The stars…how very beautiful they were that night.
The thought seemed to drone on in Jareth's mind as he observed them from his tower, watching the faint silhouette of the trees sway in the mist. It was a magical night indeed. And yet it seemed to give him no pleasure.
He was utterly consumed with thoughts of that girl.
He thought he was drowning in the image of that girl who looked so much like an angel that it made him ponder if heaven truly were a place made real. He couldn't breathe with the thought of that girl who had laid with him beneath the cosmos and whispered secret truths he was sure no one had heard before. The very soul of him ached over that girl who had been wrapped in a dress of stardust and silk, gracing him with her transcendent light.
Yes, it seemed that he was very much tortured over that girl.
He took in a ragged breath, shifting against the ledge of the open window that he had taken refuge in, chastising himself for his lunacy. Gods, how weak he must seem, star struck and slack jawed by the mere shadow of that girl. He rather hated the feeling of it all, this thing in his heart that felt very much like poison.
And it wasn't as if she was flawless he reasoned, far from it. When conjuring the idea of a perfect specimen he doubted whether anyone would think of her. She was stubborn to a point beyond reason. Her words were sharp, edged with a kind of venom that he used to think only he could achieve. And she was so naive, so unaware of the true horrors of the world around her that it was laughable.
And yet…given the chance…he didn't believe he would change anything about her. No, he would never change anything about that girl.
He swallowed hard, his eyes fixing on some silver winged bird flying over the horizon as the thoughts churned through his mind.
He loved her.
The knowledge swam through him, crumbling the very bones of him to dust to leave nothing but a shell of what he once was.
Fool.
He didn't even believe that he had tried to fight it that hard, this strange kind of love. He had given into it far too easily for comfort, and it was like a monsoon crashing through him, staggering his heart with this all encompassing thing that made it hard to breathe.
He loved her. Gods how he loved her.
A bitter smile twitched at his mouth, almost savouring the surrender of it. Yet the smile could not hide the shade in his eyes. He craved her affection and yet somehow he hated it, he hated the way he needed her. But need it he did.
He needed those few golden moments, when he was so lost in her presence and caught in her smile, that he forgot just how much he loathed himself. He forgot to be resentful, to hurt, to be alone and spiteful, instead he found himself transforming into a creature that he used to have dreams of becoming and had never quite achieved. He was a good man for her.
What a strange thing that was. He almost laughed at the thought.
And yet, even through this mirage of happiness, he knew of a darkness that lurked at the end of the road.
Penance.
He had sworn before the Council that she would do it. He had sworn she would undertake the trials and just how had he not cared how very much she would hurt for it? It would test her, physically and mentally. It could break her and he hadn't even cared. How had he been so blind?
And how could he tell her?
He couldn't. He could barely see to the next day before him with this new burden of love in his heart. He couldn't do it.
But she would find out, eventually, one way or the other. It seemed that the Gods were cruel and he was always destined to have this golden thread dangled before him, only to soon see it become a noose. The knowledge that it was a rope of his own making was difficult to bear. He almost had half a mind to simply lean forward a little too much from the window, to tumble towards the earth and end it all. No more treachery, no more lies, just a blissful kind of darkness.
But he was far too much of a coward for that it seemed.
What a pity.
And yet…
As the breeze swept across his face, he realised that it was more than just his cowardice that made him still. It was the memory of her eyes that stopped him from letting go of this wretched life. Eyes so kind and full of a strange sort of light that acted as a beacon to his tortured soul. She was pulling him from the darkness towards the flames, he was sure of it. He might burn there, he might be reduced to nought but ashes, but at least it would be different than the never-ending shadow he seemed to live in now. She gave him hope. And in his foolish heart he dared to believe, dreamed even, that one day she would forgive him for what he had done and what she must do. She had to.
And as he raised his eyes to the sky before him he saw the crest of dawn break over the horizon, crimson and amber, glorious in its might. He could not help the wistful smile as he watched the light overcome the shadows. He rather hoped it was a sign of things to come.
Fool.
The sun seemed to kiss Sarah awake that morning, tugging her gently from her slumber as she nestled deeper into the silk pillows. But she wasn't ready to face the day. Not yet.
She had slept so restlessly during the night, constantly turning, constantly thinking about the one thing she had pledged herself to ignore.
Jareth.
Something had happened to her last night, and perhaps to him too, that made her nervous. And whom was she kidding? It terrified her. It rattled her body and left a cold sort of dread in her chest as she fought the weight of it…but that was a lie wasn't it? It wasn't dread within her. The weight in her heart wasn't anything to do with dread or fear or anger.
It was good. It felt wonderful.
She thought that was what she hated the most about it.
Her fondness for him had turned into an overbearing tenderness that was becoming impossible to ignore. She wanted to be around him, she wanted to hear his jokes and see his strange feral smile. She wanted to face the world with him. And it was strange to her that she couldn't pinpoint just when that had happened, when it had stopped becoming her and him and became them. Partners, as they had promised under the light of a dying star. But it had happened, and it was no use rejecting it any longer.
The man had caught her off guard with his open honesty and tragic stories, and she had left herself vulnerable to an onslaught of feelings that had always been waiting in the shadows. They had hit her with such a force that moment when she looked at him, that she could barely stand it. She was right after all. He was the only one who was ever truly there for her. As obsessive and unhealthy as it no doubt was, he sought her companionship because he was alone. And wasn't that just a story as old as time? Wasn't she a character in that same book? Together they weren't alone. Together the world felt better, it felt right.
Yet what was he, to make her feel so unsure of herself now? She had vowed to never cross a line with him, so how had he done it? How had he made her look at him under that starlight and think such treacherous thoughts?
She shivered a little. Treacherous thoughts they were indeed.
He was so very beautiful in the moonlight, features so delicate and fierce and downright alien that she thought she would never tire of looking at him. And the way his voice had nestled under her skin, that strange tone of it…so rich and sharp all at once, like bitter chocolate…it burned her. She felt a stirring of something within her, some dormant desire for the feel of his warmth and the weight of his body that she had long put to rest. Not since she was a teenager had she entertained such thoughts. But as he walked her to her room that night, pausing outside to kiss her hand farewell, she had felt a course of fire flow from his lips to her stomach, a weight dropping like lead. She didn't quite know what it was…but she knew she wanted more. She wanted to feel that fire again. God, she wanted to be consumed by it.
She clutched at her pillow, groaning with frustration into the silk.
She supposed the worst part of it was, the thing she was trying so hard to understand, was just how she wasn't angry with him for it. There had been no trick on his behalf, no sly seduction, no threats or treacherous game. Somehow he had led her into the darkness of his world and opened her heart to such terrible thoughts with nothing more than a smile. But it didn't feel terrible. It felt rather wonderful.
She threw the pillow aside with some force, watching it thump feebly against the floor.
There was no denying it anymore. She liked him. And not as a friend, but as something more. Did she love him? That she didn't know. All she knew was that he had somehow torn her heart open and made a place for himself there. And that…that made their situation a bit more complex.
Stupid girl.
"Good morning, My Lady."
A soft weight and a welcome distraction settled on her bed, and as she brushed the hair from her eyes she found herself face to face with Scrabs. The little goblin gave her a toothy grin, and Sarah smiled wearily at his earnest gaze.
"Yes, Master Scrabs?" She said softly, scrubbing her face with the palms of her hands in an effort to clear away the remnants of sleep.
"I have a message from the King." He stood unevenly on the bed, trying to affect an air of importance. Yet Sarah pondered that he looked rather like a toddler with legs too short and chubby.
"Go ahead." She smiled, allowing him to bounce towards her and settle onto her lap. Almost absentmindedly, she began to stroke the tuft of hair on his head, still trying to shake her thoughts from her troubles. He looked up at her with large brown eyes that really did remind her of Merlin.
"He sends his apologies that he won't see you until tonight. He has been called upon by the Duke."
She stopped the ministrations of her hands on him to frown slightly. That was strange.
"The Duke? Who's that?"
Scrabs shrugged a bony shoulder.
Sarah could feel her lips beginning to pout and scolded herself in an effort to stop. Was she really so disappointed that she wouldn't see the man for a few hours? The dead weight in her heart told her yes and yet her mind told her it was pathetic. Stupid girl.
With a clear of her throat she patted the goblin's head.
"Never mind. Continue."
"He said that you are free to do as you wish, but meet him in his study tonight…that's it." He grinned, obviously pleased with himself, as he finished. Sarah bit back a smirk as he nudged her hand resting upon the bed, eager to be petted.
"Fine. I'm going to have a bath. Come back in twenty minutes and you can help me find the kitchens?" She sighed, relenting to scratch the scaly chin and delight in the little purr he gave.
"Anything for you, My Lady." When he bowed his head and vanished from sight, Sarah couldn't help but smile…he really was rather sweet.
It took Jacques' eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom, low candles littering the place that had long since burnt out. He almost smiled at the familiarity of it all, the comforting clutter of the King's chambers where he had spent many a night drinking and gambling with his friends. It looked much unchanged, if a little messier. But there were still the strange shelves of trinkets, still the mountains upon mountains of books. It cast him back to a time long gone…
It only took a moment for his smile to fade though. It seemed that on this day he was destined to unearth more ghosts, to tread through phantom rooms that held only memories for him now. He had no wish to do so, he felt so very tired. But in his mind was a tiny light, that faint reminiscence of Marie's smile. God, it was so warm, so beautiful, it felt like all would be right when she smiled. He had to see that again.
"What do you want?"
Jacques jumped, searching for the familiar voice in the darkness. He walked carefully through the clutter, peering around the rows of bookshelves to see a figure lounging on the window ledge, silhouetted by the dawn. He threw a smile on his face, placing his hands behind his back to walk slowly towards the man, as if he were a bird that might be startled. Yet still, the thoughts thrummed through his head, desperate and amazed.
What was he doing? This was a terrible idea, an awful, dreadful terrible idea…
"Can I not check up on you?" He said lightly, banishing the guilt that plagued him.
"Not without reason, no." Jareth muttered dryly, turning his head to look at him.
Gods, he looked awful Jacques thought with a gulp. He thought he had seemed tired at the ball, but this…this was something else. The man he knew had been so vain that a mere mark against his skin would send him into a sulk for days until it would clear again. He remembered a notable fencing incident when the King had not spoken to him for weeks afterward.
"Don't be so cynical. I am concerned." His false smile faded as Jareth turned away from him to resume his gazing.
"Whatever for?"
With a heavy sigh Jacques placed his hands on his hips. The memories of his time in this castle were precious to him, but it seemed that he had forgotten the tribulations. Being the King's closest companion came with a great deal of responsibilities. He had forgotten that dealing with his frequent moods had been part of that.
"You don't look well Jareth. Something troubles you." He spoke openly and honestly, hoping that the message would hit home. He frowned however, when he heard an incredulous bark of laughter. This time Jareth did meet his gaze, the morning light striking the dark marks under his eyes into even greater shadows.
"Yes, Jacques, many things trouble me. Holding this world together while it is intent to fall apart at the seams. Persuading my own court to let me marry for their own benefit. Trying to reclaim a place in that vipers nest-"
"Sarah." Jacques supplied quietly. He watched carefully as Jareth raised his brow in apparent surprise before lowering it into a scowl. Yet he did not answer.
Picking up a pile of books from a forgotten wooden chair, Jacques dusted off the cushion and sat before the King. Jareth had watched his movements with barely restrained annoyance that unsettled him. Why was everyone looking at him like that lately? Was he truly so awful? Was he the one that had changed? He couldn't believe that to be true.
"I spoke to Marie earlier." Jacques ventured lightly in an effort to appear nonchalant.
He could see Jareth still for a moment, confusion flooding his body. It seemed that the man couldn't help spy a glance, face contorted in some questioning gaze.
"Marie? How in the world did that happen?"
"Accidentally, I suppose. I was passing by and plucked up the courage so to speak. She looks well." Jacques murmured, folding his arms as he settled back in the chair. His eyes narrowed as he spied an empty bottle of something or the other lurking on the floor below the window ledge. What was wrong with the man?
A strange sort of compassion seemed to pass through the man in question, the scrutiny softening into something resembling sympathy.
"How was it?"
For a moment, looking at his concern, Jacques contemplated confessing to all the awful crimes he was trying to commit. Conspiracy, blackmail, false intentions…he would be beheaded on the spot. Was this wrong? Surely it was, it felt very much like he was taking advantage of a broken man. But then…wasn't that the way of life? Wasn't that the way of this world?
"It went as well as could be expected I suppose. It was a little tense…it felt a little like dying…but it was alright." Jacques swallowed, lowering his gaze lest the King see the treachery lurking within them.
"I was sorry for you both when all that business happened. Another casualty of this dreadful place." Jareth murmured, resting his head back against the wall to resume his forlorn watching of the horizon. The quiet declaration made Jacques hesitate for a moment. He couldn't recall Jareth ever commenting honestly on the situation before. His way of support had always taken the form of another glass of wine or another pint of goblin ale. Despite how close they had been, they had never really spoken honestly. He supposed it was a mark of just how changed the man was now.
"It made me think of old times, old friendships. It made me realise how much how I had missed it." With baited breath Jacques waited, eyeing Jareth as he hoped for a response. All he received was a wall of silence.
"Come on my friend…surely you miss it too?" He pressed, desperation growing.
The silence was stifling, beating against his ears like a drum until a ragged sigh tore it apart.
"I'm just afraid you haven't chosen an appropriate time to tread through old ground." Jareth relented a little, scrubbing his hands across his face as if he were trying to wake up from whatever nightmare plagued him. Yet when he let his hands drop once more to his lap it seemed that his eyes were still clouded and troubled. It was beginning to become rather grating.
"Come on, man. Where are you? I see your body here and yet your mind is eons away!" Jacques exclaimed, leaning forward as he anxiously searched for an answer. If he had been concerned before, he was certainly becoming a little panicked now. He couldn't grasp what could be so terrible. Marie was certainly right he knew that now. But what was it? What was he hiding?
"Is it her? Is the girl what plagues you so? For Gods sake just speak to me, Jareth." He said, urging and desperate. To his gratitude Jareth cleared his throat, as if he were making an effort to return to the world around him.
"I'm just tired, Jacques. This whole endeavour has weakened me." His voice cracked a little, but then he frowned as if he were mad at himself for even admitting it.
"It's no wonder. It doesn't look as if you've slept a moment all night." Jacques' weak laugh did little to defuse the tension, and the way Jareth looked at him with such grave seriousness quietened it altogether.
"This world has become a burden. I'm keeping it together by a thread. My back is breaking under the pressure of keeping us all alive. The amount of magic this takes, you have no idea." He whispered as if in some confessional. Jacques bowed his head, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.
"I know, old friend. I know. But you have a plan, a solid one at that."
"You think? I think it's not going well at all." Jareth scoffed.
"This was your only option." Jacques nodded softly, understandingly, and yet the way Jareth frowned at him, an alarm in his eyes, disturbed him.
"It was the only option." The King repeated back, and Jacques' heart sank like deadweight. What was he hiding? The poor fool.
"Of course. I admire you greatly for undertaking such a task." He held his hands up, gesturing his inability to argue. It took a moment or two for Jareth to tear his mismatched eyes away, and when he did the Duke found that he could breathe again.
This wasn't like he remembered it. Not at all.
Throughout their friendship he had always been aware that Jareth could slit his throat just because he could. But they had been so close, like brothers almost that it was a fear that was never truly in danger of becoming a reality. But after Jareth had drawn himself into seclusion it became a bit more complex than that. After years of not speaking the friendship died of neglect and resentment. Jareth neglected to even write to him and Jacques resented the fact. Now…now he was unsure of himself. Of how to be and what to say. He had tried his luck at the ball; feeling out where the boundaries were between them…the aid of a little goblin wine had helped in that endeavour too. But seeing him now was like starting from the beginning all over again.
"It was a marvellous show at the party, I must say. Poor Gregor." He offered the King a knowing smirk, all at once approving and berating.
Despite himself, Jareth found a sly smile curl across his face. Jacques rejoiced at the sight of it.
"The man's a fool. Always has been and always will be."
"What did Sarah think of the whole thing?" Jacques waited for an answer, his tongue curling against one sharp tooth as he watched Jareth's smile fade.
"I'm afraid I rather frightened her." He murmured, lost again in some memory or the other. Yet Jacques merely shrugged.
"Good. It won't do to have a wife who doesn't fear you."
"I don't want her to fear me, you idiot. I need her cooperation in this. I need her willing to help. Having her live in terror is the last thing I want." Jareth scowled heavily at him, almost in disgust.
The air settled into something broken in that moment, the brief show of camaraderie dying a quiet death as the aftermath of their latest fallout settled. Jacques scolded himself, furious that he had been so callous with his words. Jareth was obviously invested in the girl; there was some emotion that he had attached to her, even if the Duke couldn't understand it. It would be no good to talk about her so brazenly; it wouldn't encourage Jareth to open up it would close him off. He should have realised. But this wasn't going to be a speedy endeavour; it would take time, perhaps a lot of time. So with a long exhale he tried again.
"Marie mentioned actually, that she rather liked Sarah. She told me to ask you if the girl was in need of a friend perhaps. A handmaiden as Marie described it." Jacques said the words frivolously, in the most blasé fashion he could muster. At the incredulous squinting gaze Jareth gave him he wondered if he'd once more been too heavy handed.
"She wants to be Sarah's handmaiden? Why?" The words had a thin layer of accusation to them, one that made Jacques' throat parched.
"She just said that she feels sympathy for the girl, far away from home, no idea of our customs. Surely you need someone to teach her? Besides, Marie said she's tired of doing the same thing everyday, she needs a new challenge."
"Well, it seems you two are doing a great deal of conversing lately." Jareth said dryly, still watching his old friend dubiously. After a moment the King sighed, throwing a hand up in defeat.
"I'll talk to Sarah." If Jareth were being honest with himself he knew he would find a small pinch of jealousy in his heart. He knew it was a terrible thing but he rather liked having the girl all too himself. Perhaps it was selfish, perhaps even wrong, but they had each other and they had survived somehow. It had been tumultuous, fraught with dark clouds and churning seas…but they were coming through it. He could see the shore and he'd be damned if someone else were to distract her from that vision.
"Of course." Jacques gave a little smile, casually picking up an ancient book to rifle through the pages and observe the cloud of dust that billowed from it.
"You're not going to leave, are you?" Jareth frowned in frustration as he watched the antics.
"No."
"I could command it you know." The King gritted his teeth, almost shocked at the brazenness of it. But Jacques merely snorted.
"You won't. Misery loves company and all."
Silence fell once more, and Jareth found himself rather stuck. The man was right; he was so tired of wallowing in his own thoughts, treading over old ground in his mind. And he couldn't face Sarah, not yet. He had a great deal more to think about before he could summon the bravery to do that. So despite himself he was rather grateful of this distraction. Even if it did come in the form of a silver haired cad who had no propriety to speak of.
"Talking of tempestuous women…I remember when you and Lady Perdonia were in acquaintance…" Jacques said conspiratorially, his eyes sparking with mischief. Jareth scoffed with a shake of his head.
"Wicked little wench she was." He remembered it too. That affair had drove him to the brink of insanity, just what had he been thinking?
After a moment they both laughed, and this time it was true and meaningful, not hollow like it had been at the ball.
"Indeed. I came to you in this very room, and you were sitting there with three scratches across your face." Jacques' eyes traced the cheek of the man opposite him, remembering the scarlet lines that had marred his skin. When he had entered the room he remembered seeing Jareth, sat in steadfast disbelief and gazing into nothingness as his cheek wept with blood. He had been so thrown by the violent act against his person, borne from some jealous tirade, that it had left him speechless for hours. Jacques could do nothing but sit and laugh at his unfortunate choice in women.
"Dear Gods…I'm surprised I didn't kill her for that." It seemed the King remembered it too, a gloved hand reaching up to touch his face as if he feared the marks had reappeared.
"You were surprised? I thought you were going to burn her at the stake!"
Jareth supposed that was the clearest part of the memory. When the disbelief had passed he had paced about the room, contemplating the ways he would kill the woman. He remembered muttering things about execution and fire, drowning her alive, all empty threats but still they had made him feel better. Jacques had sat with his boots atop the table, casually throwing the suggestion of torture into the mix here and there for his own entertainment.
"I nearly did, if it wasn't for the goodness of my heart she would be sitting amidst a pile of ashes right now." Jareth exclaimed. Yet he remembered what it was that had calmed him, and he was sure Jacques knew it too. The Duke had placed a weary hand on his shoulder after hours of pacing, a lazy brow raised as he offered him a goblet of wine. The man always did have a strange way of restraining him. Jareth swallowed as he thought of every terrible deed he had done over the last few weeks and just what his old friend would make of him for it.
"I still can't believe it." Jacques sighed, sitting back in his chair and resting his boots atop a pile of books, much like he had done many times before.
"I still have nightmares about it." Jareth shuddered.
"We all have nightmares about Perdonia, my friend."
Their laughter died quietly, a few faint chuckles still tripping from their lips. The air felt easier now, the morning sun finally chasing away all the remnants of gloom and despair in the dank room. After a moment Jacques shifted, a small smile still at his mouth.
"I missed this." He said. Jareth's head twitched, as if he were going to look at him. But instead he fixed his gaze on the stone flags of the floor.
"You were a funny brute I suppose, even if you did become insufferable."
Jacques stilled, his brow falling into a frown as the words met his ears.
"Why was I insufferable?"
"Because you became just like them. Always trying to outdo me, always trying to go one step further…always trying to undermine me. Why did you have to do that?" Fixing him with an admonishing glare, Jareth watched his words take root in the man's head. Did he truly not have any idea? Was he really that blind?
Yet the Duke was defiant, removing his boots from the books to sit straight and gaze at him incredulously.
"I undermined you? People used to say I was nothing but your whipping boy. Only there to laugh at your jokes and hold your cup. It was humiliating-"
"I gave you everything. I gave you lands, wealth, power. And yet you forsook me for cheap laughs and the admiration of others for, what was it, standing up to me?" Jareth growled, a faint fire in his belly stoking at the memory of it. Oh, how humiliating that had been, to see his closest friend scoff and reprimand him in public. The man had gotten ahead of himself, too brazen. Once again Jareth knew it, he had been too generous, too lenient. Well, he had learned from that lesson, he was sure of it.
Jacques seemed to wilt under the venomous gaze, his shoulders hunching a little, his eyes unsure.
"I did not see it like that." He whispered. The words were unconvincing, even to himself. Jareth knew it too, the way he dismissively waved him away was telling enough.
"You knew what you were doing, you were my friend and you betrayed me."
Oh, that wasn't fair.
Looking deep inside himself, Jacques found his character being questioned for the second time that day. He was a different man than the one from his youth, just as Jareth was different, just as Marie was different…and yet why was he the only one being reprimanded for it? They all had to do things they didn't want to and say things they didn't really mean, but it seemed that everyone else faced no consequence for it. He lost his lover and his best friend in such a short time, and now he had come face to face with them both, and heard nothing but withering judgements and how it was his entire fault. It wasn't fair. He glowered.
"You don't know what it's like, Jareth. Running around trying to battle your way through everyone just so you can stand a little taller. My father came from nothing, and at the good grace of yours he became something. I am someone because of that, and I honour his death by fulfilling his wishes. Do you think I want those responsibilities? Of course not. But we do our duty, because it is what is expected." Jacques spoke hurriedly, without thought or direction, trying to convey the reasoning that had been churning through his head for hours now. Jareth however, seemed unaffected.
"You don't know what it's like to be a King. I have nothing but what is expected of me, that's all I'm supposed to even think about. Not myself, just all of you ungrateful fools. You have no idea. " He said simply, dismissing the Duke's lamentation. But Jacques felt his breath grow a little short, his chest constricting as he thought about that one golden smile and the very reason he was here. How dare the man tell him that he had no idea what it was like to lose? He had been the one to give Marie up; he was the one who lost. And what had Jareth given up in his life compared to that? Nothing.
"You're right, Jareth. I can't imagine it, can I? I can't imagine what it's like to abandon everything you want because of your duty-"
"That was different." Jareth gritted his teeth, a tic against his jaw, in denial about the burden his friend bore.
"No it's not. I'll admit that you have no freedom, no love, no idea of who is your friend and who is not. But you have power, you are the wealthiest of us all, what you bid we do, just because you say so. Do you know what people would give for that?!" His voice rebounded from the stone walls, echoing back to him. He had worked his whole life for even a fraction of the power Jareth possessed, and he was throwing it all away. It was ridiculous, a farce, an absolute joke being played out before his eyes. Yet Jareth shrugged, smiling bitterly.
"You want it? Take it. It's not worth it anymore. If you wore the crown you would see how heavy my head lies."
Jacques spluttered incredulously.
"So what are you going to do? Run away? End it all? For Gods sake pull yourself together. You're not weak you're a warrior. You're my King now start acting like it. What would your father think of you, moping about like this? Your poor mother?" As soon as the words sped from his mouth Jacques faltered, his mouth closing with a quiet click. Idiot. If there was one thing that was never spoken of it was Jareth's parents, especially his mother. Idiot.
The King seemed almost equally stunned, his mouth poised as if to talk and yet the words seemed trapped. Ever so slowly he turned away, looking back towards the window to run a hand over his face. For the first time Jacques thought the man was beginning to look his age.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that was out of line. I forgot myself." He whispered, closing his eyes as he waited for the inevitable fury to hit him. But when it did not he squinted, watching the docile creature on the window ledge remain stoic.
"No…you are right. My father would have sentenced me to a hundred lashes." Jareth murmured, a half hearted smile gracing his face.
"That was always his favourite punishment wasn't it?" Jacques agreed quietly, although still rather cautious in the aftermath of his foolishness.
"I've still got the scars to prove it." Was the humourless reply.
Jacques flinched at that. He remembered Jareth's father all too well, and despite his best efforts even he still had nightmares about him, all of them filled phantom laughter and cruel smiles. He pondered if that was why Jareth never slept. Maybe he was afraid of the ghosts.
Ghosts. Wasn't that a recurring theme of his life today? So many ghosts plagued them all and Jacques longed for those days when they were young and free, the horrors of the world not fully realised yet. He remembered drinking until the dawn with Jareth, Marie giggling foolishly as she watched. They had rode horseback, no saddle, through the forests and fields in the hopes to catch a glimpse of nymphs and dragons. They had gambled and played and lived life without a care. What a beautiful time that was.
And then he had lost Marie. And then he had lost Jareth.
Now they were old…bitter, all of them carried so many phantoms with them that he was surprised they hadn't been dragged into the Hell Lands yet. It pained Jacques to say it, but despite everything, if he could chose one of them to have back…he would choose Marie. It was a fool's choice and he knew it. But he would choose her every time.
As the memory of her and his mission slammed to forefront of his mind he scolded himself. He was losing track of what he came for, slipping into old feuds and friendship with the King. Why was that so easy to do? Steeling himself, he focused his mind. He had a mission to complete and he'd be damned if he'd let the chance slip away.
Swallowing hard and releasing a shaky breath, Jacques pulled his chair a little closer to the window ledge.
"I can't do much to help you, I know that. There are things every man must do alone...but I can listen. I can hear and advise just like I used to. If there's something you're holding back that you need to unburden yourself with, I'm here." He whispered, hoping that it would be as easy as that.
But of course it wasn't.
"Like what?" Jareth muttered, as if the suggestion were foolish. But Jacques spotted the way his hands had curled into fists, his muscles tensed like a wolf being cornered. Trying his best to convey nothing but genuine concern he shrugged, offering a half smile.
"I don't know. The offer is there if you ever need it."
Jareth observed the silver haired man, his mind torn between flying into a rage and admitting defeat. He had no one, no confidant, no one to listen to him. He shared what he could with Sarah but he feared scaring her away all the same. There were many nights centuries ago when he and the man before him would stay up until the dawn, confessing their sins and drinking away their troubles. Despite himself he felt a strange sadness at the memory of it. But that was then, and this was now. Time had changed them all.
"There is nothing to disclose. Do with that what you will." Jareth whispered, as calmly as he could.
Jacques sat back with a small nod, accepting and yet disappointed. It would be a long endeavour he told himself once more, it was always was with the man before him. So after a moment of hesitation, he gave a roguish smile.
"Well...I think first we shall start with putting down the wine. I can smell it from here."
It seemed to take a second for Jareth to catch his meaning, but then he glanced down and eyed the dregs of crimson liquid in a bottle still languishing below his stoop. With a dramatic sigh he kicked the glass, rolling it away from him. Jacques stopped it with his boot, picking it up to eye the label and the flourished writing that adorned it.
"This is a good year my friend. Is it wise to waste it on heartbreak?"
"What use is wine if we can't drown out the memory of our women?"
"Good point. Being a drunk certainly doesn't dampen your wisdom." Jacques laughed, albeit a little sadly, as he set the bottle down with a dull thud. He watched Jareth slowly stand, his muscles moving stiffly.
"I suppose you are right…I should stop hiding away." The King sighed, running a weary hand over his face as if he wished to smooth the bruises from beneath his eyes.
"Jareth…if I may offer one word of advice?" Jacques waited until his companion gave a brief nod before continuing, trying to choose his words carefully and meeting him steadfastly in the eye.
"Bring the court back. Let them in these walls once more." He said softly, disheartened to see Jareth's eyes darken almost immediately. But before he could protest, Jacques held his hands up in a plea to let him continue.
"You have been gone so long that you were nearly forgotten. That's why they don't respect you, that's why they dare to defy you. If you want them to remember their place then you have to let them back in. Besides, you want us to get to know this girl then how can we ever do that if you keep her locked away?"
Jareth swallowed back the groan that threatened to fall from him, placing his hands on his hips and fixing his gaze to the floor.
"I can't do it again. I haven't got the strength." He yielded softly, and Jacques quirked a pitying sort of smile.
"It doesn't have to be like before. You want to make a whole new world remember? Make this the first step. Let us come home."
The silence hung heavy for a few moments as troubled thoughts brewed in Jareth's eyes. He didn't want them back, these petulant children. As ill advised as it was he enjoyed the solitude, the ability to do whatever he wanted without the responsibility their presence required. And if he was honest with himself? He rather liked wasting the day away with Sarah doing nothing in particular. It was a strange sort of freedom that he had never had, the ability to do nothing. But despite himself, and despite every fibre of his being that protested the idea, he knew that the man spoke sense.
If Sarah were to do her part then she would have to be seen, to interact, to show everyone just how wonderful she was. He would need to bring them back into the fold if they had any shot at letting this marriage work. But she wouldn't like it; he knew that for a fact. Being on her guard all the time would be tiring, just as it was for him. But he knew, so very deep down, that it was the right thing to do. He supposed the honeymoon was over before the marriage had even begun.
"Fine." He sniffed, bowing his head as the world tumbled heavily from his mouth. He tried to ignore Jacques' elated smile.
"You have no idea how happy this will make everyone. I'll send word of your decree right away. They can be here tomorrow."
Too weary to protest, Jareth simply waved his compliance and picked up his jacket.
Now they were getting somewhere Jacques determined. He no longer felt disappointed by his apparent failure, this was better than he could have hoped for. Now he would have an excuse to roam about the castle freely, pester Jareth as he wished…perhaps even corner Sarah…
Oh Gods he was an awful man.
"I suppose this means you'll be wanting your old position back?" Jareth interrupted the thought, raising a brow as he brushed off the dust that had settled on his coat throughout the night.
"Who else is going to assist you in matters of the state?" Jacques scoffed, battling back a dazzling grin that felt a little tortured.
Jareth managed to return a weak smile of his own and after a moment he sighed, wandering over to the Duke to place a hand on his shoulder.
"You were a friend to me before. I'm trusting you…so do not let me down in this endeavour. And perhaps one day we will be as we once were."
Jacques gritted his teeth, suddenly overcome with guilt at the gesture of companionship. He bowed his head, so very ashamed. Damn Marie. Damn her to hell.
"I won't let you down." He whispered, yet he wasn't sure if he was speaking to Jareth or the ghost of the girl who had always seemed to lurk at his shoulder.