***** ***** *****
Jareth wasn’t sleeping. While he lie there with his mortal in his arms, he thought about what the day stood to bring them. Today, the Triumvirate would tear them from one another and he kicked himself for not giving himself to her the night before. What did he stand to lose really? Hindsight was always 20/20. Whatever he gave to her last night the Triumvirate would have given back to him when they sent her home. He tried to rationalize, telling himself there were the mortal consequences of pregnancy for which they had taken no precaution. ‘Sometimes sex is just sex,’ he repeated in his head. Maybe she was right. Maybe sex was always just sex and love was what came afterwards. He wondered if he would ever find anyone who made him want to give himself away after they tore Sarah from his grasp, anyone who would make him risk what he had risked with her, who could still touch him after so much time had passed. Jareth stopped breathing when she kissed him, afraid to stir, to break the bond they had. When he felt her hair in his face he opened his eyes and looked at her. This was the last thing he had planned on and yet, he had never felt happier in his life. His grip around her tightened and he allowed sleep to take him over once more. Today, there would not be any schedule he decided. Damn the Triumvirate. They would arrive in their own time. Knowing them, their decision was already made and nothing king nor mortal could say would matter. What time they had left would be theirs.
***** ***** *****
When at last she woke again, Sarah was nose to nose with the king, his mismatched blue eyes surveying her face. “Hello,” he said to her a small smile across his lips.
“Hi,” she replied and turned her face away as the blush ran into her cheeks. Things were different by the light of a new day. It was sunny and she could clearly see every feature of his face which was more honesty than she was ready for. “What time is it?” she asked in an attempt to mask her awkwardness.
“I imagine it’s getting close to noon. I’ve been feeling the sun on my back for a couple of hours now.”
“A couple of hours! Why didn’t you wake me?” She said looking at him, hoping he would tell her that last night had changed him somehow. Perhaps he had been lying awake trying to come up with a plan that would allow them to avoid the Triumvirate all together.
The forefinger of his left hand tucked some of her hair behind her ear, “Didn’t seem important to wake you,” he told her with an intense stare. “You need your rest if we’re to face the Triumvirate today.”
So much for that. Sarah sat up taking the covers with her, leaving Jareth exposed to the waist. He propped up onto his elbows, “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly afraid of facing the Triumvirate?”
She was. Suddenly she was. The king was no longer someone she wanted to set things straight with. Her adventure to tie up loose ends had only succeeded in giving her more ends to tie. Where he couldn’t see, she wiped a tear from her eyes, “No, of course not.” Nothing in her tone was convincing.
Jareth sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders, his lips dancing over the skin above her collarbone. “Don’t be afraid. You’re going home, that is what you wanted isn’t it?”
Sarah didn’t know what she wanted anymore. There wasn’t much to go home to, not anymore, but staying here didn’t seem right. Would she be trading one man who didn’t love her for another? Besides she was mortal, she didn’t belong in a world with of mythicals. Where did she belong? Tears streamed from her eyes, hot drops of liquid pain. It didn’t matter if Jareth saw. “I want to get dressed.”
The king released his hold on her. She remained curled in a ball, knees drawn to her chest, arms folded over her knees. He watched her for a long moment, aware of the water which poured from her eyes, but afraid to ask what was the matter. He could surmise, after all, he knew her well, better than she would have liked. To any other person Aboveground, Sarah’s sex is just sex philosophy could have applied, but not to her. She felt things with a depth that most humans didn’t have. Otherwise, Jareth and his Underground would have long since been forgotten when Sarah had left all her other fairy tales behind. While Jareth knew she didn’t love him, he also knew he could settle for nothing less. He had offered her commitment and she had refused him. There was nothing more that he could do. Frustrated he reached for his own clothes, they were all still soaked. “I think you best choose something from the bag Arulan packed. You’re shirt is still sopping wet.”
“What about your clothes?”
“Still wet, but I don’t see where my getting dressed has any impact on you, so my magic should be able to dry them straight away.” Grabbing her bag, he set it at her side.
“I can’t get dressed with you in here.”
He looked at her, one eyebrow cocked, gauging her rationale. “You can’t be serious. You were in this tent last night, were you not?”
“It was dark in here last night.”
It amazed him how perfectly her cheek fit into his palm as he turned her eyes to him. “Afraid I would keep you here if I saw your perfection in the light are you? Then I shall be your Cupid, love, and come to you only when we have night to hide us.” Jareth wanted to kiss her, but there was love inside his heart and he forced himself to resist. Magnificently, he stood before her with little more than leather gloves and an air of confidence to wear. A turn of his wrist and his clothes were dry, perfectly pressed and covering the lithe body that Sarah could still feel against hers, even his hair restored to its usually flawlessness.
If she didn’t know better, she would have called his bluff for saying he couldn’t love her. No man was capable of saying such things when he wasn’t in love, but this was no man, this was Jareth, the Goblin King, and his words were always exactly as he meant them to be. Until he left the tent, Sarah managed not to cry.
***** ***** *****
Chataigne whinnied when Sarah came out of the tent. Returning his affections, she reached for his blaze, making long strokes against the horse’s snout. When she became aware of the king’s eyes upon her she tied her pack on the gelding’s rump and went back to dismantle the tent.
“Come have something to eat before you do that,” Jareth called to Sarah.
She was hungry. She joined him on a blanket where he had laid out their food and the bottle from the mead, which he had filled with spring water while she dressed. Sarah ate hardily, but said nothing. It wasn’t that she didn’t have anything to say. Only that now, here, with him, things like ‘thanks for last night’ and ‘you were definitely the best I’ve ever had’ seemed trite. In fact, she no longer knew what to say. Instead she looked into the mountains where they would soon ride and wondered what this Triumvirate would do to her. Inside she screamed, ‘Don’t, please, don’t make me go.’ Her cries would never meet the wind.
Beginning to think he should have refused her, held fast to the anger he had cultured for so long and refused her what she wanted in the moment, as he knew her mind would change with morning’s arrival. What was it about her that he could never deny? Why this woman? Why this mortal? Even now, when their act had been complete, he longed for her. Emotions didn’t come easy to the Goblin King, let alone complex emotions, such as the ones this mortal stirred.
“We should go,” Sarah said when she was full. For once it wasn’t Jareth who kept them to their schedule. “As it is, we’ve wasted enough time.”
Not exactly the way he would have worded it, but if this was what she wanted, so be it. “As you wish,” he told her. “I’ll take the tent down, if you’ll take care of the food.”
Sarah watched him working on the tent as she packed up what little cheese and meat was left and tied the sack to Bagheera’s rigging. He was a beautiful stallion. Black from nose to tail, a rich sheen that made him seem to reflect blue patches when the sun shone down upon him. Wild eyes, eyes like his master’s. This was no animal that could be caged. She stroked his mane and he snorted as if to say, ‘While your touch is pleasing, it is not necessary.’ Sarah couldn’t help but find it appropriate.
When he returned Jareth added the tent to his stallion’s back then stood beside Chataigne waiting for Sarah, “Well, you were in such a hurry, let’s go.”
In an effort to chase her thought away, Sarah shook her head and blinked her eyes a couple of times before joining the king and her horse. Settling her foot into the cradle of his hands she mounted her horse. ‘No turning back now’, she thought.
His hand rested on her thigh. She felt his warmth before she noticed the touch. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” Sarah told him without looking at him while her heart cried the tears her eyes refused to allow to fall.
Jareth took his place atop Bagheera and snapped the reigns to get him moving. Their last day had begun. He tried to be thankful, tried to tell himself that he had four days with a woman he should have never been able to touch again. Memories could never be erased. He would always know the taste of her, the curve of her body, the intimate feel of her. That alone would sustain him another hundred years. Time tended to mean very little to an immortal fey, but these next seven hours or so felt like he was waiting for the end of the world as he knew it.
***** ***** *****
Riding through the mountains was almost as beautiful as it had been riding through the northwest sector. The climate was warm, even though there were traces of snow here and there. The rock face looked like a painted horse, as spots of brown in all shades peaked out next to the white patches. Chataigne and Bagheera were both very surefooted on the rough terrain, which made Sarah feel comfortable. After a couple hours riding, Jareth pulled his stallion to the side, along a spring and allowed the horse to drink. He too bent down, filling his canteen and taking a long sip. Sarah followed his lead. The mountain air was thinner, harder to breathe and it increased her thirst. Advertisements had long hallowed the famed mountain springs, but the water was so clear it was like glass. Her face reflected back at her through the water’s ripple. Over her shoulder she could see Jareth standing, looking down on her which she wouldn’t have known if the stream hadn’t handed him over to her like bounty hunter who had found his man.
She studied their faces a long time getting a good feel for what the two of them looked like together. Her head filled with music, ‘There’s such a sad love, deep in your eyes. A kind of pale jewel, open and closed within your eyes. I’ll place the sky within your eyes.’ Sarah thought she saw a cloud pass over her pupil, a trick, the sky and rippling water teamed up to play on her, she was sure. ‘As the pain sweeps through, makes no sense for you. Every thrill is gone, wasn’t too much fun at all.’ Nothing made sense. She came here to do something she had not done, apologize to the Goblin King. She had the opportunity to visit with her friends, both old and new. She had made love to her king. Every thrill was gone! Knowing that in a few brief hours she would leave made it all worse. She would return to the Aboveground no longer able to settle for Christian, as she had once imagined she might, no longer content with a real world, no longer able to suppress this fey and his kingdom as a fantasy. A few short days ago she feared him just as much as she did in her adolescence. Now, just knowing his eyes were on her filled her with excitement.
“Can we get moving again?” Sarah asked him when the image in the water became too much to bear.
Jareth broke his stare and reached out a hand to help her up. “In a hurry are you?”
“No sense in prolonging the inevitable.”
Just like a mortal to assume she knew what was and was not inevitable. “Well then,” he said looking at the sky, “it will be starting to get dark again before we reach the Triumvirate. I would suggest we ride together the rest of the way or that I tie Chataigne to Bagheera.”
“Why’s that?”
“The mountains are not always friendly at night. The things that live here would not waste time with horse, but mortals are rare in the Underground, even more rarely do they wander into the mountains and I hate to think what an orc or a troll might do to a young girl.”
What he said was enough to make Sarah draw into his protective reach. “I’ll ride with you then.”
Tying Chataigne’s reigns up with Bagheera’s packs, Jareth whispered to the horse, “Stay close and don’t wander off. You are a well bred gelding and I would hate to lose you.” His glove stroked his blaze. Next he seated himself on the stallion and finally instructed Sarah to lock arms with him so he could swing her up as well. Once everyone was in place, Jareth nudged into Bagheera’s sides and they were off. Sarah held to the king’s waist, perhaps less hesitantly than before, and allowed her head to rest upon his shoulder. This was precisely how she wanted to spend her last few hours with him.
***** ***** *****
By the time they’d reached the mountain where the Triumvirate were, it was already getting dim. They still had another two hours ride up the mountain to reach the cave of the Triumvirate. Sarah heard howling wolves and drew closer to the king. Her chin dug into his shoulder, her lips pressed very near his ear. “Don’t make me go,” Sarah whispered. Jareth’s head jerked to his right, his mouth agape, wishing again he hadn’t made this damned appointment. A growing heat rose along his jugular as Sarah’s lips settled there. Her legs wrapped surely about his waist. Skillfully she slid around to face him, her thighs crossing backward over his. The Goblin King stilled his horse, holding the reigns in his left hand which he had draped over Sarah’s hip. The other arm slid up the length of her back and drew her nearer to him. Sarah responded, filling her hands with tufts of his blonde hair. Her lips parted as she accepted his mouth over hers. Passing her tongue over his, she settled into his arm, relying on the king to hold her up. Her tongue ran over the edge of his teeth, a small moan escaping as she came in contact with a few of the more jagged ones. Only the cover of night could allow her to kiss him so freely without disclosing any of her hidden feelings for him.
“Sarah,” Jareth called as her lips burrowed in his neck, kissing and biting at him expressing her need. “Sarah,” he pleaded again. Ruthlessly she continued her assault upon his neck. Roaming, her hands left his blonde nest and traveled over his back and to the open part of his shirt which revealed his chest. “Sarah,” he boomed a third time, his hand pushing back her shoulder forcing her to meet him eye to eye. “Our time grows short. We’ve but two and a half hours to travel a two hour length and creatures to contend with, odds are they won’t realize that I am without my magic and shall most likely let us be, but they will not be concerned with our schedule I assure you of that.”
Using her legs she pulled herself closer to the king, driving their crotches together. Beginning a soft grinding, the king’s hand fell from her shoulder as she held his gaze, “You weren’t so concerned with our schedule last night, or this morning.”
“No I suppose I wasn’t,” he retaliated weakly rather enjoying what she had begun. Jareth’s mouth tasted her throat, “But you have been quite willing to make time up until now and I must wonder why that is.”
Sarah’s mind, now distracted by the feel of him against her, worked feverishly to come up with an excuse. She allowed her eyes to open, hoping it would deaden some of the sensation. Behind them Chataigne’s packs were being loosened by a gnarled troll. “Jareth,” she whispered in his ear. The king tugged at her flesh with his lips. “Jareth,” she said more anxiously.
The words she spoke were not the passionate expressions she’d given last night. Confirming what he thought, her face was filled with shock. Slowly he turned around so that he could share her sight. “Stay on the horse. If anything should happen, ride, ride straight up this path until you reach the cave. Once there speak only to the Cleric.”
“But,” she said reaching for him
He filled her hands with Bagheera’s reigns. “Only the Cleric, Sarah.” Gracefully he dismounted the beast. “How is it that I can help you?” The troll took a moment to pause in his pillaging and looked at the king who loomed ever closer to him, keeping his eye as he undid Chataigne’s reigns setting the gelding free of the stallion. Sarah was free to run now, if she needed to. A quick glance back and he saw she was face front on his horse ready to follow his directions. Back into the packs the troll began to rummage. “Here now troll, what makes you think I’m going to stand and watch you steal my things?”
The filthy thing laughed, laughed at a king. Jareth knew the mountain range had no formal rule. What lived there had only lie low of the Triumvirate and shy of murder they were free to commit what every crimes they saw fit. Anyone who came to the mountains with out using magic to transport directly to the Great Hall was undoubtedly an enemy and so let whatever fate might befall them come to pass. It could be reasoned that it was Jareth himself who was out of place, invading their home. For what lived in the mountains could not lawfully venture into any of the kingdoms in the realm.
“You dare to laugh at a king!”
“Some king you are. I know you ain’t got your powers.”
“Whatever it is that whomever has told you, you have been grossly misinformed,” he sounded convincing when he spoke.
“No sense lying to me. I get my information from your Representative. Do you mean to tell me that one of your hand chosen would be misinformed about the goings on in your kingdom? I might be a lowly troll, your majesty, but I know what side the bread is buttered on.” He immediately returned to the sack.
“Tiberon. It must have been Tiberon.” Sarah said.
Jareth grabbed the troll by his scruff. “And so you know it now, that my powers have been limited, but surely you feel that my strength has not.” He tightened his grip on the gruesome creature. “Tis the girl who limits my powers. Should I do anything to you, it would protect her as well. That I’m not permitted to do, but should I set her free,” a hand rose high into the night before he laid a thundering palm on his stallion’s rump. Bagheera whinnied before he took off. The air carried Sarah’s cry to Jareth’s ears. “I would have no problem defending myself against you.”
The troll trembled now, in the presence of a king whose powers he could sense. “Damn the bastard who told me you had no power left. I curse him your majesty, curse him with everything that I am. I am but your humble servant.”
Throwing him aside, Jareth spat down at him, “Take what you have managed to transfer from my pack to yours and consider yourself fortunate that I left you with your life.” Mounting Chataigne, the king circled back and hovered above the quaking troll, “And be sure that whomever else has been misinformed by Tiberon is told of what has happened this night. We are to reach the Triumvirate without any further interruption. Am I understood?”
“Yes, most definitely your majesty.”
“Yay,” he cried turning Chataigne back onto the path and driving him to a gallop so that he could catch up with Sarah.
***** ***** *****
Bagheera was a fast horse with great endurance, no easy feat to catch him when he had been startled into running off. It took Jareth the better part of an hour, but he finally managed to see the white of Sarah’s sweater seemingly floating about two yards ahead. “Bagheera halt!” he cried as he neared her. Obeying its master’s commands, the stallion’s paces slowed until he was walking, eventually stopping altogether. When she faced him, her eyes were filled with tears, her cheeks streaked and wind burnt. “Why do you cry?”
“You have to be kidding me! You bring me through paradise to these mountains that look so beautiful and smell so clean and in no time we’re attacked by trolls.”
“I would hardly call that an attack Sarah. He just meant to steal a few things. Thanks to Tiberon, he felt confident enough to get away with that. Remind me that I must speak with him when I get back.” He said it all so casually.
“I won’t be reminding you anything when you get back, Jareth. I’m going home, remember? That’s why you’ve brought me here in the first place.”
“You never seem to fail to remind me.” He said it softly, loud enough that she would hear, but not so loud as to threaten her. “Come, ride at my side. I’ve taken care of the troll. We won’t have any more trouble on this journey.” The horses traveled side by side on the path to the cave of the Triumvirate. They gaited into the Great Hall at precisely seven o’clock. The Triumvirate sat in their thrones as they would have any other time Jareth came to the them. The Cleric to the king’s left, the Sage to his right and in the middle sat the Gavel.
“You bring us the Legend Goblin King,” the Gavel pointed out.
“I bring to all of you Sarah Williams,” he replied coolly.
“You surprise me Jareth,” the Sage said. “Not even a bow to greet your superiors.”
He dismounted at their command and helped Sarah do the same. They bowed before the Triumvirate. Sarah let the king do the talking, “Members of the Triumvirate, please allow me to present the mortal of which I spoke, Sarah Williams.”
The Gavel came forward first, he took her hand, “Rise Sarah Williams. You may call me Gavel. I welcome you to the Great Hall.” With a quick kiss to the back of her hand he returned to his throne.
“Greetings Sarah Williams,” the Sage added cheerfully as he drew nearer her. “You may call me the Sage. I thank you for agreeing to meet with us.” Had she agreed? She didn’t recall this trip being optional.
The Cleric was the last to greet her. In the way he moved and the tone of his voice, she could tell immediately why this was the one Jareth suggested she speak to. Her lips tried to resist curling in the corners, but he was beaming as he moved to greet her. When he took her hands into his she lost the battle not to smile back at him. “Sarah, it is long since time that we met. You are every bit the fairy tale I’ve heard you to be.” The Cleric leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“Thank you,” she told him before he turned to take his throne.
“Enough of these formalities, or informalities,” the Gavel said clearing his throat and glancing at the Cleric from the corner of his eye. “Tell us why you come before us tonight Goblin King.”
Jareth rose, “You know why it is that I’m here.”
“Yes, but tell me anyway. I do so love the sound of your voice.”
“Not half as much as your own.” The Cleric shot the king a chastising glance while the Gavel scowled at him. “This mortal has landed herself in the Underground. She has no child to trade for her freedom and as is the law now, I have no powers to return her home. I come before you tonight to ask you to deal with this mortal.”
Even though she knew they had to be formal here, before the Triumvirate, Sarah hadn’t expected Jareth to speak that way, as if she was some boil that he needed removed.
“And you Miss Williams, why is it that you come before us tonight?” the Gavel asked.
Looking to the Goblin King, she paused before answering, but he denied her stare. “I want to go home.”
“Is that your heart’s true desire?” the Sage asked.
“It is.”
“Perhaps I can change your mind then,” the Cleric spoke up, capturing the attention of all those in attendance. “Brothers I beseech you, this mortal has rejuvenated the kingdom of the Underground. Tis a far better sight than it has been in a number of years.”
“You speak truth Cleric,” the Gavel admitted, “but how easily you forget that the Underground would not have met such ruin if the mortal had not come in the first place.”
“I never asked to come here in the first place.” Sarah broke the silence by standing up for herself as she could see Jareth wasn’t about to do it.
“Hush, mortal,” the Gavel ordered. “You will speak when spoken to.”
“The Cleric is right, the king has seen fit to give the girl his magic, with it returned, the kingdom will heal,” the Sage attempted to draw a little of their attention back from her disrespect.
Not to be outdone, the Gavel said, “And when we send her home, we’ll take back that magic which the Goblin King seems to so easily distribute to pretty mortals with piercing green eyes who capture his fancy in passing.”
“Gavel, speak what you must for the sake of ceremony, but I won’t have you talk of me as though I were some sort of fool. In over 170 years I have given away my magic to only one being and you make it sound as though I’ve sprinkled pixie dust on every green eyed mortal whose been and gone from here.”
“Now, now, since when is the Goblin King so concerned with the track record of his virtues?” the Gavel asked rhetorically. “You must admit the two of you have an odd enough relationship.”
“What know you of our relationship?”
“Careful king. You know well enough to know that we would not allow you to journey so far unsupervised with no magic of your own.” Sarah hoped that night had hidden her from more than just Jareth’s eyes as the Gavel spoke.
“I think perhaps our more lenient brother is right. Besides I should very much like to see what comes of these two. Let the mortal stay,” the Sage offered.
“Let her stay?” the Gavel raged.
“For the Labyrinth, brother,” the Cleric reasoned.
“For the fun of it,” the Sage reiterated.
Jareth was amazed there was even talk of allowing her to stay. This was unheard of in his kingdom, mortals did not get invited to stay, but Sarah Williams was no ordinary mortal.
“Step forward mortal,” the Gavel commanded. Hesitantly she obeyed. “How did you arrive here?”
“I wished myself here, using a...” she looked at Jareth, whose head hung in anticipation of her next word, “crystal.”
“Where would a mortal, such as yourself get a crystal from?”
“I found it.” Lying wasn’t the same as choosing selective bits of information was it?
“Found it?” the Gavel asked. “Would you have me believe that in your world crystals grew openly in nature where any imbecile could pluck one?”
“I found it in the pocket of a coat the king had worn,” she said indignantly.
Laughter rang in the Gavel’s throat, “Oh Jareth, say it isn’t true. Tell me you haven’t grown lazy on the whole. Tell me it’s just this one mortal whose made you go all sloppy.” The Goblin King hung his head. He did not answer. He did not meet their curious stares.
“Do you see?” The Sage joined in his laughter as he addressed the Gavel, “Is this not more fun than you’ve had of late?”
“Go on mortal, you found the king’s crystal...”
“And I wished myself here.”
“You make it seem so easy. In fact, it is rather difficult by design for mortals to arrive in the Underground, but you, you are no ordinary mortal are you?” She didn’t speak. “Are you?” the Gavel repeated.
“I am what you believe me to be. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Jareth, you’ve sharpened her tongue I see.” The king tried his best to hide a smirk that had come to his lips.
“Despite what your king may choose to tell you, I am a very perceptive fey, Sarah. While I might not know why, I am well aware of the difference between you and the other pathetic creatures of your kind. In time you will slip up and reveal yourself to me, of this, I am confident.” He narrowed his eyes as he rose from his throne, “Hear what I say now, as it is the ruling of the Triumvirate. In the matter of the mortal, Sarah Williams, it is decided that the creature will,” he looked at the faces of the others in the Great Hall before he continued, “stay in the Underground for a matter of six weeks time. During her stay she will remain a guest of the king and be given sufficient quarters in his dwelling. She will be solely his responsibility. We require that the mortal visit each of the sectors of the Underground, as well as the Goblin City, so that her presence may continue to heal the lands she ruined fifteen years ago. At the end of the six week period, we shall reconvene in order to determine what next be done with the mortal. All agreed?”
“Aye,” the Sage piped up.
“Aye,” the Cleric agreed.
“She can’t stay at the castle. You’ve made the rule before only a spouse or minor children are to share residence with my servants and me.”
“But surely king, you would not want her to fend for herself? Besides, it is your fault that she’s arrived. I would think you would want her where you could keep an eye on her.” He thought he saw the Gavel smile when he said it. “And you Miss Williams, is there anything we can do for you to make your stay more comfortable?”
“As a matter of fact there is.” Jareth’s mouth hung open as he waited to hear what would come next. “Give the king back his magic.”
“But Sarah, the magic Jareth has given you is the very reason the Gavel has allowed you to stay.” It was the Cleric who attempted to reason with her first.
“It needn’t be. I have my own magic, mortal magic, which I believe can also be useful in repairing the Underground. If I am to be here six more weeks, I want to know that should I come across another troll or a mischievous goblin or a Representative with a chip on his shoulder...” At this she captured the attention of the Sage, who cocked his head and raised a brow as she continued, “the king will be able to protect me.” Hadn’t she tested the Gavel enough for one day? Enough for a mortal lifetime?
The king knitted his brow. Was she really asking them to return his magic? After banishing him back here when he tried to request it himself, he wondered what her motivation was. Wasn’t it bad enough they had been convinced to let her stay? The Cleric smiled, proud of the display Sarah had made. The Gavel had opened himself up for it, asking her if there was anything they could do, and after he had the nerve to call Jareth a fool. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t saying in his own head as the other four sets of eyes in the room focused on him. “Magic of your own you say.”
“I do. It seems that I had magic of my own all along, it just didn’t manifest until Jareth ki...” there were wiser words she sought out quickly, “...kindly lent me his powers. I wish to return them.”
Even if the Gavel had denied her request she had wished it so. Best he grant the request so that he could at least have some control over the situation. “Well it seems we would have been wiser to roll out a yellow bricked road rather than this musty red carpet,” he said with nervous laughter. “Your intentions are admirable, for a mortal. I would be less than compassionate if I were to ignore your plea.”
“You heard her Gavel, return my magic to me.” Jareth was like a child who had just been told he could be excused from the dinner table to play with a toy that had been confiscated and locked away. It was thrilling to be given the permission, but without the tangible reward, true satisfaction was unattainable.
“Patience king. Your magic has already been returned.”
“But I don’t feel any different?” Jareth moved his hand in an effort to generate a crystal. There was no result. “Forgive me, but as you can see, I haven’t my magic at all.”
“Your magic awaits, trapped inside a bottle of champagne, back in your castle. When you drink of it, your magic will be restored.”
“Always a catch Gavel,” Jareth sighed.
“Always a lesson king. Perhaps another three days remembering how it is to be without magic will remind you that it should not so easily be given away.”
He wanted to object. His magic had never be given away easily, but he dare not anger the Gavel any further, nor dare he reveal himself to Sarah. “You would have us camp in the mountains tonight, with no magic to defend against the marauders who robbed us on our way here.”
The Gavel spoke, “Nonsense. You will remain our guests. A room has been prepared for each of you to stay in, separately of course. Arrangements for replacing your stolen supplies have been made. You’ll notice your horses have been taken to be groomed and watered.” When they turned, it was true, the horses were gone. “Now then, Jareth, Sarah, please allow our servants to show you to your rooms. I do so hope you will find your stay here to be a pleasant one.”
***** ***** *****
After Jareth and Sarah had been escorted out, the Gavel left, without so much as a glance toward his constituents, storming from the Great Hall. “It surprises me you wish the girl to stay,” the Cleric said to the remaining member of the trio.
“In all your centuries Cleric, I would think there would be very little left which might surprise you.”
“Waxing poetic to avoid the subject are we?”
At the insinuation, the Sage departed from the Great Hall without further comment, to seek refuse in his chamber. When he reached his door he was careful to look about before he entered. Once inside, he was promptly descended upon by Tiberon, “Well uncle?”
“You are not to be here,” the Sage told him.
“Is my mortal banished or does she remain?”
“Tiberon, please, hush yourself.”
“I shall ask again and again, louder each time if necessary.”
The Sage locked his door and, with a jerk of his arm, closed the draperies. “If only I could close your lips as easily,”he remarked to Tiberon before being seated in a rocking chair, whose creaking sleigh bottom was separated from the stone floor by a braided rug. He indicated to Tiberon he too should sit. The Representative took a seat in a chair that faced the Sage and parted his lips to speak once more. Before sound could escape him, the Sage interrupted, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing stirring up trouble that’s been settled for so long.”
“Is my mortal banished or does she remain?”
“Have you given a single moment’s consideration to your mother in all of this? Or the fey who believes he has been your father for all these years?”
“Is my mortal banished or does she remain?”
“I thought not. Much like your father, you lack the capacity to think of anyone but yourself.” Tiberon smiled as if it were some compliment he’d been given and the Sage could see Darien in his wicked grin. Oh, that he had been able to stop his sister’s great, great grandchild, his great niece from falling victim to the fey’s wicked charm and handsome good looks.
“I will ask you once more, then I will seek out the Gavel,” Tiberon threatened.
“The mortal remains,” the Sage admitted.
“Thank you uncle,” Tiberon said in forced gratitude. “Jareth might have stolen my throne, but what will he do when I steal his queen.”
“For centuries, the Sage had known Darien, known of his promiscuous ways. When at last he had used his royal influence to win the affection of Liril, great niece to the Sage, he was not surprised. However, when Liril came to him some months later to announce she was with child. The Sage was shocked. It went against his better judgment, but he told her to tell Darien about the child. As he suspected, the then king denied any knowledge of the child or the woman who carried the child. Liril returned to her village and to the sympathy of Gumlain.
Gumlain was what the Underground referred to as a ‘badly mixed breed’. Somewhere along the way, the bloodline mixed with a lesser and lesser species until the genetics produced odd creatures. Goblins which had fairy wings or dwarves no meatier than wood sprites, but in Gumlain’s case, he had the body of a fey and the brain of a goblin. To the great sadness of the Sage, Liril seduced Gumlain and he accepted that the child who grew within the fair haired fey was his own. Darien’s child would have a father. In time, Liril grew to return affection for Gumlain who had always and still loved her. As Tiberon grew older, Liril realized what a respectable thing Gumlain had done, even if he had done so unwittingly and eventually she wanted Gumlain to be a true father. Ironically, Gumlain’s condition prevented them from conceiving more children and the mixed breed devoted himself even more to the son he thought was his.
Chaos visited he kingdom not long after when Darien was being forced by Arianna to give his throne to his child, Leanan Sidhe. Darien came looking for the son he’d denied. Liril was at last able to turn his own words against him. When staunchly she denied ever having been with the king and proclaimed proudly that her son belonged to her husband. Darien approached the Sage, asking him to talk sense into the girl, trying to appeal to him that the boy had a certain birthright. The Sage wisely advised him that amid all the controversy Darien had already brought to the realm, he would be foolish to pursue such matters. The matter was put to rest. None but the Sage, Darien and Liril would know the truth and she would deny it to the death.
Darien slunk back to the Underground and before crowning his daughter queen, he secured Tiberon a position as Representative. Liril and Gumlain took raising Tiberon and tried their best to teach him well. It didn’t take Tiberon long to figure things out for himself after Darien’s visit. Were he Gumlain’s son he would have been even more badly bread that the sorrowful fey. Not to mention that he had noticed his ‘parents’ never conceived him any siblings. Despite the efforts of Tiberon’s parents, his hear remained his father’s heart, one that held steadfast to hatred, but it was not his heart that made him dangerous. It was the fact that such a heart could hide behind his mother’s exquisite face and his father’s cunning charm. By the time Ian had passed away, Jareth was already being prepared to take the throne. Tiberon grew jealous, but he waited. When the Leanan Sidhe had gone, the Underground was in havoc with her spirit, but he waited. Then when the mortal came to battle Jareth for the child Tiberon saw that for the first time in as long as he had watched the king, and he had watched closely, finally, Jareth loved something. Tiberon had Darien’s ideals of women. Were he king he would have loved the throne above all else, but Jareth had his father’s heart and while he sat in the throne he could have as just as easily given it away. He wanted a woman to love. Just as his mother’s soul reached beyond the realm, so had his, and at a time when mortals were not well thought of.
Suddenly Tiberon no longer cared to steal the throne, he wanted to devastate the fey who held it, and then, when he could no longer function enough to be king Tiberon would take that from him too. Tiberon would make Jareth the Representative to the Southeast sector where he could watch on as his love and his uncle, the true heir to the throne, ran what was once his kingdom and filled it with children the Goblin King would never have. It had taken some time, but at last Tiberon’s plan was beginning to come together. Sarah was back in the Underground, Jareth was without his power and the Sage was at his mercy.
“Should you succeed at this overthrow you’re planning, we will be even. You will not call upon me again, wielding your paternity like a sword.”
“Uncle, you underestimate me. When,” he stressed this with certainty, “I succeed, I will shout from this very mountain top that I am king Darien’s first born son and rightful heir to the throne.”
“You would fancy the Underground bow to the bastard son of a whore?”
Tiberon approached him by just one step before he reminded himself of the consequences which would come from a confrontation with a member of the Triumvirate. “My father was a great king, a wronged fey with a frigid bride. Perhaps you place the blame in the wrong person uncle. Perhaps it is your niece who whored herself about, tempting my defenseless father.”
“Your father is no more defenseless than you are innocent. As for my niece, she was young and smitten, while not naive, never doubt that she was fooled. I regret that I have come to your aid Tiberon. I fear that I have taken part in another great cover up here in our realm. What kind of king will you be when you overlook a man who has devoted himself to you so you can claim a father who began your life by denying you? What royal fey would break his mother’s heart?” The Representative’s face remained unflinching. “You will, you know, break that poor woman’s heart. In a solitary moment of pure selfishness and vengeance, you will single-handedly destroy over 250 years of marriage.”
“A marriage built on lies,” Tiberon spat.
Pointedly, the Sage met his interjection. “A marriage which has grow into real love, unparalleled commitment and peaceful contentment, the likes of which I doubt you will ever know.”
“Don’t worry uncle, when I claim Jareth’s mortal, I will know pleasures that will rival any this whole realm has known.”
“Are you so certain of that nephew? Have you thought on what would happen if the mortal were to deny you the same way she has the king?”
“She won’t.”
“Sarah Williams is no ordinary mortal and you are wrong to underestimate her. She is very much connected to the king. I leave it to the Cleric to call what they share love, I myself am no romantic, but even I find myself forced to admit that I see something between them.”
Tiberon stood and stared hatefully down at the elder fey. “At most she pities him. After all, she has denied him twice and he continues to pine for her.” He began to strut around the room. He wore as much arrogance as did the king, but on Tiberon it was sour. “When he is no longer king, she will have no use for him and she can let her pity fade away.”
“Never think that pity cannot be strong enough an emotion to make us go against our better judgments, nephew.” The word was bitter on the Sage’s tongue. “I, better than any, know this first hand,” he told him as he stood. “Now go, return to your woodland.”
“I’ve not finished with all I’ve come to ask you. You were to see that she would be made to visit my sector.”
“The Gavel has done that for you without my provocation.”
“And she will come alone?”
“Be glad that she will come at all!”
“She must come alone,” Tiberon demanded.
A great gust blew over the Representative, blowing back the Sages hair as his hands rose and his voice deepened. “Go! Go before I begin to regret coming to your aid more than I already do. Go, before my senses return to me and I confess my treachery!” That being said, the Sage sent Tiberon back to the Southeast himself before he could argue another word about it. Then, he fell back into his chair, a hand, older than it had seemed just an hour ago, wiped over his face.
“Forgive me, he said out loud to no one.
***** ***** *****
When they were taken to their rooms, they found the accommodations to be more than adequate. The bedding was lavish and trays sat by the bedside overflowing with food. “Should you require anything, please pull this cord,” the elves told them as they left them to their chambers. Sarah’s bed was draped with lavish silks that hung over the top of the frame, draping down like an old fashioned bed curtain. When she drew open the panels, the bedding was plush, thick as she pressed down upon it with her open palm. Laid on the foot of the bed was a beautiful gown made of three layers of sheer material, the bodice and hem trimmed in embroidery, the straps were thick satin ribbons. For wearing over the gown, an extravagant robe with billowy sleeves and a hem that cascaded on the floor.
Jareth’s bed was dressed in thin cotton, four posters rising out from the bed frame, nothing above him shy the ceiling. He found a night shirt and cap on the foot of the bed which were to be his night clothes and he grumbled at the poor taste he was sure had been the Gavel’s doing.
Both weary traveler’s set about consuming their fill. They ate fruit and cheeses, a wonderfully fragrant herbed chicken and seasoned potatoes. The greens still crunchy, steamed to perfection. Each tray was accompanied with a jug of wine which they readily partook of. Sarah wondered if the people here every drank anything that wasn’t alcohol. When stomachs had been filled, they ran a bath. Sarah sunk deep into the luxurious tub, candles aglow all about her. Jareth however found that the basin which had been left for him was so short, he could have used his knees to scrub behind his ears. Nevertheless, they were clean and refreshed. Each settled into their night clothes and lie upon their beds, thoughts of the other fresh on their minds.
Sarah was staying. His mortal would remain by his side, in his home for six more weeks. Brazenly he allowed his mind to wonder if they would find themselves entwined again. Wantonly, he dreamed that someday it would be in love and just not in the pursuit of pleasure. Soiling his reverie, he thought about where he was, who was controlling things and doubted the Gavel’s intentions could be for the good. Jareth and the Gavel would never befriend one another. The Gavel was too quick to pass judgment on the king and the king to stubborn to convince the Gavel he was anything more than the boy who inherited the throne.
Sarah couldn’t help imagining the king entering her room, parting the silk panels of her bed curtain and looming over her. How she longed for the feel of him next to her as they had been that night at the base of the mountain. With Christian she had neither love nor satisfaction, she had begun to doubt that any man could give her both. Jareth had loved her once when she was too young to understand the pleasure of sex and now that she had matured, his heart was stone to her. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she told herself. Sex with the Goblin King, even without love, was still more satisfying than what she had known with Christian. It enticed her, making him all she could think about, making the beautiful room around her feel like a cell.
The knock on her chamber’s door made her pulse quicken. “Come in,” she squeaked out timidly, fixing her robe around her so that it opened enough to reveal a bit of her leg and chewing at the inside of her lips so that they appeared fuller and more colorful.
“Miss Williams?” it was the Gavel.
Sarah straightened herself quickly, covering her exposed leg and sitting upright on the bed. “Your, your…I’m sorry, how should I address you?”
“You may call me Gavel. We needn’t be too formal,” he insisted eyeing her a little. “Do forgive my intrusion and at this late hour, but I wanted to be absolutely certain that you were comfortable with going back to the castle with Jareth. I wouldn’t want you to feel forced into anything. A beautiful girl, such as you are, shouldn’t be taken advantage of.”
“If I didn’t feel safe with him I wouldn’t have come back, wouldn’t have asked you to return his magic. Jareth may take advantage of some people, but not me. He’s never taken advantage of me.” Her tone grew more defiant as she spoke.
Sensing she had been insulted, the Gavel attempted to persuade her. “I have known the Goblin King far longer than you milady, and I assure you, taking advantage of any woman is not above him in the slightest. In fact, it might surprise you what your king is capable of.”
“As it so might surprise you Gavel, if you were to allow it.”
‘And so the legend lives up to her reputation,’ thought the Gavel as he stood before her with no response to her rapier retort. It had been said that the girl was mighty with her words where strength of body may have failed her and he had set himself up to experience that truth first hand. “I see,” he finally said, “then I shall leave you to rest for the night.”
Moments after he had gone, Sarah thought about what the Gavel had told her. She wondered how many woman he had taken advantage of. The woman whose aura was still so present in his bed, was she one of hundreds? Thousands? After all, Jareth was immortal, depending on how long he had been alive it would have been possible. When the second knock came on her door, it disturbed her. She was already sitting on the edge of her bed, her legs dangling over the edge, robe pulled tight around her, “Come in,” she snapped.
Compassionate eyes soothed her fears as the Cleric approached. He bowed to her slightly. “Sarah, if I may have your company for just a few moments.”
“You may,” he was charming, soft in a way that made him seem paternal and yet, you knew he held within him a great power.
Gently he took her by the hand and led her to a settee on the opposite wall. “I must say you are every bit as beautiful as I’ve heard rumored you were.”
“Thank you,” she blushed.
“I trust you are undoubtedly as wise as you are lovely. You handled yourself quite well with my colleagues.”
“You seem so very different from them. I find it hard to believe you are all brothers.”
He chuckled at her, “We are brothers for the cause and not brothers by blood. Our realm has not always been as you see it now Sarah. You brought great devastation to the Underground true, but physical damage is easily repairable. The kingdoms of this realm had once been plagued by great injustice and the Gavel especially has grown cynical, suspicious. The Sage is easily swayed and typically follows the Gavel like a lap dog. Concerning yourself with their hostilities is a gross misuse of your time my dear.”
“Injustice? Involving Jareth?”
“Yes and no. You’ll find that many questions here can be answered that way.”
“If you can call that an answer.”
He laughed again. “Be that as it may, I do so hope that the Gavel hasn’t put any unnecessary pressures on you. I was on my way to speak to the king and saw him coming from your chamber.”
She shook her head, “I don’t think he likes me very much and I get the feeling that he wants to make me wary of Jareth.”
“And how is it you feel about Jareth?”
“I don’t feel like I need to be protected from him if that’s what you mean?”
“Not at all. The king and I are old friends, Sarah, I know that he is not always as he appears. The king is fey and you must remember when dealing with fey, things with them aren’t always as they first appear. What he does, the things he says they sometimes have a deeper underlying meaning. With Jareth it’s double hard. He is not one to show his heart or to discuss his pain. He has wounds that are old and deep. Be patient with him.”
“Everyone has wounds,” she justified.
“True. But fey feel things more deeply than any other being, Sarah, even pain. I have a feeling your presence here will help him as it has helped the kingdom,” she looked at the man confused. “Why I’ve only known you a few short hours but already feel as though I could tell you my entire life story, but I’m afraid I haven’t the time for that.” He smiled at her, a tender smile that continued to speak although his words had ended. “Speaking of time, I have taken up enough of yours.”
“No really, you don’t have to rush off.”
“You are a sweet child. There is time. We will talk again, I’m sure of it. Now, to bed with you,” his gentle hands swatted her in the direction of her bed as though she were an adolescent child fighting sleep. “Mortals equate sleep with beauty in some odd way, or so I am told. If that is true, my dear, than it surprises me to find you awake at all.” A final smile flashed at her before he quietly closed the door behind him.
Sarah reasoned that he must have been talking about the adage, ‘beauty sleep’ or perhaps the fairy tale, ‘Sleeping Beauty’. Either way, she was sure he had meant it as no offense. Something about the Cleric brought her peace and calm. She climbed into bed, her mind quieted by the easy melody of his voice and drifted to dream.
***** ***** *****
Jareth startled when the Cleric knocked. “Who is it?” he yelled.
The Cleric entered, “Is that anyway to talk to an old friend?”
“Cleric,” he called, “I’m sorry. It’s only that being here has put me on edge.”
“Is that all that’s put you on edge Jareth?”
“Look at me Cleric, I look like a rejected applicant for Sandman,” he said, extending his arms after first crushing his blonde mane with the night cap he had been provided. His ivory knees showed from beneath the hem of his gown and were he to be honest, the Cleric would have admitted it was a sight to behold, but he suppressed the laughter which tickled the corners of his mouth. “Laugh you old fool, laugh before you explode.”
With Jareth’s blessings he did laugh, long and hard. “I do so apologize for the way they treat you king, but surely you haven’t lost your sense of humor in times such as these.”
“I have lost it along with everything else.” With the confession made he flopped into the settee crossing his legs and tucking the gown between them.
“I know,” the Cleric admitted. “I could see it when we removed your magic from the mortal, a part of you remained behind, a piece of your soul which can never be given back Jareth. But if you were to ask me…”
“Which I’m not,” he interrupted.
“But if you were I would tell you that to love someone enough that you bestow your soul upon them is not to have lost, but to have gained.”
“Save your wisdom. The girl doesn’t return my affections.”
“But surely she must have some feeling for you, something that can grow to love.”
“I don’t know Cleric. You tell me. Can lust grow to love?” The Cleric looked at him quizzically. Jareth spoke once more in an attempt to explain, “Suffice it to say friend, we’ve admitted to a, shall we say, attraction to one another.”
“Jareth, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I please her, even if she doesn’t love me, even if I can’t allow myself to love her, I please her and that pleases me. Perhaps the first thing in quite awhile that I can say does.”
“My son, yours is a heart with more scars than most, you should be more careful that it doesn’t break.”
“It is not in my control to break my heart, just as it is not within my control to mend it.”
The Cleric lay his hand on the king’s chest, “I wish you peace king. I wish you all good things.” With that he left.
Jareth had just settled into his bed eager to rest his body if not his eyes. When the second knocking came he huffed, “What is it?”
The Gavel entered, “You should rise when you receive a visitor Goblin King.”
Was there no mercy left in his world? “Gavel, it is late and I am weary, what can I do for you at this hour?”
“I come to warn you that mating with the mortal while she’s in this kingdom would be most unwise.”
The king was furious, “And this is your news to tell me why?”
“I have not been ignorant to just how beautiful the mortal is Jareth. Praise the Supreme One that I am a fey of great strength, but you,” his tone insinuated that Jareth was far less, “I fear would have a more difficult time. Were the mortal to conceive, well I hate to dredge up the painful memory of your family life, but you of all should realize what it would mean to the Underground.”
“I know precisely what amount of decorum should be maintained Gavel, which is far more than I can say for you. I am here for one night with my mortal, in that time I suggest you stay as far away from the two of us as possible.” The Gavel sneered at him before leaving.
***** ***** *****
Just before morning threatened to break the silence of night’s shroud, the Goblin King grew restless. His night had been filled with dreams of his mortal, her graceful movement, her passionate kiss, her confessions of love, her submission to desire. Stealthily he stole into her room. The sight of her lying still beneath the silk coverings moved him. It was as if she had been delivered to him as a gift, there for the unwrapping, something so beautiful it seemed a shame to open, so precious it would be a sin to waste. He peeled back the rich fabric and gazed upon her sleeping face. “You haunt my dreams the way you haunt my days, Sarah.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and left before he grew carried away with her.
In her sleep, Sarah called for the king, “Jareth,” just moments after he closed the door.
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