THE CONCLUSION
“I believe so,” she said hopefully. “Would you like me to send him by so you two can discuss the arrangements?”
“I don’t think he wants to speak to me.”
“What makes you say a thing like that milady?”
“It’s been two days and he’s barely spoken five words to me. He’s upset that I accepted Tiberon’s invitation. Angry with me for showing his precious Maeve’s true colors.”
“That settles it,” Arulan marched out of the room to gather the king. She returned moments later with Jareth in tow. “You two are going to sit here and talk to one another until you can manage to be civilized. I’m exhausted from smoothing things over between the two of you. Get along or kill one another, either way, it’s fine with me ” When she left she locked the door.
“Do you believe this? My servant ” Jareth tried the door, which was indeed locked. “Unbelievable.” He turned to Sarah who had pushed her breakfast tray aside and was sitting up in her bed, the duvet pulled tight around her. “Have you any idea what this is about?”
“I wanted to know if we were still going to the fairy ring tonight.”
“I’ve been dragged from my study, tossed in here, imprisoned and all because you want to know if we’re still going to the ring?”
“Well you haven’t spoken five words to me in the last two days.”
He softened at her half confession, “Ah, so that’s what this is about. These last two days you were supposed to be resting. I’ve left you to rest is all.” Jareth sat beside her on the bed, taking her hand in his. “Is there anything else on that imaginative mind of yours?”
“You’re mad at me.”
“Mad at you?”
“Angry with me. Don’t mince words with me right now. You’re upset because I accepted Tiberon’s invitation and showed you the kind of woman your lover really is.”
“Maeve,” the king slapped a palm off his forehead. “We’ve come back to Maeve.”
“Yes we’ve come back to Maeve.” Sarah sat up straighter in the bed, not caring if the covers fell away and exposed her in her night clothes. “It always comes back to Maeve. That woman hates me, but you’ve been so busy worrying Tiberon would put my virtue to the test, you never bothered to concern yourself with the fact that she was capable of drugging me. What if I had died?”
Words like stone hit his heart. What if she had died? He thought he too would have to die by his own hand, unable to accept that he had set his own love up for the kill. “First of all, Maeve is not my lover, we were lovers once, a long time ago, long before you and I,” he was going to stop there, but quickly added, “met,” so as not to seem too presumptuous. “I am angry that against my better judgment you accepted Tiberon’s invitation. I warned you repeatedly about him and you chose to ignore me. I’m deeply sorry that Maeve has done these terrible things to you and when next we meet with the Triumvirate I will recommend that she be punished, but let me remind you, had you given my plea any consideration you would not have been at the castle and Maeve would not have been able to hurt you.”
“Do you still love her?”
“Did I not say our relationship was in my past?”
“Your relationship, but your heart carried on through the past, didn’t it? You may not be her lover now, but do you still love her?”
‘My heart,’ he thought, ‘remains in a time when a whimsical young girl once wore a silver-white gown, my mother’s combs in her hair and danced with me as I sung to her my promises of eternal devotion.’ Jareth cleared the lump settling in his throat. “I don’t think I ever loved her to begin with. I wanted rid of the throne, wanted rid of my responsibilities to the Underground, Maeve was a woman I could tolerate. If I could get her to agree to be my wife, we could have a child and I could be free.”
“Why didn’t she agree?” Sarah asked.
The Goblin King closed his eyes and sighed a deep heavy sigh. Sarah noticed the dark markings around his eyes tinged in gold. With his lids lowered it looked beautiful, like a permanent sunrise. “It would appear as if Maeve grew interested in someone else shortly after I asked her to become my bride. You are living proof that I will tolerate just about anything from a woman, but infidelity is no way to begin a marriage.”
Sarah’s heart sunk in her chest. Her insisting upon seeing Tiberon, was it making Jareth relive Maeve’s betrayal. But she hadn’t made him any promises. What right did he have to expect her fidelity? “I’m sorry she did that to you. I know how much it can hurt when someone you think you can tolerate,” his words not hers, “enough to marry casts you aside for some meaningless fling.”
“Do you now?”
“God I swore I’d never tell you this.”
“You don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.”
His blue eyes pleaded with hers despite his words. Unable to resist, Sarah’s lips became flood gates burst open by a wave of truth that had long struggled to be set free. “I lived with Christian for a couple of years. We talked about getting married, but it was always never the right time. We waited to get our careers established. We waited to save up money, he’d spend it, we’d wait to save it up again. Karen’s overbearing step-parent comment of the week changed from, ‘I’d like it if you had dates. You should have dates at your age,’ to, ‘I only hope you make it official before your poor father has to wheel himself down the aisle by your side.’” Jareth smirked. In a very retrospective way it was funny. “I woke up one day and realized I was spending my time trying to marry a man who didn’t know the first thing about me. I felt like such an idiot, such a child, thinking that if I loved him enough, he would have to love me in return, believing that as long as he was treating me like he wanted me, it must be true.” Tears dammed her lids. A few escaping up and over the flimsy wall of lashes. “Then these visions started. Christian had borrowed money from his grandmother. She’s a lovely woman, with very little income and she manages to save what she can so that she can leave the money for her grandkids, but Christian was her youngest grandchild and thereby became her favorite. He took a couple of thousand dollars from the poor thing and went out to buy some expensive clothes and a new watch. I was holding the watch one night, soon before I came back here, and I saw him. He met a jewelry clerk who was less than shy about her interest in him and they,” there was no dignified way to admit this, “they had sex in his car. It pissed me off.” Her cheeks grew red because of her use of the vernacular. “It made me furious that he would cheat on me, but what hurt me more was that as she walked away, having gotten what she’d wanted from him, he wanted more. He wanted to know when he could call her again. He’d had what was supposed to be a committed relationship and went looking for another one rather than saving the one he had. The girl refused him, telling him her intentions were more short term. Two years of my life, gone over a fling.”
“It would seem our lives parallel more than we know,” Jareth said pulling her by the wrist into his arms where her face hid beneath his fronds of golden hair and she allowed her tears to fall. When her sobs had given way to sniffles, Jareth held her at arms length and wiped away her tears. “This is all Tiberon’s fault.”
“No it isn’t,” she said somewhat angrily. “It’s Maeve’s fault.”
“Sarah I don’t mean to argue with you, but the drug you were given was a hallucinogen. It’s altered your interpretation of the situation. Maeve was wrong for what she did, but think about it, she wouldn’t have even been there unless Tiberon had somehow arranged it, the same way he arranged to have her attend our lunch. Neither of them is any more trustworthy than the next.”
“So you forbid me to see him again?”
“No, I only ask that before you see him again you consider what your heart’s true desire is.” She stared at him as though time had frozen. Who was this Goblin King? “As for our engagement later this evening, I will be back just before dusk to take you to the ring, that is if you’re still interested in attending one of those while you’re here.”
“Indeed I am your majesty,” she smiled. “I’ll be ready when you come to call on me.” Before he left he kissed the back of her hand, his mismatched eyes never leaving hers. Jareth walked to the locked doors and cast them open with a simplistic wave of his hand. “But those were locked,” Sarah gasped.
Smugly he reminded her, “There’s not been a lock yet that has stood to hold me Sarah.”
***** ***** *****
Long before dusk actually came, while the skies were still blue and filled with clouds, Sarah was dressed. She sat before her dressing table combing through her long, thick hair. She was glad to be getting out of the castle, excited to be participating in something foreign to her. The dress she chose was pale green with thin straps and lace trim along the edge of the skirt. She had white sandals to wear along with it. Her hair was tied up in a matching green ribbon. Around her neck, the medallion from the king which hung from a white satin collar which embraced her throat.
Arulan came in the room to help her get ready only to find the mortal already checking her appearance in the mirror. “Well I see I’m no longer needed.”
“Oh, Arulan, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so excited to be getting out after all this time in bed I feel like I could fly there myself.”
“Well, you’d be the prettiest bird in the trees.” Her hands held Sarah by the shoulders, “Let me have a look at you then. You’re put together like a prize, you are. Here now, I’ve brought something for you.” Arulan handed her a tiny box. It was pink with a white ribbon. “Go on, open it.”
“You shouldn’t have,” she protested as she undid the bow. From within the box Sarah pulled a tiny crystal bottle.
“It’s perfume,” Arulan told her as the girl eyed the yellow liquid inside. “Cook made it fresh this morning. Honey, vanilla and jasmine, but it’s pure so just a dab on you throat, your wrist and the back of your knees; otherwise, you’ll wind up smelling as sweet as the bog does sour.”
Sarah removed the stopper and applied the liquid as the elf had instructed. It was a sweet and airy scent. “Thank you,” she said hugging Arulan. She noticed the elf was still in her house clothes, “Aren’t you coming to the ring?”
“Heavens no. I’ve been to more of those things than you could imagine.”
“What are they like? I’ve read the books, but what are they really like?”
Arulan took her hands and they sat facing each other on the bed. “There’s song and story telling. A huge bonfire and all kinds of cakes and goodies. They’ll be no less than a dozen species there, things you’ve never seen before. Dancing unlike what we do here at the castle, it’s more ethnic, more ethereal. They can be very romantic affairs, enticing you to believe the universe is at your command. But then again, the libations flow like water there and that could produce the effect.” She cast her eyes away from Sarah’s, “You’re going to have such a lovely time.”
Guilt replaced her joy, “You don’t mind if I go with Jareth?”
“Mind? Goodness no, I’m glad your going.” If she stayed in the Underground a hundred years she’d never understand their relationship. A knock at the door sent the ladies to their feet. “Just a minute,” Arulan called. “Mustn’t let him think we’ve been waiting for him,” she said softly as she winked at Sarah. Neurotically she straightened the girl’s dress and the ribbon in her hair. “Perfect,” she announced before finally going to answer the door.
Jareth looked at her amazed. Everyday something new and beautiful came rushing to her surface. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m a bit early.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Sarah lied. She’d been rather aware he had come early, his muscular legs covered in beige tights, leather to either end. For his feet, brown leather boots, his chest clad in a brown leather vest. His painter’s shirt had long ruffled sleeves and was just a shade lighter than his tights. His frock jacket the same deep brown as his other leather garments. Brown leather gloves ever present upon his hands, one of which held his riding crop. “Will we be riding?”
“This?” he held the stick up. “Oh I suppose we could ride.”
It seemed as if she had not seen Chataigne in a mortal’s lifetime. “Oh can we?”
“Chataigne is saddled and waiting at the Labyrinth’s front gate. Shall we?” He offered her his arm and off they went. When Sarah looked back, she thought she saw a tear in Arulan’s eye. Not wanting anything to spoil the ring, she made it a point to forget what she thought she saw, although she felt cold when she did.
***** ***** *****
“Hello boy,” Sarah whispered as she stroked the horse’s blaze. “You remember me, don’t you? I remember you.” Turning to Jareth she asked, “Where’s Bagheera?”
“Bagheera is a sensitive thing, not used to a lot of other unfamiliar horses being around. They’ll be quite a collection of fell ponies there tonight, best we not try his patience.”
“Of course, so we’ll ride together.” Jareth nodded, “But I can’t ride in this ” Sarah’s face sunk as she looked at her clothes. Oh, and she had spent so much time putting herself together.
“I thought that you might ride side saddle. It would be quite a shame for you to have to change when you look so stunning as you are.” Sarah looked at him in that coy way she had been as of late, eyes all turned down, peeking up from the sides with a blush on her cheeks. He mounted the horse and offered her his hand. Effortlessly , she was lifted up and sat before the king, both of her legs hanging over the left side of the horse. “Your torso should face front,” he said, “while your waist will turn and allow your legs to dangle over his side.” Using the hand free of the horse’s reigns, the king helped her into position.
Seems riding this way meant her bottom would be fitted into his crotch. ‘Well if it must be done, it must be done,’ she thought. Jareth placed on arm to either side of his mortal and split the reigns. When the king asked if she was ready, Sarah nodded, but gasped when Chataigne’s trot made her wobble to and fro on his back.
“Maybe you best hold on until you get used to riding this way,” he suggested.
“Hold on to what?” she asked frantic.
Jareth halted the horse. He took her right hand and put it around his waist. “There, now let’s give it another try.” As they road on, Sarah let her head rest against Jareth’s shoulder. He was thankful for it allowed him the freedom to breathe in her scent more deeply. Honey, vanilla and jasmine, his favorites.
Occasionally Sarah would open her eyes and try to determine where they were. They rode west, she was sure of that, further north than Gandor’s sector, not as far north as the waterfall had been. The last of dusk had settled over them in a smoky grey film just as they reached a thick wall of trees. “Have we gone the wrong way?”
Jareth smiled and shook his head. Urging Chataigne on, he nudged the horse between the widest gap any of the tree trunks offered. Just barely, horse and riders slipped through. Inside, a huge circle had been created by some very large and colorful mushrooms. It was like an Aboveground carnival. People milling about in all directions, drinking, eating, laughing. A group danced next to a small stage where a singer crooned. Their movements grand, high kicking and swinging arms, trading partners and then trading back. The king watched her eyes as they grew with wonder and the night was still young, with many more surprises. He guided Chataigne to where the other horses were. A few compared to the gelding’s stature, but most were lower to the ground, a deep onyx black with thick coats that grew shaggy at the animal’s ankles and long tails that hung against the ground like a train.
“Those are the fell ponies I told you about.” Jareth explained when he saw her gawking. “Very common among the wee folk.” He dismounted and held up his hands, flicking his fingertips back at himself, indicating she should fall towards him. “Listen,” he told her.
Sarah stood as motionless as a woodland creature who sensed peril nearby. One haunting voice began to fill the glen with it’s melody. “How can you say you didn’t know? How can you say he never tried? How can you turn on your heals to go, leaving your lover here to, leaving your lover here to cry over you, cry over you?” In her haste to obey the king’s command, she had yet to take her arm from around him where it had landed when she came down from Chataigne’s back. “Weren’t those good times good enough, for you to make up your mind and who filled your head with this freedom stuff? Leaving your lover here to, leaving your lover here to, cry over you. He’s gonna cry over you, cry over you.” If the voice was haunting, the words were terrorizing, as they spoke all the things her head thought as Sarah looked upon the king, whose eyes closed as his heel rose and fell in rhythm with the song. “And he may wake in a stranger’s bed and cover your tracks with those pretty blue eyes, but you can’t run forever from what’s in your head. One of these days you’ll have to, one of these days you’ll have to cry over you. Cry over you.” Those three words echoed in the glen. Sarah didn’t know for certain if everyone heard them or just her. Arulan was right, this was an ethereal place.
“That’s Twink,” Jareth said when the song had ended. “Sings like a giant, but she’s only about the size of Hoggle’s child. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Ignoring the fact that her mouth was hung open, mistaking her being overwhelmed having been caused by the scene and not the song, Jareth grabbed her hand and they ran headlong into the ring.
“So you’re Sarah,” Twink said when they got closer. She was no taller than Hoggle’s child, but she was sleek and trim, skin the color of peaches and bright blue hair that was done in a complicated twist, tendrils pulled free in defined curls.
“How’d you know my name?”
“Not many stories ‘bout mortals in these parts, fewer actual mortals.”
“Good point.”
Someone shouted for the fairy from across the ring, “Gotta run. Listen you’ll sing later right?” Twink asked the king.
“I don’t know, I haven’t really prepared anything. I’ve had a bit of a cold lately,” he coughed to emphasize his point.
“False modesty, not your strong point. Sarah, you’ll sing too right.”
“I couldn’t, I mean...”
“Look everybody sings here. Don’t worry about it. Gotta go.” When Twink turned to address the creature who had called for her, Sarah saw that she had wings. Proportionate to her body, they were thin, delicate, trimmed in blue with color splashed about the interior, shifting shades and interpretation as she flew away. Twink reminded her of an overgrown butterfly with the voice of an angel.
“That’s Ilkor,” Jareth pointed to a gnome who had gathered a small crowd around him. He wore a red coned hat, a crisp white shirt, baggy brown pants and loose green boots. It was like seeing someone’s lawn ornament come to life. “He’s going to tell a tale. Would you like to listen?” Sarah nodded anxiously.
“Your majesty, you’ve decided to join us.”
“I have. What tale will you tell for us tonight?”
“Ahh,” Ilkor drawled the expression out as he caused a hush to fall over the crowd. “Tonight a tale of love and suffering, a happy ending, but a permanent one.” One of the listeners in the crowd drew in a sharp breath. “Long before people told tales about love and perseverance there lived a boy named William. From the time he had met young Barbara Allen he loved her.” Ilkor wove the tale before them, a one man show filled with expression and physical movement that made one forget they weren’t attending a performance. He told of how William pursued Barbara Allen relentlessly. Even serenading her in the rain until he caught pneumonia, which of course was typically fatal in that time. Barbara Allen visited William on his death bed and even there she couldn’t reach beyond her selfishness. When poor William died, the lady moped about how she would perish just the same. Of course, she lived on years beyond William, but when she finally died, she was buried next to the man who loved her, agreeing to be with him in death as she could never be in life. “They were buried side by side beneath a tall, tall tower. From William’s grave grew the red, red rose and from Barbara’s grew the briar,” Ilkor finished in lyrically rhythm.
The crowd erupted into a huge roar of cheers and applause. He certainly had a way of telling stories. When the praise had died down to a small thunder of accolades, Ilkor made his way to Jareth. “A fine story, my friend.”
“Your majesty, you’ve not been to one of our festivities in near as long as my son has been alive.”
“Timpin. How is he?”
“Just turned 75 last June. Got himself a great little stump not far north of here. He’s met a young woman. Just a moment,” he bent at the waist, placing a finger in either corner of his mouth a let out an ear piercing whistle. Two gnomes came running hand in hand through the crowd. “Jareth, this is my son Timpin and Zollie, his special lady.” Sarah noticed that aside from Zollie’s long pig tail braids and Timpin’s short, white, full beard, the two looked very much alike. “Children, this is the Goblin King.”
Zollie sunk to her knees. Timpin bowed, “Your highness.”
“Oh, let’s not be so formal now.” He stooped trying to get closer to the gnome’s height. “I knew you when you were just a sprout. My, but you’ve grown. Zollie, Timpin, this is Sarah Williams of the Aboveground.”
“The legend?” Zollie asked her eyes wide like saucers.
“Just Sarah,” the mortal told her.
Timpin took her hand in his and shook it wildly. “I can remember father’s stories about your visit to our kingdom.”
“I’m sure those stories have been embellished somewhat over the years,” the mortal blushed.
“Not where your beauty was concerned.” Zollie let out a tiny snort.
Ilkor laughed, “The perils of young love. Come you two, the maypole dance is beginning. Jareth, Sarah , why not join us.”
“Milady,” Jareth asked.
Around the maypole everyone had already chosen up ribbons, Sarah picked up a gold ribbon that remained on the ground. Jareth a blue one nearly opposite of her. The last of the dangling ribbons was lifted from the ground by a wood sprite. They alternated the directions in which they faced and when the music began they danced in and out, weaving around one another. Seeing Jareth engage in this kind of entertainment forced a smile on her lips. For him, watching her laugh and skip around the pole was less comical and more surreal. Everything about her was fluid perfection, she wore her soul on her sleeve, unable to hide her joy. ‘She could thrive here,’ he thought before banishing the idea in order to preserve his sanity. Eventually everyone was knotted close together around the pole. Couples kissed while they were already face to face. Strangers shook hands or hugged as a cordial greeting. Jareth and Sarah exchanged a sly glance. They noticed that everyone else had stopped to watch them, waiting to see how they would react. The king coughed and Sarah straightened her dress.
“Kiss her,” shouted an elf in the crowd of onlookers. It began a chant from within the collection of maypole dancers.
“Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.”
“I don’t think they’ll let us out alive if we don’t oblige them,” Jareth chided.
Sarah looked up at him, her eyes smiling as she licked her lip subtly, “Then I suppose we have no choice.” His glove spanned the back of her neck, forcing her head to tilt upward. Their lips met and the chanters hushed. It was a gentle kiss, but a passionate one. The silence was soon replaced by ooohs and awwws which caused Sarah’s lips to spread into a wide smile, the king still attempting to kiss her. He gave up when she broke into hysteric laughter. Blush covered his cheeks and the corner of his lips curled as he watched her giggle, not yet sure whether to be offended by her response.
“I’m hungry,” she said when the fit of giggles finally passed.
“Then we’ll eat.” In a separate section of the ring there were booths that served ales and punches, meats, cheeses, fruit and desserts like the ones Arulan had described. Sarah and Jareth walked along the many booths sampling the tasty treats until they were full and anxious to sit. The fires had been lit and everyone had gathered to watch the dancing and listen to the beautiful music. Jareth would describe the different species as they took the stage. Everything from the tiniest pixie to other fey. It was a great relief to both of them that neither Tiberon or Maeve had decided to attend.
A lively upbeat song filled the glen as two by two the attendants rose to join those who had already been dancing. Jareth stood before Sarah, his gloved hand reaching out to her. Sarah’s palm slid tentatively into his glove. No sooner was she up and on her feet, Jareth swung her into his arms and began skipping her over the grass. His hand pushed her hip, leading her in the right directions as he smiled, disarming her. It was less formal dancing than what they’d done at the castle, but it was far more fun. By the time the song ended, Sarah’s cheeks ached from smiling.
Twink took the stage again, “For those of you who’ve yet to meet the king’s guest, allow me to introduce Sarah Williams of the Aboveground.” The crowd applauded. Sarah suddenly realized that even without a microphone the voices of the men and women upon the stage seemed to fill the glen. Jareth poked at her side with his elbow. “Come on Sarah. Don’t make me fly out there and get you.” When she stood and began to make her way to the stage, to cheers and applause got louder. “Sarah dear, we were hoping you would sing something for us. Rumor has it that you’ve got quite a lovely voice.”
“I couldn’t possibly. I’m not very familiar with the types of music you play.”
From the crowd came shouts of, “Sing us something from your world,” and “How about one of your kinds of songs.”
“I suppose I could,” she said hesitantly. “One of the first shows I ever got booked in was called Oliver and in it I sung this song.” Before she began to sing she cleared her throat. “As long as he needs me, oh yes, he does need me. In spite of what you see, I’m sure that he needs me. Who else would love him still, when they’ve been used so ill? He knows I always will, as long as he needs me.” As Jareth had during her audition in New York, he sat mesmerized by the shear magic of her voice. “I miss him so much when he is gone, but when he’s near me, I don’t let on. The way I feel inside, the love I have to hide, the hell, I’ve got my pride as long as he needs me.” Those notes were powerful ones and the king noticed his skin had pulled up in small bumps all along his arms. He was thankful for those long sleeves. “He doesn’t say the things he should. He acts the way he thinks he should, but all the same, I’ll play this game his way, as long as he needs me.” It was a moment after the last note rang when the applause began. Sarah had focused her attention on where Jareth sat, hypnotized by his hands banging together. If she didn’t know better she’d have said she could pick out the distinct sound of one leather glove striking the other. After a small bow, she returned to her seat.
“That was beautiful. There’s your real magic,” Jareth told her when she took her seat at his side, shivering a little as night came to the glen. He removed his frock and slung it across her shoulders. The garment still held his body heat. Sarah pulled it tighter against herself and slid closer to his side. In the shadows he smiled down at her.
The night wore one with more folk singing and Ilkor’s tales of hard fought love that didn’t always work as it had been planned. Jareth would lean over and explain some of the old English words to the mortal. Sometimes she was thankful, other times offended that he couldn’t give her more credit, but she didn’t let it show. They were having a fantastic time. In fact, were she to get asked, she may have even said, it rather felt like a date. To take it one step farther, it was the best date she’d had in a long, long time.
“It’s almost time for the Gach Ean, but before that, there’s a certain fey in the audience who has tried to escape from having to sing all night. Jareth get up here and sing for us before I have my brother turn you into a toad.”
Before he transported to the stage, he patted Sarah’s leg. Beside Twink, before the crowd, he told her, “Unlikely.”
“Put your money where your melody is Goblin King,” Twink told him.
The music began just a moment before Jareth’s voice spilled over the glen, “I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don’t really care for music do you? It goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift, the baffled king composing Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Your faith was strong, but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof, her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you,” he looked directly at Sarah as he sung about beauty and moonlight. “She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne and she cut your hair and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Maybe I’ve been here before, I know this room, I’ve walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you,” Again his eyes met the mortal who laid her head on her shoulder and swayed as she lost her self in the gentle rhythm of his voice. “I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch. Love is not a victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. There was a time you let me know what’s real and going on below, but now you never show it to me, do you? I remember when I moved in you, your holy dark was moving too and every breath we drew was Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Maybe there’s a God above and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who out drew you.” Bent on one knee, Jareth locked his eyes on his mortal with a truth and a sincerity that touched her to the core. Though she didn’t notice, the entire crowd had turned their eye from Jareth’s performance to watch Sarah’s reaction to his poignant last verse, “It’s not a cry you can hear at night. It’s not somebody who’s seen the light. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.”
When she realized all eyes were upon her, Sarah looked about nervously and began to applaud. The tactic worked to distract them from her flustered appearance. She was speechless when the king returned to her side. She could only stare at him. “Well,” he asked, “What did you think?”
“It was unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It’s an amazing thing.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Her arm slid through his as she returned his smile.
Back on the stage, the band began the Gach Ean. The lyrics were short but incredibly serious, especially when sung by a satyr with a voice that echoed in the wood as he performed the refrain, “Nothing is certain, but I will die with you. Whiskey falls. I don’t want to lose someone like you.”
One by one the couples got up to dance a choreographed number they all seemed to know. For some it was the first time they had ever danced this dance, while for others it was an anniversary of the hundredth time or more. “Let’s dance,” Sarah suggested to the king.
“The Gach Ean is a courting dance Sarah. It’s not the kind of dance one enters into lightly for the thrill of the dance. These people are either committed to one another or committing to one another by dancing.” His hand moved in a sweeping gesture indicating the many pairs.
Timpin and Zollie were dancing, their eyes locked upon one another as tightly as their hands were clasped. Ilkor and his wife. The last wood sprite to pick up a ribbon at the maypole dance and the someone Sarah had seen her snuggling with when the dance had ended. “But it looks like such fun,” she said grabbing his arm, her hands rubbing at the defined muscles beneath the silk.
“Sarah, how much have you had to drink tonight?” He stood quickly before he gave in to her tempting touch.
“I haven’t touched a drop. Not wine or mead, ginger beer nor heather ale. I may never touch alcohol again.” She grabbed him round his narrow waist. “You. You intoxicate me.”
“I’m taking you home,” he said decidedly, walking her in the direction of Chataigne.
“Good. Take me home, take me deep into the glen, or back to the waterfall. Take me any place you like.” Alone with only the horses to witness them, her eyes danced over his face, eyes to lips, hither and yon again. “You are my king and I shall do as I’m told your majesty, I only beg that you take me,” stopping their frantic roaming, her eyes locked with his, “tonight.”
Where is this coming from?”
“My heart. My head. Both if they’ve conspired against me, neither if I am mistaken. What does it matter? I have never in all my life felt as alive as I do this instant. The moon and the stars, they dance for me alone. This night, this magic, I want it to last forever.”
“All good things must end,” Jareth said as he mounted the gelding. “Give me your hand.”
“Only if you’ll take everything that comes along with it.” On horseback she nuzzled herself into position between his thighs, thrilled to have his arms about her. Her left arm snaked behind his back. Her right forearm rested on his chest, her fingers twisting his hair. Halfway home, when the king hadn’t had much to say, Sarah pressed her lips against his throat. If he’d have told her he wanted her to stop, it would have been a lie, but if he allowed it to continue, things would progress. He’d made his decision while he watched her dance under the moon that night. Unless he could love her, fully and completely, he could not love her at all.
Outside the Labyrinth, he tethered Chataigne. Just before dawn, Gribbin would come and take him to the barn. There was nothing to worry about. He transported the mortal to her room. “Thank you for accompanying me this evening. I had a pleasant time.”
“A pleasant time. Your majesty, I could show you a pleasant time,” her hands worked at the cravat around his neck.
“Sarah,” he pleaded grabbing her wrists and lowering her arms to her sides. “I can’t do this, not tonight,” pain filled his mismatched eyes.
“Right. Well I wouldn’t want to make you do anything, you didn’t want to do.” Her head hung as she slipped out of his frock and handed it back to him.
He knotted the coat in his hands. He wanted to do the same thing she wanted to do, perhaps even more than she wanted to do it. But without being able to confess the love in his heart, it no longer meant anything. The king couldn’t find the satisfaction in just pleasing her any longer. He wanted to please them both, but as he told his mortal, not tonight.
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