THE CONCLUSION
Jareth sunk into a tub of hot water and attempted to allow the steam to carry off the stress of this event. Sarah sat in one of the large chairs by the fireplace, her knees hugged to her chest. Transfixed by the fire, she soon found herself unable to blink. Forcing herself to look away, she blinked repeatedly until her eyes became moist again. She noticed the 5x7 photo on the mantel and took it in to her hands. It was a photo of Jareth parents. From their dress, she inferred it had been their wedding day. The Leanan Sidhe wore a lace gown, the combs in her hair, those same silver combs which Sarah had worn during her first masquerade and her last. Around her neck, hung from a string of pearls the medallion Jareth had given her to wear. The symbol of the Triumvirate, that symbol she had only seen as possession before, hung in the hollow of her neck. Her black hair in complete contrast to her ivory gown. Ian wore black breeches, a white painter’s shirt and a black frock coat. He looked out of place, as if it were attire he were not entirely accustomed to, not the way Jareth wore those same clothes with strength and stature like a second skin. Suddenly Sarah felt overcome with appreciation for those adornments which until now, she had resented.
It occurred to her just how interesting the decor of his room was. She replaced the photo to it’s original spot on the mantle and found herself captivated by a sword hung above the fireplace. It was finely crafted, the metal seamless where the blade joined the hilt. The handle elegant and yet rigid with deterrence. Her fingers folded over the handle and without actually trying, the sword lifted from it’s holds and she was easily able to lower it before her chest. It must have been heavier than it felt, Sarah thought as she braced herself for the anticipated weight. Instead it was no heavier than the child she had held just this morning. The blade began to feel as if it belonged in her hand, as if it had purpose. A sharp pain shot through Sarah’s mid-section and the sword fell to the stone floor. Jareth came running into the room and fell to his knees at her side just as Sarah collapsed. He lay her head in the pooling silk of his robe, balancing it easily between his thighs.
“Sarah,” he called as he pushed back the hair from her face. She only grunted back at him, the pain making words impossible. “What happened?” The king noticed the sword on the floor and immediately began feeling her over, afraid she had been run through by an attacker. “What’s going on with you?”
Images filled Sarah’s head. A much younger Oberon at the dining table with his wife and two sons. An appreciative Corwyn roping the same medallion Jareth wore over his throat. Darien, the familiar sword twisting in his hands. His narrow eyes entranced by the reflection of light in it’s broad blade. As though she were sitting at the table watching them, Sarah saw Oberon’s eyes fill with worry. She felt an overwhelming sense of doom.
Time flashed forward, Corwyn and Darien playing chess at a small table. Her head snapped back in the king’s lap, only the white of her eyes showing. Jareth tried to call for help, but was distracted when Sarah shouted, “Leave, Darien, leave and do not return.” The two mean were engaging in a heated verbal assault.
The next series of images flashed by very fast, but at the same time they were so graphic, they appeared to her in slow motion. Corwyn, drunk crawled into bed. His sleep restless. Then she saw Darien’s face in the window, smelt the woodsy mirth of magic in the air. Together with Corwyn’s image she jolted awake. Darien held the sword high above his head. The fractionally iron blade caught beams of moonlight and ricocheted them in all direction. Her eyes widened and her body began to tremble. “Someday I knew...” was all she managed before the searing pain of the blade ravaged her mid-section. The heat of iron coursed through her veins and in an instant the tainted blood struck her heart. Sarah clutched her chest.
Jareth was shouting now, for Arulan, for anybody, to come and help her. “Sarah, Sarah,” he called over and over. “You’re not Corwyn, whatever is happening to you isn’t real and I need you to realize that. I need you to come back to me. Sarah ” Each word grew more frantic than the next.
She heard him, only he sounded miles away, certainly further than the few inches he truly was. He needed her? What did he need her for? She was right there? Couldn’t he see that? Slowly the burning in her stomach subsided, the pounding of her heart died down to it’s normal thump. Sarah’s eyes began to focus and she could almost make out Jareth face hanging over hers. “What am I doing on the floor?” she asked as she became more and more aware of his surroundings.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” he admitted pulling her into his embrace.
Arulan and Turgomon came flying into the room. Arulan saw the sword on the floor, “My word, she’s been attacked.”
“Attacked?” Sarah asked.
“No,” Jareth told them. “She wasn’t attacked at all. She had some sort of seizure.”
The king stood and helped Sarah to her feet. The foursome occupied the seating area before the fire. Jareth paused before joining them to replace the sword above the mantle. “It wasn’t a seizure either. Jareth I think I had another vision,” Sarah said when he sat beside her.
“But you called out my grandfather’s name?”
“I know,” her shaking hands covered his. “I know. Oh my, Jareth, there is no easy way for me to tell you this.”
“There shouldn’t be anything you feel you can’t tell me. Whatever it is, I will understand.”
“I don’t understand,” Sarah sobbed. “If I don’t even understand, how the hell could you?”
His hands held hers, a simple inane gesture which bought with it a significant warmth and sense of security. “Sarah, darling, please, whatever just happened to you, I need to know. I will do my best to understand and to help you understand as well.”
“Where do I begin?” Sarah asked aloud. “Everything came quickly at first. Oberon with his sons and his wife. Corwyn opening the necklace while Darien opened the sword. Then a bunch of images that I suppose were meant to represent the passage of time, because then it was Darien and Corwyn alone in the king’s chamber, playing chess. They were yelling and screaming at one another. Darien said dreadful things about his father and his mother for that matter, Corwyn ordered him to leave and he did.”
“That’s the night my uncle was murdered,” Jareth interrupted. “It had been rumored that Darien had killed him, but I suppose we know better now.” The king was almost glum at the idea the deed had not been committed by his grandfather. All these years of being bitter and supposing, he’d grown to despise Darien which suited him fine.
“Jareth, I’m not finished.” His face took on a sudden spark of interest. “Darien left, having slung no more at Corwyn than words; however, he did not stay gone.” Turgomon’s hand supported his chin as he anticipated what was coming next and Arulan drew her knees into her chest. “Corwyn was alone in the castle. He’d excused his entire staff.” Her eyes closed as she attempted to recall more of the images from the vision. “I had the strong smell of magic during my vision. Darien must have used his magic to get to the window. That’s how he came in. His heart was filled with hate and contempt. Opening the window he slid inside. At first he just looked at his brother, lying in the bed, tangled in the duvet as a result of a restless sleep. He was fighting himself then for just a moment, rationalizing that what he was about to do was Corwyn’s fault, for if he had not discussed taking a bride, the events about to come to light would have remained in the darkest corners of his heart. ‘Had it not been for this,’ he thought, ‘I would have waited.’” Opening her eyes Sarah saw she had the full attention of everyone in attendance. “Must I continue,” she pleaded.
“Tell me Sarah. I’m begging you. Tell me how he killed my uncle. After all these centuries living with the myth, you can give me truth. Let that be your gift to me.”
The king had a point. Everyone deserved a little truth, closure and she could bring him that. With a driving sense of obligation, she met his desperate eyes. “Corwyn began to stir. Just as he grew alert, Darien drew the sword, held it high above his head, as high as his arms would allow it to rise.” Sarah imitated with her arms. “Then just to be sure he drew up the extra inch standing on tiptoe would afford him. His brother spoke to him, ‘Someday I knew,’ for I believe he knew Darien would mean his death as much as anyone can know their death and the hands at which it will arrive.” The Goblin King knew Sarah could not realize the painful truth she spoke, for though Jareth’s death lied in her hands and he knew it all too well, he allowed her to remain ignorant. “Then the cold iron mix of the blade ran through him. Their cries were indistinguishable as they filled the night air. Two cries of pain, cries of anguish, cries of loss. It only took a moment for the iron to hit Corwyn’s heart. He died swiftly as it exploded in his chest.” Sarah paused in her recounting of the experience when Arulan gasped. “Mad with anger, Darien turned the blade before he withdrew it from Corwyn’s lifeless body. He cast a spell to shatter the window glass inward and another to remove his brother’s blood from his blade, then he drew a dagger and stabbed himself. As he ran through the castle and out into the Goblin City he concocted the truth he sticks by even today.” Sarah took Jareth’s hands into hers. Her chest ached, part from having felt Corwyn’s pain in her vision and part at the look of shock on his majesty’s face. Her soft lips kissed the leather coating of his knuckles. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, sorry that it ever happened. Tell me what I can do to help you come to terms with what has come to pass.”
“You can tell the Triumvirate, if what you speak is the truth,” Turgomon replied.
Jareth snapped his head in the direction of his assistant. “I don’t believe the offer had been extended to you.”
“If the girl is honest, if she is the seer she appears to be, then the Triumvirate will take her word as law and Darien can finally be brought to justice, isn’t that what you would want your majesty?”
“More than anything, but it is not our decision to make. Sarah,” he said turning back to her, “the Triumvirate could respond many ways to your confession. I leave it entirely up to you, but if you were to see fit to tell them what you just told us, it would mean Darien’s finally being held accountable for what he’s done.”
Mulling it over, Sarah tried to make a quick mental pros and cons list. It could mean her being sent home. It could mean the Triumvirate sending her immediately despite the remaining days she had. Leaving the Underground, leaving Jareth, leaving all she had come to love, but none of that compared to knowing that this fey would go on living freely when he had stolen life from another. “I’ll do it Jareth, whatever it means, I’ll do it.”
He held her close, fearing it might be the last time he’d have opportunity to do so. “We’ll go tonight,” he whispered into her hair. “No sense in prolonging this.”
Sarah wanted to argue him, wanted to suggest they wait until her final day, in case they did send her away, but Jareth had waited so long for this resolution, she couldn’t force him to wait any longer. “Jareth, are you sure that’s wise?” Arulan spoke the words Sarah could not bring herself to say. “They could send her home.”
“One way or another Arulan, the Triumvirate will send me home. We all knew this would be a temporary arrangement. I’d just as soon face them tonight and get it over with.” As if he hadn’t realized it was a possibility until just then Jareth held her at arm’s length, “Sarah, she’s right.”
“We’ll go tonight,” Sarah said with determination. “No arguments.” Jareth pulled her close once more, covering her lips with his and kissed her appreciatively. Turgomon left to make arrangements with the Triumvirate. Arulan watched them kissing a long moment before she too took leave.
***** ***** *****
“Are you sure you want to do this Sarah? If they send you home now I’ll, what sense is it to deny now, I’ll miss you no matter when you leave.”
Looking at the elf who had been so kind to her during her stay, Sarah said, “And so you see why the timing makes no difference to me. I only wish the matter to be resolved. Arulan, you’ve been extraordinarily kind to me. There aren’t thanks enough to give you for all you have done. I will miss you dearly, but I shall recall you fondly.” Her heart sank as she realized, she would not recall a thing of the Underground or it’s inhabitants once she arrived Aboveground. In an effort to hide her frustration, Sarah pulled Arulan close and hugged her tight.
Descending the stairs, Jareth watched them. His world had never been the same once Sarah had entered it and it would not be the same when she was gone. He knew her leaving meant his death and much as his instinct made him hate the speed with which it would come, he was glad that his life without her would be a short one, comparatively. “Are you ready?” he asked as he drew nearer.
Releasing the servant and wiping at her eyes, Sarah nodded. “Yes I am.”
“Are you sure?”
“As I will ever be, my love.” While it was not a confession of her feelings, the token of affection seemed to stop time for both of them. In that second, in that selection of words, she had made it clear that she had chosen him above all others.
Jareth’s arm wound around hers and Sarah filled with the familiar warmth of transporting. His free hand folded over her fingers as a tear rolled over her lid and down her cheek, for she had realized she would never know the feel of his true hand.
By the time she felt strong enough to open her eyes again, they were standing before the Triumvirate. The Sage had returned to his seat at the left hand of the Gavel after having served his punishment. All three looked critically at the king and his mortal. As was tradition, the Gavel spoke first, “You mean to tell us the girl has sight.”
“Indeed,” Jareth spoke evenly.
“It’s not that I want to dispute you Jareth,” he continued as if the king’s confirmation meant nothing, “but certainly you realize taking your word for it would be, well less than bipartisan. After all this enlightenment comes far into the lady’s visit with you and what she has to tell us would be in your best interest. You must see where it could be considered suspicious.”
“In my best interest?” Jareth had intended this to be the visit during which he did not argue with the Gavel, but then again, Jareth had that intention for every visit. “How is it in my best interest to have confirmation my uncle’s death was at the hands of my grandfather? As for your suspicion of me, Gavel, ‘tis a trait you assigned me long ago. I anticipated you’re bringing it up now.”
“It is in you’re best interest because it would prove that the acts committed against your family were the result of one mad man and not on whole a sampling of what we could expect from your royal bloodline.”
“Time has proven that,” he rebutted.
“And so it has gentlemen. Let us not cloud the issue with cruel suggestion and harsh retort. A simple spell, to induce one of these visions and you can see for yourself Gavel,” the Cleric suggested.
“A test,” he purred sitting straighter in his seat. “What says you miss? Will you subject yourself to a test for authenticity?”
Hesitation shown on her face. Jareth leaned towards her and tenderly spoke, “You needn’t subject yourself to this. I will not stop them, if this is what you want, but I will not force you if it is not.”
“A test,” she said boldly, stepping up to the Gavel and meeting his eye.
Motioning his hand, the Gavel invited the Cleric to cast his spell upon the girl that they may get on with what he believed would be a short meeting. The Cleric took her hands in his, “Won’t hurt a bit dear, may even tickle a little.” He spoke in a language foreign to Sarah, foreign even to Jareth, an ancient and musical language which seemed to lull her to dream as she stood before him.
As the images started to form, Sarah’s body grew limp and Jareth brought a chair to her side at the Cleric’s request. There was a tall and regal looking man, dressed as the king often dressed. He kissed his teary-eyed mother and shook his father’s hand, then turned and left through the front door of a rather fine looking home. It was no castle, but it was not a stump in the middle of the woods either. Outside he mounted a horse and rode deep into the forest. There he met a young maiden, scooped her up on to his horse, wound his arms around her and with a tender kiss they road off. The image changed. The woman, now a bit older with two small boys at her feet, each trying to goad the other. In the distance, hooves pounded against the ground and the woman left the children and flew to a window to look out. Despair ravaged her face. She spoke a moment to the man who’d come on horseback and then ran wildly to her bed where she cried out a fearfully lonely moan. The man took the two boys aside and whispered words to them. One ran to his mother’s side. The other remained motionless and emotionless. Sarah stepped inside him, she felt his pain, she felt his anger. As the Triumvirate watched on, a tear left her eye and raced toward her chin. A second later her eyes flew open.
Nonchalantly, the Gavel asked, “What did you see?”
“Perhaps, it’s best if we try the spell again,” Sarah suggested.
“I knew it. A fake You’ve brought me a fake Jareth. I’ve spent all these years trying to prove how little you can be trusted and you wind up doing the job for me in seconds.”
Sarah’s back stiffened. The Gavel did not know the fury he was unleashing. She had tried to avoid this, given him the opportunity to turn back, but he insisted on charging ahead, a bull with no fear of the matador. “I saw a man. A regal man on a black horse. He wore fine clothes of red silk and a vest of black leather with boots to match. He was riding deep into the forest. Stopping at a hut, he sweeps a woman into his arms. She is not a fancy woman, certainly not a royal. Her clothes are plain and worn, boldly patched and re-patched in the most obvious places. Her hair is thick with filth and her skin is darkened, not by the sun, but by the earth which she has worked in all day. Regardless he kisses her and they ride off. Shall I go on?” The Gavel was speechless and Sarah took that for permission to continue. “Years later, the same woman, while still plain and simply dressed is much cleaner, standing as two small boys run circles around her each trying to one up the other with some rapier comment.” Sarah’s eyes leveled at him, he had pushed the issue and it was about to come to a head. “You heard hooves pounding outside, headed toward the house. Your mother stopped what she was doing and ran to the window to look out. You didn’t follow her and you stopped him from going too. You were sure everything was as it was meant to be, so you went on playing your innocent games. When the knock came at the door, you chalked it up to your father playing a game as well, probably stood just outside a bundle of wildflowers in his hand to give to your mother and the thought made you ill. ‘Why must they always act as if they had only just met?’ you questioned when he did these things, things which brightened her day and lightened her heart. But today, there would be no game. That man was not your father, not riding your father’s horse and your mother did not smile when he was through.” The Gavel’s mouth hung open and his eyes were wide. Jareth watched, not yet fully understanding Sarah’s sudden shift in the tense with which she recounted her vision. “Your father was dead, victim at the hands of a sneak attack during the raids. Your mother fled to her bed and wailed. Your brother joined her, but you couldn’t grieve and you couldn’t encourage others to grieve. You were too angry, angry at the illogical world which could allow an immortal thing to die. When it brought you no satisfaction to hate the dead, you began to hate the living. You hated her for not keeping him from leaving, hated her for making him soft with all the lover’s games they played, hated her for living when he was dead and for looking for love again when he was gone. You hated your brother for not hating her. You even hated yourself for believing your father when he told you nothing would happen, nothing could. You began to hate everything that represented life and love, everything illogical. The idea of a royal with anything less than a royal, the idea of half breeds and cross classes. You became a man of fact and man of law, unable to trust in what you could not see.” Sarah left her chair and approached the stoic member of the Triumvirate. Before him, she knelt her hand on his knee. “Do you believe in what I see, even though your eyes cannot? Do you believe what you have become is nothing of what he wanted for you? Do you believe that even now, were you to go to your mother and offer her your love she would accepted it willingly and pledge you hers? For all these things are fact. There is no book I have read nor confession I have heard that tells me it is so, but my heart can feel their pain. Their pain is your absence, in body and in spirit.”
Silence filled the room from wall to wall and ceiling to floor like a thick, heavy immobile fog. At long last, the Gavel brushed Sarah’s hand from his knee and cleared his throat, “Yes, well you are a seer and your words are law so I suppose I’m forced to believe.” Everyone knew the words were not easy for him to speak, even if they were cold and unfeeling as they left his lips. The Gavel believed her a seer and she’d changed more than just his mind, Sarah had changed his life. “Announce to the Underground and all surrounding kingdoms, there is a price on Darien’s head. He is to be brought before the Triumvirate for justice and any one or many who bring him here will be handsomely rewarded.”
“My lord, I would gladly bring him to you with no expectation of a reward at all,” Jareth offered.
“You’re too close to the matter Jareth, leave this to your subjects. I want him alive, death is too easy an escape for him.” He paused before adding, “Your business here is done. You may go.”
“What about me?” Sarah asked hesitantly. “Will you be sending me home?”
“Sending you home? Quite the contrary miss. You’ve stirred this can of worms and you’ll remain here until it’s settled again. You can’t just go causing trouble and then running away from it,” the Gavel spat.
“Causing trouble? You turn a blind eye to centuries of deceit and deception all in the name of not wanting to ruffle feathers and I’m the cause of your trouble,” Sarah raged. The Cleric quickly came to her side and began shuffling her out of the Great Hall. “Some change he’s made,” she huffed.
Quietly, the Cleric whispered, “Sarah, there is a phrase in your world, a leopard cannot change his spots. I don’t believe that, but what I do believe is with patience he can change one spot at a time. Look at Jareth, he’s not nearly the ogre he once was and thanks to your vision, I may live to see the day when the Gavel is as subdued, but until then let’s not force him into regression, shall we.” He handed her off to the king. “Yes, well then, thank you both for coming by. We’ll be in touch.” Jareth walked her outside before transporting them home. The Cleric returned to his seat at the right hand of the Gavel. “Leaves very little room for argument, doesn’t she?”
The Gavel eyeballed him sternly, “You did this with your spell You made her envision my life, didn’t you?”
“Come now, I induced the vision, but fate chose it’s form and I’m sure fate knew you would be more inclined to believe something of a personal nature or perhaps someone just felt it was time to help you let go of your past and the pain it has caused you.”
“Bullocks You summoned my past and crammed it into her skull. The whole thing was rubbish Call her back, I revoke my declaration.”
“You know you can’t do that. You know I can’t do that. I don’t have the kind of power necessary to plant suggestion, none of us do. It would be inappropriate for our positions.”
The Sage interrupted them. It was not his way to so boldly participate in the conversation, but his stay with Ranofyr had changed him. He’d learned to speak with his heart lest he were to become one of the hateful things that roamed the Northeast sector as if life and loyalty had no meaning to them at all. “Gavel, trust me when I tell you to look upon one’s self with judgment is the hardest act you’ll ever perform, but to do it well, is to live again, a life free of guilt and sin. To cleanse one’s soul is to fly and it would seem you’ve just been handed wings. Try not to take it for granted.”
“Who are you to advise me?” the Gavel growled. “It was I who sent you to that damned place where you were able to do all this soul searching and reflection. You owe your flight to me ”
“I do, indeed. You gave me one of the mostly deeply moving personal experiences my life has ever had. It is that experience from which I implore you now.” The Gavel said nothing, only removed himself from his seat and headed off.
“You’ve done well,” the Cleric told the Sage as he slung his arm around the fey, “for him and for yourself.”
***** ***** *****
“What were you thinking?” Jareth asked Sarah when they were back in their chambers. “He as much as ordered you to stay and you go starting an argument with him. I swear that mortal pride of yours gets you in more trouble than you’re aware.”
“I just didn’t feel it was right, his blaming me for a few centuries of lies told long before I was a glimmer in my father’s eye, is all.”
“No harm,” Jareth decided as he hoisted Sarah into the air and spun her around him. She smiled down at him. Their visit to the Triumvirate had made him happy, for that she was glad. “Come now,” he placed her feet to the ground gingerly, “I’m starving and I know you must be too. Let’s eat.”
Downstairs they joined Arulan, Deverell, Dalkeil, and Turgomon. Elves brought out trays for both of them and filled goblets with wine. No one said anything. They all wanted Jareth to speak first. Arulan prayed this would not be her last meal with the girl, but Sarah did not appear particularly pleased. Dalkeil eyed the king, but he was as unrevealing as ever. After they’d finished their salads and the main course was served, Jareth rose his goblet and took to his feet. “A toast,” he announced. “My mortal has seen to it Darien will be brought to justice for his crime. The Triumvirate’s paige is spreading word as we speak. There is a reward to anyone or many who bring him into them alive. We humble few are excluded from the hunt, unfortunately, but I have great faith he will be found and greater faith he will be made an example of. As for my lovely Sarah, she is being forced,” his lips curved high in a smile that spread ear to ear pausing for emphasis, “to stay with us until this matter is resolved.”
“Brava ”
“Hear hear ”
“Hizzah ”
“Fine show ”
The cheers came so fast and from so many directions, Sarah could not tell who had shouted what, but it didn’t matter. She had been accepted. These fey and elves and goblins which sat around her had taken her into their hearts, welcomed her into their homes and now they rose their glasses to her. Tears filled her eyes while she rose her cup too and thanked them for their praise. “Three cheers,” Arulan shouted. “Hip hip.”
“Hooray ” came the reply.
“Hip, hip,” she called again.
“Hooray ”
“Hip, hip.”
“Hooray ”
By the third call the kitchen staff had come to the service window wandering about the commotion, just in time to see Jareth lean over and kiss the girl. “I’m so glad you’re staying,” he confessed.
“She’s staying,” whispered one elf to the next, who in turn hollered it back to the preparation staff, who shouted it to the cooks, for they had trouble hearing over the clattering dishes and before long concentric cries of, “she’s staying,” wafted into the dining room.
“Guess I’m staying,” Sarah said doing her best to smile, but her only thought was how much harder it would be to leave when the time inevitably came.
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