A Twisting Heart And Mind

by FangamerBowiextreme

While unknown to her, Sarah has succeeded in obtaining the one thing the Goblin King has desired for hundreds of years -power over the Labyrinth. After being hidden for years from his diabolical wrath, Sarah finds herself alone and vulnerable as Jareth's dark desires are finally allowed to rear their ugly heads. As always, the only question is, are things really as they seem?

40. Preparations

A/N- Okay, so this one ended up being shorter than usual —that being 20k words rather than 35k lol. I suppose it's shorter because there were just a few little things that I wanted to have happen before the gang sets off for the next arc in Erykberg (beginning next chapter). I promise to make up for the brevity then. There will be A LOT going on and I'm anticipating having to break it up into parts 2 and maybe 3 like I did with the Sulu arc. Also, disclaimer, this chapter includes instances and mentions of vomit.

I've also been seeing rumors that ffn may be going under soon. Given how infrequently I update, please know that if this ends up being my last post in this site that all of my stories are also up on AO3 and will continue to be updated there. As always, thanks for reading!

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Chapter 33, Preparations

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Silence held steadfast in the room. Despite the open windows and gentle breeze, the air felt stagnant and weighted, brooding a tension that emanated, singularly, from the clenched hands of two highly focused fae.

Lungs baited with breath kept them rigid, eyes fixed forward in anticipation of what new horror might happen next. All was calm now, but the first three jump scares had left them distrusting and on edge. Fright seized in broad daylight beside the beguiling glow of a curved glass screen as a low sizzle of static reached out and prickled the hairs on their forearms. Sarah watched in wicked amusement as Marie and Amara's hands squeezed each other's tightly.

The film choice for that day had been between The Evil Dead and The Wizard of Oz. Amara had had her fill of wizards (cheap philanderers that they were, according to her), and so even cheaper horror it was. The poor women had no idea what was coming to them and, as much as Sarah's inner sadist was enjoying playing witness to her friends' first experience with a horror movie, she figured that, for them, it was a curiosity now much regretted.

Unsuspecting Ash backed away from the window. Sarah's grin was hardly sly, seeing the fright flicker brightly on Marie and Amara's eyes just before—

"AH!"

The two fae Ladies screamed and jumped half out of their gowns, clutching each other and crossing their knees and they unconsciously scooted their way deeper into the safety of the couch.

Sarah laughed, her chuckle drowned out by the shrill, garbled laugh of a possessed Linda, flailing around a bloodied, ceremonial dagger before crudely licking it clean.

Mariella scowled, curling her tongue in disgust. Amara, meanwhile, slowly tilted her head.

"Now that's interesting. What do you thin—"

—and then a poorly crafted zombie hand shot up from the floor and seized Ash by the ankle. Amara's question died on her tongue when Mariella gasped and flinched again. Ash managed to fight his way free, impaling the hysteric Linda with the dagger. The confused, frazzled, and deeply upset expression captured by the camera as Ash watched what might as well be a clown from hell writhe wantonly on the floor matched Mariella's perfectly.

The girls jumped again when a spurt of some unknown white fluid abruptly shot out of Linda's still laughing mouth.

"Oh my goodness," Mariella whispered, covering her own mouth in revulsion. Her body was angled sharply away from the TV screen now, her legs curled up on the couch cushion most improperly.

Blood and other filth covered the thrashing woman's face until she was presumably dead. Ash chained the corpse down, then reached for a chainsaw. Sarah, meanwhile, was wishing she had asked Jareth for a television and VCR set weeks ago.

"Sarah, I'm sorry, but is this really what your people take enjoyment from?" Mariella asked, continuing to peek at the screen from behind both a wince and ten nervously splayed fingers. She was huddling into Amara's shoulder. Amara, who sat with her back completely straight, had her attention fixed and was damned near mesmerized by the screen.

"Hm? Do you not like the film, Lady Marie?" Amara asked, half distracted by the gore and flimsy prosthetics carried through by what was truly grade A storytelling.

Mariella covered her eyes again.

"Like it? Am I supposed to? It's so grotesque and scary!"

"Yes, but I think that's the point —right Sarah?" Amara asked, glancing over at Sarah.

"Well who wants to be scared!" Mariella replied before Sarah had the chance. Both she and Amara looked over at her. Another scream on the television had poor Marie jumping again. "Honestly, I want to know, do the humans above take pleasure from these visions? From pain, mayhem, and terror?"

Sarah did her best to keep her laughter polite.

"Um, yeah, actually. Scary movies are really popular in my world. They're not for everyone though. We can stop watching it if you're upset," she said.

Should she tell Marie she considered this particular movie to be less scary and more campy? Should she suggest an actual horror movie for their next movie night? No. No. That would be cruel of her…

"No," Mariella said, belligerent. "We've come too far to stop now. Surely there is a happy ending, yes? I shall persevere."

Sarah's lips pursed into a grin but her amusement waned as a hand compulsively rubbed at her stomach. She'd been feeling on and off all day, and the bad, nauseous feeling grew worse every time it came back…

"Oh that's the spirit, Lady Marie," Amara said, rubbing her on the back reassuringly as she scooted forward to sit perched on the edge of the couch.

Contrary to Mariella's shrieks of genuine fright, Amara had been downright tantalized. Her eyes were wide and bright on the screen, glued to it not by fear but by captivation, and her screams were often followed by snickers of delight. She asked many questions along the way as well. Oh yes. Amara had found her next hole to fall down.

"Is possession common in the Aboveground, Sarah? Is that why your people make films of it? To warn the children?" she asked.

Sarah slouched back against the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Um, I'm not sure possession and zombies are a real thing, let alone common. Stuff like this is meant to be more for entertainment. I don't think there's really a lesson to be learned," she said.

Mariella scoffed.

"I'd say not to meddle with things that aren't yours is a lesson enough," she snapped. Sarah laughed.

"Yeah, I guess that's true."

"But none of it is real, right? This is all fabricated?" Amara asked.

"Yeah," Sarah replied. "Lots of makeup and silicone."

Amara hummed, her brows drawn tightly together.

"That is so.…amazing," she mumbled, oblivious to the sequences of painful screams and spurts of blood that were presently inciting Mariella to cower. "I could see such an effect being attained through illusion magic. But…it's all practical? That is so interesting. And this camera device that captures it….I'm very curious how it works. Or rather, the art behind it. There are so many breaks between scenes. How do they know when to do that? And the angles. How do they know which angles will be best? A play is so straightforward. You see everything from one perspective all at once. These films however are so much more complex. And the music. The way they utilize music is very interesting as well. Inspiring, really."

Her stare on the TV turned rather dreamy as she spoke. Sarah remained silent, forcing back a discomforting feeling building in the back of her throat.

"I agree, Amara, it is a fascinating art form," Mariella chimed in. "But I much prefer the other films we've watched. The one with the princess who was a bride was quite enjoyable. Confusing to me, but preferable to—" and a head was cut off. Mariella cringed. "—this…"

"Yes, that one was quite entertaining," Amara said. "I did not understand much of the humor, but I have a feeling I could learn a lot about the Aboveground simply by watching these various films. It's like research!" And then she turned to Sarah. "What do you think, Queen Sarah? Are these movies an accurate representation of your culture?"

But Sarah did not respond. She was too busy scowling. Amara frowned.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Sarah shook her head.

"Nothing. I just…have a stomachache."

Amara's frown deepened and she looked down to the bowl she held in her lap.

"Oh no. Was it the popped corn? Did you have too much?" She looked back worriedly, an expression reflected on Marie who also peered over at her.

The mention of popcorn sent a sharp waft of stale butter straight to Sarah's nose. The scent was suddenly noxious and made her stomach flip.

She leaned forward a little from the surprise of it.

"No…no I don't think that's it," she said, her words sounding guarded as she focused on the feeling rising in her gut. It felt peculiar. She wasn't sick, but…

Mariella's head tilted in sympathy.

"Perhaps you should lay down. Maybe drink more water," she suggested.

Sarah nodded but didn't verbally respond. She sat on the edge of the seat now, clutching her stomach as a hot pool of saliva quickly formed in her mouth.

"Um…" she started, and then felt a bob in her throat. She went rigid for a moment as sudden perspiration formed on her upper lip. "I…" and then she was up on her feet, panic widening her eyes. "I'll be right back."

Amara and Marie watched blankly as Sarah ran to the bathroom as fast as she could before slamming the door shut. The two fae crossed curious glances, the violent screams on the television successfully drowning out that of Sarah's hurling as she dropped to her knees and held onto the toilet for dear life.

---

Jareth tapped his temple as he turned the page of a large, obnoxiously heavy book. He sat at a desk that did not suit him, forcing him to hunch forward like an aged monk, scribing alone by candlelight. He thought about migrating to a more preferred space, his study or the library, but despite the lack of accommodations it was much more convenient to stay as he was. Andeas was doing something in the background and his presence close by had proven begrudgingly necessary. —Jareth would never admit to needing to ask as many questions as he did.

The chemically treated paper of the Aboveground textbook he read was slick under hand. It was difficult to turn the pages wearing his gloves —another point of frustration.

Presently, he was educating himself on the signs, symptoms, and causes of preeclampsia. Several days spent shadowing Andeas had made Jareth aware of just how much could go wrong over the course of Sarah's pregnancy, as well as how ignorant and useless he truly was on the matter. The information in those texts was so detailed and thorough. There was nothing like it in the Underground. The more he read, the more compelled he felt to read more. He'd learned quite a bit over the last few days of sequester. It made him wonder how many deaths could have been avoided, of both mother and child, had someone simply known the significance of high blood pressure.

Maybe it wasn't the tea that killed Aurelia after all, he even caught himself wondering. Maybe it was something else, a condition no one recognized and that was entirely natural. The possibility of that and of those same somethings posing equal danger to Sarah for no reason whatsoever had made him near frantic to gain control over it; although it seemed the more knowledge he gained the less control he had. It was now clear to him that the risks of carrying and bearing a child were horrific and endless. It was a wonder they hadn't all died out centuries ago.

He was just starting to glower over the matter when a knock came at the door. Jareth peered up as it creaked open from across the room, but was left bereft to see Mariella peeking her head around the frame —and then Andeas came rushing in from the other room.

She did not see Jareth sitting at the table to her left, her attention first catching on Andeas.

"Excuse me, Dr Andrews?" she called out.

Andeas smiled and, when he was near her, bowed to her in the customary way.

"Good afternoon, my lady," he said, rising from his bow with a happy grin. Mariella smiled in reaction, her hands naturally clasping in front of herself. "And please, there's no need to be so formal. What can I do for you today? Are you feeling well?"

Mariella dipped her head, though whether the gesture was meant to be coy was indescribable. Andeas appreciated the markings on her face while her eyes were lowered. They seemed to accent the shapes of her facial features perfectly.

"I am very well, actually," she said, then looked up. They were nearly the same height. It made it easy to cross gazes. "Fret not, good doctor, my visit is of a social nature, not medical."

Andeas raised a brow.

"Oh?"

Jareth wondered when he would be noticed.

"Yes. I've come to invite you to dinner tonight with the Lordess Amara and myself, perhaps even Master Roldan —should he agree."

Jareth sat up and pushed the book away.

"Is Sarah not joining you?" he asked.

Mariella, startled, gave a little flinch and looked over at Jareth, just now realizing he was there.

"Oh! Your Majesty, forgive me." And she quickly bowed. "I didn't realize you were here. I'm sorry. Sarah said you would probably be studying today, so I should have known. How terribly rude of me."

She spoke emphatically, but Jareth merely waved her off.

"That doesn't answer my question," he said. Mariella paused and straightened.

"Of course. Apologies. Sarah was feeling a little ill earlier today and asked that she be left alone."

Jareth's eyes narrowed and then he stood.

"What do you mean, a little ill?" he asked.

"Oh nothing to worry about, Your Majesty. I assure you," she said with a curt wave. "It seems the sickness has finally caught up with her. Amara and I did try to tend to her, but I think she was feeling embarrassed about it and so asked us to leave."

"Sickness?" Jareth repeated skeptically.

"I believe the lady means morning sickness," added Andeas. "You recall we talked about that, yes?"

Jareth's eyes slanted towards Andeas while he spoke, trying to decide whether or not he felt condescended by that last comment. Yes, they had talked about it —including the stupidity of the term given that such bouts were not limited to morning hours.

In the end, Jareth ignored Andeas's helpful commentary and addressed Mariella instead.

"And how long ago was this?" he asked.

"A few hours, I believe," she replied. Jareth scowled.

"Why was I not informed?"

Mariella's eyes darted.

"Ah….forgive me. I did not think it was something that needed to be reported. Nausea is a normal part of an early pregnancy, after all," she said. Sensing her nerves, Andeas piped in to aid.

"Despite its unpleasantness, it's also a sign of a healthy pregnancy," he said.

Jareth's attention shifted to Andeas again, this time as a slight glare.

"As I am aware," he replied.

Wanting to break the tension she felt coming from Jareth, Mariella turned away from him to address Andeas as if the King simply were not there.

"Is there anything you can do for her, Doctor? It did not occur to me before, as we have no treatments for such in the Underground, but maybe with your Aboveground medicine…?"

Andeas shook his head.

"Unfortunately I have little to offer in this instance. There are medications I can prescribe if necessary but, unless her nausea becomes so severe she cannot keep any food down, is losing weight, or developing other health issues because of it, the recommendation is to simply endure. Perhaps you can put some ginger in her tea." And then he looked over at Jareth. "It should pass after a few weeks, although it can persist or return towards the end."

These insights did not seem to be assuaging Jareth's concerns from Mariella's point of view. Not that she blamed him, but still, a brooding king was a thing to avoid.

"If it's any consolation, Your Majesty," she said. Jareth's attention flickered to her. "We did check on her again just a short while ago. She told us she was feeling better. I'm not sure how true that statement was, given that she still insisted on being left alone, but I'm inclined to believe her. If it were a worrisome matter, I'm sure she would have called for you or Dr Andrews herself."

Jareth's stare was long and deadpan. Mariella wasn't sure how to take it. She blamed a sudden flinch on residual fright from the movie when Jareth closed his book abruptly with a heavy thud, then briskly walked past them as if to leave.

"Next time," he said, pausing as their shoulders passed. "You tell me. Immediately."

Mariella did not have time to respond or nod or anything, for in the next moment he was out the door and gone. She stood there blinking, then looked over at Andeas.

"I think he's worried about her," she said. Andeas laughed.

"Oh, so it is obvious?" he replied. Mariella snickered.

"As brusque as he is, I am glad to see him so fretful over her. I find it rather adorable." She covered her smile with her hand, leaning in like she was spreading gossip. Andeas shrugged in accordance.

"I don't know if I'd call it adorable, but it's certainly not what I expected. I presume it is her pheromones at work."

Now that made Mariella laugh.

"Oh, oh no. Sarah's pheromones have very little to do with it. I swear, he's been enamored with her from the beginning"

"I see…" Andeas replied, thoughtfully. "Again, not what I expected. I thought, if anything, he would marry politically as he did before. He's never struck me as the romantic type."

"From what I hear, he can be quite romantic," Mariella said, then pursed her lips. "—when he wants to, at least."

---

Sarah sighed to herself and closed her eyes, sitting down on the edge of her bed. She just sat there for a minute, meditating in the silence and appreciating the pleasant lull in her tumultuous gut. It'd been nearly an hour since she'd last thrown up and she prayed she was done for the night. She'd brushed her teeth three times already. Doing so had made her recall Karen's days of morning sickness. When once she found it all peculiar and annoying, she now felt great sympathy towards her.

It freaking sucked. She'd felt the slow build up over the last couple of days, yes, but when it had finally hit her earlier, it really hit her. Even when she was certain there was nothing else to heave, still it came. She'd ended up spending a good hour locked in the bathroom, wiping tears from her eyes and blowing her nose, hoping that Marie and Amara had just gone back to the movie and were not listening in through the door. Of course the latter was true. She told them to go away so promptly she actually felt a little guilty about it. Pride had gotten the better of her, for she knew they weren't the type to judge or mock, and merely wanted to help her. Still. Some things were best kept private.

Which was why she sighed as she sat on the edge of the bed, knowing by a certain kind of magic fizzing in the air that someone had gone and told Jareth.

She opened her tired eyes, unsurprised to see him standing directly before her. She noticed his arms were crossed and his expression tense. She just closed her eyes again.

"Hi," she said, plainly.

Jareth said nothing, but she could sense the invasiveness of his stare. She opened her eyes again. His look hadn't changed.

"Something wrong?" she asked him.

That question felt obligated. The steeliness of his expression made her think he wanted something.

"I was told you are feeling ill," he said, eyes quickly looking down her torso and up again. "Are you alright?"

Sarah took a deep breath and fell sideways to the bed, eyes heavy with the desire to sleep. Her next words were muffled into her pillow as she said them.

"Yeah. I was nauseous earlier, but it's passed. Now...I'm just tired."

Jareth observed her keenly and decided she was telling the truth. He felt a bit of tension lift from him, not wanting to admit he'd been as worked up as he was. He wanted to blame it on the pheromones. Yes, best do that.

"That's good...I suppose," he said.

Sarah rolled onto her back, only peeping her eyes open once she was comfortable.

"Are you done for the day?" she asked.

Jareth's frown worsened.

"Not really," he said, grumpily. It made Sarah grin.

"So...you just came to check on me then?"

Her tongue pressed to the back of her teeth in a cheeky way. Jareth arched a brow at both her audacity and her sleepy smile.

"Does that amuse you?" he asked.

Sarah scoffed.

"Hm, a little," she admitted, then rolled onto her side again and hugged her pillow. "I think I like being doted on," she added. "Will you stay?"

She stretched out her arms, the motion catching Jareth's attention. His eyes flickered to her hand as it pushed out from under the pillow, revealing the dream crystal he'd given her clutched tightly in hand. The sight of it made him hesitant. Or rather, the realization that she had been preparing to use it.

The intensity in his aura waned and he darted his eyes away.

"I think it's more appropriate if I go," he said. Sarah stared at him confusedly.

"Why?" she asked, then followed his line of sight to the crystal she'd forgotten she was still holding. She brought it closer to her person and frowned. "Oh. ...you don't have to leave just because I have this," she said, peering up at him guardedly. "You also don't need to sleep in a separate room, either…unless you want to, I guess."

Her eyes fell away at the end, a sullen gesture if he had to describe it. Tightness formed in his crossed arms as he regarded her.

"Would that not make you more comfortable?" he asked. Sarah shrugged.

"...not really," she quietly replied. Then, after a moment, "—would it make you more comfortable?"

He did not answer her, but their locked eye contact spoke for him. Sarah tried not to come off too disappointed when she said, "You know…you never asked me how it went the other night —when I tried to meet with my dad. I've been…wanting to talk to you about it."

Jareth looked away from her but, with a slight exhale, still sat down on the bed beside her.

"To be frank, it slipped my mind," he said unapologetically. "We've had other developments to occupy my focus—" but then he paused, cutting himself short. Sarah thought he looked rather pensive in that fleeting interlude. "But also…you haven't brought it up, so assumed you didn't want to." He plucked at the blanket and then changed directions again, looking over at her square in the eye to stiffly ask her, "How did it go?"

Sarah held back a smile. He'd been putting more effort into taking an interest in her affairs recently. Asking her things. Listening. Learning. Even giving her fancy presents like an outrageous 30 inch television set. It made her so happy. —thank God for jealousy and gift baskets.

"Good. I think it was good," she said, perking up a bit. "There were a couple of bumps, but I was able to keep the dreamscape stable. I even…lowered his suspension of disbelief a little."

Jareth smirked, glancing downward in a manner that was almost humble.

"I'm glad to see you've been paying attention," he said. "Were you able to keep the sensory thresholds consistent?"

Sarah's creeping smile widened.

"Yes. Mostly," she said with a proud nod. "It took me a minute. I was able to touch the tabletop though, and when my dad gave me a hug I could really feel it. It was like we were really there."

She let out a giggle at the end, her smile reaching up and touching her eyes. Seeing her so happy made him happy as well, as bittersweet as it was. His smirk became more honest when he replied a simple,

"Good."

Sarah sat up and hugged her knees.

"It was really nice to be able to see him and talk to him again," she went on. "I didn't realize how much I'd actually been missing him. I want…to get better so I can bring everyone together, like you said, so…" and she paused to make sure they held gazes. "I'm going to start practicing more. But...I don't want you to feel like you can't be here when I am." Her tone was gentle if not small. Jareth didn't respond. "...your room is too gloomy, anyway," she added with a lighthearted smile. "It's better if you sleep here."

Despite Jareth's reservation, she could tell by the shift in his eyes that she'd gotten through to him. He looked down to poorly conceal his renewed smirk when he said, in submission, "Alright. I'll keep that in mind."

Sarah eyed him as she pondered, rolling her lip over her teeth before straightening out her legs and setting the crystal down on the nightstand.

He caught the movement from his peripheral and glanced over. She pulled back the covers and patted the empty spot beside her.

"Will you lay with me for a bit?"

The request was unnecessary. How could he ever refuse her when she spoke so sweetly?

Jareth began to shrug off his jacket, then removed each of his boots. He crawled over her legs before laying out alongside her. He covered them with the blanket, then turned her onto her side, pulling her close. She settled into the embrace naturally, absorbing his warmth while his arms encircled her torso, his hands pressed firmly to her stomach.

She wondered if he even realized the last bit. He'd only started doing so in recent days.

She felt him squeeze and bury his forehead into her hair, the steadiness of his breath a relaxing metronome. She let the silence persist for a minute or two, then ran her fingers over the back of his hand when she asked,

"You were with Dr Andrews again today, right?"

Jareth pulled up his knees so that the entirety of their bodies aligned. He'd been wired most of the day, but simply being in her presence had made him suddenly tired. He would blame that on her pheromones as well.

"Yes," he replied.

"I'm still unsure of what to call him. Is it Jonathan or Andeas? Or should I just stick with Doctor?" she asked, half to herself. Jareth shrugged.

"You could call him a canary for all it matters. Anything will do."

Sarah huffed, concealing a grin.

"Some help you are," she replied snarkily, settling into the bed. After a moment she asked, "Anyway, did you learn anything interesting today?"

Her question was innocent. If asked by anyone else, he'd have thought it mocking.

"I did," he answered. Sarah pondered her next question carefully. He'd been weirdly touchy when it came to his current studies. She figured he was just loathe to admit there was something he didn't already know.

"Do you think Dr Andrews's research will be useful to fae?" she asked.

She felt his chest expand at her back as he inhaled. Oh good. Maybe she was about to get a meaningful response.

"Yes," Jareth said, then exhaled. "Even just reading through his preliminary findings, I think his theories and methods could revolutionize the progeneration of our species."

Sarah perked up and tried to look back at him.

"What? Really?" she asked, struggling to loosen herself from his hold. "That's great, right?"

Jareth held firm until she settled back into place.

"...perhaps," he muttered.

Sarah arched a brow, thinking the conversation would be a lot less awkward were she looking at him and not a wall.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Jareth nuzzled her, his hands shifting over her abdomen. For a split second she wondered what her smell was up to. She was getting drunk cat vibes from him again.

"There is a certain merit to perpetually living on the edge of endangerment," Jareth said, falling into a lax position once more. "There are only so many of us, so we can only cause so much damage."

"Do you mean to the planet?"

She felt Jareth nod.

"And others."

Her hair had fallen away from her shoulder at one point. She could feel the graze of his lips while he spoke.

"You know we live very long lifespans," he went on. "If we start reproducing at a rate similar to humans, we will quickly and inevitably consume this world. While it may be disheartening to struggling couples, things have been allowed to exist as they have for so long because we have no need for expansion, no need for industry and agriculture to evolve and support a growing populace. I backed Andeas's studies for simple peace of mind, but I'm not yet convinced it is knowledge that should be passed freely among our society."

Sarah scowled a little.

"So you're saying fertility treatments should be reserved for a privileged few? That doesn't sound right."

Jareth sighed.

"It may not be right," he conceded. "But resolutions to such large-scale issues seldom are." He sensed from the tension in her body that she was pouting. He gave her a moment to retort and then went on when she didn't. "It may actually be for the greater good to keep such knowledge withheld entirely. I am also certain that it is something the Council will absolutely vote to censor for that very reason."

More silence. Jareth sensed her growing disheartened.

"But Andeas wants to help people," she said. Jareth held her tighter.

"I know. But my kind is able to appreciate life precisely because of our ineptitude to create it. Many also believe we were designed this way by Nature. To alter the Almother's grand design for, what are plainly, selfish reasons will be viewed as flagrant sacrilege by many. While I'm sure there are equally as many who would flock to his side, Andeas's research may very well be labeled as radical, and I assure you the very last thing the Council wants is division."

Sarah was quiet while he spoke. Deep down, she understood his perspective, but that didn't make it sit any better with her.

"And…have you told him all that?" she asked.

"No," Jareth said.

Sarah scowled. To fall back on old cliches, it wasn't fair. Andeas seemed like a good guy who was both passionate and excited about his work. He was funny and polite and normal, and the closest thing to the missing link between human and fae she'd yet come across. He had no ulterior motives. He was purely a scientist. The idea that the system was designed against him all along and that she was to simply sit quietly while singularly taking advantage of the fact was just…

"So…what, his life's work is just going to be pointless in the end?" she asked with a slight rise. She was envisioning the moment all his ambitions would come to a screeching halt, and the look her imagination put on Andeas's face was making her genuinely upset —

"Not necessarily," Jareth said with confidence and gave her a reassuring squeeze that pulled her out of her spiral. "I can't say what's going to happen. We'll simply cross that junction when we come to it. I am speaking of fertility matters specifically, however. The knowledge he's gained on the wellbeing of those already pregnant and how to successfully deliver their children will undoubtedly be submitted for Council approval."

But that didn't seem good enough. Sarah still stewed, her discontent made obvious, if not from her rigid shoulders, then from the shift in her smell. After a few minutes, however, she let the matter go, closing her eyes and rolling over to face him.

She toyed with the frills on his shirt, keeping her eyes cast downward on his chest.

"Roldan gave me a study guide for Erykberg," she said, changing topics. Jareth grinned at the petulance he heard lining her voice.

"Oh?" he asked cheekily. "Did you burn it?"

Sarah scoffed.

"No," she said with a pouty grin. "I have a few more days to learn it, but I think I'm still going to bring it with us on the road. It's twice as thick as the last one he made me."

Jareth rolled his eyes despite them being closed.

"I don't doubt it," he said with some derision. "It will be a very large, formal and public reception, after all. Roldan will want you prepared." And then he tilted his head down to see her better. "Are you nervous?"

Sarah shrugged.

"For the ceremony? Not really," she said. "—seeing Braxton and Delphine again is what's worrying me." And then she peered up at him sharply. "That letter you made me sign was obviously bullshit. You really think he took it sincerely?"

It hadn't been long since her debacle in Yore, and even fewer days since the sending of the dreaded apology letter. Recalling it made her lip sneer, although she supposed she could be glad Jareth let her have some input on its contents —although no manner of revisions would make her feel any better about it. Aside from the eloquent language that was in no way natural to her, it was also filled with recycled, gratuitous, bitterly anticipated proclamations of regret, remorse, and incompetence —but, thankfully, not without a touch of sarcasm. It would take a real simpleton not to see through it for what it was, to which Jareth had crudely said, "well, it is Braxton."

On that note,

"I think he took the courtesy of it sincerely," Jareth said. "That is half the battle in politics."

"Hmm…" Sarah hummed, mouth a hard line. "It's still going to be awkward. What if he did something to Delphine and she blames me for it?"

Jareth cocked a brow and haughtily replied, "Then you will have one more person to apologize to."

Sarah huffed, scowling into his chest.

"I don't know how you can expect me to just let it slide while he flaunts his absurdity right next to me for an entire week."

"I don't believe I said I expect any such thing," Jareth countered. "What I did tell you is to be smart." He loosened his embrace and reached up to tilt her chin so she looked up at him. "He believes what he's doing is in Delphine's best interest, correct? Simply convince him that your way is in her better interest."

Sarah's stare on him was full of skepticism, punctuated by the narrowing of her eyes. Jareth extrapolated further.

"He is infatuated with both humans and women. Don't forget that you happen to be both. Phrase your manipulations in the right way, and he very well may take them to heart."

Like I did with you? she wondered —though wisely kept to herself.

"Mm…I don't think I'm savvy enough for something like that," she said instead. Screaming and crying at Jareth was one thing, but she'd already figured out that wasn't going to work with Braxton. No, manipulating him within a political environment was going to take finesse.

She spent several seconds pondering her options.

"...my pheromones will make it easier, right?" she eventually asked.

Jareth released her chin and stroked her shoulder.

"I don't know. If I'm right in that his extreme behavior is a residual effect of Delphine's pheromones, then I'm not sure you, a stranger whom he has no emotional attachment to, will have much of an effect."

Oh, why could it not be so easy?

"I see," Sarah said.

Jareth held back his amusement. She looked quite cute when disappointed.

"You're certainly welcome to try though," he said, teasingly. "I think…that might actually be rather alluring to watch. Just make sure his wife, Ana, is nowhere in the vicinity."

The hand not under her traveled down her side until it could wrap around her back again. He hugged her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Sarah, meanwhile, was distracted by what he'd said.

"Why Ana?" she asked.

Jareth reached up and ran his fingers through her hair.

"Because she is a fae. She will be able to scent your subterfuge a mile away. It is very poor manners to beguile another woman's spouse without her permission," he explained.

Sarah furrowed her brows before a particular thought had one of them arching sharply.

"But…let's clarify, you on the other hand would be into it?" she asked, peering up at him quite cannily. Jareth smiled like a bastard.

"Verily."

Sarah huffed and rolled her eyes, though she could not hold back her grin —or a yawn.

"Of course you would," she said, her voice trailing off.

"Are you still tired?" Jareth asked. Sarah closed her eyes and relaxed in his hold.

"Yeah."

"Would you like to sleep now?"

Sarah peered upward.

"Are you going to leave?"

Jareth regarded her for a moment, then reached over her for the crystal balanced on the nightstand. He pulled it back and stared at it, then offered it to her.

"I will stay for a while," he said, plopping it into her hands and smirking when she only pouted in return. "I do genuinely have some things to finish," he added and then said, lightheartedly, "I'll come back when I'm done."

There. That seemed to appease her. He saw the concern fade from her brow when she softly smiled and said, "Okay." She glanced down at the crystal, tapping it in thought. "I know…we've had a lot going on, so I don't expect you to have been thinking about this, but I've been wondering…"

Her words trailed off again.

"What?" Jareth asked.

Sarah shrugged.

"My dad…when I saw him in my dream, he was under the impression that I've been away at college. I don't know why he would think that, unless it was just part of the dream. When I asked you before….to make it so they forgot all about me so no one would be worried, you said okay. But I…never asked what you actually did or how it works." And then she pulled herself back to properly look at him, face ghosted with both worry and guilt when she asked, "I realize I should have asked this before but…can you explain it to me?"

Jareth's response was deadpan when he said,

"I did not do as you asked."

Sarah drew back in surprise.

"What?"

"You asked me to essentially wipe away your existence from that world, past, present, and future," he readily stated, nipping her sense of alarm in the bud. "To be frank, doing so would require a number of spells, all of which consume a profound amount of time and magic. It wouldn't be as simple as just making your parents forget. Every single person you ever crossed paths with, heard of you, or even just saw your name written would also need to be manipulated. Any physical or…as I now understand, digital, records of you would also need to be removed. And….while I could have accomplished that feat, I thought such a strenuous and permanent application to be…unnecessary."

Sarah's brow knitted tightly as she listened, eyes fixed to his face and intent.

"So what did you do then?" she asked.

She saw some discomfort breeze across his face, but it was subtle and fleeting.

"I…created a series of delusions that need only affect a finite number of people," he said, vaguely. "The first acted retroactively. Naturally, your parents were looking for you between the time you came here and the time I decided to do anything about it—" he spoke that part quickly, to his own error. He moved on just so. "I made them and any connected parties believe you had simply fallen ill, rather than were missing."

Sarah pursed her lips in a frown.

"...which would explain why I was suddenly absent from school and couldn't attend my own graduation?" she asked rhetorically.

"Yes," Jareth answered. Sarah nodded to herself.

"And the second?"

Jareth hesitated. Sarah found that interesting—

"The second is…more like a curse."

And then her eyes widened.

"What? A curse?!" she repeated. Jareth let go of her to raise a hand between them.

"Relax," he said, as if handling her was ever that simple. "It's like a curse in that it infects people, but it's not nefarious. It's still a mere delusion, but rather than apply it on the entire populace, it spreads as needed," he explained to little avail. He went on. "A localized curse is much easier to manage than erasing a person's entire existence. Like you said, your family believes you are away at school. Should the topic ever arise, that will be their answer and that phantasm will pass onto whomever is inquiring. They will catch it like one does a virus. It spreads organically from there, and so on and so on."

Sarah settled down the further he explained, supposing that all made sense. She was still learning about magic, after all, and they hadn't gotten to curses yet.

"Is it reversible?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, to her relief. Then, with the important matters out of the way, she let some of her curiosity take over.

"Okay. So…what kind of magic is that exactly?"

"It would fall under metacasting," he said, reaching up to brush stray hair away from her face. "Delusion magic is nothing more than a more poignant form of dream casting. As I've said, removing or changing actual memories is difficult, but convincing someone of an alternate truth is shockingly simple. It's like having a dream that feels so real that, for a moment, you believe it is even after you wake. I crafted those scenarios into very believable dreams and simply….made that waking feeling persist."

Sarah listened closely and in silence, both impressed and intimidated by the idea that Jareth could literally hypnotize people. Part of her wondered why he never tried doing that to her. But, then again, if he did, would she even be aware of it?

Jareth did not pick up on her train of thought, however, and carried on.

"I then put that spell into the form of a curse which as a process is….difficult to explain outright, but you understand the intention. The nature of a delusion is also what allows me to suspend it when you are sharing a dreamscape."

"Wait," Sarah interrupted. "Do you lift the delusion every time I use this crystal?"

Jareth averted his eyes briefly.

"Yes and no. I crafted the mechanism into the crystal when I formed it. It does so automatically." Then he paused and quirked a brow. "If I had purely removed their knowledge of you as you requested, however, then that crystal would not work as you want it. You'd still be able to invade their dreams, but they would not know you."

Sarah looked down at the orb again, deep in thought. She'd never considered how much effort actually went into making it nor her request to save people from missing her. She admired the crystal for a moment. The more she learned about magic, the more awe and respect she felt towards it—and those who wielded it.

"Oh…okay. I get it now," she said, turning the ball in her hands. "So you can basically mind control anyone you want? By implanting false memories and ideas in their subconscious?"

Jareth pretended not to notice the sarcasm laced in those questions.

"Those who are weak minded, yes," he said, plainly; then, sensing her impending retort, shot her a look and told her sternly, "You are not weak minded."

Sarah openly scoffed.

"And I would know that, how?" she asked with amusement. Jareth's expression did not change.

"You threw me off the cliff."

Sarah cocked her head quizzically.

"Huh?"

"In your dream," he said and lightly pressed his index finger to her forehead. "You also left me alone on the dance floor, that first time we danced. You were completely unsuspecting both times and were still able to take control of your dream away from me. No weak minded person could ever accomplish that."

He lowered his hand and let it rest in the space between them. Sarah was quiet at first, reluctant to take the compliment. She deflected instead.

"So, you're saying my parents are weak minded?" she asked. Jareth arched a condescending brow.

"Yes," he said, matter of fact. "As are most adults in your world." He shifted on the bed and took her hand in his, lightly kissing her knuckles. "Don't misunderstand, a weak mind is not the same as a lack of intelligence. Mental fortitude is a skill that must be exercised. Generally, in the Aboveground, it is something that only those of mystic ideals ever concern themselves with," he explained, toying with the tips of her fingers by grazing them along his lips. "As a whole, your people lack faith and imagination —both of which are needed to craft a strong mind."

And then he shifted even closer to her, his eyes narrowing on hers intimately.

"Which is why I found you so interesting," he said in a softer tone. "Most humans lose their power of belief as they age, but not you. Yours only grew."

"Is that why fairy tales are always centered around children? Because it's easier for them to wander over rather than adults…because they have a stronger imagination?" Sarah asked, half-wondering if she should in actuality be insulted by the compliment. Apparently she had the mindset of a child.

"Typically," was Jareth's response. "Do you recall our conversation on the power of imagining something into existence?"

Sarah scrunched her nose.

"Vaguely," she said.

"Well…"

That sentence ended with a coy shrug. Sarah ignored it.

"So you need to believe in the Underground in order to access it, and you can't if you don't?" she asked, for clarity's sake. Jareth nodded slowly for her.

"Precisely."

"So…if they believed…then it's possible that my parents could come to me instead…?"

That thought was not necessarily meant to be spoken. Jareth could tell by the surprised little jump in her brow when the realization clicked. She looked up at him with bright eyes —none of which he was expecting.

His brow tensed with uncertainty as he asked,

"Is that something you want?"

And then, much too readily, that uncertainty passed unto her. Her brows knitted together and the brightness dimmed. She looked away from him, frowning at nothing.

"I…don't know," she said, then peered up again. "Would they be stuck here like me?"

Jareth's brow softened. Marginally.

"No. I have no intention of involving the Labyrinth in any future dealmaking. …It was obviously a mistake to do so in the first place," he said.

Despite his guarded tone, Sarah felt something of hope blossom within her.

"So you can do it then? You can't bring me home, but you can bring them here to see me?"

Jareth chose his next words carefully. That optimism of hers was a fragile thing.

"It would be much easier, yes, but not that simple," he said. "We just determined a person needs to believe in this world in order to join it. Therefore, you would need to convince them beyond a shred of doubt, without any suspension of disbelief, and have them agree to be taken by me. That is no small feat when dealing with the narrow mind of the average adult human," he further explained, watching Sarah's lifted brows lower with each word he spoke. "Being confronted with something the mind cannot or refuses to comprehend often results in negative reactions including denial and shock. Sometimes the severity of those reactions can become…dangerous."

Sarah frowned, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled with which question to ask.

"And you can't….use a delusion to ease them into it?" she asked.

"No," Jareth replied, pointedly. "Belief must be sincere."

Sarah pursed her lips together and looked down, letting herself sink into the pillow.

"...if I go slow…lower their suspension gradually in their dreams….I think maybe I could do it. Will that work?"

"If you can make them aware of the dreamscape and have them accept it, and then have that acceptance carry through to the waking world, then yes. I can escort them to and fro," Jareth said.

"How…would I make it carry through?" she asked.

"You wouldn't. I would," Jareth replied. Sarah's mouth took on that pouty quality again. "I would need to gradually lift the delusion that is over them so that they remember their dreams after waking. And I do mean gradually. Acting without delicacy could result in them losing their sanity."

Sarah's eyes widened but the startlement was subdued. She should have figured as much. Not only was she trying to manipulate them in their own subconscious, but there were also layers of spells to parse through. She started thinking over her course of action. Even if she did make an attempt and even if it did work, she would still need to lie to them. Magical mayhem aside, there was no way her parents were going to get behind the truth of what had brought her there. And that…the necessity of that lie made her question whether or not to even bother, whether or not she deserved the fake fantasy life she would lay out before them. The fact of the matter was that she'd fallen for her captor. What would her parents think if they knew just how harsh the truth was? Insecurity seized all too quickly, causing her to curl up against him under the protection of the blanket.

"And if I mess up and they reject it?" she asked.

"Then your presence in their dreamscape could come to register as a nightmare. It would be nearly impossible to control and you would inevitably lose the ability to communicate with them through such means," Jareth said. Sarah felt her heart sink. Those were big risks. Another seed of doubt sprouted within.

She could carry on as she was, she reminded herself, visit them in their dreams where everything felt real. Maybe that could be good enough. Maybe…

"Okay. I guess I...need to think about it," she ended up saying, then deflected with a forced sense of optimism. "I'm going to keep practicing though. I need to master the dreamscape before anything. First thing's first, right?"

Her smile was weak and so was the sentiment. Jareth saw through both plainly and reached up to caress her temple.

"I think, if you're careful enough, it is possible," he said with a gentle tone. "I…can guide you somewhat when you're ready, or at least tell you when to stop if it becomes too unstable," he added, then paused, unsure if he should voice his next thought. "...I could also take on the matter myself." Sarah looked at him quizzically. "I could confront them outright, but I'm not sure the impression that would make is what you want, and the experience would most likely be much more jarring for them than it was for you."

Sarah looked down, catching on to his subtext and frowning as she imagined Jareth, in all his glory, scaring her parents into belief with the whole come with me if you want to see her again, spiel. They would probably accept that reality, if only to try and save her. But…no, he was right. That's not what she wanted.

Sarah's eyes fluttered shut under his touch and she let out a deep breath.

"Okay. I'll keep that all in mind," she said with a slight nod. "At least I have options now."

She did not open her eyes again. She seemed relaxed. Jareth watched her intently, taking in every detail from the angle of her brow to the pattern of her breathing. She looked a little paler than usual. Perhaps that was from the sickness and fatigue. He would be sure to pamper her tomorrow if so. They still had a few days of privacy before journeying into the world…a world that would then know of her condition.

Jareth's thoughts turned dark as he contemplated that thought, wondering if there was any means of keeping it secret. He felt weirdly envious and bitter of the prospect. He wanted Sarah all to himself, and gods knew that once knowledge of her pregnancy emerged, there was a chance she may never be only his again. Everyone would be vying for her. Everyone from kings and courtiers to slavers and vagabonds. If not for Liana, he would be fretting over how best to keep her safe.

As it was now, staring at her as she lay so close, so vulnerable and at ease, he couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow slipping through his fingers. That he was on the cusp of losing his everything and she…would just be gone.

He took her hand and kissed it again, knowing that his thoughts were running away with him yet unable to ignore the trill that pulled him further away. It made him wonder what he truly feared more, losing her to Liana or her own liberties.

A soft echo of music began to resound from beyond the walls of Sarah's room. It caught both their attention, Sarah's barely being pulled back from the threshold of sleep. She shifted and murmured, pulling Jareth the remainder of the way out of his somber thoughts. He watched her peep one eye open with a grin.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, then nestled into his chest, holding her crystal close to her own. "Amara must be playing…"

---

Roldan groaned as he struggled to fit the last set of files into his satchel, his bangs falling loose from his tied back hair in the process to obscure his vision and irk him further. He paused to push his hair back, compose himself, then close the door gently behind himself. He'd been busy facilitating travel plans and final preparations for the canal opening, as well as putting together ample materials for Sarah to study before her debut. She did well enough in Sulu, but this was Erykberg —a whole new class of public exposure. The agita that came with imagining her fumbling about the opening ceremony made his heart race, and so it had been all week. He seemed to be the only one concerned about it, however. Naturally. He sighed to himself once the now battered paperwork finally slid into its proper place.

If he was smart, he'd be planning his vacation (the one he was always planning). He was meant to head back to Sulana in another couple of weeks, and then there was the next quarter's review in Fyrn. As much as he loathed both those locales, they were not without some temptation. Perhaps Amara would want to tag along and visit her father —Ha. Now that was a ridiculous thought.

He shook his head as he walked, rubbing at his brow and fantasizing about the tall drink that awaited him once he finally turned in for the night. Alas, it was not even time for supper. He still had many more hours to go.

A faint melody began to echo along the vacant corridors of the castle's interior as Roldan walked. It was barely discernible, but he heard it. Confusion had him stopping dead in the hall, his head cocking as he listened. Now there was a bit of nostalgia. He hadn't heard music playing in the halls since Davion left for the north.

And then his ears twitched, realization catching up. He turned his head sharply to the left, facing the corridor where he knew the sound was emanating from. That's right. He hadn't heard that sound in years because there was no one who cared to play.

Until now.

Roldan clenched his jaw while gripping his bag tighter. If he was wise, he would carry on with his obligations. If he was responsible, he'd appreciate the sound for what it was and be on his way.

The awareness that he was so close should not have been a factor.

The fact that his pulse had just quickened for reasons other than irritation should have been irrelevant.

He had things to do. Deadlines to meet. People to see.

Alas, down the hall he went.

He followed the sound but doing so was unnecessary. He knew where he was going, having spent many a day standing idle whilst the princes took their lessons as children. He approached the music room with light footsteps; although again, it was an unnecessary effort. The deep tenor of the piano in the room beyond resounded as heavy rumbles through the stone walls, systematically carried throughout by design. He wondered if Amara knew of that fact and that her playing would be heard throughout nearly the entire castle. He imagined she would become quite embarrassed if she did. Best not to tell her then. Her melodies were lovely things.

He lifted a hand to the doorknob, then paused. His natural instinct was to knock, yet he didn't. He did not want to. He did not want to disturb her. Or rather…he did not want to be noticed. His brow began to draw together as he stood in ambivalence, the sounds beyond only seeming to grow clearer in his ears. He was supposed to be dignified. He was supposed to value propriety. The fact that he was caring less and less by the day should have bothered him more.

Instead, what bothered him was a lifetime wasted on restraint and pride. Absolutely everyone around him lived by indulgence and self-interest. Surely he was entitled to this one little thing.

Jareth would laugh at him, standing there in such genuine contention over the opening of a door. No, Jareth wouldn't have opened the door at all but simply appeared and took what he wanted. Roldan never considered himself envious of Jareth, yet the taste in his mouth at that moment was undeniably bitter.

He grasped the handle of the door then, boldly and most uncharacteristically, opened it and entered.

Despite his apprehension, no alarm resounded upon his entering. No sound was made at all above that of Amara's playing. It filled the room, echoed beautifully by the tall arches above. He glanced around briefly, taking in a sight he hadn't seen in decades.

It looked just as he remembered, down to the vacant corner he was once forced to stand in. He took a few steps forward, eyes roaming until they inevitably fell on her at the center of it all.

He stopped, attention lost on the ringlet curls of her hair and the silhouette of her slender arms shifting left to right along the keys. The sleeves of today's dress were cinched short, making cute little puffs at the shoulders. As his gaze traveled downward, he noticed that even the backs of her arms had freckles.

Given what he'd seen, he briefly wondered if all the parts of her body had freckles, visions of her soft, narrow stomach prompting a sudden scowl on his face. How lewd of him, to be fantasizing within her very presence. Still, what did it really matter? The gods and Davion alike knew well that he was by no means the gentleman he pretended to be.

Deep down he knew should have been ashamed of that little clandestine affair, daring to stand there without her knowledge and admire her; yet there he was, with barefaced curiosity, practically sneaking up on the poor girl as she sat with her back to him on the bench of the Queen Mother's orphaned Alphwyn. Of course, this was hardly his first instance. He'd been prowling around her at her father's reception as well.

Eventually he found himself standing all but ten feet from her, simply appreciating the skill of her playing and the pleasantness of the piece. The sound was much crisper within the room, the nuances of the tale it told clearly defined. It was uplifting, really, light and fast. It practically washed away his earlier frustration then and there into a state of mindless content.

Her hair was down again, the untamable locks swishing at her back as she moved. The motion brought his eye to her fingers bouncing off the keys with what he viewed as deft precision, her back kept in perfect posture like the professional she was. He could not see her face, but even still it was like she was transfixed. Watching her made him wish to have been just as close in Sulana. Slight and clumsy as she could be, she really was a sight to behold.

He did not realize how vacant his attention had become. He'd moved on from her and was now trying to recognize the song, but failed.

Amara's hands slowed with the tempo and the layers of sounds filling the room gradually lulled into echoes and then silence. She lowered her hands to her lap and then sat perfectly still, in perfect silence, for a long moment. Roldan wondered what she was doing, and then she suddenly reached up for a pen and began scribbling notation on the pages in front of her. He did not think he'd made any sound as he observed, but certainly she sensed something for she stopped dead mid-scribble just as abruptly. Her head gave a little twitch. Then she turned quickly around, with tightly knitted brows, to look straight at him.

Roldan did nothing.

Amara panicked.

"*Gasp* Roldan!" she yipped and, just like that, his calming reprieve shattered. "Oh my gods. Oh gosh, you scared me! Haha, what are you—how long have you been standing there?"

Laughter lined her voice and it seemed she was, in fact, delighted. Roldan stood guardedly. Apparently his voyeurism was not as creepy as he'd thought, although that hardly alleviated him of his awkwardness. He found himself immediately regretting his curiosity, his eyes shifting to the side in search of the door that was now directly behind him. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Not long," he said, shifting his feet to find some posture or stance that conveyed confidence. "Forgive me for intruding—"

"Intruding? Oh, nonsense," she interjected with a flirty wave, then fully turned around on the bench to face him. "I can get a little lost while I'm playing. The ceiling could be falling down all around me and I probably wouldn't notice. Is everything alright? Did you need something of me? I hope you don't think I was ignoring you."

Roldan blinked. She was giving him an out right now, yes? Saving him the indignity of having to admit he was essentially stalking her just now? She must be, for the possibility of her being serious in saying that felt even more absurd.

"No, I don't need anything," he said, casually glancing away. "I just happened to hear you playing and was curious, I suppose. It's been a long time since anyone has used this room."

Amara looked around the room as well, admiring all the work that had gone into remodeling it just for her.

"Yes, so Queen Sarah said. It is a great honor to be given such privileges. I swear to take great care of these instruments," she said, placing a hand to her heart. "But…you say you heard me? From where? Is my playing too loud? Have I disturbed you?" she asked, then twitched in a sudden fright. "Oh no. You haven't come to scold me, have you? I'm sorry if you found it obnoxious. I swear I have permission to play here!" Her voice grew louder with panic, an emotion well reflected on her wide eyes. Roldan shook his head.

"No," he said, raising a calming hand. "I'm aware of your arrangement with Sarah, so you can relax. As I said, I was merely curious."

It was easier to act stern when she was flustered. Better when her eyes weren't strictly on him. He watched her start to deflate.

"Oh, well that is a relief," she said with a lowered head. "I'm not sure I want to be yelled at by you again —better leave that as a novelty, I think." and then worry took hold all over again. Her eyes sprang to his face. "Oh! But wait! If you could hear me, then what of everyone else? What if I've bothered Their Majesties?! Queen Sarah needs all the rest she can get. Oh no. Maybe I shouldn't play so late in the day—"

"No."

Roldan spoke before he even realized it, deftly, like it was a command. Amara paused in her rambling and looked up at him.

Damn. Now he had her attention again.

He gripped the strap of his bag and carried on.

"What I mean is…no, you did not disturb me and I doubt you've disturbed them either." and he looked upward towards some peculiarly shaped stones dotted around the ceiling. "The acoustics of this room are designed to carry sound throughout the castle as a bit of…ambient entertainment. The resonance naturally fades with further distance, but even from a close range it's never overbearing. It was like a pleasant hum spoken through the stone." But then the worry he perceived on her face sent him backtracking. "Additionally...you can cancel that resonance by having those stones covered —for future reference."

Amara looked up and around at all the stones in question, having never noticed them let alone pondered that they had a purpose. She should have known, however. Sarah had told her those were the spots where the yet to be replaced sound barriers were meant to hang.

"Oh. Okay. That's good to know. Thank you," she said and looked over at him again. "Also, you said it was pleasant?" And she smiled at him. "I'm relieved you think so."

"Relieved?" Roldan asked, brow arching. "Why should my opinion matter?"

Amara's own brows scrunched in reaction, as if she found that comment alarming —or perhaps it was the candid nature by which he spoke it.

"Why shouldn't it?" she countered in a deadlocked stare. Roldan didn't answer right away. Amara pursed her lips, rumination now churning behind her eyes. "Actually…" she mumbled, voice trailing off as she turned back around on the bench. "...would you mind joining me for a moment? —If you're not too busy of course."

Roldan narrowed his eyes on the back of her head. She was waiting patiently, but that question was hardly a request. He glanced around the empty room once more, then hesitantly approached.

Amara smiled to herself and scooted over, making room for him on the bench. He kept his eyes on the keyboard as he sat down, dropping his bag to the floor beside him. Amara thought he looked a little nervous now. She wondered why.

"So I've joined you. Now what?" Roldan asked, glancing at her from his peripheral.

Amara, however, stared at him boldly with a tightly pursed grin.

"I need your help," she said, so coy. Roldan frowned.

"Really?" he asked sardonically. "Mine?"

Amara ignored his attitude, sitting herself taller with a high chin.

"Yes. I fear you are the only one who can provide it." Then she turned to look at her sheet music laid out in front of them. "I felt inspired by the change in scenery, so I've started working on a new composition. It's giving me a little trouble though," she explained.

Roldan's eyes scanned over the notation, noting the X's and scribbled out blobs littering the stanzas. Hm. So something new? So that's why he couldn't recognize it.

"Oh? Is it the piece you were just playing?" he asked.

"Yes, actually. It's still in its infancy, as you can tell, so I'm really glad you enjoyed it so far."

Some variety of flower wafted from her skin to his nose. It was pleasant. He tried not to think about it.

"Infancy?" he repeated, glancing from the pages to the keys and then vaguely at her. "Well, from what I've heard you seem to have it well in hand. I'm not sure how you expect me to help."

Amara giggled. He had no idea why.

"Don't be silly, Roldan. Your aid is invaluable," she said, her arm nearly touching his as she raised it to meekly cover her mouth. Roldan's posture stiffened. "This piece is going to be a duet, you see. I need you to play its complement."

Roldan looked at her and frowned, not feeling nearly as self-assured as she was.

"You're bound to be disappointed using a word like invaluable," he said. Amara lowered her hand. "I should admit I'm not as strong a player as you."

Amara's head tilted slightly as she regarded him, puzzlement riddled all over that pale, round face.

"You humble yourself, surely" she said, eyes flickering boldly down his person. "A man as refined and cultured as you? I've no doubt you can do the work justice." He looked noticeably tense when she lifted her eyes back to his. Such reluctance made her frown and she asked, "Will you not even try?"

Roldan's frown worsened. She looked sad, like a little dog begging to be pet. He would have condescended such a look, but…

He was sitting as close to her as he'd ever been. That was all he could really think about at the moment.

"Alright," he said, peering away from her face. "If you will it."

He flinched when a sudden giggle burst out of her, sending her into a little bounce on the bench complete with a cheerful clap. What truly alarmed him, however, was the way she grabbed onto his arm and tugged.

"Oh yay! Thank you!" she said. Roldan kept his head turned strictly away. She let him go quickly, thank gods, and then started shuffling through her papers.

"Here, this is your score. It's still a bit of a mess, but I think I'm set on the rhythm, at least. Look it over and, when you're ready, please give it a try."

She spread out the first three sheets in front of him beside her own, her excitement barely contained —if the sizzle he felt between her over reaching arm and his were any indication.

Roldan's attention shifted off of her once she was finished and scanned through the notation, quickly at first and then slowly again. His brow started to draw tight as he did so, reluctant to admit the complexity of this draft had him worrying for his pride.

He tried to deflect from it for the time being.

"Where are Sarah and Mariella this evening?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Oh, Sarah was throwing up a lot and wanted to be left alone," Amara quickly replied. "Poor thing. I think it may have been for the best though. We were watching a horror movie and Lady Marie was not taking it well. We were together, but then she went to invite Dr Andrews to supper later. And…now that I think about it, I haven't seen her in a while now as well. Huh. Hopefully she isn't lost. Oh! Also, on that note, would you like to join too?" She looked directly at him again and leaned in. Roldan turned his head slightly to face her, but not too much.

"It would be the four of us," she went on. "Mariella made a good point about making the doctor feel welcome. It's been several days and none of us besides Sarah have really spoken to him. I think a good meal is a great idea, wouldn't you say? Lady Marie also tells me the two of you typically eat alone. It's not proper to do so together, I understand. But still, how lonely! I do hope you'll accept the invitation. I'd very much like to have you there." Her big eyes beamed through her rambling, leaving Roldan to stare dumbly while failing to form a rejection. He was set on declining the offer and then, with such calculation, she said — "I wouldn't mind getting to know you better as well."

Oh cruel Arawn, please, just kill him.

Roldan felt a rock form in the back of his throat that he had to use every ounce of stoicism to conceal. She wore a touch of gold powder at the corner of her eyes today. It gave them an even greater glow under the fading afternoon light. And her nose—it was so tiny. Berry pink lips smiled at him, wet with gloss and looking miles more coquettish than was probably intended. Gods, she was like a doll in her delicacy. Too many times had he felt the compulsion to reach out and touch her cheek—just to know if the feel would be soft or sleek.

He swallowed down his stupidity and peered away, sitting so rigidly he felt it in his ears.

"...alright," he mumbled, to his own end.

Amara's chest expanded on a deep inhale as her smile widened greatly.

"Really?" she asked.

Roldan's jaw locked, compulsively reaching out for a sheet of music only to pretend to read it.

"Yes," he said.

Amara squee'd again.

"Oh, that's great!" she cheered and affectionately bumped his shoulder with hers. "Ah, I'm so relieved. Mariella made it seem like convincing you would be more arduous than the Battle of Catäleid."

She giggled to herself at making such a dramatic, yet not unreasonable comparison. Roldan used that moment of distraction to finish choking down his nerves.

"Yes, well…perhaps you caught me in a social mood," was his awkward reply.

Amara ceased her snickering and tapped her lips.

"Hm, perhaps. I'll count myself lucky regardless," she said.

Roldan cleared his throat, using the action of setting the paper back into place to cover the minor blush he felt heating his face. Amara did not notice it, to his relief, perking up instead for other reasons.

"Oh, are you ready already?" she asked, misinterpreting his behavior. Roldan paused, caught off guard.

"Yes," he replied readily, then backtracked. "…we'll see, at least."

Amara grinned and steepled her fingers.

"Hehe, you'll do great," she assured him, then turned face forward. "Okay, you start and then I'll come in at the fifth stanza."

Roldan set his hands over the keys stiffly.

"Right…"

He started to play, his part limited to the lower register of keys in what was a deep, moody opening. He focused on the music while Amara focused on him, coming in at her cue and pulling him along lest the tempo start to drag.

The rhythms became more complex by the second page. Roldan admittedly struggled, making several obvious mistakes. He could have blamed it on her handwriting if he wanted, though that would not have been fair. Finally, when his pride could take no more, he stopped altogether, frowning at the sheet music.

Amara looked over at him questioningly, wondering why he'd stopped.

"Sorry," he said, sensing her looking at him. "It's been some time. I warned you I'm not so proficient."

His tone was brusque and, from his tight jaw she figured he was probably frustrated if not embarrassed. Amara waved it all off casually.

"Oh please. That was your first time playing it without even hearing it first," she said, drawing over his attention. "Neither did you ask me the tempo. I'd say you have a keen intuition to play it as well as you just did. T'is not a beginner's piece."

Roldan arched a brow, not one to take placation easily.

"You flatter me," he said. Amara gave him an eye.

"Yes, but it's sincere," she said, then glanced down at his hands resting in his lap. She paused for a noticeable second, then deftly offered out her own. "Here, give me your hands," she said.

Roldan hesitated, his expression twisting into something ornery, yet he still complied. Without word he did as she asked, holding out his hands for her to firmly grasp.

She turned them over and inspected them, running the tips of her fingers down his palm and over his knuckles, all the while Roldan spied on her face, his hands unconsciously tightening whenever she came to hold them in a certain way.

"Well, there's half your problem right there," she said, breaking through his daze. He peered down at their joined hands as well. "Just look at these gloves. They're much too thick to play with. They're making your movements stiff. I bet it'll be much easier with them off," she said, then boldly reached for the button at his wrist. Roldan's eyes widened and he tensed, but did not pull away, gaze turning feverish as he watched her unclasp and steadily pull the fitted leather down.

She tugged on the tip of each finger, then pulled them off one glove at a time. As she gently touched her palm to his while setting his gloves aside, he realized that was the first time he'd touched her bare skin or that she'd touched his. The way she held him was light, tender. He could feel the pads of her fingers graze along his naked palm in a manner that almost tickled. He wanted to curl his fingers, to clasp hers in return, but he didn't. He merely stared down at her glossy nails as she clasped his, rubbing her thumbs over the back of his knuckles.

He was frowning, but he did not realize it. Misinterpreting his thoughts once again, Amara smiled reassuringly, holding onto his hands tighter in hopes of soothing away his insecurity.

"There," she said to him, so warmly. "Doesn't that feel better already?"

Roldan's hands, despite his resolve, tightened just slightly. There was something…so enjoyable about that touch. He did not want to let go. He did not want to answer her.

Thinking his pride was still getting the better of him, Amara forgave his silence and simply let go, turning herself face forward again in preparation. Roldan took her cue and also turned away, his fingers circling back to rub at the spots where hers had just been. He was lost to his thoughts now. Hardly there at all.

"We'll go again when you're ready," she said. Roldan nodded and, before he could think himself to death, pushed it all away and played.

---

It was during their third run through that Roldan thought he might actually be getting the hang of it. They finished the song together, his last chord drawn out and fading into silence. He did not realize Amara was staring at him with stars in her eyes.

"See!" she said, so so happy. "I knew those gloves were the problem. You're doing much better now!"

Roldan cracked a self deprecating grin.

"I'm still butchering it well enough."

Amara shook her head.

"Ah yes, but it's a work in progress. Fumbling is part of the process," she said. Roldan quirked a brow.

"If you're trying to assuage me, you fail. If what I heard from the hall earlier was your version of fumbling, I might do better to simply leave here and now."

Amara huffed, finding all his grumbling and unending pessimism to be nothing less than adorable.

"Ah, but you can't. I've trapped you, see?" she said, giving him a flirty eye as she gestured at the sheet music. "The song isn't over yet. You may leave when it is finished, agreed?"

Roldan turned his head and cocked a brow at her.

"But you have not finished writing it," he pointed out. Amara gave him a playful wink.

"Exactly."

Roldan huffed, the closest thing to a laugh he'd made all day. His stare on her lingered even as he turned forward, finding both peculiarity and relief in the way she managed to brush off each of his criticisms. He'd never been praised for incompetence before. Never made someone smile by a means that was less than perfect. Well, maybe there was one whom he'd known who was similarly kind, but he was not thinking of her now.

By Amara's insistence, they played through the piece again, and again, making changes and variations along the way. She requested his input, which was nearly as surprising as the consideration she put into whatever suggestions he offered. And so it went and, after a while, he forgot his stiffness and his awkwardness and the lump in his throat. He forgot about the meeting he'd missed entirely and the paperwork that still needed signing. He came to enjoy his curiosity and discarded his shame. She made it easy with that effortless smile.

It was during this period of contentment that Amara began to observe him, remarking on both his focus and his perseverance. At one point, curiosity got the better of her. A lull in her portion of the piece allowed her the opportunity to pause. While he continued to play, she tilted her head and asked,

"Where did you learn to play, if I may ask?" There was a tic in the fluidity of his movements, but he did not stop playing. "I'm only curious as you have a very interesting technique. Not something I think I've seen before."

Roldan's brow lifted, trying to focus on both her and the music.

"Ah…well that would probably be because I taught myself. What you're seeing isn't a technique but merely my lack of discipline."

Amara didn't readily respond. In fact, she even missed her cue to resume playing. Roldan stopped and looked over at her. Her eyes on him were wide with aghast.

"You…taught yourself?" she repeated. "And you play this well?"

There was disbelief in those questions. Roldan started to frown, but then she shook her head and was suddenly smiling.

"I'm befuddled," she said. "I had assumed you studied with the same instructors as His Majesty. You're clearly proficient enough for one to presume so. Were no music lessons offered to you?"

Roldan looked down and ran his fingers along the keys.

"No. No lessons were offered to me of any kind," he admitted. He could sense Amara's growing confusion. The feeling alone incited him to explain. "Most of my fundamental knowledge is stolen. My job as a child was to trail behind Jareth and Davion, including during their schooling hours. Lectures were easy enough to retain, but practical skills were harder to grasp by mere observation. I took a liking to the piano, however, so I did my best to pay attention and replay those lessons to myself, privately."

Roldan bit the inside of his cheek. Such knowledge was not something he cared to disclose considering the difference in their stations, let alone the queer admiration she seemed to have for him –and yet he was doing so anyway.

Amara blinked, her mouth a curious little o.

"Oh, I see," she said, her eyes shifting in thought. "Were you at least given permission to practice here?" she asked. Roldan shook his head, nearly laughing.

"Good gods, no. No, only the royal family was ever allowed to touch this particular instrument." And he tapped said instrument with an index finger, some long repressed memory coming to mind. Amara's brows scrunched.

"Did...you ever get caught then?"

Roldan paused and pulled out of his thoughts, looking away from the keys and over at Amara.

"No. I'd never dare test Thaelon. I've never touched this instrument until today," he said.

Amara drew back.

"What? Really?" she asked. She never would have guessed that. Not ever. He acted so familiar with it. Had lived with it since childhood. But she knew Alphwyn's were revered, so she supposed she should have inferred the late Queen was so strict with its use. Oh, how humbling. And there she was, casually slapping away at the keys with her head in the clouds.

"I did not always reside in the castle," Roldan said, saving her from a spiral of pity. Amara blinked her thoughts clear and focused on him again, only to find him looking skeptical and perturbed in return. There was a moment's hesitation from him before he said, "My parents and I…lived in a house in the Goblin City...once upon a time."

And now her tense brows turned down. He looked quite uncomfortable now.

"Is that so?" she replied, hoping to encourage him.

"We had little means…but even still I practically begged them for a piano," he went on, to his own surprise. "They saved for some time and were able to find one at the Market —broken, beaten old thing that it was. Still, I learned to tune it and that made it good enough. I practiced for hours and hours back then, but regretfully I had no one to check the position of my hands." He looked down at his hands as he flexed them, seeming to internally admonish the fact as he spoke it. Amara frowned in response. There was absolutely no reason for him to look down.

She reached out and touched him by the forearm. He looked over at her questioningly.

"Well, you play wonderfully despite it," she said, her sincerity unquestionable. Then she smiled. "Truly. I've had so much fun with you today and I think the piece has vastly improved. You are a natural talent. Just marvelous."

Roldan scowled but looked away before she could think it was directed at her. Her expression upset him just now, but he wasn't sure why. He'd never told anyone about his childhood in such detail before. He wasn't sure why he had just now. But…he wanted to tell her. He wanted to share himself. She seemed to want him to, or was at least receptive enough to humor it. And then it really hit him — he'd never shared this story before, with anyone.

"Are your parents still alive?" Amara asked, pulling him from epiphany. He blinked and looked over at her. "Are they local?"

He blinked again. Her questions were innocent, her expression expectant. She wasn't just humoring him, was she?

It was hard for him to accept that a noblewoman would have any interest in the past life of a peasant.

"Yes, they are," he said, then corrected. "—alive, I mean. But no, they are no longer in the region."

"Oh? Where are they?"

"They have a manor in Gretlin; it's a town a few hours to the north —courtesy of Jareth."

Amara's placid expression formed a small grin. She was glad he wasn't completely alone.

"Oh, that was kind of him," she said. "Do you visit them often?"

Roldan quirked a brow reflexively.

"Not really," he replied.

"Hm. I see," said Amara, who then looked away and lightly danced her fingers over the keys. "Well, you are very busy after all."

Roldan rolled his eyes.

"Busier now, at least."

That comment was gruff. Amara glanced over and tilted her head again.

"Hm?" she hummed inquisitively. "I sense vexation."

Roldan huffed, averting his eyes briefly.

"Indeed. Sarah's schooling is admittedly wearisome. Especially at a critical time like this. I feel like a nursemaid, tending, watching over her, and tutoring her all the damn time." Past irritation wormed its way into his tone, creating an air of condescension as he carried on. "The last week has been particularly troublesome. I made the mistake of taking it upon myself to insist she be properly prepared for the event. At the same time, I've been doing what I can to physically avoid her. It's been a bit like shooting myself in the foot, I suppose."

"I think it's very responsible of you to take such care in the matter," Amara said, then frowned. "But why are you avoiding her?"

Roldan scoffed.

"Because of the smell," he said with a sneer. "Just being in the same room as her makes me feel like my head is going to explode."

There was a pause. Roldan's annoyance made him ignorant to it, but Amara…now Amara looked worried.

"Oh?" she said, her voice suddenly small. "I…didn't realize you felt that way about her."

Now it was Roldan's turn to pause. His brow twitched at the recognition of sadness in her voice and he turned to look at her with a confused scowl.

"What?" he asked.

Amara shifted uncomfortably.

"Um, well, it's just…pheromones usually only have such a severe effect on those with equally strong emotional connections. So, what you said just now made me think—"

And then Roldan's eyes widened with outrage.

"Oh, dear gods, no." He cut her off so swiftly she merely gaped, prompting a new, much more welcomed feeling of disgust flaring in his chest. "Do not even finish that sentence," he went on decisively. "Whatever you're thinking, I promise it is a gross misunderstanding."

Amara blinked at him, her frown unwavering.

"Oh? So…are you not in love with her?" she asked. Roldan scoffed, a derisive sound, and glared away defensively.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. Amara didn't like the shift in his tone.

"I don't think I am," she said, keeping things calm. "You said being near her makes your head want to explode. Was that hyperbole? Because that is by no means a minor reaction—"

Roldan cut his glare at her.

"I am not in love with her."

Amara closed her mouth, lips pursed tightly as she stared at him. Rumination churned about her brazen stare, and then she conceded.

"Hm. Okay…" she said guardedly, then added. "—but you are attracted to her, yes?"

A tic of panic made Roldan's brows twitch, the subtle widening of his eyes a clear enough indication. Amara, curious as to why he was so offended, tilted her head. "What's wrong?" she asked him —as if such a question could be asked in ignorance. Roldan said nothing, his jaw tightening. "I've seen the way men act around a pregnant woman. The intensity of their pheromones is always related to that person's feelings towards them," she went on candidly. "You claim to have no emotional connection, so I can only presume—"

Roldan scowled.

"I…I am not—"

He was so flustered he had a hard time even finishing that sentence. Amara's frown worsened; only, not for the reason he thought.

She raised a hand to stop him.

"Please, don't misunderstand," she said, her expression oddly sympathetic. "You don't need to defend yourself, Roldan. That's not what this is."

She spoke that too plainly for his liking. Roldan's expression turned guarded if not suspicious as he fell silent, his stare on her intense. Amara didn't quite understand it. She looked down briefly as she explained.

"I'm just saying…I wouldn't blame you if you did have some feelings, carnal or sentimental. In fact, I would understand either perfectly," she said, then shrugged, glancing upward with a half-cocked smile. "I mean, hell, even I find myself feeling a flutter of butterflies when she smiles a certain way, and I've always preferred men."

Roldan gaped, his stoicism rivaling that of the rocks composing the walls around them. He did not speak. He was too flabbergasted to do so. Amara, with her eyes still averted, came out of some daydream and looked back at him, then furrowed her brows at seeing the lividity of his expression.

"Hm? Are you alright?" she asked, totally ignorant of his bafflement. Yet still, he was speechless. She started to frown again. "Have I…said something bad? I find it all perfectly reasonable, you know. It's difficult living under the same roof as a pregnant woman, especially if she is not yours and is also comely, so I understand your frustration," she explained.

Roldan's front broke by the arching of one brow.

"My frustration?" he repeated. Amara nodded.

"Yes. …that's what it is, no?"

He did not reply, a behavior that was starting to worry her now. Amara licked her lips and anxiously turned on the bench, inadvertently inching closer to him.

"I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable. My father says I can be too candid," she said with remorse. Roldan scowled.

"Your father is right."

And then she glanced to the side.

"It's just…I see no gain in holding things back," she said, then looked up at him ruefully. "...I feel like my perspective changed when my mother died. She was my best friend. My days started and ended with her. After she left so abruptly, I found myself resenting all the things I didn't say to her and I realized that the reasons I didn't say them were shamefully trite." She looked downward at her fingers knotting themselves. "We live for so long, yet it can still end at a moment's notice. No matter the time spent, I believe life will always be too short to beat around the bush. I believe we should say what we think and do what we feel, that way we may leave this life without any regrets. I realize doing so may seem uncouth or be upsetting to some, but I think any of those outcomes would be better than keeping the things that truly matter secret."

Roldan, still heavily on edge, felt some of that weight lift —his eyes lowering as he considered her words.

"I suppose…there is wisdom in that," he said.

Amara pursed her lips, giving a little shrug.

"I like to think so. But, even still, I don't see what there is to be so ashamed about." Then she peered up to lock her eyes on his. He was not ready for it. "Do you prefer women? Sexually?"

Roldan blanched, his expression turning visibly angry.

"Yes," he replied, tersely.

Amara bobbed her head.

"Well, there you go," she said as if all matters were solved. "You're a man. Her Majesty is a beautiful woman. It's perfectly natural, isn't it? Given the circumstances, I think it'd be more peculiar for you not to have some level of attraction towards her," she said, eyes widening as she turned forward on the bench. Roldan felt…disconcerted. "Besides…I'm sure you're not the only one. Her Majesty is not only beautiful, but kind and compassionate too. She's clever and confident, and being from the Aboveground has given her both a certain mystique as well as innocence. I was watching both her and His Majesty at my father's reception as well and, from what I saw, it seems having droves of individuals cast their interest upon her is a source of pride rather than jealousy for His Majesty. So…even if you were to openly admit something, I don't think you would be scrutinized. His Majesty, at the least, would probably be flattered," she prattled, her impregnable objectivity making absolutely no sense to him. He watched her shrug as if such chatter was trite. "But…I am new here and that is just my opinion. What do I know, really? You look so upset, but something as relatable as physical attraction just seems…a silly thing to fret over." and she looked over at him with a grin. "Not worth the scowl it's put on your face."

Roldan looked away. He was perplexed. She was writing it all off so easily and with such confidence that he…was actually taking comfort from it. He had never and would never admit to such shames, and had been denying and repressing it all so intently that he did not need Jareth's warnings or admonishments to chasten him. Simply knowing what he was was enough. He did not want Sarah and he never had. Despite whatever confusion or momentary weakness he may have once felt, to his core he was assured of it. Which was why, for him…despite the topic of queens, it felt like they were not speaking of Sarah at all.

"I have no romantic interest in Sarah," Roldan spoke, deadpan. "She's too aggravating and uncultured for that. But…" and then he bit the inside of his cheek, irritated and bemused as to why he was still speaking on the matter at all. "—I admit that, at times, I find her presence…confusing."

Amara nodded, eyes lowering.

"Understandable. She is quite different from most noblewomen."

Roldan scoffed.

"She's not a noblewoman at all," he retorted. Amara's brow lifted.

"She is now," she clarified, then paused to observe him while mulling something over. Then she asked, "Do you resent her, Roldan?" Roldan twitched, peering at her from his peripheral. "You do seem quite impatient with her most of the time —and are very disrespectful when not in His Majesty's presence, although she does not seem to mind it. I'm sorry if I overstep, as I don't know the history between you two, but I am curious as to why."

Roldan slowly looked away from her, a subtle sigh escaping him.

"I do," he admitted. "…somewhat."

"Why?"

Roldan took in a sharp inhale.

"Because she is herself and not someone else," he stated bluntly, his head cocking in discomfort. "I…keep expecting her to be something different." and then, realizing what he was coming close to alluding to, he slanted his eyes over at her before clarifying. "—my expectations for what makes a proper queen are high."

Amara held his stare, accepting his deflection without question. Her continuous dispassion towards the matter was getting to him. He paused while peering at her, mouth agape as he tentatively redirected.

"But…somehow she still meets those expectations in her own way," he said, then looked away and down. "I suppose…I'm not sure how to feel because of that."

When did things become so serious? he wondered. Since when did he divulge such personal matters? She'd slipped past his defenses so easily it made him wonder if he'd held them against her at all —yet there was reciprocity in that. Her ease on this topic brought him ease in return.

Amara folded her hands in her lap—a necessary effort to stop herself from acting rashly by reaching out to touch him.

"Well, perhaps you should be less concerned with how and more concerned with what," she suggested. "What do you feel, Roldan?"

Roldan was silent, a firm scowl on his brow as he stared vacantly at the pearly white keys. He nearly grumbled when he finally replied,

"I suppose...familiarity."

"Oh?" Amara responded.

"I…don't know how else to name it. She's simply become a part of life, a part of my life. There is significance to that when you've spent the majority of yours on the outside looking in. I've taken comfort in that, I suppose." and then he looked over at Amara imperatively. "—but don't you dare tell her that."

His glare was so fierce on her that it actually made her grin. Amara did her best to hold it back, pleased to finally form an understanding.

"Ah. So there is intimacy between you that may be exacerbating your reaction to her pregnancy," she said in a lighthearted tone. "It sounds to me like you do care for her —as a cherished friend. Is that it?"

Roldan's brows drew together, visibly perturbed by her deduction and even more so by the satisfied little grin she gave him. He nearly scoffed at the idea but restrained himself —mostly.

"As a friend?" he repeated. "How juvenile."

"I don't view it as such," Amara replied, promptly. "What shame need there be in having a confidant or someone to rely on? No matter your station, everyone needs companionship —or is it more noble to live one's life all alone?" she asked. Roldan regarded her cooly, taking notice of that sly air of regality she seemed to always save for the most opportune moments.

"Fair enough," he replied, clipped.

But, despite that concession, Amara still frowned.

"Hm, but that still does not fully explain why you resent her," she said. Roldan exhaled deeply and straightened his posture.

"Sarah is not the thing I truly resent, but…the past that she echoes," he said, too deep into it to bother with further inhibitions —all the while now unable to look her in the eye. "You may think me noble, but the truth is that I've made a habit of forming attachments to those I shouldn't. It's probably my mere nature that frustrates me rather than her."

A ghost of some memory plagued him as he said that. Amara could tell by the curl of his lip and the tension that formed on his brow. Despite her ignorance of those feelings, whatever —whomever— he was remembering and alluding to so vaguely saddened her greatly.

Her voice was a bit smaller when she asked him,

"What sort of attachment?"

Roldan cracked a disingenuous grin and looked upward, a huff on his breath that seemed entirely self-directed.

"Heh. The kind that I should be ashamed of."

He rolled his eyes and looked downward again. Amara arched a brow as she observed.

"Hm. Now it sounds like we're speaking of a lover and not a friend," she said. Roldan scowled.

"I have no lover," he stated, stolid. Amara eyed him with canny.

"But once?" she suggested, then tilted her head when he did not reply. "You speak of echoes and comparisons, disappointments, even. Does Sarah perhaps…remind you of someone? In some ways?"

Roldan's tight expression turned surly.

"She reminds me of no one," he stated, tersely. Amara saw through him easily.

"But you expect her to?" she half asked. Roldan peered at her in some kind of warning, but she ignored it. "You said so yourself, did you not? …hence the confusion and frustration."

Indeed, confusion and frustration were what he was feeling most prominently. They came to head in a fit of self-preservation. He drew back a bit and looked down his nose at her.

"Why are you asking me all this?" he asked, notably tense. Amara sensed he may be on the verge of leaving and shifted forward impulsively, her mouth opening but unsure of which words to say.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing that came to mind.. "I'm…just interested. I told you, I'd like to know you better." Her pale eyes revealed no deception, such clarity in and of itself suspicious to him. He frowned as he stared at her, wondering what in the world she thought she would get out of this. Of course, Amara could see those negative thoughts churning about him plainly. She lowered her eyes with a more subdued energy when she said, "You seem skeptical."

"I am," Roldan stated frankly. "People don't usually inquire of me so invasively with pure intentions."

He saw a tic go through her sad little smile but was unable to guess its significance. Amara held herself nobly despite it.

"Then that is the real shame," she said, folding her hands neatly before looking up at him again. Weirdly for him, she was perfectly content despite his gruff attitude. "I won't ask any more questions, if you'd prefer," she said, with no shred of disappointment. "—although, I am always willing to listen. It would be nice for you to come to think of me as a friend as well."

Roldan's hard look softened —just a touch. He didn't understand why she remained so sweet and vibrant despite his quick temper and sour personality. He was not an interesting person, nor someone worth getting to know. He was just a servant, a person whose entire identity was based on pretenses and denials. The things he yearned for were meant to be far beyond his grasp, whether it be recognition, value, friendship or…something else.

"You honor me with the privilege, Lordess," he replied to her, falling back on old habits as a moment of insecurity got the better of him. Amara, ignorant of the surprise it would cause him, reached out and clasped one of his hands, squeezing it until he looked at her again.

"The privilege would be mine," she said, making sure she held his gaze. "And I am no Lordess to you."

Roldan cracked a grin and glanced down, unconscious of the way he was holding her hand in return, but then watched while very consciously stroking his thumb over her knuckles. The audacity of it…unfazed him.

"Forgive me," he said quietly. "I ought to know by now."

Amara gave his hand a playful squeeze.

"Yes, you should. Keep making these blunders and this almighty lordess may have to punish you." The amusement in her voice was unmistakable. It made him smirk, the previous weight of the conversation fading faster than it should have. He closed his eyes in a show of submission and said, rather facetiously,

"Whatever the Lordess feels is necessary."

She laughed at that, abruptly withdrawing her hand to cover her snickering mouth.

"Oh you really are a masochist, aren't you?" she asked. Roldan's empty hand clenched into a fist —his arm going rigid when she was suddenly closer with a widening grin. "—or perhaps you tease me again? Either way, you are bold to tempt me, Lord Steward," she said mockingly, a coy narrowing of the eyes emphasizing her seriousness. "Did I not just say that I will do as I feel? It is a matter of principle. I'll not hold back, even if we are friends."

Roldan looked down at her, unaware of the smile haunting his face.

"I understand matters of principle," he said, eyes quickly raking down her before she could notice. "For that reason, I would not expect nor want you to hold back. I'm clearly bringing it upon myself —another drawback of my own sad, frustrating nature."

He saw her suck in her lower lip and bite it, some pensive yet unintentionally alluring expression coming over her. She narrowed her eyes on him a little, then leaned back to sit properly.

"Mm. You jest, but I still feel some sympathy," she said, sitting herself tall. "It is also somehow more noble to label misfortune as acts of self-sabotage, isn't it? The assumption of responsibility…it grants a person a certain amount of agency over their fate, when the alternative is to be at the mercy of Fate itself. I think the possibility of the latter, for many, is not only ignominious but also much more terrifying."

She peered at him slyly from her peripheral, a haughty gesture and something he understood well. She was, rather articulately, calling him a control freak. He may have felt defensive were it not entirely true. The look in her eye, though it was playful, was still pointed and meaningful. She understood him, somehow, and she understood him well enough to have him smiling even when insulted. He found it as peculiar as it was refreshing.

"So, what you're saying is I'm not actually a masochist, just desperate for the illusion of control?" he asked, humoring her. Amara huffed in amusement and glanced away.

"Oh, I don't know about that," she said with a roll of the eyes. "Despite all this chatter, I don't know you well enough yet to make that determination. I will say this, however: I by no means take our conversation here today lightly and I am grateful you've spared your time to indulge me. I realize I can be blunt and invasive, but I mean it when I say that there is no reason, none at all, to ever hide your truth —no matter what that may be. It may be harder to allow yourself to live freely, but I know my life became much more enjoyable after I let myself accept that." But then she frowned, displeased with something. "Hm. That sounded rather patronizing, didn't it? I'm sorry. I did not mean to lecture you."

"On the contrary, I find you surprisingly insightful."

Amara peered over at him sharply, an upturn to one side of her grin.

"Why surprisingly?" she asked.

Roldan arched a brow at her, leaning in slightly.

"Because you giggle so much," he said.

Amara giggled.

"Oh you tease me again," she said, waving him off and leaning away. Roldan's stare turned vacant on the shape of her smile as her head turned away from him in profile. He found it…relaxing. "But ah, I will let you," she went on, none the wiser. "I do not mind."

"No?" Roldan asked, still distracted. Amara paused and shot him a conniving side eye.

"Of course not, silly," she said, her eyes taking on a glimmer as they raked him up and down, pleased with something he had no awareness of. "Have you not noticed?" she asked, then clued him in. "You've finally smiled."

---

It was later that day. The music lulling the castle had since stopped. Jareth opened his eyes slowly, breathing softly as he stared up at the canopy of Sarah's bed. He could tell by the fading light that it was getting close to evening. He'd been laying there for a couple of hours already and knew he needed to get back to his affairs. Alas, his left side was weighed down.

He tightened his arm around Sarah, squeezing her gently by the bicep and holding her close to him. Her head lay on his chest, her hand —clutching her crystal— was stretched out over his sternum. A low glow emitted from it. While he did not enter, he observed it to track Sarah's progression through her dreams. He was not surprised by her mastery of it, and the pride he took in her ability seemed to outweigh that which was damaged by the whole affair to begin with.

He contemplated her idea, whether or not bringing her loved ones to her was feasible let alone recommended. He was not sure what that scenario would look like and a part of him hoped to never find out. He wanted her to be happy and he would do his part to ensure that, but that did not change his nature. He would always prefer her in solitude, that she forget and move on, or find contentment as she was. Ties to the past would inevitably form regrets. He knew that well enough from experience.

He wondered how he should best creep away. He did not want to wake her and, given her position and the way her legs were twined with his left, thought it might be too jarring to simply vanish. —But those were irrelevant matters. What truly made it difficult to leave was her heat, her softness, the way her body held him.

He would reach up and run his fingers through her hair every now and then. Despite the quiet and lack of stimulation, he was not bored those hours simply laying there. Her smell was faint while she slept, neutral by all accounts, yet it relaxed him —not only physically, but spiritually. It was a new experience for him. He'd never allowed himself such liberty or…intimacy…with a woman's scent before. Even with Aurelia it had been a purely carnal indulgence.

She shifted, prompting him to look down at her —or to try, at least. It was hard to see anything more than her hair and her shoulder, but that didn't matter. She quickly settled and he laid his head back down on the pillow.

He wondered what to do. He was not expecting this development when scheduling the canal opening. It was going to be one of the largest events Sarah would ever attend. It kept coming back to him, the knowledge that all eyes would be on her…and now their noses too. The prospect of revealing her condition to the world so soon bothered him. He spent many silent minutes thinking of ways to keep it concealed; perhaps by masking her scent? He had no intention of asking her to repress it again, but maybe there was some herbal or magical means.

He felt the itch to abscond to the library and research his options, but there he lay. Her breathing was so shallow he could barely feel it. But that was good. That meant she was enveloped in the dream and controlling it well. A part of him wondered where she was, what she was doing and the conversations that were had. He had no desire to ask, however. It did not feel like his place.

His attention shifted to a sign of movement at the window. It was open, as Sarah often preferred it, enabling a creature with fluttering wings to wander in. This was not done innocently, however. Jareth's eyes narrowed on the gold-dusted wings of the butterfly moving in loops closer and closer to the bed. Its image lagged behind itself, a subtle glow radiating from its edges.

He knew that creature and knew it had no business interrupting them now.

Jareth's expression hardened as he watched it, yet he did not move. It came to land directly on her, needle-thin legs taking audacious steps up Sarah's side under Jareth's inscrutable glare.

Liana moved from Sarah's side to her arm, perching upon the back of her hand as it rested over Jareth's chest.

Jareth looked angry now, certainly on guard. If Liana had the ability at present, she would have laughed.

"Oh, don't look at me like that." Jareth heard Liana's voice echoing inside his head.

"What do you want?" his thoughts replied. Liana's wings flexed.

"Nothing, really. Why don't you rest?"

Jareth glared harder.

"Leave."

"So harsh you are," she teased, fanning out and settling on Sarah's wrist. "I thought you'd be happier. We have synergy now."

Jareth's brow twitched, the tug of a frown breaking through. Liana's inner self grinned.

"No? Curious," she said, an edge coming to line her tone. "Rest easy, My Liege, for this is exactly what you wanted…"

and she paused, pointedly.

"...isn't it?"

---

A/N- Lol, Liana be playing mind games just because.

I can't remember what size televisions people had in the 80s, but the internet tells me 30 inches was big =P.

I find Jareth to be really cute when taken out of the dominant position. How dare the medical doctor know more about medicine than he XD.

I'm glad someone finally told Roldan it's okay to be horny sometimes. I think that man really needed the vindication.

On that note, does Amara have feels or is she really just *that* good natured? Hm, I wonder O.o

Also, what happened to Marie? Is it plot convenience or... o.o

Anywho, see you next time!