! This was why he hadn't wanted to be here and why he couldn't have stayed away if he'd tried. She was irresistible in her own right but even more so because he knew he couldn't have her.
"Oh, Your Royal Highness," called a serene voice from the dark.
Jareth turned in search of the owner, annoyed further by the use of title. He was a King, technically, of his own realm. Yet when he was anywhere near the palace people tended to reduce him to a Prince. It was a subtle way for them to remind him he'd had no real right to the title of Goblin King.
"Hello sir," came the voice again. This time a woman came into the light of the path. She glowed pearlescent in a dress the colour of the moon, calm demeanour betrayed by the chill in her eyes. Jareth recognised her as one of his mother's royal consort.
"Riyah," Jareth inclined his head slightly. "What do you want?"
"Your mother requests your presence," said Riyah without looking at him. She was studying Sarah intently, who returned the gaze unwaveringly. "That is, the presence of you and your guest."
"We're just about to contribute to the Harvest," he answered coolly. "Can't it wait?"
"Does her Royal Majesty ever like being kept waiting?" Riyah replied.
"Fine," Jareth grumbled. "Where is she?"
"This way, if you'll follow me."
With an apologetic look at Sarah Jareth allowed the Fae woman to lead them away from the trees. Along the way he couldn't help but grow tense. There was surely no way Mira could recognise Sarah, ten years older and looking like a Fae. Yet his guiding hand on Sarah's back felt stiff with unease.
They arrived at an assortment of low wooden tables gilded with silver and covered in flowers. An array of Fae were scattered strategically around them, deeply involved in their own conversations. Jareth didn't doubt for a second that they would be listening intently for any snippet of gossip. His mother sat in the only chair, a wooden affair decorated in vines, above everyone else. She wore a glimmering silver gown and her hair was intricately woven over her shoulders. On anyone else it might have been flattering, but with the frosty expression on her face she just appeared cold and false.
"Mother," Jareth gave a tight bow, feeling Sarah curtsy beside him. "You called for me?"
"There's been word that the Goblin King has taken up with a noblewoman," Mira stated without preamble. "Is this true, Jareth?"
"You'll have to excuse my mother's abruptness," he said to Sarah in an intentionally loud murmur. "She's a busy woman with no time for formalities." Oddly Sarah was looking for all the world like a child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. With a raised brow he turned back to see his mother staring at her with an unreadable expression.
Jareth cleared his throat and both women acknowledged his presence again. "I was under the impression that my personal business was my own, mother. Forgive me for assuming such a foolish thing."
"My son thinks he's clever," Mira said to Sarah. "What he doesn't realise is that he's not above reprimand just because we share the same blood." There was an edge to her voice he didn't like. His hand on Sarah's back slipped around her waist and held it firmly.
"Your son is very clever and knows all too well that the royal family is spared no punishment," Sarah replied so boldly that Jareth nearly choked.
Mira's eyes narrowed in scrutiny. "Who are you, to gain the interest of a King of monsters?"
"My name is Ilyena Al'Raven, of Verona." Sarah's voice was calm as anything. "I wouldn't dare assume he finds me interesting. We've made acquaintances of each other, that's all."
"I met Ilyena's father at a council meeting," Jareth explained. "He suggested we meet, and here we are."
"And here I thought your interests lay elsewhere," Mira said pointedly. Then, after an uncomfortable pause: "Well then. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ilyena. I trust all is well with you?"
Sarah's grip on Jareth's arm tightened ever so slightly. "Yes," she answered shortly. "Very well."
"And all is well with me mother, thank you for asking," Jareth said sardonically. "May we be excused now?"
"I know how things are with you, my son," Mira replied coldly. "You may be excused. I want a word with Miss Al'Raven."
"Why?" Jareth couldn't stop from asking worriedly.
"I wish to know what her prospects are, if you two are to be spending more time together. Nothing that concerns a man, I assure you. Now go. Your guest will be returned to you soon."
He almost refused to leave, caught between a crushing desire to protect Sarah and the need to appear unconcerned for the same reason. "I – very well," he said finally, regrouping. "Try not to damage her too much with that sharp tongue of yours. I want her back in one piece."
"I'm sure you do," his mother replied, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.
With a final squeeze of Sarah's hip Jareth relinquished her, forcing himself to walk casually away. At a loss of what to do he took a seat amongst the royal consort, staying close to Sarah in order to maintain his Hearing Illusion. It wasn't an ideal position, being stuck with the snobbish crowd, but what else could he do? He conjured a glass of wine and sipped at it distractedly.
"Don't you have more important matters to attend to than drink and wait for a pretty face?"
Jareth rolled his eyes at the group of women who'd turned their attention to him. "Such as…?" he enquired in a bored tone.
"Quelling the goblin rebellion," spat a tight-faced Fae who's cheeks were red with drink.
"Keeping the Dwarves from being slaughtered because of your lack of control," hissed another.
"I was under the impression the Dwarves mattered little to us," Jareth answered coolly. "Wasn't it you, Marissa, who once turned away an entire family of Dwarves in the middle of winter? Did the servants not find the frozen Dwarves on your front lawn when the snow thawed?"
"That's not the point," the one he'd named snapped in reply. "What right do you have to be here enjoying yourself when our entire realm is in danger of being overrun because you lost your head over a silly little human?"
Jareth's glass broke under the strength of his grip. "I beg your pardon?" he asked in a dangerously quiet voice. It was going to be a long night after all.
Sarah refused to show her nervousness. This woman had been a bully from the start, nothing more than that. And Sarah knew how to handle bullies. She'd been the only girl in her senior year to come home with bruises rather than hickeys. She met the Queen's icy stare with confidence, holding her chin up high and resisting the urge to blink.
"You may go," the Queen said to her consort without taking her eyes off Sarah. When they were alone, she gestured for Sarah to sit. On the floor, which would mean she'd have to look up at her like some deity on a throne.
"I'll stand, if it's all the same," she said as calmly as she could.
"You're either very brave or very stupid," the Queen said quietly. Her quiet voice was much deadlier than her booming, demanding tone. "I could have you killed for being here."
"Just like you could have me killed for loving your son," Sarah replied quickly, trying to match that dangerous tone. "I'm sensing a theme in your punishments, your Majesty."
That seemed to surprise her. Sarah felt a flutter of nervous victory.
"You might very well be both," said the Queen in an undertone. "I take it all is running smoothly?"
"Smoothly enough," Sarah answered vaguely, because something was happening to her that she couldn't stop. Deep inside, a decision was being made for her. A decision that would ruin her life but save her soul. "What happens to Jareth?"
There was no question in what she meant. "He'll be forced to abdicate the throne. There'll be a ceremony in which he hands control over to the new King. The goblins will witness this and accept their new ruler. All will go back to the way it should be."
"And after that? Are you going to exile him?"
"Does it matter to you?" the Queen raised a brow. "Your work will be done. You will return home."
"It matters because I'm not like you," Sarah answered coolly. "I might look like a Fae but I'm still human enough to care about what happens to the friends I've betrayed."
"He will be exiled," the Queen announced. "To some far off realm where he won't cause any more trouble."
Exiled. Could that be any worse than the life he lived now? Sarah wasn't sure what she thought anymore. "You'll have your new King soon enough," she told the woman, though the words tasted bitter like an absolute lie. She searched for Jareth and found him watching her from a table full of women. "Can I be excused now? You're keeping me from my job." He was suddenly rushing to her in a way she could only discern as horrified.
"I think the Fae look suits you more than you think," the Queen said.
Sarah barely heard. She was already hurrying to meet Jareth, terrified by the look on his face. He'd never look so scared in all the time she'd known him.
"Jareth?" she asked hesitantly as he closed the last few feet between them. "What -?"
His hands engulfed her cheeks, fingers digging into her hair as he tilted her mouth up to his and whispered against her lips: "Hold still; your disguise is fading." The heat that washed over her was more torturous than ever. She knew it was more than his magic restoring her mask. It was the earthy comforting smell of him and the depth of devotion in his eyes. It was the tickle of his hair on her forehead and the aching need to kiss those lips that were so close to hers. It was the need to consume and be consumed, to adore and be adored, to crawl inside his heart and make a home. Because that look of terror on his face had had nothing to do with himself. This man faced slaughter and rebellion on a daily basis and didn't bat an eye for his own safety. Yet the fact that she might be discovered had filled him with a terror that drew him to her in a heartbeat.
All the confusion of the past few months suddenly hit a crescendo within Sarah. All this time she'd spent hating him, rejecting him, denying her attraction, enjoying his company while burdened with guilt, letting herself fall for him despite the horrific consequences – she'd been running along a razor thin line for too long and her heart was fit to burst with the effort of keeping balance.
Her disguise was no doubt restore but Jareth refused to move away. He just stood there, cradling her face, waiting for permission…and the way he was looking at her, oh, like she was the sun and the moon and everything in between, nobody had ever looked at her like that. Sarah felt as if something enormous was happening inside a very tiny moment. She felt as if her whole soul was smiling and she looked at him and knew with absolute certainty that if she opened her mouth she would say that she loved him.
But she couldn't love him, would die for loving him. So she said nothing. Instead, she kissed him.