“I don’t even want to see food for at least a week,” she exaggerated. The king chuckled, “Arulan said you wanted to see me as soon as I was awake.”
“Yes, well, why not have a seat and you can let me know when that happens.” Jareth came out from behind his desk and joined his guest in the sitting area before the fireplace.
“Why aren’t you miserable right now?” Sarah asked finally looking at him, his clear white eyes, his fresh face. ‘Bastard,’ she thought. “You drank more than I did last night? How are you even standing?”
The Goblin King smiled disarmingly, “I’m actually sitting.”
“Either way.”
“I’m afraid my magic gives me a certain elevated metabolism which means I can oxidize the liquor a far sight quicker than you, or so it appears.”
“Yeah well, what happened to that part of your soul I’m supposed to have. Doesn’t that include your metabolism?”
“No, I’m sorry,” he said still smiling. “I’m afraid that is a benefit of my magic only.” A sweep of his hand and he held a glass of tomato juice. “Try this,” Jareth suggested as he offered her the glass.
“What is it? Is it a Bloody Mary? Because if it is, I can assure you based on my college experience, that old hair of the dog remedy doesn’t work.”
“Bloody Mary? Hair of the dog?”
Genuine confusion ruled his face, “Never mind. What’s in here?”
“Tomato juice,” he told her. After making a pass over the rim with his hand, he added, “With a bit of magic in it.”
Sarah wasn’t particularly fond of tomato juice but she drank the vile fluid down anyway. No sooner did it hit her empty stomach had she begun to feel better. The bags beneath her eyes lightened and the seething pain which seemed to clench her temple began to relax. With most of her discomfort out of the way, Sarah was now quite aware of just how ragged she must appear to the king who was dressed in his usual royal finery. She made a feeble attempt to tighten her ponytail.
“Feeling better?” the king asked when he saw the green fading from her cheeks.
“I am,” Sarah admitted.
“Good.” Jareth stood and began pacing back and forth in front of her. “Sarah, I...I don’t know if you recall some of the things we discussed last night.” The woman slunk down in the sofa. “I don’t mean to bring up anything that might be unpleasant, but...”
‘Nothing here to hide under,’ she thought as she looked around the room. ‘No fire in the fireplace, maybe while his back was turned...’
“I hope you don’t mind me asking.”
His words forced Sarah to refocus her attention, “Huh?”
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
“We both drank a lot last night and I don’t think we should put much value in any of it. If I’ve offended you, I apologize and if I’ve made a fool of myself, I would appreciate your not mentioning it.”
“And if I believe you had a vision concerning my great grandfather, my grandfather and my great uncle, what would you have me do about that?” Jareth’s tone hinted displeasure at her selfishness.
The paintings! Immediately she looked at the likeness of the two men, her vision refreshed by the sight of them. “I suppose you’re angry with me.”
“No, not at all. It’s only that I think it best if no one else knew about your abilities.” Sarah waited for him to go on, “Sight is an uncommon ability in this world. We haven’t had a seer in this kingdom,” he thought back to the diary entries he’d read over the other day, “in a very long time.”
“A seer?”
“Someone who can sense aura, uncover the past, even at times, see the future. Their words are taken as law in this realm. They go unquestioned. There are some here that would abuse your...talents.”
“That’s what you call it.”
“It is a very rare and desirable gift.” Was he still talking about her magic?
“Yeah, well it hurts like hell while your at it. Not to mention, did you ever think that sometimes I get to see things I don’t want to see?”
“Such as?” he asked with concern as he reclaimed his seat beside her.
‘Christian, with another woman,’ Sarah thought. ‘You, with another woman. Is that enough?’ “Nothing, Jareth. Are we through?”
“No, I’m sorry, but we’re not. I need to know everything you saw last night.” The king knew that there was more to the mortal’s hesitation than it might appear, but it wasn’t his way to encourage others to confide in him. Still he was curious, Sarah had seen something of his grandfather’s past and if any of it could help solve the age old mystery of his great uncle’s murder, he had to know.
“I barely remember being in this room. What makes you think I remember that vision?” She felt herself becoming the subject of his doubtful stare. “I remember thinking Corwyn was older and being confused as to why he wasn’t king.” Her head clenched with pain once more causing her to lean her elbows on her knees. Jareth’s hand went instinctively to her back, the other hand pulling the glass from her grip and setting it on the table.
“Sarah? Sarah, are you all right?”
Though she found comfort in the sound of the king’s voice, she heard Hoggle’s words override him. ‘You’re the one in control Sarah. Nothing you see can hurt you.’
“He knows...knows he shouldn’t have favorites, not when it comes to his own children, but the baby tends to want its mother more, he reasoned. It was his job to groom his son to become king. He was the first, he would set the precedent. And so Corwyn got most of his attention and secretly, most of his love. The paintings were done on his son’s 75th birthdays marking their becoming men. He would sit, at that desk, admiring Corwyn, forming a relationship with Darien that he could never have face to face, envisioning the son he wanted rather than the one he had.” Sarah’s head rose slowly, her eyes filled with tears, “Oberon thought it would be him they would murder. What no one knew was that he prayed for it. Prayed that it would spare his children and take him instead. Gwendolyn would be heart broken without her husband and she’d hold tight to her baby while their eldest son slipped seamlessly into the throne. Maybe if Darien was preoccupied with his mother, he’d straighten up his life, give up the women and the drinking.” Wiping at her eyes, she continued, “No king should have to bury his son. It was grey the day they laid him to rest. Oberon was furious, mad at the sky for refusing to chase away clouds that his own sorrow had put there in the first place. Gwendolyn never cried and Oberon doubted her for that. They had returned to the castle for their son’s burial ceremony, those last hours before returning home, he spent here. In his mind he had no children, a wife who couldn’t comfort him and his grief had forced him to grow old. It was almost a relief when Darien took the throne. Oberon could take his wife back to their home, where they would be free of Darien’s sweet words and fraudulent grief, leave him to his cold stone castle, which served only as a living memorial to Corwyn, who should have been king for another hundred years or more.” Sarah looked into Jareth’s mismatched eyes, for a minute she saw her own reflection before the tears obscured her view entirely. This was what Jareth had to grow up in the shadow of, the legacy he was left. A trembling hand reached out for the medallion which he wore almost as constantly as his gloves. “This was Oberon’s, given to him by his father. He gave it to Corwyn.”
“My grandfather took it from him. It would have been considered an insult to bury it with my great uncle.”
“Oberon’s glad the necklace made it into your hands.” Sarah drew back her hand, “But he hasn’t returned to the castle, not since...”
“The funeral,” Jareth finished her sentence. “I’ve been to see him a couple of times.”
“He wishes you’d come more often.”
Jareth didn’t know how to reply. After an uncomfortable amount of silence had passed, he asked, “Would you like to return to my chamber so that you have time to ready yourself for dinner.
Sarah looked down at herself, her hair limp in the knot at the back of her head, her eyes swollen from crying. “I would like to clean myself up some,” she admitted, “but only if you’ve heard everything you need to hear.”
“And then some.” Jareth stood, offering a hand to his mortal as he rose. When Sarah placed her tiny hand in his, his thumb rolled gently over her knuckles as he guided her toward the door. Once there he gave a gentle tug to a long braided cord which summoned Arulan to his office. “If you would be so kind as to take Sarah back to her room and see to it that she has something more formal for this evening.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Sarah offered.
“Something formal Arulan,” the king let go of Sarah’s hand, using his index finger to catch her chin, raising her eyes to meet his own. “It pleases me to do these things for you. You are a guest here, the dinner is being held in your honor, you should have something formal.”
“Thank you,” she smiled, before Arulan, also smiling, turned her to leave.
***** ***** *****
Jareth returned to his desk, opened his journal and began scrawling down the date for today’s entry. Before he could touch quill to paper, there was more knocking on his door. He angrily replaced the quill in the ink well. Only Sarah’s presence had been requested, this was just an interruption. “Come in,” he grumbled.
Deverell entered, stood before the king and went to one knee, “Your grace, please pardon my coming unannounced.”
“What is it that you need?”
“Your grace mentioned earlier that I would require training before I could be of any assistance. It’s been half the day now and I haven’t been asked to learn a thing.”
The king came from behind his desk, “Rise.” He began a deliberate circle around the fey, “It was my intention to give you this day for familiarizing yourself with your new surroundings, but if you are so intent upon training I suppose I could arrange for Dalkeil to begin after tonight’s dinner. Is that your desire?”
“Indeed, your grace. Might I ask what Sir Dalkeil will train me regarding?”
Chuckling at him, Jareth replied, “Dalkeil is a master in several forms of combat. While in my employ he has trained armies, I’m sure he’ll find working with you to be little, if any, challenge. Trust me when I tell you, you stand to learn much from him.”
Deverell’s face hung in visible disappointment, “I see.”
“You had anticipated some other arrangement?” the king asked.
“Well, your grace, I must say, I was looking forward to you training me. I want to be able to handle any situation the same way you would.”
“You’ll find that I lack the patience to teach others, Deverell.” Jareth’s tone became authoritative, “In fact, you would be surprised by just how many areas there are in which my patience grows thin.”
“Yes your grace.”
Jareth took a seat in the chair closest to the fireplace. “Come and sit with me a moment, boy.” Deverell took his place on the couch, facing the king. “I get the impression that you are somehow desperate to impress me. Please do not think me unkind when I tell you this, but I’ve come to think of myself as a bit of an original. I have heard it said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery; however, I have little appreciation for attempts at duplication. ‘Tis a far better service we do to be ourselves. Besides, no one likes a kiss ass.” Jareth leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms before him, locking his fingers. “Lastly, you overestimate how much your presence here is required. I’m not so blind that I do not know precisely why it is the Cleric sent you, but the truth remains that if anything so heavy duty that it requires you to act as king should occur during my distraction with the mortal, there would be no question where my loyalties would lie. Most days, you will have little more to do than control the unruly goblins in the city surrounding the castle and weed through my mail for items which must receive my attention, handling the more menial tasks, thus freeing my time. I’m having you trained in combat only because the mortal makes this castle a target and, if necessary, I expect that you will give your life to protect her.”
After some silence, Deverell swallowed hard. “Your majesty?”
“The girl is regenerating this kingdom, nothing can happen to her while she is here. Not to mention she is a mortal, which by definition makes her far more susceptible to injury and the fatal results thereof. You are expected to defend her with your life. If this is a condition which you do not feel you can accept, you may leave now.”
The young fey looked at the king. His eyes had spoken only seriousness when he propositioned Deverell. “Do you truly believe that it would come to that?”
“What I believe is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that Sarah is safe,” he quickly added, “and this kingdom is restored.”
“I agreed when the Cleric chose me that I would serve you in any way you asked. If this is what you ask of me your grace, then this is the service I will provide.” The gravity in his eyes as he spoke matched Jareth’s.
“You will hear it said of me that I am not one to dole out compliments,” the index fingers of his hands templed. “While what they say is the truth, I will admit this to you. You are a man of honorable intention. I can see that. While you allow yourself to show fear, you do not run from it. You have a healthy respect for that which you think you cannot handle. Quick wit is your greatest weapon. A well hidden retort can alleviate one’s frustration and if disguised in a curtain of well spoken grammar, your foe leaves none the more offended and none the less aware that you have trumped him. Likewise in battle, think in the instant. Just now, when I said you would be expected to give your life if necessary, your initial reaction was most likely a concurrent one. Yet you stopped and thought and, in doing so, you allowed yourself to doubt, you allowed yourself to fear. Do not be afraid to be the fey that you are capable of being.”
“Yes your majesty.”
“We are done. Allow me to show you to the door. There is much I need to finish before tonight’s dinner. You are expected to dress formally, if you do not have formal attire, my seamstress can fit you with something.” Jareth rose and began to lead Deverell from the room.
“That will not be necessary your grace, I was told in advance of your pension for formalities and packed accordingly.” Deverell gave him a small bow before turning to leave.
Jareth swung the door open with his magic, “Very well.”
“Your grace, may I speak freely a moment?” Without answering, Jareth nodded his head and gave a quick upward jerk of his eyebrows as if to say with curiosity, ‘You may.’ “It would normally not occur to me to tell a king, or any high fey, they were incorrect in what they did or spoke, but with all do respect, your grace, tonight I have witnessed a grievous error on your part.”
“Is that so?” The king’s stance became defensive as he locked cold eyes on the fey who stood before him.
“Indeed. Not but a few minutes ago you stood where you stand now and said to me that you lacked the patience to teach others. Yet, as I leave you now, you have given me a lesson I would be foolish to ignore.” He bowed once more, “Good day, your grace.”
***** ***** *****
Again he resumed his position at the desk, cleared his throat and took quill in hand. From the corner of his eye he watched the door, waiting for the knock, almost daring someone to interrupt him once more. Though no one came, the mood to create an entry had passed. Instead, the king sat back in his chair. One leg kicked at the ground sending his chair spinning in a circle. The motion made his head swim, “How you turn my world you precious thing.” Those were words he had spoken before. He had seen truth in them then, but if it were possible, he saw gospel in them now.
Not ten days ago, he gathered his pathetic goblin army and sent them to infiltrate the sectors of the Underground. If Jareth couldn’t play with magic, he would play with power. Without hesitation or regret he would bring his kingdom shaking to its knees. What was left? The lands were ruined the subjects already destitute. Why not have some fun? Why not make the Underground as lost, lonely and unbearable as was its king?
Now, there he sat, spinning like a top, giddy as a school boy. Having just ordered a pretty new dress for his mortal and taken the brash, though inexperienced, Deverell under his wing. Her being around had changed him. Sarah had a way of softening his heart, though she was not without the ability to harden other organs. The king digressed. Still there was truth to it. Seeing the Underground alive made him want it alive, made him put aside his petty vengeance for a greater good that seemed to perpetually escape his narrow conceptual grasp. Seeing Sarah made him want her to be with him always, but this was a decision he could not make, which required feelings he would not admit. “Sarah Williams, why do I allow you to have this power over me when you won’t grant me the same in return?” The chair slowed it’s orbital motion as the king focused on the ceiling.
‘If only I had seen one time when love worked out,’ Jareth thought. But what had he seen in all his years? Marriages of convenience, marriage for stature, political gain and it was all perfectly acceptable. Among the commoners, few treated their marriages with the respect that they had pledged on their wedding days. Most had affairs outside the constraints of their vows, without so much as the batting of an eyelash. His world was prolific with courtesans and although he had been born and raised among the mentality, it angered him. That was the reason he refused to train the women that were brought to him. Even the idea that he had taken so many women to his bed revolted him. Males tended to have their needs, and Jareth after all, was just a fey. Besides, he hadn’t made any of them false promises. He merely requested their silence, thought of his mortal, went about the act with a certain amount of automation and then back to his business until the desire rose again. He gave himself to none of them in soul or in spirit. They satisfied his need and he gave them the status boost they quested for. Nausea overcame him and he wondered if he could look at his prowess the same now that he had been with Sarah and if he could continue the charade when she was gone.
In fact, Sarah brought many things into question for him. These two things most prevalently; however, there were volumes more. He questioned the duties of the king, the way he was expected to treat her, the way he was expected to treat his subjects. What if a child were wished away while she were here? She had not at all appreciated what transpired with Toby, what would she think of him when he tormented yet another young and careless someone and the child in their care? He worried about being ostentatious and condescending, worried about his dress and his manner. Jareth felt himself grow rigid and forget to breathe. “This is the most ridiculous I have ever behaved,” the king growled as he slammed his fists onto the desk top, snapping the quill in two. “Damn,” he cussed as he watched the feather gliding toward the stone floor. The tip made a clinking sound as it landed in his waste bin.
He tried to force himself to remember that her mortal magic allowed her to delve into his deepest secrets as easily as she had invaded the secrets of the Labyrinth. What else would she uncloak in her remaining weeks with him? All these efforts he exerted to keep her at arm’s length’s, only to be undone by magic as strong as his own, magic he could not counter. The seer was right all those years ago, this woman would be his undoing.
His mind could have written a book about the way he felt for her, the love, the hatred, the passion generated by both and the friction created between them. Yet, when the means were in his hands, he couldn’t scrawl a word. She welled a contradiction in him, empowered and yet emasculated, freedom with entrapment, glory dimmed by shame. Yes, contradiction, that one word, described them apart, described them together. What had the Triumvirate done allowing them this taste of honey? And the Cleric, the ever pushy Cleric, who’d sent this boy to do his will, thinking that Jareth would just sign over his kingdom to Deverell so that he could focus his full energy upon the mortal. Arulan was just as bad, purporting to know his heart’s desires, never failing to remind him just how well she knew the side of him that almost no one was permitted to see. “Not enough men in this castle,” Jareth grunted. “Perhaps Deverell will prove to be a happy edition to our motley little crew.”
Behind him, he opened the curtains, allowing what was left of this day’s sun to come streaming through the glass and cast its rays upon the credenza, upon his chair, over his desk, over himself. What an amazing warmth it possessed! How had this escaped him for so long? He sat there, enveloped by the golden rays, a smile pulling up on the corners of his mouth, relaxed, content, happy.
***** ***** *****
“If you’d stop fidgeting for a second, then maybe I could get this fastened and you’d be more comfortable,” Arulan said to Sarah.
“I can’t help it, I’m stepping on the hem,” she replied.
“Well bustle the sides in your hands until I get this hooked.” From behind Sarah, the elf looked into the full length mirror to witness a look of utter confusion. “Like this,” she grabbed the fabric and bunched it into her hands until she could see the middle of Sarah’s calf, held it there a moment and released it.
Sarah repeated what she had seen Arulan do, shifting all of her weight to one side as she did so. “Arulan, I can barely breath,” she practically whined.
“Stand…up…straight,” Sarah complied. There was a faint scraping of metal against metal and then a long zipping sound. “Ah, there we have it. Let go of the hem.”
Continuing to do as she’d been told, Sarah allowed the fabric to fall from her grip toward the floor. Though she hated to admit it, she looked stunning. The gown which had been made for her was cut from a heavy and yet incredibly satiny deep purple fabric. The straps were thin and looked embroidered, the bodice tight with an umpire waist where the embroidery reappeared, split in the center forming a petty coat in the outer most layer that revealed several layers below which covered her to the ankle. The hem line in the back pooled behind her in a gathered train. Sarah made a half turn in order to see the back of the dress in the mirror. “I’m going to break my neck going down the stairs.”
“Nonsense,” Arulan told her, “just bustle the sides like we did before only not so high, just a hair above your ankle.” She demonstrated. “Look at you. You’re an absolute vision, as well you should be after all the work we’ve done to get you dressed and ready.” Arulan had taken each individual ringlet in Sarah’s thick mane and pinned it up onto the top of her head, until she had created an elegant look of gently cascading curls that seemed to gather in the back without any visible accessory whatsoever. A few tendrils hung long in the back and framing her face to accentuate. Then she had done the mortal’s make up, heavy enough to make her face look flawless, but light enough that she appeared very natural, slightly flushed, with a touch of color to lids, lips and cheeks. Lastly, she had dusted the mortal’s chest, shoulders and back with a faint glitter which gave her an amazing glow.
“We? I haven’t done anything but stand here. Speaking of which, will I attend dinner barefoot?” she asked the servant while lifting the hem and wiggling her toes.
“Goodness, I almost forgot.” Arulan pulled a box from underneath the bag which had held the dress. Inside was a pair of black high heels, with a narrow pointed toe and two long black cords off the heal.
“Ballet slippers!?”
“No Sarah, not ballet slippers. Slide your toe in,” Arulan instructed, kneeling before her and holding the shoe in place. Once Sarah had stepped into the toe, the elf’s hands quickly worked the cords in a criss-cross pattern up her ankle and then tied off the cords. They were what Sarah’s mortal friends would have referred to as ‘fuck me’ shoes, perhaps a bit racy for wearing to dinner with the king and Hoggle, but the dress would cover them so what was the harm. After repeating the process with Sarah’s other foot, Arulan stood back, looked over the mortal and thought, ‘I can see why Jareth is so taken by this one.’ “How’s it feel dear? Are you comfortable?”
“I think so,” Sarah wobbled around on the shoes for a moment until she got her footing. “Okay, I’ve got it now,” she announced when she had finally managed to adapt into a fluid glide. Shortly thereafter, while Sarah was still practicing her walking, there came a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” the mortal offered.
Arulan broke into a sprint in order to beat her to the door. “You most certainly will not,” she admonished. “Go and stand over there.” Her hands swatted Sarah in the direction of the fireplace before she adjusted her dress, cleared her throat and opened the door. With a subtle curtsy she addressed, “Your majesty.”
“No, I’m sorry, it is not.” It was Deverell at the door.
“Beg pardon, sir. What can I do for you?” Arulan asked.
“I’ve come to see the lady Sarah to dinner.” Sarah stepped toward him and Deverell looked over her appreciatively.
The elf interrupted, “I’m afraid you may not.” She was stern when she spoke, “His majesty, the king, said he would come for the mortal. I cannot allow anyone to escort her but him.”
“Surely he would entrust his second in command,” Deverell replied confused.
“Not even his own shadow,” Arulan stood firm.
All this formality struck Sarah as ridiculous and wholly unnecessary, “Arulan, I don’t mind if Deverell escorts me to the dining room.”
“But I do,” the voice came from behind the fey as he stood in the doorway. “Deverell,” the king pronounced his name slowly, “might I have a word with you,” he glanced at Arulan, “in private?” Arulan softly closed the door. Jareth paced back and forth before the fey, “Who told you to come and gather the mortal for dinner?”
“No one.”
“You took it upon yourself?”
“If I am to defend her with my life, I thought I should get to know about her. Surely you can see that it would be difficult to lay down one’s blood for someone they didn’t care for.”
“You have a direct order from the king, you need nothing more. I’m certain the Cleric gave you a thorough understanding of monarchy before you came here.”
“Aye,” Deverell conceded.
“You are here to do as I say. Unless you, or anyone else in this castle, receives a direct order from me you are not to approach the mortal, barring, of course, the special permission you have to defend her should she be in peril. Do you understand?” Jareth stopped short in front of Deverell before asking him to confirm comprehension.
“I did not mean to make it seem as if...”
“Do you understand?” the king asked once more.
“Yes, your majesty.” He stood motionless before Jareth as it occurred to him that one moment’s closeness with the king meant nothing overall, for when he felt crossed, he exerted his dominance freely.
“You may see yourself to the dining hall, the seat to the right of the head has been reserved for you.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Taking a moment to allow his anger to subside, the king straightened his vest with a sharp tug and opened the door to his chamber. “Ladies,” he greeted them with a graceful bow.
Arulan returned his gesture and then scampered from the room, a wicked grin on her lips. Sarah and Jareth looked at each other for a long moment. She looked positively stunning as she stared back at him, a stiff lower lip accentuating her glower. Beneath what Sarah tried to pass off as a look of castigation, she too participated in this exchange of appreciation. Jareth’s tights were a deep plum, tucked into the top of his typical black boots. From beneath his black leather vest flounced a plum painter’s shirt. The silver medallion ever present. The gloves he wore perpetually were a soft leather, maybe suede, she couldn’t tell for certain from where she was, but she could see they matched the deep hues of his shirt and pants. His blonde hair appeared almost white against the dark fabrics. Sarah felt her back stiffen and her shoulders square. ‘I’m not,’ she thought. ‘Please tell me I’m not posing for him.’ Despite what she may have wanted to hear, she was doing just that, forcing her body into a position that accentuated her elevated breasts and allowed the dress she wore to flow along her body in the most flattering way possible.
“You look lovely,” Jareth finally mentioned, breaking the silence. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, he made a vain attempt to appear undaunted.
When he was finally before her, Sarah cast her eyes on the toes of her shoes, his nearness making it difficult to hold his eye. She saw his hand rise up and unconsciously followed it, captivated by the fluid movement. ‘Oh my,’ she thought, ‘they’re velvet.’ This close it was easy to tell what fabric his gloves were made of. Jareth cupped his hand and rotated his wrist. Instantly a choker materialized and draped over his fingers, the band constructed of the same type of elegant embroidery which made up the straps of her dress. From a loop at the center a miniaturized version of Jareth’s amulet hung, made of silver, swaying left to right. Sarah was hypnotized by the light rocking allowing her mouth to fall open slightly. In question, she turned her eyes to Jareth.
“Allow me,” he said, bringing forth his other hand to undo the clasp and fit the band around Sarah’s neck. It was practically impossible to hook the clasp from in front of her, so Jareth leaned in, hoping that peaking over her shoulder he could work the fastening.
When his mouth came closer to her own, Sarah captured his lips, placing a long, appreciative kiss upon them. She felt Jareth return her affections, although not as deeply as she might have liked, his velvet gloves tightening around her throat, his thumbs stroking her jaw. “Thank you,” Jareth said when Sarah had broken the kiss, “but I was just trying to do up your clasp.” The king moved the two ends of the band, still pinched between his fingers. Sarah’s face went red, but Jareth only smiled in the arrogant manor he always smiled, giving the mortal the impression that she had really given him an upper hand. “There we have it,” he said triumphantly as he stood back to look at the medallion as it fell into the hollow of her throat.
A shaking hand reached up to touch it as Sarah turned toward the mirror, “It’s beautiful. Who did it belong to?”
“What makes you think it belong to anyone?”
“There’s a faint energy. I felt it the minute you put it around my neck, but I can’t see who she was.”
Jareth’s face grew solemn, “The energy you claim to feel may be some residual magic Sarah. The band has been enchanted so that it can change to match whatever you’re wearing. I hardly think a black satin Celtic pattern would match riding pants and a blouse. You’ll see as you try it on with other things.”
“Amazing,” she said numbly, still unable to take her eyes off the precious metal at her throat. The feeling of a woman’s energy still hitting her more strongly than she would admit to the king.
“We should join our guests in the dining hall, if you’re ready,” he extended his arm to her.
After a moment, she fed her hand through his, resting her fingers just below his elbow and bringing up her other hand to meet them. Her fingers dared to roam a bit as she took notice of the gentle hills made by the firm muscle in his forearm. Jareth smiled. Making a magic pass with his free hand he covered her hands in black satin gloves that rose to her elbows. Sarah gasped and then returned his smile as she allowed him to lead her from the bed chamber.
***** ***** *****
At the top of the stairs, Sarah gathered her dress into her left hand, keeping her right hand wrapped around the kings arm and inhaled deeply before beginning to descend. ‘Please don’t let me fall,’ she thought as she did her best to smile. As her foot left the last step for the safety of the stone floor, she let out the breath she’d been holding. Jareth guided her to the door of the dining hall which was opened by a male elf in a red jacket and black tights. Rather than entering himself, Jareth pulled Sarah from his arm and guided her through the doorway. Loudly, the elf in the red jacket announced, “Lady Sarah and his majesty, the king.”
Everyone in attendance at the dinner table rose. Sarah smiled lightly, not sure exactly how she should behave. Jareth whispered into some of her fallen tendrils, “Take the seat to the left of the head.” When she moved for the chair, the king came up behind her and pulled it away from the table. Once Sarah was seated, the king took his spot at the head of the table. The guests took their seats once Jareth indicated they may do so with a subtle gesture of his right hand. Hoggle helped Drema into her seat. Sarah, seated at Hoggle’s right, helped him to position himself once his wife was settled.
Jareth looked around the table, pleased that everyone he had invited had taken time to attend. There was Deverell to his right and beside him, Dalkeil. Then Turgomon, the king’s public advisor and last along the right side of the long rectangular table, Atofina. Atofina was a fey known about the kingdom for training courtesans, but what few people remembered was that before the Underground had a king, it was she who was chosen to teach Gwendolyn how to carry herself like royalty. The woman was legendary, among the members of the high court who served the Triumvirate before they were able to fully organize themselves. Over the years she’d learned there was more to be gained from the ladies of the night, rather than the ladies of the court, which had disbanded. Most refused to believe Atofina was truly the age she was, making it seem as if she’d only ever been a madam, but Jareth knew more, knew what his family had always told him. Facing Atofina was Arulan, to her right Drema who was seated next to her husband. On Hoggle’s other side, Sarah was placed at the left hand of the king.
“I welcome you all,” Jareth announced. “Tonight we gather round this table to welcome the Lady Sarah,” he gestured towards her. “There is much business we have to discuss, but before we talk business, I believe that my kitchen has prepared a satisfying meal that my wait staff is only too anxious to serve.”
Five elves served the table, two on either side and one whose duties applied specifically to the king. Sarah recognized the elf who brought her plates as one of the females from the previous day when she had first arrived. Though she tried to not to, her eye wondered casually toward Arulan’s seat, curious as to why she would be invited to sit at the king’s table when everyone else asked to attend was of some greater significance than servant. Course after course arrived beginning with a wonderful spinach quiche, a salad made from a mixture of wild greens and red cabbage, and a rich onion soup. Drema and Hoggle were practically full by the time the main course arrived. They shared the steamed squash and carrots, the potatoes au gratin and the pork medallions.
When the dishes were cleared and the glasses refilled, Jareth cleared his throat and rose his glass. Once more he thanked his guests for their attendance at the meal, but before he could complete his sentiment, Hoggle jumped up onto the seat of his chair and interrupted, “What’s it you want from us?”
Drema chastised her overzealous husband, “Sit down Hoggle. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
Jareth lowered his glass, “No good woman. Hoggle speaks the truth. It would be a lie for me to say I have brought you all together for no other reason than to meet the mortal.”
“Told ya,” Hoggle snorted indignantly.
“As I said,” the king raised an eyebrow at the dwarf, “there is another guest in this castle.” He motioned toward the fey at his right, “May I introduce Deverell. He has been sent by the Cleric to assist me in running this kingdom while Sarah and I set about restoring these lands.” Deverell stood and gave a slight bow. “Hoggle, I expect that you will give him whatever guidance he requires, what with you being an old pro at maintaining order here.”
For a moment Hoggle sized him up, attempting to figure out if he was sincere. He had called him by the proper name, twice now. “Aye yer majesty,” he conceded.
“And Dalkeil, the boy knows weaponry as a sportsman. I ask you to train him by means of the sword, the dagger and the hand.”
“Aye your majesty,” he replied with a tip of his head.
“What is it you expect me to do for the boy?” Atofina asked, a hint of a giggle in her voice.
“The boy does not need the type of services you can provide,” the king replied knowingly. “The lady is in need of your assistance.”
“Jareth, that’s new, even for you.”
“Sarah must be trained in the ways of behaving as a lady behaves. It is crucial that she draw as little attention to herself as possible.”
Atofina laughed madly, “It’s been quite awhile since I’ve done that kind of training.”
“I trust it will return to you once you begin.”
“Perhaps,” she smiled as she finished the wine in her goblet.
“And I, your majesty,” Turgomon offered, “am I to see to it that the lady is kept from the spotlight?”
“Precisely. It will be impossible to keep the girl a secret, why with her being forced to visit the sectors, but we should make every effort to minimize her exposure. Rumors will spread quickly and I expect that you will silence them as discreetly as possible.”
“Do you truly think that best?” Deverell asked.
Jareth shot him a harsh look, “Do you have some better suggestion?”
“Well your grace, I would think the less you tried to hide the mortal, the less there would be to rumor about.”
“The boy has a point,” Turgomon acknowledged. “Were we to attempt to deny all that is rumored of the legend we only open the door to guilt by admission. Where as if we were to make some spectacle of her, some public announcement of her arrival, what question will be left for them to ask?”
“What sort of spectacle have you in mind?” the king inquired, not at all pleased at having been overruled by his stewards.
“A masquerade, Jareth. Yours were always the most fun,” Atofina suggested from the furthest length of the table.
Without trying to hide his displeasure the king sat and listened to the others as they too agreed a ball would be the most splendid way of introducing Sarah to the Underground. Turgomon pointed out that it would be the kind of social event that everyone would be able to partake in. Deverell made obvious that the occasion would be a festive one, putting the people in a pleasant mood to begin with while their costumes afforded them some amount of secrecy, thus avoiding their being intimidated by a mortal. None of their offerings moved him to agree until he felt Sarah’s hand upon his arm, her voice low and sweet, “A ball, like the one we had last time?”
“Similar,” he admitted.
“I would very much like to go to a ball.”
“If that is what you wish milady, then it shall be a ball which introduces you to this kingdom.” She nodded, a smile gracing her ruby lips. “A ball it shall be.” Jareth stood, “Arulan I expect that you will assist Turgomon in whatever he needs to arrange for the festivity.”
Arulan nodded. “When do you wish the ball to take place your majesty?”
He looked to Turgomon for an answer, “Week’s end is always a good time for festivity.”
“Week’s end it shall be. Very well, the rest of you will begin training tonight.” They stood to go, all of them but Sarah. “After,” Jareth added, “you have been served desert. There’s a divine crème Brulee and a well aged brandy for washing it down. Please sit.”
***** ***** *****
“Good, good. Balestra and lunge,” Dalkeil instructed. Deverell stood motionless. “A fleche then?” When his student continued refusing to move, he added, “Have they never taught you the attacks boy?”
“No, as his majesty said, I learned the sword in sport.”
“Even in sport a score gets kept, does it not?”
“They prize us on form and talent.”
“I’ll give you this much,” the weapon’s master told him, “your experience with form and method do not go unnoticed, but your fear of the attack is bound to leave you run through in the field. If you wish to serve the king, you must learn to fight.” Dalkeil drew back on his heal and lunged at Deverell. Surprisingly, the pupil could block with relative efficiency. A series of quick parries and the more experienced swordsman managed to fake an attack sending the younger fey’s sword sailing through the air. Dalkeil touched the covered end of his sword to Deverell’s whites. “Defense will only take you so far.”
“So I see,” he coughed out as he stepped back, breaking the connection of Dalkeil’s sword to his chest. He stepped toward his weapon, grabbing it by the handle, Deverell assumed a ready stance, “Teach me to do that.”
“Derobement?”
“If that means you will show me how to disarm my opponent, then yes.”
“‘Tis a skill which most do not learn until much later in their training.”
“I have little time to learn to defend this kingdom, we will work until sunrise if that is what it takes.”
Dalkeil eyed his student, “Ambitious aren’t you? I shall add that to the list of credits I might give you.”
“Soon you shall add aggression as well.”
***** ****** ******
“I’m not trying to offend you. It’s just, well, I don’t see the need for me to go through with all this. I did perfectly fine at dinner,” Sarah objected as she and Atofina occupied the castle’s sitting room.
“In fact, you did not do entirely poorly at dinner,” she replied, “but there were some more obvious errors.” She’d sprawled herself out along the chaise, seeming very comfortable in the castle.
Irritated by both her statement and her demeanor, Sarah stiffened her back and repeated, “Errors?”
Atofina shook her head, “Would you care for me to elaborate?”
“Yes, please.” The reply was sickeningly sweet.
“To begin, you assisted the dwarf. You are a lady in the king’s home. You will be served, waited on and catered to. You should never serve, wait on or cater to anyone else,” with a wicked grin she added, “except the king.”
“The dwarf, as you call him, is my friend.”
“I don’t care if he’s your father.” For a moment she watched Sarah’s mouth hanging open. “Second, you called the king by his first name.”
“As do you.”
“I have known his majesty since he was a child, you on the other hand have not. You should, in public anyway, refer to him only as your highness, your majesty or your king.”
“What about your grace?” Sarah asked. She’d heard many of the servants call Jareth, your grace.
“A term used by persons in service to the king. Tell me Sarah,” Atofina leaned in on the mortal, eyeing her, “Are you in service to the king?” Feeling the blush run into her cheeks, she quickly answered no and asked that her advisor go on with the lesson. “Where was I? Oh yes, you’ve got to move more like a woman.”
“Excuse me?” Sarah asked, her eyes wide.
“You should glide, every move you make should be fluid.” Atofina stood and stepped around a bit. She held her head high as she did so, tilted back a hair. Her palms were parallel to the ground, all but her forefinger bent. “From first step to last,” she paused at the other end of the chaise, her feet perpendicular, making a sweeping motion with her hands, “you should hold the attention of all those in attendance.”
There was no sense in arguing. Atofina had held Sarah’s attention the entire time she paraded around. The mortal had never seen anyone seem so effortless and thought that surely it would have been an attribute of the fey. “Human woman don’t behave this way.”
“And if it were I who was Aboveground that fact might concern me; however, it is you who is here, with a masquerade being held in your honor at week’s end. I think you would be less disagreeable.”
“Fine. I get it. Don’t do anything for anyone unless it’s Jar…I mean, his majesty who asks. Use his majesty for calling the king in public and step lightly.”
“Walk for me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Walk from here to the mantle and back for me, lightly as you say.”
Begrudgingly Sarah obliged. She did her best to mimic Atofina’s steps, but her shoes still sounded loud off the stone floor attempting to hold her palms as the fey had done was throwing her off balance causing her to wobble side to side. “Absurd.”
The fey suppressed a giggle. “We’ve a lot of work to do. For tonight practice walking on the balls of your feet, don’t touch your heels down. If you practice in bare feet, it’ll be a cinch in shoes.”
“What do you mean for tonight?”
“His majesty has asked that I work with you each evening in preparation for the ball.”
“What’s the big deal?” Sarah asked her without attempting to hide her irritation.
“The big deal,” Atofina explained as she gathered her wrap, “is that whatever excursion you were on the last time you attended an Underground masquerade was nothing. A dream you took part in. Come week’s end, you’ll be the center of attention, before a number of guests who have all heard about the legendary mortal who once defeated the king. You’ll be set apart from every mythical in attendance. Put before the eyes of the Representatives and the Triumvirate where your actions and reactions,” the fey stressed the latter in a way Sarah couldn’t help but to take notice of, “will be judged. We can’t have you making an ass of yourself now, can we?” She gave a kiss to the air on either side of Sarah’s cheeks and saw herself to the door.
Alone in the sitting room, Sarah fumed over how Atofina had behaved, telling her she was masculine, insisting she not give a helping hand to her friends, but perhaps most infuriating, the way she told Sarah to address Jareth. If only she would have had the courage to tell the pretentious fey just how well acquainted she and the king were. For a moment she allowed herself to feel smug, but then she thought, ‘What if Atofina could make the same claim Sarah wished she had?’ Ignoring the golden braid which hung in the doorway of the sitting room, Sarah decided to make her own way back to her room.
She begun walking down the hall towards the dining room to the main staircase when she heard the most enchanting music coming from one of the rooms off to the right. Sarah peaked in the first door to find a powder room. The second door she knew was Jareth’s office. From behind the third door she could clearly hear the music getting louder. It was definitely a piano, a mid-tempo piece with plenty of power notes. “Yooou. Yooou. Yooou.” Someone sang from behind the door. Inching it open just enough to hear clearly, Sarah listened on, “No peachy prayers. No trendy rechauffe. I’m with you, so I can’t go on.” It was the king. She slid stealthily through the crack and gingerly shut the door behind her. Moonlight filled the room through a series of glass doors and splayed over a wooden inlay that took up three quarters of the floor. White walls and silver framed mirrors reflected a good portion of the light allowing it to bounce about the expansive area, but for the corner of shadow near the entrance where the mortal hid. “All my violence, raining tears upon the sheets. I’m bewildered that we’re strangers when we meet.”
Almost involuntarily her feet drove her towards him as she watched him play on. Eyes closed, he sang the words with great passion as gloved fingers danced over the keys, striking them with purpose as he played. “Did you write that?” she asked mistakenly thinking his solo was an ending to the piece.
“You might say.” Jareth half chuckled as he patted the piano bench beside him. Sarah obediently sat. The king played on. “Blended sunrise and it’s a dying world. Humming Rheingold, we scavenge up our clothes. All my violence raging tears upon the sheets. I’m resentful that we’re strangers when we meet. Cold tired fingers, tapping out your memories, halfway sadness, dazzled by the new. Your embrace, it was all that I feared. That whirling room, we trade by vendue. Steely resolve is falling from me. My poor soul, all bruised passivity. All your regrets, ride rough-shod over me. I’m so glad that we’re strangers when we met. I’m so thankful that we’re strangers when we meet.” He smiled at the mortal who sat beside him entranced by his words, hypnotized by the motion of his fingertips. “I’m in clover that we’re strangers when we meet. Heal head over that we’re strangers when we meet.”
The last note of the melody rang in the space between the wooden floor and the high ceiling. It was a truly beautiful song that had touched Sarah deeply and though she hated to presume, it was not hard to draw a connection between its haunting lyrics and the experiences she and Jareth had shared. “You play magnificently,” she finally managed to choke out.
“Thank you, I get it from my mother.”
“I bet you do,” this time Sarah gave him a small smile as she remembered thinking about the extraordinarily long fingers Leanan Sidhe had. They would have made good piano playing hands, just as Jareth’s did.
“Do you like the room?”
For the second time she looked around the huge space. This time she noticed that the piano was not the only instrument inside. There were stringed instruments like she had never seen, flutes and drums, a harp. A band would have been needed to set every piece in there playing at once. “Do you play all of these?”
“Not all of them,” Jareth admitted. “A few are Arulan’s, but that one right over there,” he used his right forefinger to point to a rosewood Gibson Hummingbird with a mahogany neck, “that is one I have yet to master.”
On shaky legs Sarah approached the Gibson. From where she stood, she glanced back at Jareth, tears welling in her eyes. “How did you find one? They haven’t made this model in years.”
“Turn it over.”
Sarah did not respond to his instructions immediately, rather, she allowed herself to hear the words and then took several second to realize what he was asking her to do. Why? On the back of the guitar her father had bought her, Robert Williams had them inscribe something to the effect of: To my little song bird, love from her daddy. Surely, the king hadn’t managed to locate the actual guitar she’d been gifted when she was just ten. Yet, as she rotated the instrument in her hands on the back of its upper bout, just below and to the left of the neck, she read the words. Jareth was before her when she looked up from the body of the guitar, her tears falling freely over her cheeks. “How did you..”
“I went Aboveground and got it.”
“But how? Wasn’t Christian there?”
“By magic and no one saw me I assure you.”
Her arm cradled the curve between the bouts, hugging the instrument to her, as the fingers of the other hand wrapped round the neck and settled on the a few fret markers. She let go of the body to strum at the strings. “Thank you,” she smiled up at him through tears. “I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
“I think I can see,” he told her as his gloves wiped away the wetness from her face. “Well go on then, impress me as you did before.”
“Oh, I can’t possibly think of anything to play.”
“There must be something you’re familiar enough with to play by heart.”
“Maybe something,” she thought a moment. “There is this silly song I used to sing to Toby when he would refuse to go to sleep.”
“That’ll do nicely.” Jareth fell back on his heels, folding his arms across his chest waiting for her to begin.
The song had a long opening, but when her lips curled in a smile and she began to sing about the little one whose company they had once shared, the king knew it was worth the wait. “When your sister plays guitar you dance without a smile. Kid, you may not have great rhythm, but you sure got style. Just four years old and still it seems you’ve got it figured out, when sister sings and then you dance, the people clap and shout. ‘Cause you’re my dancing boy and it’s so scary how you trust me. Just one look from you and I come pouring out like wine. Dancing boy, I’m sure by now that you must see, your dancing means much more to me than any dream of mine. Yes, I’m so proud when you are with me, that my heart lifts in my throat and when you start to strut your stuff, my eyes go all a float. When I have to leave you home, as sometimes it must be, I feel that with my leaving, I leave far too much of me. Yes, you’re my dancing boy and it’s so scary how you trust me. Just one look from you and I come pouring out like wine. You’re my dancing boy, I’m sure by now that you must see, your dancing means much more to me than any dream of mine.” Tears welled in her eyes as she played out a short bridge and then, choked up, she sang the last verse. Jareth clapped along. “You know the time will come my dancing boy, when your dancing days are done and when sister and her dancing boy will have dwindled down to one. You know the world will have taught you other steps to match the march of time, so you’ll have to keep our dancing days, dancing in your mind. Yes, do your dancing boy and it’s so scary how you trust me. Just one look from you and I come pouring out like wine. Do your dancing boy, I’m sure by now that you must see, your dancing means much more to me than any dream of mine.”
Although Sarah’s last note was horribly off key suffocated by a sob she forced back down her throat, it didn’t keep the king from complimenting the talent he knew she had, in an effort to help take the focus away from the child he knew she missed and had since Toby had grown to leave behind his adolescence. “Simply amazing,” Jareth said as his hands stilled.
“It’s nothing much. Once you know the major, minor and dominant chords, it’s pretty easy. Watch.” Sarah modeled a few chords for Jareth.
“May I?” he asked hesitantly
Relinquishing the instrument, Sarah watched him as he positioned it. He seemed a bit unsteady. “Use your knee,” she offered. When he looked at her puzzled she added, “Step your foot up on something and balance it over your knee, in the slope between the bouts.
Jareth used his magic to materialize a stool which he propped his foot upon, then positioning the guitar over his knee, as she had instructed, he began to play. The king took to music quickly, watching her and the few simple tips she’d provided and he was converting his old piano tunes in no time. Sarah was amazed at the way he played, as if were second nature to him. It was almost as captivating as watching him at the piano had been, only he occasionally grew awkward when he tried to play without balancing the guitar on his knee.
“I’ve been looking for a woman to save my life, not to beg or to borrow. A woman with the feeling of losing once or twice. Who knows how it could be tomorrow? I’ve been waiting for you and you’ve been coming to me, for such a long time now.” He sang as he played.
Sarah closed her eyes and let his words wash over her. Just as she was ready to fling herself into his arms and proclaim that she would be the woman he had searched for, the music ended. “You eyes are falling closed. Are you tired?”
Now that he mentioned it, Sarah supposed it had been a long day and getting some rest wouldn’t hurt. She nodded at his question. Jareth set the guitar in the stand which he had also retrieved from Aboveground and reached for the cord which would summon Arulan. Sarah’s hand stopped his just shy of the golden braid. “I had my first lesson with Atofina today,” she said.
Drawing back his hand, the king turned, cocking an eyebrow at the mortal whose interjection had come from out of the blue, “Yes.”
“Well, part of it was all about how I’m supposed to be catered to and blah, blah, blah.”
‘Oh yes,’ he thought, ‘she had learn much from Atofina.’
“Anyway, a lady should be escorted, don’t you think? And since I am supposed to be in training for the masquerade, where you will be presenting me, shouldn’t we take this chance to practice?”
“By my escorting you to our chambers,” he purred.
The way he said ‘our chambers’ made Sarah’s skin tingle. “Just a thought.”
The king bent his arm and with a subtle bow, begged her to join him. “Milady,” he said, his eyes intensely focused on hers. When she took his arm the tingling sensation intensified and seemed to run through her whole body, deeper than just her skin. A second later they were in the bed chamber. Night clothes had been laid out for Sarah, who let free of the king’s arm and changed before him, brazenly, without care for the fact that he would see, fully aware that he would watch. And Jareth did watch, from behind her, at the foot of the bed. He watched the candle light igniting her silhouettesilhette as she pulled the dress from her shoulders, holding it before her and stepping out. Before she covered her nearly perfect form in the silk chemise, Sarah removed the pins from her hair, one at a time, setting them on the beside table. When all her locks were free, she shook the ebony waves until they hung loosely down her back. Finally she slid the pale yellow gown over her head and allowed it to cover her naked body. By the time she turned around, Jareth was in his usual black silken night clothes.
Sarah crawled into bed tentatively, as if a great courage had suddenly drained from her body. The king joined her, prepared to take the couch once more, if she were to object to his sleeping at her side. Sarah did not object. He peeled back the duvet and slid beneath the weighty fabric, happy to be in a bed for the first night in a week, content to be in the company of his mortal. “Goodnight milady,” he said silkily.
“Goodnight my king,” she replied.
In the last of the light, just before Jareth’s sweeping hand extinguished the sconces, she saw him smile a crooked smile, “Your king?”
“It is the way Atofina said I should call you.”
“I rather think I have done a wise thing in arranging for you to meet with that woman,” Jareth said before rolling onto his side where his partial nocturnal eyes could see the mortal even in the dark.
“You know, it’s not the most uncommon thing Aboveground for friends to kiss,” she said after the silence had grown long.
“Well,” the king replied, propping up on one elbow, “if you’re going to be generous enough to learn my customs, I suppose I should be generous enough to indulge you in yours.” He bowed his head, gently grazing her lips with his, pulling away and recapturing them a series of times until she felt herself sufficiently frustrated by his games.
Sarah’s small hands filled with his hair as she captured the back of his neck, holding him still and giving him a proper goodnight kiss. “Goodnight.”
‘Yes, it is,’ he thought as he settled next to her.
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