THE CONCLUSION
Sarah and Deverell looked intently at one another. “Arulan,” they both said.
“Of course,” Jareth said. “It certainly explains the dress, which by the way suited you.” A wave of the king’s hand and Deverell’s clothes were fresh and less formal, as were his and Sarah’s. “Go and collect Arulan for me while I have a talk with Sarah.” Taking a seat that faced him, the mortal’s face was bathed in guilt. “I’m not angry,” he started.
“Well I am,” Sarah countered unexpectedly. “I’m angry at them. I’m angry at us. I’m angry at your world, and mine.” Pulling her into his arms Jareth tried to soothe her, but the tirade went on. “How can you not be angry?” Sarah asked tearfully. “Tiberon has managed to do this twice now, twice Jareth! And what’s to stop him this time? The slap on the hand the Gavel gives him? If the Triumvirate would have listened to you last time, he wouldn’t have been free to do this. If I had just listened to you the first he wouldn’t have been able to do what he did to Turgomon.” And then it occurred to her, the thought she never imagined she’d have, the regret, “If I’d never come here...”
“Don’t,” Jareth told her as he stooped to meet her eyes, “don’t even think it. My life without you is not worth living. You’re not being here is no option. Yes I’m angry. Angry with Tiberon, angry at myself, but not at you, never at you. Sarah, you were only trying to do what made me happy. I couldn’t be angry at you for that. We must all prepare for what is to happen now. You are staying Underground, this much we know and in a few short hours you will be made fey, but there are things the Triumvirate can still do to us and I want us to be ready for it.” Sarah shook her head before burying it his neck.
From the hall, Deverell heard the shouting and waited patiently for what sounded like a more appropriate time to enter. Arulan clung to the hand he offered her and waited at his side. When at last the room grew still, they knocked gently and were told to come in. Arulan ran to Sarah’s side to offer her sympathies. “Poor, sweet dear,” she cried. “Such a pretty bride you would have been no matter the number of guests.” Arulan kissed the girl’s forehead.
“I told her the bulk of it on our way over,” Deverell explained. Reading the king as he had gotten rather good at doing, the assistant added, “I assumed you would rather discuss the consequences in person.”
Pride shown on Jareth’s face when he answered back, “Indeed.”
“Consequences?” Arulan asked, panic in her voice.
“I’m afraid there are a number of things we should consider,” Jareth said steadily. “The most urgent being Sarah’s Christening.” Clutching the girl Arulan gasped. “I’ll expect you and Deverell to handle the details for the event, as Sarah will need her rest tonight.”
“Naturally,” Arulan offered “When should I ready the castle for?”
“Tomorrow,” Jareth told her bluntly.
The elf eyed Deverell, “There are a few things you’ve left out I see.” He smiled roguishly at her. “Tomorrow it shall be then,” Arulan promised.
“After the Christening, the Triumvirate with begin doling out their justice. Deverell,” the fey snapped his attention to the king, “you have the least to worry over. Your killing the Shadow King will mean very little once I refuse to take ill will at the crime. He was after all an extension of my self. Sarah you’re not being sent home, but I fear the Triumvirate with wish to punish us, assigning you to another sector as part of the Christening, further delaying our ceremony, I’m unsure, but I anticipate it. I will accept what ever punishment they give me as long as it doesn’t effect you.” His blond mane nodded in the mortal’s direction. “What I worry most over is that they may try to disband the Cleric. That would be a travesty, to them, to us, to this realm. He is an honest and decent elder with a progressive mind, his only crime.:
“What about Tiberon?” Deverell asked.
“What of him?” Jareth questioned.
The fey left his casual lean against the mantel for a more serious posture, “Is he not to be punished for his crimes?”
“He may be tried,” the king hung his head, “or he may be dealt with privately by the Triumvirate.”
“They don’t know what all he’s done, what all he has had his pet monster do!” His rant drew Sarah’s attention. “I was there with it in the last minutes of its life and it confessed to me their plan, confessed to me what it had done to lady Sarah....’s schoolhouse,” he added as the blood drained from her face.
“Tiberon is responsible for the schoolhouse?” Arulan asked.
Then she realized. Then Sarah realized what had happened. The Shadow King had returned, well before the elopement, disguised as Jareth’s exact physical duplicate and extracted all the useful bits and pieces he need for his plot. “He came here, the Shadow King and he tricked us all in to sharing details with, giving him exactly what he wanted.” Sarah looked away from Jareth then and into Deverell’s eyes. ‘He knows,’ she thought. His look confirmed it. Huge, sympathetic pools sadly looking her over trying to absolve her of a disgust no wash could wear away. “He pretended to be Jareth and that day at the schoolhouse, he took his chance to not only ruin our plans, but to kill us both.” From the room she fled like a shot. Her body shook with tears as she wondered if Jareth could forgive what she had done.
“Tiberon will be dealt with, by my life I swear that. He will be kept away from us all,” Jareth grabbed his assistant by the arm. “And when that is through, they will have us find a new Representative for that sector. I leave it to your wisdom to chose the fey Deverell. Tomorrow when they come I will demand a trial which I will also demand we attend and we will have the name of his replacement ready on our tongues.” He nodded at his king. “Enough then, I must tend to Sarah, both of you ready this castle for the most spectacular Christening we have ever conducted.
***** ****** *****
When Jareth stepped into the room he shared with Sarah to find her face down in the bedding muffling her wails, he rushed tenderly to her side. “What is it that troubles you so much you would run from me?”
“I can’t marry you,” she cried refusing to look his way, not that it would have done any good to bother. Her sight was obscured by her tears.
“What do you mean you cannot marry me?” This time he forced her to face him. “Sarah, love, I already told you that I cannot have you go away. Have I done something to damage the love you have for me? I pray you tell me it is not something I cannot undo.”
“It’s not what you have done, it’s what I have done and regardless of what I wish, this is not so easily undone.”
“Tell me what it is you fear you’ve ruined and let me but those fears at bay.”
‘He had a right to know,’ Sarah reasoned to herself. “Jareth, when the Shadow King was here, I didn’t know it wasn’t you. After all I told you about memorizing the stride of your step, the feel of your breath, I couldn’t even recognize an imposter.” Hanging her head, she sobbed once more.
“Your confession does not surprise me.” Sarah’s eyes rose to his as he continued, “The Shadow King is a part of me, love. The darkest and most ugly one as you have seen, but it is me and with his magic he could have made himself so indistinguishable even my own mother wouldn’t know the difference.” As her pink lips parted to continue her confession, Jareth read her over. He did not search for lies. He did not wish to invade her privacy. No, the king sought this time to spare her. Bringing his lips to hers, Jareth kissed her tenderly, with the fragile care of an angel’s wing, the way he would have kissed her all those years ago if he could have brung himself to do it. Many times in the fifteen years they spent apart he dreamed of what it would have been like to abandon his sense and steel from her that first kiss, that innocent kiss of a girl’s whose world was no larger than her own town, when the only man whose lips had ever neared her were her father’s and those as chaste as the Lord’s. He’d thought his chance had passed to have her that purely, but in this moment she had grown innocent again, been given reprieve from the darkness she thought had changed her.
“But...” she whispered when his lips left hers.
The cool leather of his forefinger pressed vertically beneath her nose. “Don’t do it to yourself. Don’t lower yourself to saying what I can guess. Whatever it was, however deeply you feel pain and embarrassment from it, you did nothing wrong. What you did, you did with me. What was done to you, was done by me. A part of me you could never love, the part which most likely kept me from you all these years, but a part as doomed to love you as I, as compelled to want you as I. Please my love, spare yourself the indignity of confessing to a crime you did not commit.”
Sarah caught his lips and kissed him. Back against the mattress they collapsed, holding one another tight. “You grow to be a more amazing man every day I spend with you.”
“No doubt why that is,” he replied kissing her more passionately this time, kissing her until she slept.
***** ***** *****
From the window of his bed chamber, Jareth could see the chains of daisies which had been hung around the tops of the tents for the Christening. The cherry blossom tree was full and pink. Tables for food had been set and dressed. Everything draped in white and pink. Though he had performed in more than a thousand of these Christenings, Jareth was more nervous for this one than for all the others combined. Checking the clock he called to Sarah, “How are things coming? Do you need Arulan?”
“No,” she replied. “I think I’ve got it. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“We’ve got to be down there in ten minutes.”
“Keep your pants on!”
“I had no intention of removing my pants.”
The door parted, “It’s an expression silly.” When she came through the door and into the light where he could better see her in her gown, Jareth’s eyes grew wide and he seemed to follow her while she crossed the room towards him. “Do I look Okay?”
Easily able to pass for a simple wedding gown, the long white slip pooled around her feet at the floor. The overlay was transparent, hinted with a gold floret pattern, it included the sleeves of the gown which began to bell just above the elbow and hung so long and wide they looked more like wings than sleeves. In one hand she hung a collection of silver chain and in the other the ends of a long white and gold braided cord which she had tied twice around her waist.
“You look like an angel,” Jareth breathed. Blushing, Sarah tuned away at his flattery. “Am I correct in assuming you had a fraction of trouble with your accessories.”
“Not trouble really. This belt is far too long and this necklace has no clasp.”
Taking the mangle of chains from her hand, Jareth slipped his fingers through several of the web like openings and let the silver dangle from his hand. “This is no necklace, this is a veil.”
“A metal veil?”
“A silver veil.” Each of the connections in the web pattern were made by a small diamond chip and from the crown a silver medallion made a peak from which a tear drop pearl hung. “Bow your head,” he told Sarah. Gently he lay the veil over her hair, the rich black locks consuming the chain as the chips created a halo. The medallion rested just above the center of her forehead and the pearl fell to right above her brow line. It was as soft and delicate as the girl who wore it. “Have a look,” the king told her as he spun her toward the mirror. Coming up behind her , Jareth reached his arms about her waist and began undoing the belt.
“Can’t we just cut off the ends?” she asked, remembering they had but a few minutes.
“This is a ceremonial garb, love. You can’t go cutting it to shreds.” Holding the cord over his hand Jareth roughly determined the center point and gave a tug so one side was about four inches longer than the other. Around the collar of the dress were sewn tiny hooks. Patiently he worked a few strands of the braid into them until it framed the entire neckline.
Sarah sighed, “Thank God. I spent twenty minutes debating whether it was inside out or not.”
Jareth smiled. At the lowest point on the scoop neckline, Jareth crossed the braids. Watching in the mirror to be sure his placement was symmetrical he trailed the ropes, one beneath each breast. At the middle of Sarah’s back, he loosely knotted the strands, then fed them over her hips. Bring the shorter piece to the same side hip as the longer piece, he knotted them again, this time like a tie and left the two pieces to fall on slightly longer than the other from her left hip. Breathing in deeply he smelled he clean scent of her hair mixing with her more natural scents. The ability to keep from clutching her now completely lost, Jareth pulled her into him, her back to his chest, pressing his cheek to hers.
“They’re going to be here any second,” Sarah reminded him as in the reflection from the mirror she could see the minute hand approach the twelve.
His right hand rose and snapping his fingers they disappeared, but not before his lips grazed her ear as he sighed out, “Damn.”
***** ***** *****
Before a nervous crowd gathered near the gate, Jareth and Sarah appeared just as the keys turned in the locks. Sarah hurried to Hoggle’s side. As she had asked, he would be the one to present her. At precisely ten in the morning the members of the Triumvirate crossed the threshold of the gate to greet the king in his formal white attire, the family sword of legend hung from his hip. “Bring forth the girl,” Jareth instructed. Holding the dwarf’s’s hand, they walked slowly forward. Hoggle’s eyes filled with water at the sight of her and more to steady himself than anything he found himself clasping her hand with both of his. Bending low, Jareth asked, “Is that a tear I see?” as he accepted Sarah’s hand from the dwarf.
“Is not,” Hoggle huffed before returning to his family.
Smiling broadly Jareth wrapped his arm over Sarah’s. “We humbly request this girl be christened with the name Sarah and that she be granted immortality here with us in the Underground.”
A wave of his hand and the Cleric had ignited the incense burner which hung from a chain on his belt. Pachouli smoke filled the air. In an ancient language few knew, he chanted. Sarah’s aura began to glow about her, all the beauty of her inner heart shining in a fortress around her body. Never had she been so lovely as in that moment, dressed in white, bathed in light, the diamond accents in her hair increasing the shimmer. The kingdom bowed before her, even Jareth, though he refused to let go over her hand. “Welcome Sarah , newest fey of the Underground. We take you into our hearts and minds forever interconnected as all things fey are. We bless happiness unto you and we draw upon the happiness of your spirit.”
Slowly Sarah’s aura began to retreat and as it did the pupil in her left eye enlarged until it looked the very same as Jareth’s. She was fey though she retained a fair amount of her human characteristics. “Your eyes,” the king whispered. Sarah looked into his eyes and saw him in away she had never seen him before. Panning the crowd, everyone looked the same and yet new.
“Jareth,” her voice shook, “What’s wrong with me?”
The Cleric reached for her, sliding Sarah closer to him and for the first time out of Jareth’s grip. “Be still. This is a temporary adjustment. Your brain will learn to use the eye and Jareth will explain it to you later, for now we must finish the ceremony.” His warm smile calmed her. “Bring forth the Representatives.” Gandor, Ranofyr and Elbereth step forward and stood on their designated sides of Jareth. The open spot for Tiberon did not go unnoticed and none was happier than Sarah to see the void. “Insomuch as each of you has pledged yourselves unto this child, it is the decision of the Triumvirate that the new fey, Sarah, shall be given unto Jareth, King of the Underground. Step forth and claim your lady.”
Only moments earlier, Jareth remembered having feet, remembered how to walk with them, but in the next moment the knowledge had abandoned him. Hearing the command of the Cleric, looking at his once unattainable love, draped in ceremonial clothes, her pupils marking her conversion to fey. Sarah’s outstretched hand beckoned him, but he only heard the words, “Step forth and claim your lady...claim your lady.”
“Jareth,” the Cleric snapped, pulling him out of his hypnosis, “Step forth and claim your lady.”
Grasping her hand, Jareth pulled close to her. “You have seen fit to award my people a new and beautiful lady,” at describing her his voice broke. “We praise the three of you. I accept this lady and vow to keep and provide for her,” Jareth’s eyes left the Cleric’s and shift to the side to meet Sarah’s, “to the best of my ability. She will groomed to obey our laws, enjoy our realm and praise the Supreme One.” The Sage steps forward with a small well in his palm and extends it to within the king’s reach. Touching his finger lightly to the surface of the oil inside the tiny well, Jareth made a small triangular motion on his forehead. Then he touched the oil again before making the same motion on Sarah’s forehead, beginning just above the left side of the medallion, fanning out to accommodate the pearl and then joining to the point of origin on the right side of the medallion as he repeated, “In the presence of the Gavel and of the Sage and of the Cleric, this is my vow.” The enlarged pupil of both fey grew cloudy, but through the tears welling in them neither could make out the visions of love that lie within the onyx pool.
“Let us celebrate,” the Cleric shouted as he tossed his hands into the air.
Jareth lifted Sarah’s hand high over her head as he marched her through the crowd. Cheers and cries pelted at them as if it had been their wedding. From beneath the cherry Blossom tree, just outside the main garden, Sarah stood as the guests riffled passed her into the reception area, most stopping to offer words of appreciation, acceptance or sentiment. There was a sturdy breeze that blew through every now and again, not strong enough to disturb the guests, but enough to knock loose a few of the cherry blossoms from the branches above Sarah’s head. Jareth looked on at her, stepping back to join the Triumvirate who remained behind the crowd, mid way down the gentle slope of the king’s court. The pink blossoms reminded him of the snowflakes in the southeastern sector and how they had stuck in her hair, contrasting with the midnight sheen of her mane. She smiled politely, shook hands, gave hugs, an occasional kiss reserved for her dearest friends, but no matter the method of greeting her guests, she was poised, graceful and humble with them all. Already her fey confidence was filling her, for she did not search the horizon for Jareth. But already her fey senses had begun to set in too, letting her know he was near, at least near enough he could easily rush to her side if needed.
When the Gavel was headed into the garden and the Sage, busily chatting it up with the newest resident of the Underground, Jareth leaned over to the Cleric and asked, “So my friend, what will be your punishment for the crime I asked you to commit?”
“Oh, you wish to see me punished, do you?” the Cleric chuckled.
The king eyed him, “Not at all, though I anticipated it.”
“Well Jareth, you should know best this is a ream of unexpected goings on, especially as of late.” When the Goblin King continued to stare at him in confusion, the Cleric added, “Gavel has decided to consider the rationale I gave him at the falls yesterday. I technically did not deceive. It was he who failed himself. And so he’s pushing me through on the technicality. I stand to incur no further penalty for what he calls my questionable judgment.”
“None?”
“None. Your woman does fine work.” He smiled at the king, patting his shoulder before trading his company for Sarah’s. His long arms engulfed her. “Milady,” he said, “‘Tis a blessing to have you among us. Welcome...”
Minutes passed with the Cleric and Sarah as Jareth looked on at the Gavel who was being served by one of the kitchen elves. He smiled up at the petite red head who brought his plate and poured his mead. ‘Smiling,’ Jareth thought. Perhaps he worried too much about what would come of what had come to pass.
“Should we join them?” Sarah asked as she took the king’s elbow.
“After you milady,” he said with a bow.
***** ***** *****
At the head of the table sat the Cleric, Jareth to his right, Sarah to his left. The Sage started off the long row of attendants on Sarah’s side while on Jareth’s sat the Gavel. The banquet table made a large U along the garden, the buffet against the only open side. On a table in the center, the roasted pig was presented, carved and served. Delicious dishes of varying nature were passed on to and off of the table by the servants beginning of course with the Cleric, who out of his own personal habit served the king and Sarah before himself.
When everyone’s plates and glasses were filled, they began to eat. Small conversations struck up and Jareth’s curiosity got the better of him. “So Gavel, have you decided what is to be done about Tiberon?”
“Have you a suggestion for me?” he asked snidely.
“An immediate trial.”
“There will be a trial Jareth, when I say there is to be a trial. Do I tell you how to run your kingdom?”
“As a matter of fact,” the king replied.
The Gavel sipped from his glass, “So I do. I must learn to more carefully choose my words with so much changing here by the day. What is your great urgency?”
“I don’t want him free to stage another attack when Sarah and I wed.”
“I promise you,” the Gavel began with great intensity, “Tiberon is caged in the mountains of the east. His trial will come and go, well before your union and even if he is turned free he will neither be given the power of being Representative again nor will he be physically able to disturb your ceremony if it means cladding him in irons.”
With so much sincerity and willingness coming from the Gavel, Jareth felt it an inappropriate time to discuss how uncomfortable he was when the elder stressed, ‘well before your union’ in his promise. Rather than spoil Sarah’s day by causing a scene, he shook what had once been his enemy’s hand. Appreciation aside, Jareth’s nature got the better of him not long after his attentions returned to his meal and he asked, “When do you think that trial might be?”
Without taking his eyes off his plate, the Gavel replied, “You pick a new Representative for the Southwestern Sector, someone we approve of naturally, and I’ll give you this trial you’re so anxious for.”
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