| As solemnly as they’d come to the tomb, the couple returned to the castle. They had overcome the fear of failure by succeeding, overcome the fear of the Sidhe by standing up to her and now they were coming to terms with the pain of losing Jareth’s mother yet again. It had been a strange gift, being given that one moment to exchange feelings as casually as two acquaintances might exchange casualties in passing, void of any contact, void of any bond, void of any real closure for either of them. Didymus watched the way they climbed the stairs, their feet lifting as if their shoes were made of lead. Jareth’s left hand held the scroll, now bearing the Sidhe’s signature, his right held Sarah’s hand securely. Over her right shoulder, Sarah glanced at the tiny fox, her lips curling in what she had meant to be a reassuring smile. Unfortunately the gesture did no more to comfort Didymus than it did to comfort the mortal.
It would have only been a half truth to say she understood his sullen mood, for she wondered as she lagged beside the king why he wasn’t at least somewhat pleased they could now go to the Triumvirate with the signatures they had collected and the plan Sarah had devised. With just one more stroke of luck they would be united. What was one more piece of luck? It had been shining in their favor all this while through worse than facing the Triumvirate. Then she couldn’t help but wonder if the same cruel fate which had managed to keep hold of her life up until now was setting her up for the ultimate irony: to come so far only to fail. And with that notion, she not only understood why the idea didn’t pull Jareth from his doldrums, but she joined him there. Even when they reached the castle their faces hung as long as their shadows. Arulan was first to greet them in the main hall. “Mercy!” she called as they entered the huge double doors. “Don’t tell me you weren’t able to get a signature.” Her arms wrapped about the woman attached to the king. “Not after all the two of you have done. It mustn’t be.” Jareth handed her the scroll so Arulan could examine the emblazed signature. “No Arulan, we got what we set out for.” Realizing then there was something more to his mood than at first she had thought, Arulan looked to Sarah who nodded her approval and the elf took Jareth by the hand, “Come with me.” Her instructions were swift and nonnegotiable. Shuffling him inside the nearest sitting room, Arulan forced Jareth into a chair. “I haven’t the time for these things,” he said as he tried to leave. “You’ll make the time,” Arulan insisted as she pulled a chair where she could face him nose to nose. “When the subject of your mother arises you manage one way or another to turn it around so that she is more a consequence of the conversation rather than the topic of it, that is when you can be bothered to have the conversation at all. So before you object or lie to me about the millions of other things you’ve better to do, know I have no intention of allowing you to leave this room without your having had a proper discussion. ‘M I clear?” Weakly the king nodded. “Right then. Now that we’ve come to some sort of an agreement, why don’t you begin by telling me what happened today.” “We went to the tomb,” he began recounting the tale. “I did not have great expectations for our visit. Mother never enjoyed my company, you know this. As she usually does, she attempted to send me from the tomb. Sarah’s having my soul only added to her unhappiness and she attempted to frighten her away as well.” “But she stayed?” “Had you any doubt?” Arulan smiled as the Goblin King replied to her question with one of his own. “If I hadn’t, with my own eyes, witnessed her courage I’d have thought myself boasting her talents, but I used one of my crystals, to be certain she was alright. Her shoulders were square and she spoke with great authority. A summation on my part, as I didn’t want to risk mother overhearing, but her eyes told me. They showed no fear, no submission. A piece of me grew proud while a piece of me grew protective of my mother, torn between seeing the Sidhe hurt and seeing Sarah beaten.” Arulan’s hand reached to comforted the king. “Anyone in that situation would have been equally torn,” she sympathized as she stroked his sleeve. “Don’t you think it was difficult for me to see you and Sarah struggling even though I knew the two of you would be happy in the end?” Jareth’s face grew serious, “This is a bit different. Knowing that someone will suffer for a definitive period of time only to be rewarded by triumph is not the same as knowing someone you love must lose so that someone else you love can succeed.” In silence she rethought his statement, ‘You’ve never said you loved her before, your mother I mean.” “That’s exactly it Arulan,” his hand caught hers and held it tightly. “I was given a gift. I don’t mean to compare it to the signature which will hopefully lead to my uniting with Sarah, and so I shan’t say it is better or bigger, but it is most certainly a gift I have waited longer for.” He left his seat and strode proudly around the tiny room. “And what a perfect treasure bestowed on me by my betrothed, for she freed my mother, freed the Sidhe of her constraints to this realm and sailed her into heaven, bathed in golden sun which emanated from within, a radiance I never had the pleasure to see grace her before.” “Oh Jareth,” the elf sighed as she came to his side, “you got to see your mother.” “Not only see her,” tears wet his eyes, “but speak to her. “She told me how she has always loved me, how she gave me away because she was afraid to hurt me and how Sarah made her realize what foolishness that was.” Arulan’s heart broke. If she hadn’t understood him before, she understood him now, for her own heart was torn between joy that the Sidhe had finally professed her love for her son and resentment for the same. “That’s,” she stuttered, “that’s w...w...wonderful.” Taking Arulan in his arms, he smoothed her silken hair, “You’ll always be the one to have raised me,” he reassured. “No matter what atonement is made now, I will forever know it was you I owe for making me the man I am.” Unable to speak, Arulan wept madly into his mop of fringy blonde hair. “You couldn’t possibly believe hearing mother profess her love for me has made me love you any less, think you any less a mother to me?” “But she is your mother Jareth. I can never be your mother and I shouldn’t have allowed myself to believe anything to the contrary.” Tiny fingers flung away tears from her eyes, “Oh but I do. I love you as if you were my own and but for the failure to recollect your stirring inside me, I believe you mine. But you were never mine to claim.” “Arulan, my dear woman, no one is ever anyone’s to claim.” His leather clad hand rose her chin forcing her eyes to meet his full on, “But I freely consider myself your son, as equally, if not more so, for having tolerated me all these many years as I consider myself the Sidhe’s son for her carrying and birthing me. I choose you for my mother, does that mean nothing compared to you having a right to me?” Her lips pressed hard against his cheek, “It means everything,” she acknowledged. “More than words could ever express.” It was then the king broke down, falling to his knees, his head against her apron, his emotions afloat on the rivers which poured from his eyes. “I’m sorry dear, sorry that your mother didn’t know better, sorry that you lived so many years without her and wondering over all the many things which must plague your conscious. And I am sorry that today you must face these feelings when you should be rejoicing in your love for Sarah, but I remind you, there is a woman out there who loves you fiercely and needs to be reassured you love her in the same passionate way. Let her into your heart, even this dark part, and let her help heal you. She yearns to be your anchor. Do not follow in your mother’s footsteps of loving at a distance.” Jareth stood and allowed quaking legs to care him to the door, the knob of which turned slowly beneath the shaking hand of the Goblin King. This mortal woman had changed so many things and now it seemed she would strike again, this time forcing him to open wide his long closed heart and exposing feelings of love and abandonment he’d been content to ignore. Through the smallest crack in the door jamb, Jareth looked out to see Sarah pacing the hall, the thumbnail of her left hand being riveted by her teeth. Undoubtedly Sarah worried over him. Her face dipped sorrowfully making it easy for him to see what Arulan was talking about when she mentioned Sarah’s need to know Jareth’s passion for her. Swallowing hard, he moved into the hall, closing the gap between the two of them symbolically. “Sarah,” he called. Rushing her hand back to her side, the woman turned to him and tried to smile. “Sarah, I’ve a number of things I’m forced to deal with, personally, because of this meeting with my mother and I was wondering...” Before he could finish, she interrupted, “Sure. I can take a walk through the garden or perhaps Deverell has some new book or task to busy me with.” “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind sitting and talking with me a while?” the king asked. “Me?” “Of course you. Who else would I wish to share the most personal details of my life with.” “Me!” Sarah practically ran into his arms, flinging her hands about his neck, “me,” she repeated her voice filled with all the wonder of a child on Christmas morning. “You love, always and only you.” His warm lips folded over hers and massaged them sweetly. Arulan watched their tender exchange which continued in a passionate give and take while they ascended the stairs. ***** ***** ***** They lie on the bed, between them a tray of cheeses, breads, fruits and spreads, a bottle of wine and two glasses. The long, silky, burgundy nightgown Sarah had switched in to pooled around her ankles as she lie on her side, her hand supporting her head, her eyes locked with Jareth’s. Magic replaced his formal garb with black pajamas as he draped over the bed facing his mortal. Exposing his emotions to her had tired him quickly. They fed each other various combinations from the array between them and drunk, the cool, sweet nectar of the wine seeming to replace the energy they exhausted. “Sarah,” the king asked slowly, “what would make you love an emotionally retentive, overbearing, pretentious bastard like me?” Finishing her glass, the mortal held it out over the edge of the bed, only her thumb and forefinger grasping the rim. “Well,” she began as she let loose the glass, which did not fall, but rather hovered in the air. A flick of her wrist and the glass began a slow migration to the side table behind her. “Those are your good qualities.” Smiling, she tapped her index finger in the air as the tray rose and went to join her empty glass. “But you forgot to mention that you were also rich, powerful, devastatingly handsome and...” The Goblin King allowed what was left in his glass to slide down his throat replacing the dryness his mortal had put there and enabling him to inquire, “And?” as he rose an eyebrow. “Incredibly,” she inched her body closer to his, “good,” her hand stole away his glass and sent it to join the rest of what she’d cast away, “in,” tight against him now, she fed her arms around his neck filling her hands with his untamed locks, Sarah’s lips so close to his own he could smell the wine on her breath, “bed,” she finished breathlessly as she took his lip between hers, nibbling gently at its fullness. As unable now as Jareth ever was to resist her, he opened his mouth to receive her. She was tender in the way she kissed him as if her lips were rose petals trembling in the fall air and his the ready ground, waiting to collect them as they fell. His bare hands ran over the silk of her gown, cool to the touch, still able to feel her burning skin beneath them. Moving along the curve of her spine to the roll of her hips, the king pulled her closer. Against him she was the breeze, making his lithe body bend and dance for her. As her magic had taught her control of the elements, so that control seemed to spill over unto him until the mighty king was no more than a marionette among her play things. Cursing her skillful fingers, he surrendered to her touch. Damning her masterful lips he succumb to her kiss. His tongue tasted her, a blissful remnant of strawberries soaked in liquor still fresh inside her mouth. With a normally high tolerance for alcohol, the king was amazed at how she made him drunk, then as though the cool breeze had reversed with winter’s stiff revenge, Sarah’s mouth tore from Jareth’s, her look stiff and uneasy, a silence between them. “When did you learn levitation?” Jareth asked, breaking the awkward void. Looking down at the mattress, she muttered a reply. “Been practicing.” Lifting her chin, his face filled with concern, he asked, “What’s got you so uneasy, love? A moment ago you were all confidence and now a shrinking violet. Something I said?” “All you’ve said,” she admitted. “I’ve no right expecting you to forget what’s happened today, toss aside all the heartache seeing your mother has brought up in you only to satisfy myself.” He chuckled as she looked at him in confusion. “Haven’t you learned by now.” Firmly he clutched her in his arms, her head rested beneath his chin, “You are my life, my joy and when I am at my most grey I rely on you, on your love, to bathe me in your sunlight. Satisfying you elates me, making love to you is a gift I never thought I would receive, to know you desire me a comfort.” Tenderly his lips kissed the top of her head. Fighting to keep from crying, for no one had ever spoken to her as eloquently as he, as delicate and as personal as he seemed to be able, Sarah stretched out her neck and breathed in his essence, a warm scent with an earthy base, woodsy, musky, ethereal. Everything about him excited her, not just physically, but mentally. At times when he was no where near the castle, beyond her vision, let alone beyond her reach, the thought of him was enough to make her ache. His pale skin, cool against hers, his embrace secure. With him she would always feel safe, with him she would always know she was loved. Undemanding hands roamed Sarah’s body, happy at the mere feel of her, knowing she was content with him, Jareth thirsted for her kiss once again. The crane of her neck forced his head back some as he let his mortal set the pace. Delicate lips cascaded over his jaw, rapid breath sweeping his cheek. Nuzzling her back, the king whispered sweetly in her ear all those things he didn’t feel he told her often enough, the magnitude of her beauty, the depth of his feelings for her, and a few gentle reminders of how much he needed and wanted her. Unable to think of anything to match the poetry which seemed to come so naturally to Jareth, Sarah remained silent focusing on the feel of his fingertips along her frame and his hot breath on her neck, her only response to him a soft cooing she couldn’t seem to avoid when he was this near her. Inside she felt butterflies spill out of her stomach and a familiar warmth growing just beneath them. Their eyes locked seconds before their lips. Sarah let out a small whimper when Jareth set upon her, but it only served for him to deepen the kiss, drawing more sound from her throat. The king continued his caring manipulation of her until she was beneath him on the bed, the obviousness of his desire jabbing her in the thigh. Reciprocating his anxiousness, Sarah writhed beneath him, causing the skirt of her nightgown to ball up around her knees. Jareth’s teeth sunk into her neck, finding a spot over her shoulder, just behind her ear he knew was particularly sensitive as he slid his hand beneath the heavy silk layers of her gown. Rocking his hand over her mound, he stroked at her until she grew moist. Simultaneously the king slide his warm wet tongue into her gaping mouth while his finger slipped inside her lower opening. Sarah’s groan drifted into his mouth. He could taste her want. Two fingers now probing her made the mortal seek the buttons of his sleeping shirt. Undoing them quickly, she slid the fabric clear of the Goblin King’s pale chest. Nails slowly raked his back in approval of his expert touch. Jareth was lost to her. The bed beneath them seemed almost holographic, the room, the warm glow the candles gave off, all secondary to the feel of her, the light of her eyes. Straddling her thighs Jareth pulled her to him. Her flush cheek burnt his chest. Silk caressed her skin as the nightgown she had been wearing slipped first over her shoulders, then over her head. Sarah flung back her head, her black hair whipping wildly before cascading along her back. Rather than toss the gown aside, the king took it by the fine straps and folded it in two before lying it on the side of the bed, as gently as he touched the woman with him. She was exquisite. Every curve of her body, ever hill and valley upon her. The deep channel between her breast, the dip of her collarbone at the neck, dewed with perspiration. The perfect roundness of her shoulders and hips. But all paled by her face, her deep expressive eyes, her perfect mouth, as if it were carved from ivory and painted red, as smooth as silk. Jareth lay her back, her mane fanning out beneath her head like an ebony pillow. Closing her eyes, Sarah concentrated on his direct touch as his fingertips smoothed over the side of her cheek, along her throat, over her breast, catching the tip of her erect nipple before continuing down to the valley of her flat stomach. “You are beauty personified, perfection unmatched,” he compliment. Lost in his imagery, she hadn’t noticed the remainder of his nightwear missing. “You are my love, my mortal and my queen,” he sighed as he lowered himself to her, his stiffness lying between her engorged folds. The king cradled her head with his left arm, the free hand exploring the side of her breast and the curve of her waist. Keeping his eye, was the scar on her alabaster skin where the blade she’d taken had stuck. It could be argued such a mark took away from her perfection, but it could be argued as adamantly the scar was a mark of true love and only added to her beauty. Jareth was a proponent of the latter. Right arm behind his shoulder, Sarah twisted a long piece of his hair between her fingers. “I wish I could find words such as yours to tell you how I feel.” “Your words touch me as deeply regardless of how you believe they sound. They fall from those perfect lips,” he explained, kissing her quick, “and they generate in this warm heart.” His hand swept over her chest. ‘From the heart,’ she thought as she swallowed hard. ‘Please,” she prayed, ‘don’t let my mouth screw up what my heart knows all too well.’ Sarah’s fingers wrapped around the hand on her chest. “My king,” she began, not knowing what was going to follow. “My sweet, amazing king. All I know of love I learned from you without ever realizing I had. For love is but magic, and you are magic; therefore, you are love. Thank you,” her hand cupped his cheek. “Thank you for waiting for me to grow into this woman that you love, for having faith in me when I had none in myself.” Sarah choked on her words. “I never knew a man could make me feel this way, I never dreamed that making love could be so expressive and the future has never seemed to me so limitless. You free me of all my mortal constraints and when I am free I wish only to belong to you.” Tears fell from the Goblin King’s eyes, plunking on her skin and staining it a darker shade. Lifting her head, Sarah sweetly kissed away his tears. “A fey fights all his life to keep from being caged, but you have caged me and I do not try to run.” “A human fights all her life to be free, but in all my life I have never wanted for anything more, than I want to be yours,” she replied. Returning her kiss, Jareth’s body rose above hers making it easy for her to lie back her head. The movement was enough to allow him entry to her. Sarah sighed loudly when they joined. Gentle as Jareth always was, it was still shocking to feel him fully inside her. Waiting patiently, he allowed her to adjust to him before beginning to shallowly pump against her. Normally he loved to kiss her, to taste her skin as it moistened with the product of their passion, but this time he only folded his arms around her and peered into her deep eyes. Sarah glanced back at him. It was harder for her. His movements made her body react in the strangest ways, her head tossing back or flailing side to side. It seemed she could never hold his stare long. As Jareth’s thrusts grew firmer and more frequent, her pattern of head tossing began. The skin of her neck stretched tight and the king’s keen eye could see the blood pumping just beneath the surface. This encounter would not last long, he knew as he continued to bury himself in his mortal, but that was the beauty of what they shared, the length and the style of their love making varied splendidly. His long fingers fell to the sides of her face, a few hairs matted to her cheeks by perspiration. “I love you,” he told her as the first pangs of orgasm began to quake her insides. She jerked her head away, closing her eyes. The king tightened his hold on her, “Open your eyes,” he purred next to her ear. Sarah did as she was instructed. “I love you,” he told her once more. “I love you,” she replied as her orgasm exploded. Some time in the series of tremors which followed Jareth found his own release. It wasn’t until they lie there, both too weak physically and emotionally to pull apart, that Sarah noticed the weight of him on her. His body was heavy and warm, his heart beat wildly in his chest, his breath seeming to condense on her neck, and yet, she had never felt more contented, more at home than she ever had before. She shifted beneath him until they were spooned in the bed, in the harbor of his arms, Sarah took her rest. |
| CHAPTER THIRTY SIX - FINISHING TOUCHES AND A SPECTRAL KISS THE CONCLUSION |
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