I Have Never Seen Such A Terrible Room

by crownjrose (rosesnblueberries)

Summary:

She heard him stand up, circling the desk. She gripped onto the arms of her chair. His footsteps stopped just behind her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. He brushed some of her hair away from her neck, softly. “I’ve never hidden what I am, Sarah. You just chose not to see it. You wanted a child’s game and I gave it to you, you wanted to defeat a villainous king and I allowed you to. And yet, you didn’t... once... wonder what I wanted.”

Sarah and Jareth, through the years.

Notes:

Oh boy.. This was made in another writing frenzy. I woke up today and just had to get it out?? But beware the tags, this is DARK. I'm not joking.

I'm still working on my long Labyrinth fic (the complete opposite of this as a full Jareth/Sarah slow burn romance lol) but I needed to get some eeeeevil daaaark Jareth out of my system.

Title is from the song 'Go Long' by Joanna Newsom. The feelings I get from this song really match with this fic. It references heavily the tale of Bluebeard. Depending on who you ask, the song might be more about a cheating cad, but the sense of violence, abuse, and disgust I get is strong. Especially the part the title comes from, which references the room strung up with the dead bodies of Bluebeard's previous wives. But that's just me. Despite (or perhaps, because of) all that gruesome stuff, it's a beautiful song.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Candelabra

It was a rattle in her chest, her breath shaking and barely-there. As was the rest of her. She shivered on the bed, cold and uncomfortable. A pea was digging into her back, buried far beneath the lush opulence of the mattress. Mocking creature comforts in this dreadful place.

There was a draft in the room, with its stone walls and empty, gaping space. The fire in the hearth had long died out, the crackling slowly muting itself in the hours she laid there. Her body shook uncontrollably and she turned away from him, tears leaking from her eyes. She had cried so much that night, surely the tears must have eroded rivers into her face.

Sarah touched her face, feeling the wetness on her cheeks. She couldn’t hold back a terrible gasping breath, curling her knees up into her chest. He shifted behind her and she stilled. Heart pounding in her throat. She held her breath, lungs empty and aching. But his movement ceased and his breathing smoothed out again.

She held tense for long after that, tightly wound and still. Unable to bear making a noise or moving even a bit. Never poke a sleeping bear. But she was exhausted, so, so exhausted and slowly she allowed her body to unravel into the bed, to relax as much as she could.

It felt like a betrayal to herself. How could she get comfortable like this? Here? She’d never seen such a terrible room, gilded and monstrous. The cave of the vicious, hibernating bear. The chill of the room danced over her bare skin, a threatening prickle of danger. She was so exposed. To the monsters under the bed and the monster on the bed.

What if he was watching her, she wondered, behind her, waiting to pounce. She shouldn’t have turned from him, she was blind like this. The thought grew and grew in her mind, oppressive in its anxiety. But she was paralyzed, held still in her spot, afraid to stay and afraid to move.

Eventually, she worked up the courage. Slowly, so slowly, she turned on her back and then to her other side, curling up again, protecting her middle, her insides from the dangers that lurked nearby.

He was on his back now, torso bared to the room, one arm curled beneath his head. His neck was open, taunting her in its apparent vulnerability.

She was aware of the ache in her body, caused by his body. Deep and hurtful, he’d stripped her bare and hollowed her out. He’d held her down and broke her apart. He’d burned himself into her forever. Touching where no man had. Where even she hadn’t.

Sarah pressed a fist to her mouth and watched the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. She wanted to hit him. To pummel him with her fists, to bash his head in until his beautiful face was wretched to look at.

Could she? No, she couldn’t. He’d proven to her already that his strength was too much for her. She was helpless against him, against his magic and his hold.

She was bound to him, he’d told her. Forever, for as long as he lived. Not long at all, he’d said, petting her hair and smiling down at her fearfully wet eyes. Forever stretched out before her, horrifying and overlong. One night already and it felt like she’d been here for a thousand years. She couldn’t do it. Why would he do this to her?

She missed her father. All she wanted was for him to come bursting through the doors and gather her up in his arms, holding her tight, promising her he’d never let anything happen to her again. She could almost imagine it, her daddy in his pressed pin-stripe suit pulling out the shotgun he’d bought just-in-case and blowing his daughter’s villain’s head off.

The image was too much. Disgusting and comforting at once as she watched the calmness of the Goblin King’s face as he slept, casual-as-he-pleased. She’d never see her mom and dad again. Or Toby or Karen. Or her grandpa or her sometimes friend Em.

She had to get out of there.

Resolved but shaking, she stared at him, checking that he really was asleep. It felt like it took her an hour to be sure, for each time she thought she was ready to move, her eyes snapped back toward him, certain she’d seen him shift, seen his breath stutter.

She forced herself to look away eventually, skin crawling as she turned her back to him, sure her mind was playing tricks on her. Cautiously, she slid out of the bed, moving so slow that her muscles strained with the effort. Finally standing on the plush rug, she let out a breath she’d been holding, trembling in the air.

Mortified by her nakedness, she covered her breasts, hunching over. She glanced around the room, searching for her clothes. Where had he put them? She moved in a pace as slow as a crawl toward the chest of drawers and peered inside. She just wanted something to cover herself. A blanket, anything. Every movement she made was a reminder of what he’d done to her. How he’d defiled her so unceremoniously. She’d never been so stressed before, so distressed and distraught.

It took her forever to search, snapping her neck around every other second, needing to be sure that he was still sleeping. But… there was nothing. Everywhere she looked; empty, devoid of anything useful. She wanted to hurt something, to pound her fists against the wall until her knuckles were torn and bleeding. She barely reined herself in, biting into her knuckles to keep herself quiet.

She must have looked a pitiful sight; standing naked in the middle of a dark room, curled into herself, hair hanging limp past her face as she shook and fell victim to an internal tremor. Like a leaf in the wind.

What to do? What to do? She could have torn out her hair in the frustration verging on panic. She stepped toward the big, circular window where moonlight shone in, but something gold caught her eye on the mantle of the fireplace and she stopped. A candelabra.

Her fingers twitched as her mind raced furiously. Yes… She was consumed with it. She grabbed it, ripping the candles off and hefting it in her hand, feeling the weight. Holding it close to her chest, a treasure to hoard, she tip-toed back towards the bed. Her vision was tunneled, focused only on his calm serenity, laying in the center of the big bed. Without taking her eyes off of him, she pulled herself back onto the bed. She remembered herself and went slow, stayed careful.

When she’d shuffled close enough to him, she pulled herself up onto her knees beside him and grabbed the candelabra. She didn’t breathe as she held it aloft over his head, bottom-down, ready to bash it into his face. But as she knelt there, strung tight and quivering, murder in her heart, his eyes snapped open, locking onto her face

She gasped, a pathetic little sound. Panic was all she knew, and without another thought she drove her arms up to gain power and plunged her weapon down fast towards his head.

It happened so fast.

Hands closed around her wrists tight and the candelabra was ripped from her grasp, thrown to clatter on the floor at the foot of the bed, leaving a death knell echo to reverberate in the wide, wide chamber. His grip on her wrists was inhumanly strong. Painful. Her bones creaked and crushed underneath the vicious hold. Her body fell back as much as she could, lax in the shock, still strung up by the wrists. Her breath was rapid and an animal panic took over.

His eyes were furious as he moved to kneel, hands seething chains around her wrists. He yanked her into his chest and she cringed, jerking back from his touch, but he held her tightly. In the single-mindedness of her attack, the burden of her nakedness had almost deserted her. It was all too evident now.

“My, my, Sarah, what have we here?” His voice was a deep hiss, slow and threatening into her ear. He let go of her wrists and pulled her into a mockery of an embrace, constricting her into his body.

“I- I’m sorry!” She tried to push away from him, straining with all her might, but her arms were immobilized in his hold.

“Are you now?”

Her efforts were all for nought and her body stopped, falling limp and exhausted in his arms. How pathetic she was to allow him to support her weight like this. One of his hands came up to stroke at her hair and she cried into his shoulder, a blubbering wet sobbing cry.

“Hmm?” His hands came down to tighten painfully on her waist. He pushed her back from him, just staring down at her, bruising her waist still. Her arms fell to cover her breasts again, but she wasn’t stupid enough to try anything against him. There was no true freedom here.

“Look at me,” he said. But she just trembled under his gaze, crying into her hands. “Look at me,” he repeated, his voice cruel and his hands tightening impossibly more. It felt like her insides would explode from the pressure.

So she looked at him, raising her eyes even as her heart screamed at her, no, no! He was blurry in her teary vision but his stony expression was obvious as anything. She blinked rapidly as he just watched her, calm on the surface but deeply mad beneath. She could tell.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said, letting her go. Before she could attempt to scramble away, he backhanded her across the face, hard, and she fell back against the bed, prone and on her back. She stared up at the canopy of the bed, stunned. Her vision blurry from something other than tears this time. Her hand came up to her cheek.

She’d never been hit before. Not even by him, not even when he forced her those thousand years ago - earlier that night, her logical mind reminded her.

He loomed above her, shadowed face menacing in the darkness. He grabbed her by the ankles, dragging her towards him, but panic unfurled in her chest again and she struggled as best as she could, twisting and clawing at the bed sheets as he pulled her in. But the sheets were too soft in their luxuriousness, she couldn’t gain any traction. “I suppose I should thank you for waking me. I had intended to give you some time before I took you again, but… you do make an enticing picture. How can I resist?”

He was between her spread legs again, pressing his naked cock hard against her. She thrashed in his hold, sanity lost. “No! Stop, stop!” she screamed. “I’m sorry, please, stop! Please!”

But he just pushed down with all his weight, brushing her hair out of her face. A kind act belied by the way he shifted, finding her aching opening and pressing hard inside, inch by inch. She was still wet from what he’d done to her earlier, from the accommodations her body betrayed her with then and now. But now... the force with which he filled her was jarring.

She let out a heave as he fucked into her, deep, painful thrust after deep, painful thrust, not allowing her any time to adjust. Sarah cried, staring up at the canopy, weakly pushing back at his shoulders, but he kept going, strangling her from the inside out.

With the hand he’d caressed her hair with, he gripped her jaw tight, forcing her to look at him. But she just closed her eyes. And he drove into her harder than ever. “Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Open your eyes.”

His hand was deadly around her jaw, she could feel her bones grinding together. Her eyes flew open and she sobbed, a desperate wail as he stared down into her very soul. Intent and satisfied. His strange eyes, usually so distinct, looked the same now. The light eye dilated to match the dark one. He’d seen too much of her.

It was endless and terrible, him opening her up again, tearing her up from the inside, all while she was forced to look him right in the eyes. There was no escaping as he grunted and moaned, eyes burning hot with desire, pushing her to her limits. An animal above her.

Another thousand years had passed when his pace grew even more vicious, frantic. He fucked her erratically, driving her hard back and forth against the bed, until he let go of her jaw and groaned deep into her neck.

Tears were painful on her cheeks now, chucking away at her being bit by bit as he spent himself inside her. Her back arched painfully, yearning as she tried to frantically pull herself away, away from him and everything else. She could feel it and all its disgusting wetness. Not new to her, not at this point, but not at all familiar. Not yet… And God, she hoped it never would be.

It was horrible, the slickness of the sweat on their skin making his chest glide against hers, the way he breathed against her as he came down from it. The way he licked the pulse point in her neck and laughed when she flinched. “How sweet you are.”

He was still in her as he kissed and nibbled at her neck, as if they were lovers. As if he loved her. “Sweet, sweet Sarah. How did I ever get so lucky?”

Chapter 2: Bath

Summary:

Her voice was a rasp, making her falter in her sudden courage. “Why?”

Notes:

So! Looks like I am continuing this! I have a bunch of ideas rattling around in my head, but nothing set in stone. I guess I'll see how it goes! This is the first WIP I've ever posted (my other fic, I plan to write it all out before I post), so I'm a little nervous..

Remember to check the tags! Take care of yourself.

The next morning, when the sun finally, finally rose up, an end to that unending night, she stared blankly while little goblin servants streamed in the room. Violet slashed across the sunrise sky, violent through the large window. One of the goblins cleaned up the ash of the fireplace while the others carried in platters and jugs, laying them out on the table. Sarah’s eyes accidentally caught the eye of one of them - a girl goblin, she thought absently - but the little thing just looked away.

She hid behind her knees and hair. Still so cold. She hadn’t slept a wink.

She felt the bed shift as he sat up beside her and she hugged her knees tighter, turning her head in the opposite direction. She noticed how the bloody sky looked mottled behind the warped glass of the old window. How ugly.

There was a scrape as one of the goblins picked up the candelabra from the floor and put it back in its place on the mantle. There was a tenseness in the air, as she sat naked near the foot of the bed, feeling his presence behind her. He didn’t say anything even as they both took in the sight of the candelabra. Her failed weapon.

She felt him watching her and she quivered, digging holes into her legs with her nails. When the goblins left, her anxiety only mounted, his looming silence maintained for a few painful seconds. But the bed just shifted again as he got out of bed, crossing the room without a word or a look. She averted her eyes at the sight of his naked body in the sunlight, a deep shame welling up in her. God… what had she let him do to her.

Sarah snatched up his abandoned sheet when he disappeared behind one of the doors, wrapping it around herself tightly. She closed her eyes.

The delicious smell of eggs and sausage wafted over, warming up the chilled room. She glanced at the door he’d disappeared behind nervously, but the lure of the food was too strong. She hadn’t eaten in… how long? It felt like forever. Her belly was caved in. So with the sheet wrapped tightly over her shoulders, making sure to cover herself fully, securely, she tip-toed over to the table, falling into a chair. Her mouth watered at the sight of the spread.

Before she could stop herself, she was shoving bits of bread and strips of bacon in her mouth, gasping down mouthfuls of fruit and eggs, washing it all down with painfully soothing gulps of juice. She’d never eaten so fast in her life, shoveling it all down like a girl starved, hunched and frantic.

She didn’t know how long she was like that before the chair across from her was pulled out with a screech against the stone floor. With a gasp, she flung herself back from the table. Her chair was sent into a slight wobble, tipping precariously while her heart pounded. She watched him with wide-eyes, gripping white-knuckled at her sheet as he took a seat. He was dressed now, wearing a simple pair of black breeches and a loose-fitting tunic. His hair looked wet and his face, stubble of the night having scraped all over her, now clean-shaven. “Well aren’t you a little piggy?”

She looked down at the table, shame blooming on her skin. As the sounds of him filling his plate and pouring a drink filled her ears, she twisted her hands together. There was silence as he ate.

Her voice was a rasp, making her falter in her sudden courage. “Why?”

He didn’t answer her for what felt like a long time, and it was a terrible silence as she traced the lines of the wood in the table with her eyes.

“Why what, Sarah?” He sounded relaxed, at ease. His head was tilted to the side, playful like he wasn’t.

She stumbled in her thoughts, not sure what to make of that. She dared a glance, immediately looking away when she found his eyes waiting for her.

Her lower lip trembled. “Why would you do this to me?” It came out in a shameful whisper. “Why--?”

His answer was simple but it felt like a hammer brought down on her chest. He shrugged, “Because I wanted to.”

. . .

He provided her with new clothes. Luxuriant gowns and high-quality shoes, sleeping clothes, underclothes, everything she could ever possibly need. As much as she missed her own clothes, her jeans and loafers and her favorite cotton panties, she was relieved. Modesty and warmth, two things she was sorely lacking. It felt like something integral had been ripped from her. A newly amputated limb - would she ever get used to it?

She picked the thickest outfit she could find, a dress that layered up from chin to toes. Every bit of her was covered, a measure of security. Even though the heat from the sun - rising higher and hotter in the sky each hour - made her swelter and sweat in the wool, she shivered the entire day. Every day. She must have had a fever for how hotly cold she was.

She was disgusting, left alone and locked away for hours, curled up in her own sweat and his release… she could still feel it. Twice, he’d left it in her to ooze out and cake on her thighs. She was itchy and ashamed, but unable to force herself into the bath. She shut her eyes and rocked in the corner, avoiding the toilet even as her bladder and her belly filled up tight and uncomfortable. She was unable to bear baring herself again to this stone-cold room.

What was the point, she would wonder later when he returned hours into the once-again darkened sky, turning a disgusted eye at her soiled skirts. “You disgusting little beast,” he said scornful, dragging her to the bathroom by her aching, weak wrist. She stumbled behind, hiccupping and sobbing. The bath filled with a single snap of his finger, boiling and steaming. He ripped her dress off of her, uncaring as she tried to hold it up over her front.

She gripped his arm in mindless panic when he pushed her in the too-hot-water. She recoiled and fought back, but he only ripped his arm from her grasp and shoved her down by her shoulders. She thrashed in the painful heat, sure she’d die from it. But there was no escape, not with the looming pressure of him above.

Bit by bit, the temperature of the water cooled down until it was bearable. Or her body temperature had raised enough to match it. Through gasping breaths, her mind calmed and she took stock of her surroundings. The tub was huge, luckily, or else she would have splashed all the water out in her panic, leaving her exposed once more. When she looked up, the tears on her face indistinguishable from the water of the bath, she saw him kicking off his boots by the tub.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her throat tight around the words. He just raised an eyebrow but otherwise ignored her. She lowered deeper into the water until it covered up to her chin. She remembered when she was young and her dad would take her to the pool and she’d pretend to be a hippopotamus, trailing after him and hovering with her nose just out of the water.

She looked away when he pulled his shirt off and sat on the edge of the tub, his pant legs rolled up and legs spread. He beckoned her, pointing at the space in front of him.

“You try my patience,” he said when she hesitated. So, reluctantly, she scooted over inch by inch, always hiding behind her soaked hair.

She closed her eyes and pretended it was someone else when he touched her again, He washed her hair twice and slathered some sort of conditioner in it. It smelled like her favorite jasmine shampoo. The aroma was enough for her to forget where she was, for a moment at least.

The spell was broken when he urged her to stand. She resisted for only a moment before his fingers dug painfully into her arms. Standing in the middle of the tub, Sarah hunched over, shivering again in the cold air, her arms tight to her chest. He turned her around and stood in front of her.

Between them, water lapped at his legs and she saw that the cuffed-up parts of his breeches were wet. The presence of his pants relieved her - she was glad to avoid that part of him, his bare chest and feet were already too much - but somehow….it also set her on edge. Why should he be covered from her gaze when she was given no such freedom?

She stared at the tub water between them the whole time, even as he plucked her arms away from her breasts with barely any effort. With his bare hands, he washed her all over. Sudsing her neck and collarbone, over her arms and between her fingers. Down her back. With each passing second, her trembling grew more violent. The effort to stay still took everything out of her, for all she wanted to do was run. To shove, to run, to hide. To die. She felt terribly exposed, out of control as he washed her breasts, lingering there a little too long before rubbing down her belly.

His thumb swirled in her belly button and she flinched, reflexively bringing her arms back up to cover herself. But he just warned her in a hard tone, not even looking at her: “Don’t.”

Her arms fell to her sides obediently while he sat back down on the edge, his head now level with her belly. She clenched her fists and looked over his head while he lifted up one of her feet to clean. There was a mirror directly across from her - she hadn’t noticed before. And she saw herself for the first time since it all happened. Her skin was red from the boiling water but it was nothing in comparison to the angry scarlet welt that stretched over the side of her face. Bright and turning a splotchy purple, it covered her whole cheekbone. The skin swelled out. It made her left eye (bloodshot and teary just like its sister) look heavy with the extra weight in her cheek.

Her face crumpled in the mirror when he finished with her second foot and slowly washed up her legs, caressing and soft, horrific. She stared resolutely at her own miserable face as he reached between her legs. Tears dripped down her face while he touched her inside her bottom, cleaning and toying. And she wobbled when he kicked her legs open further, grabbing onto his shoulders for support while his hands found their final destination. He scrubbed her down there, rough and soft all at once. It hurt her, the attention. So much attention in the last two days for a place that’s been mostly ignored her whole life.

His fingers played there for too long, dipping in and out. Her knuckles were white where she gripped onto his shoulders. Eventually, gently knocking her hands away, he stood, one hand still caught between her thighs, a bruising hold on that still tender part of her. His other hand came up to her chin, tilting her face to look up at him.

Through teary eyes, she did, gulping around her struggling breaths. “If you can’t keep yourself clean, you can say goodbye to your new wardrobe,” he told her calmly.

She swallowed and tried to nod, but his grip on her chin was too strong. “Okay,” she forced out. Her voice was a scratch in her throat.

He nodded and patted her once between the legs. A condescending slap that made her jolt.

He used her again that night, bending her forcefully over on the bed and filling her over and over, a grip on her throat and teeth at her shoulder. Her eyes unfocused on the flickering flames of the fire as his touches moved her back and forth, she had a thought: keeping herself clean would be very hard to do, if he planned to dirty her up like this, every night, forever.

Notes:

Second chapter done! I'd love to hear what you thought! This story is so vivid in my mind, it's kind of scary... I'd love to talk about it with whoever is following. I'm very open to ideas or suggestions <33

Thanks for reading!!!

Chapter 3: Stone

Summary:

“Mmm,” he murmured, “You’re learning.”

Notes:

Thanks for the comments on the last chapter <3

Warning for vague mentions of vomit.

It was a nightmare there. A place she had been so enthralled with, a fairy-tale castle of the king-character she’d thought herself in love with. It felt like her skin had been peeled off, her very self torn away as she was dropped into the darkness that had been lurking, that she’d brought out with her victory. Was this what she’d wanted? She knew it wasn’t. The veil had lifted. And it was horrible.

It was two weeks before she saw anyone other than him, besides the silent goblin servants who did everything they could to ignore her. She was kept away in his rooms, too shocked to try anything. She’d grown listless in her time there, swaying at the barest of touches, a doll to be moved and used. So when, one morning, he dressed her in a simple gown and led her out of his bedchambers for the first time, she didn’t question it. She followed along like his good girl, and when they’d reached a set of unfamiliar oak doors, he’d chucked her chin with a rakish grin.

Awareness trickled in when two tall men, standing guard on either side of the doors, pushed them open at Jareth’s nod. She absently turned back to look at them, astounded at their appearance. Not goblins... they looked like Jareth. Human-like but more. She hadn’t seen any human-like people since he danced with her in that dream, when she still was starry-eyed and crushing, believing him dashing. Debonair.

He tugged her along and they entered the throne room - a place she had been before, just before everything changed, but never since. The room was full to bursting, packed tight with elegant, angry, curious not-humans. Most were like him, but she recognized some of the odd creatures from her run through the Labyrinth. The sounds of murmurs quieted when the doors banged shut. As one, they lowered to kneel before the Goblin King.

She lagged behind, uncomfortable. She saw that even in their prone positions, intrusive eyes locked not on their king, but on her. They followed her every move.

“Come,” he said, leading her with a hand at her lower back.

Sarah stared down at her feet the whole way across the room. The scrutiny was too much. The attention of an entire room not as glamorous as she’d once imagined.

He came to a stop in front of his throne and let her go.

He sat back in his throne, completely at ease. With a gesture, he had the room rising back to their feet. She shifted on the platform, unsure. She glanced back at him every few seconds. But it was hard not to focus on the hissing, spitting, glaring group in front of her.

A pit of vipers. Danger lurked in their eyes. She stepped back unconsciously toward the king. He observed his subjects for a moment before turning his attention onto her. “Well?”

Confused, she dared a peek up at his face. He looked amused. Titters from the crowd rose up and she flushed, shifting in her place.

“Take a seat, girl.”

A seat? She looked around. There weren’t any… But then she saw he was patting his lap. And she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Not in front of all these people. She hadn’t realized she had any more dignity to spare, but she did, oh God she did. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the pressure of the situation getting to her.

She took a step back, but she just thudded into something hard. Another guard, ginormous and covered in armor. A shield and sword. His face was obscured by his helmet. And he shook his head and nudged her back.

Jareth was smiling still but the crowd had grown silent. Her little fists balled up by her sides, fisting at the fabric of her dress. Tears pricked at her eyes and she stepped closer. She couldn’t make herself do it. Over the weeks, she’d grown reluctantly… appreciative of his take-charge approach; pushing her there, bending her this way, and moving her that. He never made her do anything besides take it, but now he expected her to play a role in her own humiliation?

She lowered to her knees on the throne platform. It was as bold as she dared to be. His anger was not something she wanted to see, not anytime soon. Not ever again.

But… he wasn’t mad. He just threw his head back and laughed. His subjects joined in. Sarah’s eyes were wide, confused. He placed a gloved hand on her head, stroking down the length of her hair. And again.

“My champion knows her place.”

A whistle sounded from the crowd and Sarah realized. At his feet. Her place was at his feet. She wanted to cry. She always wanted to cry nowadays, it was all she did. It was even worse now, that she might cry in front of these people, hostile and mocking as they were.

She drew in a shaky breath.

His hand stopped with its stroking and banded tightly against the back of her neck. “Don’t you?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Louder, they can’t hear you,” he said in a lilting voice. When she didn’t react, his grip tightened.

“Yes!” she forced out. His hand loosened ever so slightly.

“And where is that?”

One, two, three, four. Hold. She breathed out. One, two, three, four, five. “.... At your feet.”

He let go of her, trailing his hand around her neck. He traced a finger over her cheekbone, catching a silent tear when it trickled down without warning. “Mmm,” he murmured, “You’re learning.”

. . .

He was reading by the fire one night when she gathered the courage. “... Jareth?”

He hummed in response, turning a page. She twisted her hands in the bedsheets and forced it out in a whisper. “Please, can I have a blanket?”

“Of course,” he said absently, still reading his book. He looked up briefly, lips curved. “All you had to do was ask.”

“...Oh.”

He snapped his fingers and a blanket appeared on the bed. She gasped.

“Thank you!” she choked out. She could have sobbed with the joy of it, wrapping it around herself and collapsing back into the bed. She wiggled happily. It was so, so soft. Warm and sweet against her shivering skin. It was heaven.

. . .

It was different one day. Was it possible to get used to such a terrible life? To hate it just as much as you expected it?

But he took pleasure in disrupting that small comfort, she was sure. Ripping the rug out from under her.

“Don’t make me!” she sobbed, gripping onto his thighs. “I just can’t!”

He sighed. “Don’t be silly, of course you can.”

She leaned her head against his knee and cried. “I don’t want to,” she said. Her voice was a keening thing, weak and sad. Pathetic even to her own ears. Her knees ached against the cold, hard stone floor.

“I know,” he said. He took her hands in his in a gentle motion, peeling them up from their frightened grip. Hiccuping, she looked up at him, a giant standing above her. For a moment, she thought he was going to pull her up, to help her stand. To say, don’t worry, you don’t have to. But, of course that wasn’t what happened.

He lifted her just enough so that she was higher on her knees. She wobbled in her fear, feeling tipsy-turvy. He guided her hands to his cock. When her hands just trembled, never to move, he sighed again. An angry sound that set her on edge. “Enough of this,” he said, releasing her hands.

Right in front of her eyes, he took hold of his cock and stroked it. She looked away, wanting to puke. That… thing had done so much damage to her she knew she’d never recover. She wanted to cut it off - surely he wouldn’t be so cruel without his favored weapon. It just wasn’t possible.

His other hand touched the back of her neck and brought her toward him, pressing it against her lips. She let him, the look in his eye hard, his hold on her strong. “Open up,” he said.

Her eyes were wide and scared, but her lips parted. She didn’t want to, but she had to. Couldn’t you see?

She sniffled and closed her eyes as he fed it into her mouth slowly. Her hands came back up to grip the fabric of his breeches, panicked. But he allowed her time to adjust. She sucked in air through her nose, shivering. It sat heavy on her tongue and there was an unfamiliar taste that made her nauseous. But the smell was familiar. She had been well acquainted with it these last weeks.

“Good girl,” he said, stroking her cheekbone with his fingers. “It’s always easier once you’ve started. Now remember, don’t bite.”

He patted her cheek once. And his thumb traced her lips spread around him.

Her eyes snapped open when he pressed his thumb in her mouth and wedged it back behind her teeth. Why--?

But then he started to push into her mouth more. A whining, choked noise escaped her when he passed some kind of point, quickly hitting the back of her throat. She heaved and jerked back, but his hand at her neck was too strong, keeping her in place. Fresh tears streamed from her eyes at the pressure in her throat.

It was wrong, couldn’t he see? Too big, too long, too gross. Vile. It didn’t fit, it wasn’t meant for her mouth.

He pulled back and she gasped in the little air that she could. Why couldn’t she breathe through her nose? Had he taken that from her too? Her jaw reflexively went to close, but she couldn’t. Her mouth just gaped uselessly around his thumb and the weight still at the end of her tongue.

But that was the last break he’d give her. And soon he was driving all the way back in.

It was horrible. Drool trailed down her chin as he thrust hard into her mouth over and over. She choked and shuddered as it went on, unending.

At least he didn’t make her look at him while he did it, for when her eyes strayed, she found him watching her intensely, eyes burning and cheekbones flushed. She didn’t look back.

It lasted forever. Too long. Even when he fucked her in the cunt, she was sure it never lasted this long. At least a cock was meant to go up there, as horrible as the thought was, never here.

The end was relieving and disgusting in equal measures. He held her tight to him when he came, close enough that her nose was pressed against his skin, so deep in her that she swallowed reflexively around his release. “Perfect Sarah,” he moaned out at the end.

When he released her suddenly, she fell back onto the ground, sobbing. She scrambled up and ran to the bathroom. Her knees were bruised again as they collided with the stone floor in front of the toilet. She heaved and this time, something came up.

She cried against the toilet seat, weak and limp from the effort. She heard him come in behind her. “Oh dear,” he said. He pulled her hair back from her face and waited for her to finish.

When she was done, he pulled her up to standing, tucking her against his chest. She cried into his shoulder, shaking as he held her. Her hands came to fist at the back of his shirt.

“There, there.”

And even though it was his fault, even though he was the one who’d turned her into this wretched creature, who’d ruined her life... she took comfort in this hug.

Notes:

I've been having some feelings of guilt over this story. But... hey, it's fiction right? I'm a huge proponent of writing what the heck ever. I mean, that's the point of fiction, for me at least... to explore stuff outside of your experience. Dark, terrible stuff if that's your thing. But my emotional mind is feeling weird. Not weird enough to stop writing it though LOL. Despite my somewhat guilty feelings about this, it's been really fun to write this so rest assured that I'm going to stick with it!

Leave a comment if it pleases you! I'd love to hear what you thought!
xoxo

Chapter 4: The Face of Fate

Summary:

After so many weeks of being kept inside, it was the fresh air on her skin that burst like joy in her heart. The scent of the rain after so long of smelling musty fire, stone, and man.

Notes:

This one's a little plottier! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

He made her hate her body. The body that, somehow, was the source of his unending desire. The body that he could manipulate in ways unknown even to her.

His fucking was directly tied to his emotions, she’d come to understand. When angry, he’d shove her face-first into the bed, or the floor and bring back the pains of the first time. When annoyed, he’d taunt her, drawing it out as long as he could and make her cry. When tired, he’d ignore her altogether, something she was happy enough with. When content, though…

He would go slow and careful, making sure she was prepared. He’d hold her close and flirt with the skin of her neck. He’d kiss her. Sometimes, if she could get enough out of her head, away from the reality, she could imagine he was some faceless man, her husband perhaps, making love to her gently. With love.

It was hard to do, though - to drift off into fantasy. He took no small pleasure in making it known who was there touching her.

And even when he, Jareth, not her kind faceless husband, murmured his names for her - precious, sweet Sarah - her body seemed to react. It was like warm fizzing water in her belly, spreading out to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Her face would flush and she would clench down on him. He’d laugh and angle himself in such a way that something seemed to build in her, a tension behind her belly button that grew with each of his thrusts.

But it always seemed to peter out, dying and leaving her cold inside, long before he finished. He didn’t seem to care.

It was a usual enough occurrence that when it happened next, she was relieved by it, oddly disappointed, and ashamed of herself. She stared at the canopy and waited for him to remove himself. When he did, she moved to turn on her side to go to sleep. He took hold of her hips, stilling her.

His lips were curved, impish, where he kneeled between her legs. “I think it’s time you enjoyed yourself, don’t you?”

“What?” She crossed her arms over her chest and shut her legs tight. He just grabbed her knees and held them open. She looked away. The bed shifted as he moved and she felt him settle on his front, shouldering her knees apart. His face was right in front of her… He was looking right at it.

She flinched up, sitting as much as she could with his arm against her belly. “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

He laughed. “How scandalized you are!” He pushed her onto her back. Sarah’s hands came down, attempting to cover herself, but he took them both in one hand. She watched stunned as he set his mouth down on her. She jerked away but he held her still.

“Stop it!”

It started to feel good. That warm fizzy feeling coming back as he sucked and licked at her, directing an attack on a particularly sensitive spot.

She gasped and her back arched as much as it could in his hold. Tears leaked from her eyes. She was so, so confused. How could she feel this way? Against her own mind?

He pulled back. She shuddered. Gaped at him. His chin was wet and shiny and he bared his sharp, evil teeth at her. “I thought so…” he said, pulling back her flesh with his hand. “Aw,” he said, leaving a little kiss at the top, “your lovely little cunt…”

He’d taken to calling it that. Her cunt. The first time he had, she’d cringed away, shocked at the vulgarity she’d only ever heard once from her mother’s long-time boyfriend. He’d just cooed and fucked her harder.

He went back to it. Her wrists ached in his hold and under her straining. The tension was building again, growing heavier and more overwhelming than it had ever been before. He got her past a point. The point of ashamed disappointment. Now it was ashamed hope as he turned her slowly and surely into a twitching, quivering mess of scrunched eyes and blocked airways.

A shocked, “Ohh..” left her when the something in her belly button finally, finally burst. She trembled violently through the entire thing.

When it was done, she laid there, stupid, waiting as her body fixed itself. He crawled back on top of her. She didn’t react except to shiver. He kissed her on the mouth.

She woke up from her stupor, jolting at the taste on his lips. She pushed him away, hard. And sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

She knew what just happened. Her mother had told her about it the last time she visited her the year before, when she had just turned fourteen. Sarah had been shocked, blushing and uncomfortable even as her mother whispered about how good it could be, and to not let any boys get away with ignoring your needs, okay Sarah?

She dug her hands into her arms, wanting to tear her skin off. “I hate you!” she screamed suddenly, enraged. She wasn’t sure who it was directed to more, him or her. She pulled at the roots of her hair and his arms appeared around her, taking hold of her wrists. He tugged her back against him. She tried to elbow him, but she couldn’t reach.

“I hate you!” she screamed again, sobbing now.

“Pity,” he said calmly, brushing her hair out of her face.

He was hard again against her bottom.

. . .

They were in the throne room once more. It had become a routine; once a week, he displayed her obedience before his subjects. Killing two birds with one stone. He played with her hair as she leaned against his knee. It was easier to zone out, to let him do what he wanted while he took court, listening to grievances and funneling out decisions. Fulfilling his kingly duties.

Her eyes strayed, taking in the sight of the amalgamation of species. The not-humans, - Fae, he’d told her - goblins, dwarves, pixies, sprites, and more she didn’t know… All his subjects. It was a diverse group.

Sarah had been around long enough that they’d started to ignore her, forgetting she’d ever existed. But there were still some that would spit at her, grumble about her being a disgusting mortal, how good it was that King had put her in her proper place.

Now, she felt eyes on her. Reluctantly and curiously, she searched the crowd. It was a shock when she saw familiar eyes staring at her from the corner of the room. She lifted her head, heart pounding. Jareth’s hand paused in its movement. Some of her buzz snuffed out, anxious that the king’s eyes were on her, watching her every move. Carefully, she leaned her head back against his knee and waited until he began twisting that strand of her hair again.

When he had, she sought out her friend again.

Hoggle was half hiding behind a much taller Fae man, twisting a kerchief between his hands. Even in the distance between them, she saw how grooved-up his brow was. He looked terribly worried, upset.

She tried to smile, but her lips just trembled. He was the first friendly face she’d seen in… how long? She’d lost track of time. He frowned at her and she averted her eyes.

She couldn’t bear to look back at him for the rest of the hour. So she stared blankly at the ground.

When court was over, Jareth led her out of the room with a hand at her back. Just before the door, panic caught her and she looked back into the crowd, desperately hoping for one more glance of her friend. But he was gone.

. . .

It was a kick in the ass, seeing Hoggle. Seeing someone kind for once, someone who cared about her. In the time since she’d said her right words and he’d laughed in her face, dragging her down to keep, she’d forgotten that there were people out there who cared about her, who loved her. Who, right now, must be terribly upset by her absence. Her dad, her mom, grandpa. Karen, Toby, Em. Merlin. Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus.

Jareth had done a good job of narrowing her world down, till she could no longer remember that she’d had a life. A world of her own, where she existed as a daughter, a sister, a friend. Just to exist and not only to satisfy a terrifying king’s desires.

She wondered how her family was doing.

A rush of guilt flooded through her. It had been easier to float around in this nightmare than to fight back or plan. Oh, the effort… The pain, the fear… She didn’t know if she could do it. She didn’t even know if it was possible. But she owed it to her family to try, didn’t she?

There was a time each day that he left her to explore the castle on her own. Usually she hid away in the library and drowned her sorrows in the books there. But piece by piece, taking moments where she could, she began investigating her new world. It was about time. She’d been blind for too long.

It was a hard place to get a handle on. She was sure the corridors shifted and the rooms changed. Nothing stayed the same, but after some weeks, she thought she had a good understanding of the place.

Enough understanding that anticipation began to build. It was all she could do not to act any different. She was scared to tip him off.

Her plans occupied her every thought, buzzing around in frightful obsession. Terror accompanied them. The last (and only time) she’d fought back, truly fought back, he’d put her soundly back in her place. The ugly bruise on her face had lasted for weeks, a mark of his discipline. If she hadn’t tried to kill him that night, she wondered, would he have been kinder those first days?

She wanted to be free, but more even than that: she wanted to not get caught. Was it worth the risk? To potentially fail and incite his ire when he’d been…. almost considerate of her lately. It would be a shame to lose that and the other freedoms he’d allowed her.

But, she had to remember: that was if she got caught. If she didn’t… A bright smile bloomed on her face and she buried her head into her pillow. No… it was worth it, and all the potential consequences. She just had to. No excuses.

The day came like any other. With a silent breakfast where she played with her food while he read through a scroll, legs propped up on the table. With his kiss goodbye before he went off to deal with the kingdom and she took her walk to the library.

She spent the day reading, deep in a story about Troll children, and before she knew it, the sky was already dark. She walked back to his rooms quickly, anxiety turning her stomach. But when she opened up the door, he wasn’t there waiting for her. The room was empty and the hearth was dead.

She walked around the room quietly, peering into his closet and then the bathroom. She was alone. Her heart began hammering in her chest. Was this the moment? It had to be. A sign from the universe. Fate had spoken.

In her wardrobe, she pulled out her secret bag, carefully stuffed with a change of clothes, some food, and water. Not much - a meager amount really. But enough.

Her palms were sweating as she tip-toed out of the room, peering up and down the corridor. As stealthy as she could manage, she ran down the halls and snuck through secret passageways. It took her a long time, having to divert her path each time she heard footsteps or mutters in the distance. By the time she reached her nondescript door, she could barely breathe from the fright of it.

A door to the outside, it was a beacon of hope. In all her explorations, she’d deduced that a garden and a forest were there waiting for her on the other side. For the very first time, she pulled it open and stepped outside.

She could have danced right there on the spot. After so many weeks of being kept inside, it was the fresh air on her skin that burst like joy in her heart. The scent of the rain after so long of smelling musty fire, stone, and man.

She tore off into the tree line just past the garden, running and running and never stopping. Her dress was a hindrance, but she just picked up the skirt and pounded her feet against the wet earth. A laugh bubbled out of her when she turned back and the only thing she could see were trees. She didn’t stop, not for a long time.

But soon… the forest started to get to her. The wet of the drizzling rain percolating through the trees and soaking her dress. The sounds around her menacing, mocking. The selfish moonlight that left her mostly in darkness.

Her lungs were weak after so much strain and a stitch grew in her side. She staggered to a stop, bending over with a hand on a tree.

Her hand snapped back when something moved under her palm. It was a face. She shrieked and scrambled back, falling hard on her tailbone.

She looked closer. The face was silent, but it stretched its face out into a wide grin and froze, staying there, watching her. She shuddered and looked around. More and more faces looked back at her: faces twisting into shapes and freezing in their gruesome smiles and screams. She’d never seen something so wrong. She pulled herself back up, groaning at the ache in her legs.

She spun around when whispering sounds started. Low and lyrical, they kept on. It made her shiver. One of the faces twisted again, skin melting into a tortured expression. It broke its silence. Its scream pierced the air.

She shook at the reedy warble and started to run again, away from the evil faces and voices. With each stamping stride she took, another scream cracked out. And another, another, another. Distorted faces continued on, never stopping even when she was sure she’d run a thousand miles from the first.

The noise built and built until it was so loud she couldn’t hear her own breath or even her own screams. Her head pounded and her sight blurred. A wail might have escaped her; she felt the strain at her throat but she heard nothing over the screeching, vibrating forest. She covered her ears and collapsed down on her knees, stranded.

Mud soaked her already damp dress, the night chill on the wet making her numb. She crawled forward weakly, but stopped. Her ears hurt too much.

And she remembered: when had Fate ever looked out for her?

Notes:

Oh boy, she's gotten herself into some trouble... Next chapter will be interesting xD

Thanks so much for reading <3

Chapter 5: Sorry

Summary:

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “Yes,” she said in a whisper. “I’m sorry.” She was shaking and overwhelmed. It felt like drowning.

Notes:

Thanks for all the amazing comments. <3

That violence warning comes into play here.

She didn’t know how long she laid there in the wet mud, rattling and half-unconscious, when something hauled her up by the back of her dress. She thrashed away, awareness coming back to her, but strong hands just locked her movements down.

“Jareth?” she mumbled. She realized the screams had died out; they were only horrible memories now. She could hear herself again.

Her eyes blinked open and a different sort of terror filled her when she saw two of those large Fae guards. She tried to pull from the one holding her in place but she was too slow and too tired. “Let me go,” she said weakly.

The guards didn’t say anything to her. They didn’t even look at her. Uniformly, they started walking, roughly escorted her between them. She stumbled, unable to keep up with their pace even as they dragged her along.

“Leave me alone,” she croaked, pulling at her arms. Her ears were ringing.

“King’s orders, little mortal.” The guard to her left tilted his head to look at her. His face was hidden behind his armor.

King’s orders… The events of the night rushed back. She bent over suddenly, forcing the guards to stop. She retched.

“Oh no,” she moaned.

. . .

She was jittering by the time they reached the castle and crying by the time they reached his chambers. One of the guards knocked hard on the door.

“Enter.”

Sarah cowered back when the guards dragged her through the door. Jareth was seated in one of the armchairs. He seemed to observe the group. Their eyes locked briefly and she looked away.

“Leave her and you may go,” he said to the guards. They obeyed, shoving her forward. Her exhausted body collapsed to the ground with a thud. One of them threw her mud-soaked bag onto the floor beside her.

She stayed crumpled on all fours as the guards made their retreat, flinching when the door slammed shut behind her. Tears dripped on the stone.

“Sarah.”

She shrunk back when he stood up from chair. His boots come closer, stopping just in front of her. She felt his gaze burning through the back of her head.

Softly, he said: “Did you really think you could escape my kingdom? My labyrinth?”

She looked up at him. His lips were curved, amused. He made a deep humming noise and tilted his head. Her jaw worked but no sounds came out.

He laughed. “Oh, sweet Sarah... did you truly?”

She looked away, feeling hot all over. The lump in her throat grew. He touched her chin, tilting her head up to look back at him. She swallowed.

He smiled. “You will never leave this place.” He said it sweetly, like the taste of too much sugar on your tongue. He released her chin and held out his hands. She was sniffling as she took them, letting him pull her up to stand.

He brought her into his chest, rubbing along her stiff back. It felt like the entire night crashed over her. And she buried her face into his shirt and cried full-bodied, leaning on him while he just tutted and ran his fingers through her hair.

“I-I-I had to,” she wailed into his shoulder.

He sighed. “Oh precious…”

He trailed fingers along the back of her neck and she shivered.“You’re young, I’m aware,” he said. “But you acted thoughtlessly tonight.”

Her hands tightened like vices around the fabric of his shirt. But his hands came to stop at her waist. He drew her back, shocking her into letting her hands fall limp at her sides.

He wiped the tears from her face. “You’ve displeased me.”

She looked down, feeling wretched. Her lower lip trembled. “‘m sorry,” she whispered to the floor.

“See,” he said, “I don’t think you are.”

She shifted in her spot. He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “No matter… such a thing is easy to solve.”

With a hand at her lower back, he guided her across the room. Her legs moved lethargically under his guidance. She was so, so tired. Sleep, sleep, sleep, her body seemed to scream at her.

She was dazed when he stopped in front of a stretch of stone wall by the bed. “Undress.”

“What?” She mumbled. Awareness started to return. She took a step back.

He just watched her calmly. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

She clasped her hands over the strings of her bodice protectively. “But—“

“Now.”

And so, with quivering fingers, she fumbled with her buttons and laces. He snapped his fingers at her when it took her too long to untie the bow at her waist. Her teeth were chattering long before her dress fell to the floor around her feet. He was just going to use her again, she realized. It would be okay, she told herself. She could handle that, easy. She was used to it by now.

There was something relieving in getting out of the cold, muddy dress that had been clinging to her skin for so long. But the drafty room and the eyes on her made her hunch and cover her chest.

“Those too,” he said, gesturing to her hips. She shimmied off her underpants. It was nothing he hadn’t seen already. He was intimately familiar with every part of her. There was no denying it. But even so, in her state of vulnerable failure, his eyes on her was as skin-crawling as it had been that first time.

He walked behind her, stopping right at her back. The light from the fire stretched his shadow out along the stone wall, a distorted monster in her sight. She was blind again. Her neck prickled when he gathered her hair in a hand and brought it over her right shoulder.

Arms closing her in, he took her wrists in his and guided her hands to rest against the wall. She waited to hear the sound of his breeches being unlaced, but there was only the sound of magic whooshing behind her. She wrenched her neck to the side, peering back over her shoulder. He was watching her, tapping at his thigh with his scepter. What was he doing?

“My love,” he sighed and dragged his thumb down her spine. She jerked at the touch. “Your beauty doesn’t deserve to be marred.” He made a considering noise. “Pity… you forced my hand.”

Then alarm started to clang like claxons in her. “Marred?” Her hands dropped from the stone and she tried to turn. He tsked and turned her back. She resisted only a bit, but his strength stunned her into compliance.

“What are you doing?” she croaked, toes curling into the rug beneath her feet. Another whoosh of magic whipped by. And her hands were stuck to the stone. Fearful, she tried to pull back, wrenching so hard her arms started to shake, but it was like her very bones had been magnetized to the wall. She whimpered.

He stepped just to the side and she turned to look at him, wide-eyed. “This wouldn’t be necessary if you had behaved. Eyes on the wall.” Her eyes snapped back, obeying him without her consent.

There was a crack and something sharp came down on her back. She cried out, jolting into the wall, away from the agony. It came again and again and again, banding against her back from top to bottom. She tried to pull herself away, frantically trying to twist her hands off the stone, but there was no escape as his weapon hit her over and over. Soon, she was doubled over and weeping with her forehead against the wall. “Stop!” she howled, her voice full of gravel, breaking more and more with each sob she let out. With each plea she shrieked out.

It was a relief whenever he directed his whipping blows on her bottom in between the ones that broke against her back, the fleshy part of her absorbing the impact in a way that her boned back couldn’t. Even still, it was the worst pain she’d ever felt. Sharp and hot, it cut through her skin, she was sure. Was she bleeding? She had to be. Her entire back was on fire and her legs and arms shook from the strain.

She begged and begged and begged but he never stopped. She screamed sorry over and over and over but he didn’t seem to care.

Eventually, after a century of it, she collapsed to her knees, her hands still locked into place, making her arms wrench out above her. The crashing fall pulled at the skin of her back and she bawled even more. She snuffled into her arm, trembling. The hits ceased.

“Stand up,” he ordered behind her, the first time he’d spoken as he destroyed her.

It felt like she’d drop dead any second. “I can’t,” she slurred.

“Stand, and it will be over.”

Worry built again. She had to stand, she had to. With a pitiful moan, she pulled herself up inch by inch. It took forever, her body so weak and devastated. Her legs buckled under her, but she puffed and cried and strained until she was swaying on her feet once more.

“Brava,” his voice rang out, closer than before. His hand touched along her back and her body careened away from the contact, as violent as it felt. Her stomach lurched and she heaved, but nothing came up. It was true, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. What time was it, anyway?

His steps reverberated in the silent room, following him until he appeared at her side. She cringed away and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see him, not ever.

He didn’t say anything. He touched her wrists and the sudden heat of his body made her flinch. A tingle went through her hands and the magnetic hold was gone. Sarah yanked her hands back into her chest, but without the tether holding her in place, her body wobbled dangerously. Her eyes fluttered and she staggered.

Arms caught her, but fingers dug into her tender skin. She shrieked, blindly scrabbling at him. He ignored it and her feet came off of the floor for one brief moment before he dropped her face-first on the bed.

“No,” she cried out desperately when her legs were dragged open and the new open space between them sunk under his weight. She clawed her fingers into the sheets and tried to pull herself away, but hands caught her hips, killing her hope.

A pressure settled between her legs and she wailed, a muffled sound delivered deep into the bed, when he pressed violently into her. He leaned over her, chest to back, closing her in and hurting her burning skin. He was touching her all over, from top to bottom. His shirt dragged against her wounds with each forward thrust and he carved her insides out with pain. Her body was so weak that she just laid there limply while he lifted her up slightly by the hips and drove deeper, deeper into her. He was brutal, more even than when he’d punished her intimately the time he’d caught her trying to kill him.

She was half-unconscious by the time he was finished, only vaguely registering him pulling out with nary a kiss or lick to her skin. He was mad. More than he’d ever been. “Sarah.”

Awareness trickled in. A wretched noise escaped her.

“Have you learned your lesson?” He murmured.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “Yes,” she said in a whisper. “I’m sorry.” She was shaking and overwhelmed. It felt like drowning. And she was sorry. She wished she’d never even stepped foot outside the castle.

Sarah laid there for a long time, half-alive and half-not. She couldn’t move, not even when he left the bed or returned some time later. She couldn’t even cry, her tears were gone. Just one other thing he’d stolen from her.

Something cool rushed over her inflamed skin. It felt like the IcyHot her dad had given her a few years back when she’d pulled her leg muscle running home from school.

She moaned when the sharp stinging was reduced to a dull ache. Her body still lifeless, he pulled her up to her side of the bed, leaving her still on her belly. He covered her with the sheet and joined her, wrapping an arm around her. He drew her close to his chest.

How mean he was, to beat her, to use her, and then to hold her.

Notes:

....listen, they gave him a riding crop in the movie. I couldn't not! But... yoikes. Poor Sarah.

Something I hadn't considered when I started posting this was the update schedule. Are my updates too frequent? Is it hard to read if they come too quickly? I might not always be able to post every 2-3 days, but... if it's annoying, I can maybe wait a bit longer? Idk, let me know!

I'd love to hear what you thought! Thanks so much for reading!!! <333

Chapter 6: Woman

Summary:

The heat of his body against her back was comforting, a solid presence. Her head lolled against his shoulder when he ran his hands down her arms. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

Notes:

Warning for... bodily fluids? And mentions of issues with food and mental health issues that one would expect here.

Thanks for all the comments on the last! They mean a lot.

Enjoy! I think this has their longest conversation to date xD

He healed her just enough to keep the cuts from growing infected and to prevent any lasting damage to her nerves. It left her back a mottled mess for weeks, a painful reminder. It was only when, months later, when the marks were reduced to pink lines criss-crossing all over her back, she asked him if he was going to remove them since they’re ugly, don’t you think Jareth? You wouldn’t have to look at them all the time.

He just smiled his faint smile. “They are unsightly.” He bopped her on the nose: “Well, they’re a good reminder for both of us, I think. They stay.”

Every meal in front of her began to taste like sand on her tongue, gag-worthy and not-worth-it. She ate enough to live, but only just. Only because he told her to. And if he told her to do something, well… it was just better not to argue. It was a weak time for her, her body finally catching up to her mind. Her days were sluggish and she slept so much longer, passing out as soon as he was done with her and rising only when he woke her.

His irritation at her was the only reason she managed to function each day. Otherwise, she figured she’d just waste away.

It was just after her sixteenth birthday passed - a quiet occasion where he’d taught her a simple bit of magic over a shared plate of sweet cakes - that her body seemed to come to a rearing fight. Throwing a hissy fit over something; belly aches and headaches and muscle aches and all. Over what, she wondered absently. She hadn’t exactly taken proper care of herself in the last few months since her failure of an escape. What was wrong now?

Well, she supposed it didn’t really matter. She could just ask to go to sleep earlier than usual. He’d let her, she knew. Slowly, he’d softened towards her in her returned compliance, allowing her things and granting her requests if she ever had them. It was not often that she did, but she was grateful for it anyhow. Elsewhere… his leash was tight.

She rode the aches in silent discomfort for the next few days, until it all came to a head.

There was a dream she kept having.

It started like this: she was watching jagged red-orange cliffs whip by fast through the rolled-down passenger window of a car. Music was playing - something warped and dreamy and joyful. The Beatles? In the side-view mirror, she saw herself, grinning, eyes bright and too-green in the beaming sunlight. The driver made a joke beside her - something she could never quite decipher - and she turned, laughing loudly. It was Jareth, driving with one hand on the wheel, casual like her mom was, and puffing handless at the cigarette stuck between his lips, just like how her dad did it. He grinned at her, eyes crinkled. There was a warm feeling that infused the scene. Rose-colored and happy.

It was a nightmare, she thought… Nothing about it was frightening… but in the waking world, when she sat by the fire and really considered it, it disturbed her.

And it was that night again that she woke up from the terrible warmth of the dream. But… it was different. This time, she was burning hot and sweating. Breathing shakily into her pillow. She’d been stabbed, she was sure of it. Pain struck through her middle and something was wrong between her legs. Her hand sneaked between the mattress and her hips. She was wet all over. Did she pee herself?

Her breath caught in her throat and she flung herself up to sit. She leaned toward the night stand and snapped her fingers. A candle wick sprung to life and she could see again. Red. Red, so much red. Between her legs and all over her skin, staining the sheets all around her hips. She stared, fingers held aloft and shaking, blood smearing across the tips of them.

Her ears focused suddenly on Jareth’s slow breathing next to her. Tears filled her eyes. She doubled over, in pain and ashamed, and whimpered into her knees. She wanted her mom so bad.

Her body shook with the effort to keep noises from wrenching out of her. She didn’t know what to do. She folded over more, staggering gasps tremoring through her. He’d be so mad. She’d ruined the sheets, made a huge mess. She was disgusting.

She sniffled, snot trailing down from her nose as she pulled herself shakily out of the bed. Her body was strung tight, hovering over the bed and the filthy mess in the middle of it. She wrung her hands.

Then, he shifted. She stared, eyes blown wide and frightful as he slowly lifted up onto an elbow. There was a moment of tense silence as he took in the sight of her. The sight of the mess on her thighs and her tear-stained face. She stood stock-still and ram-rod straight as his eyes flicked to the stained bed beside him and then back up to her face.

She ran to the bathroom.

Sarah slammed the door shut behind her. She breathed heavy, her back against the door. A wave of pain stung through her, sharp and piercing.

She made it to the toilet just in time to hurl, only a little spit coming up even as her body rebelled. She lingered there, queasy. Her knees tightened impossibly together when she felt the moisture of the blood trickle more and more between her legs.

When the pain let up, she collapsed to sit on the toilet, letting the blood finally drip somewhere safe. She wrapped her arms around her legs and let her head fall between her knees. Against the pure white of the toilet, the red-brown all over her was shocking. She hugged herself and shivered.

The sound of the door swinging open broke the stillness. She shrank even more into herself. Jareth’s footsteps padded toward her, across the wide floor. Sarah felt the air shift as he paused just in front of her.

Warm hands took hold of her. He urged her to sit straight, peeling her hands from their grip on her legs, coaxing her face out from hiding. He was crouched in front of her, hands warm on her knees.

He cracked a smile and somehow it was soft and kind, even though those same lips had twisted so despicably at her. The same ones that had touched her everywhere like a lover and kissed her softly like a true Romeo. That had mocked her and punished her.

Her face crumpled and he made a soft noise, gathering her into his arms. He rubbed her back for a long few minutes as she shuddered in his hold. When she was younger, she used to imagine what her first period would be like, excited for it in that way only young girls were. She’d imagined that it would happen when she was visiting her mother, in her lush New York City apartment. Her mom would hug her and smile and help her clean up and set herself up with the proper things. She’d go to sleep that night smiling and feeling grown-up.

In reality… well, she’d felt grown-up for a while now.

“How about a bath, hmm?” he said.

She nodded, tired, into his shoulder.

With a snap of his fingers, the bath was filled up. He picked her up into his arms. Her eyes closed as he lowered them both in the hot water. It was perfect, the heat soothing the stabbing in her belly. Her muscles seemed to grow lax as he arranged her to lay back against his chest. The water lapped warmly over her clavicle.

The heat of his body against her back was comforting, a solid presence. Her head lolled against his shoulder when he ran his hands down her arms. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

She nodded again, eyes fluttering. His hand covered her lower belly, spreading all over. A firm pressure that comforted. With his other hand, he washed off the mess between her legs, a gentle action that made her eyes prick with tears. When he’d finished cleaning her up, his thumb traced a light touch against her clit.

“This will help,” he said. And it did.

He rubbed slow circles into her, making her belly bloom with a blanketing pleasure and all her other aches were forgotten, buried deep under the haze of it. It was lazy and nice, she thought, back arching as he pulled softness from her time and time over. She felt him grow hard against her lower back, but he never strayed. Never even moved except for his hands.

He nuzzled into her neck and kissed along her jaw. Her toes curled when she came, and her hands held tight onto his arms. Tired and amenable. Willing.

“You’re a woman now,” he said eventually, murmuring into her hair when she’d finally returned from the tremors. She swallowed past a lump in her throat.

“I- I suppose so,” she whispered.

He held her like that for a long time, just lazing in the ever-hot bath.

. . .

Melancholy and relief met her head on when the last traces of blood disappeared a few days after. But… it confused her. Wasn’t it supposed to be a week?

If only she had someone to ask. A woman, a girl… anyone other than her constant companion.

During those few days, there was nothing more she wanted than to see her mother again, even if only for a moment. Even before she’d let her horrid future loose upon herself with her silly little wish, she hadn’t seen her mother for nearly a year. It had been so long.

She was lonely, she realized. When was the last time she talked to anyone besides Jareth? A real talk, not just a brief chat like the ones she’d have with the castle staff before they dismissed her soundly. She’d tried once to engage the castle librarian in conversation. He’s just turned shifty and aggravated the longer she lingered. Obviously impatient at her. So she’d taken her leave and swallowed her hurt down when he’d looked relieved.

She’d only wanted a friend.

It was hard to think, to understand, to interact with the world around her when she was so alone. Perhaps, that was why the implications of her period didn’t hit her fully until the first blood had passed.

It was the longest stretch of no sex she’d had the entire time she’d been there - ten months of this hell and he’d used her so often she almost couldn’t remember what life was like before. Had she ever been innocent? It just wasn’t possible, she’d been so dirtied up that it had crossed even the barrier of time.

She supposed she should be grateful of his courtesy, but he still made proper use of her mouth and hands. She’d never be free of him.

It was only two full days after the blood was gone that he urged anything more than touches from her.

It was late morning. That in itself was odd; he was usually off just after dawn, duties to attend to. But that morning, she woke to a long-risen sun. He hadn’t woken her? He always did. She yawned and burrowed deeper into her pillows, basking in the warmth. It was hard to question it when the bed felt so nice and soft and warm and cloudy… sleepy….

An inkling of awareness brought her back as something tickled over her spine.

“Mmph,” she said, wiggling at the feeling. She stretched, arms and legs spreading out. She hit something solid with her foot and she snatched it back. Her eyes shot open and she rolled over.

There he was, leaning bare-chested against the headboard, a mug in hand and a book propped up in his lap. “I thought you left,” she mumbled, squinting in the beam of light.

“I took a day off.” He flicked through a page in his book.

“Oh.”

“Did you sleep well?” he asked and turned to set the book and mug down to the side table.

She made a noise of assent and closed her eyes, stretching out even more. Her joints popped. She heard him shifting around.

A surprised noise escaped her when he pulled her into his arms, settling them chest to chest. He ran a hand down her back and over her leg, pulling it to hook over his hip. His hands caressed her all over and soon she was sighing into his neck and rolling into his touch. Her eyes peeled open, half-lidded and heavy, when he started to grind into her belly. He tilted her head and kissed her right on the mouth.

Of all the things he did to her, kissing had to be her favorite. She could get lost in the soft licks and the slow touches of their lips and their tongues, all else forgotten. It was so nice. A moan left her when he nibbled on her lip and kissed down the side of her neck.

He pulled her closer by tugging on her leg and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he directed his cock to start pressing into her. Her back arched and she sighed softly again, eyes clenched tight.

They flew open. “Wait!” She pushed on his shoulders and he paused.

“Yes?” He sounded irritated.

“We can’t!” She pushed harder at his shoulders, but he wouldn’t be dislodged, still just barely in her.

His hand stopped at her lower back. “Why ever not?”

She blushed. “I-I- I’ll get- you need a- a… condom or something.”

He laughed into her neck and it rumbled across her skin. She gasped when his cock pressed in just a tiny bit more. “You’re sweet, Sarah, but you will be the mother of my children. Nature will take its course.”

She tensed up and pulled back to look at him, eyes wide. His smile was satisfied. She was cold all over.

“Aw,” he said, pulling her ever closer, “Why the long face?”

Her eyes darted all over, seeing nothing. She was trying to think. “But…”

His eyes bore into her. “But...?”

She flinched, “. . . I’m-I’m only sixteen.”

He stroked down her back. “So? You are capable of bearing children.”

“I’m not ready to- to be a… mother.” Her eyes bloomed with tears. She thought of her mother who still wasn’t ready to be one. Sarah had been born when her mother was twenty-two. A real adult, at least. She hid her face in his chest, quivering at this lurking danger. She hadn’t thought much on her future here, beyond realizing he wasn’t letting her go. Not ever.

“Is any woman?” He said, gripping her hip tightly. He was burning hot against her.

“Jareth,” she whimpered. “I’m not even considered an adult up Above.”

“Does that matter?” he said coolly. “You aren’t Above, you’re here. Where you are an adult. I fail to see the issue.”

A sad, whining noise left her. “It’s wrong!”

He laughed again. “No, it’s not. It’s perfectly natural.” He kissed her forehead.

“But…” She wanted to cry. “We aren’t even married… It’s not right.”

He hummed. “Well, there’s an easy solution to that, isn’t there?”

There was a confused silence. His lips curved against her neck and he kissed her there, open-mouthed. “All will weep in jealousy for what a lovely little wife I’ll have.”

It took her a moment to understand. And then, she curled in on herself, feeling sorry and stupid. A tear fell down her cheek. “Wife?”

“Yes,” he murmured, “My wife.”

A sick expression must have crossed her face for he tightened his hold on her and glowered. “Sarah, really.” He tutted, “After everything I’ve done for you, you’re just as ungrateful as you ever were.”

Words wanted to come pouring out of her mouth: indignant ones, scared ones, sad and betrayed ones… But she choked on them and her eyes darted away from his, just so overwhelmed.

She wanted to go hide, to protect herself from the exposure here. He tilted her face to look back at him anyway.

Her eyes burned at the sight of his crinkle-eyed grin. As gleeful as in her dream, as vicious as in her nightmare. It was her last thought as his mouth descended on hers once more.

She was stunned by this touch and her new knowledge and this terror and he took advantage of it. He pulled her down all the way onto his cock, decisively and sure, kissing her all the while. A terrible noise was wrenched from her. He was boiling against the cold he’d left around her. He held her close as he ground into her, holding her tight and lovingly, groaning into her skin… something she would have allowed herself to enjoy any other time.

But… the stress of it, knowing what could happen. What he wanted to happen. What would happen. Now or later, nature would take its course and she hated it.

She hoped to God she was deformed, broken inside. She couldn’t bear it if she wasn’t.

Notes:

I struggled with this one... not even the plot/scenes/story, I just for some reason forgot how to freaking speak English???? Like, I kept messing up on the tenses and whatnot. Weird.

me @ me ^^

So, I suppose I should say that I don't necessarily agree with some of Sarah's thoughts here, though I think they're understandable. She's very young and in a terrible situation and probably has never had a good female role model that she got along with. So yeah!

Thanks for your feedback regarding the update schedule. I shall endeavor to keep it up! Personally, I'd never be annoyed if a story I was following was updated frequently, but I remember seeing one author make a poll about it.. and well, the anxiety got me LOL.

I'd love to hear what you thought!!! Things should be getting interesting ;)

Chapter 7: King & Consort

Summary:

He brought her to the balcony edge and he waved triumphant out to the crowd. One of his arms held her tight by the waist and she stared down. There was a single crack of red jutting across the iron rail. How odd.

Notes:

I have updated the tags btw.

This one's a bit longer :)

Enjoy!

She was hesitant in bringing it up. “Jareth…”

He raised an eyebrow over a scroll he was scribbling in. They were in his study. Sarah was picking at the platter of fruit between them. She put her fig down and shifted. She was sore, bruises on her hips from his hands. He’d been angry the night before last.

“The people here…” She frowned. “They don’t like me, do they?”

“Hmm?” He flicked through a tome on his desk. “No, not so much.”

She fidgeted. “Why not?”

His eyes flicked up to her. “Is there a reason you’re playing dumb? You’ve known this for a long time now.”

Sarah flushed and looked away. He leaned back in his seat, tapping his quill against his lip. He watched her for a moment. “Well?”

It took her a moment to work up the words. “Won’t they be upset if you marry me?”

“Why would they be?”

It came out before she could think, mocking and childish. “Is there a reason you’re playing dumb?”

His eyes flashed and her mouth snapped shut, horrified. She sat back in her seat and twisted her hands in her lap.

When he didn’t say anything, she stammered, “I- I just mean… wouldn’t they be upset that you’re marrying a mortal? Not one of them?”

“No.”

Hope began deflating in her chest. “No?”

He just slowly shook his head.

She was confused. “But… if they hate mortals so much and you’re their king--”

He stopped her. “It is no concern of theirs who my wife is. As long as she gives me an heir.”

The reminder unsettled her. She couldn’t look him in the eye. After a moment, she whispered: “I don’t understand… how would they be okay with a mortal queen?”

There was brief silence. And it was broken as soon as it came by his piercing laughter. She looked up, bewildered by the shaking of his shoulders and the tears in his eyes. “Queen?” he said, smiling too wide, “You think you would be my Queen? Oh, Sarah.”

She looked at her lap, stunned and humiliated.

“You precious thing. You are right about one thing, my subjects would never accept a mortal Queen. And you, my dear, are not fit to lead. No, you will be my consort.”

She flinched. “I- I didn’t think--”

“Oh, you didn’t?” He tilted his head at her, still grinning widely.

She was burning from the inside out, sweating and hot. The study turned oppressive. Her fists balled up and she stood suddenly, knocking the chair back. She had to get out of there. She took a few frantic steps away, but the door to the study flung shut just in front of her. She stood there a moment, her back to him, miserable.

“Sit back down,” he snapped from behind her. After a moment, she did, unable to look at him.

Tears pricked at her eyes. It took all her strength to say it. Whispering it out into her lap: “You weren’t like this...before...”

“Like what, precious?”

“...Cruel.”

He tutted. “When you reached my castle, did I not tell you?”

She heard him stand up, circling the desk. She gripped onto the arms of her chair. His footsteps stopped just behind her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. He brushed some of her hair away from her neck, softly. “I’ve never hidden what I am, Sarah. You just chose not to see it. You wanted a child’s game and I gave it to you, you wanted to defeat a villainous king and I allowed you to. And yet, you didn’t... once... wonder what I wanted.”

He kissed the side of her neck. There was a chill in her spine.

. . .

Her efforts to find ways out of the marriage were fruitless. He’d thought of everything and he wouldn’t be dissuaded, no matter what weak excuses she managed to scrounge up. She stopped altogether after a week of it, unable to bear his condescension, his irritation, whichever came first.

And so, a year to the day from when she made her fateful wish, he married her. Just like he said he would. It was true, she’d come to realize; his subjects didn’t care that she was the bride, just that there was a bride.

It was a harsh thing when the dressmaker Jareth had hired for the wedding gown, a squat, motherly Fae woman, had pinched her cheek upon meeting her. A smile had wanted to bloom on Sarah’s face, delirious with the prospect of this sweet-looking Fae woman not hating her, but it had been crushed when the dressmaker had patted her on the belly not moments later and cooed: “You’ll make such pretty babies for our King, won’t you?”

It embarrassed her and ashamed her. Was this her value? Could no one see? She didn’t want this, she was only sixteen! Was their haughtiness so much that they had no compassion, no understanding?

It was a weary day for her in the eye of the entire kingdom, all coming to gawk and whisper as their king was finally wed.

She could have puked all over him as he led her out onto a balcony of the East Wing, looming high over a sea of creatures shifting and stilling at the sight of them. She clutched at his arm as the millions below watched, watched, watched. She couldn’t see their faces, but the sheer mass of them made her ill. She didn’t want this, she wanted to scream. She wanted to hurl herself over the side of the balcony and fall and splat all over the ground. Let them watch that!

It was almost painful, standing just next to him and hand clasped in his as they recited their vows. Ones he’d forced into her memory, no excuses. Her voice shook and her hands quivered as she promised her mind, body, and soul to him for forever. To surrender eternal allegiance to her king husband and to bear his children. To love him, fear him, and do as he said.

She’d soon be a citizen in this terrible beauty of a place. A buzzing sound seemed to grow stronger and stronger in her ears each second that passed and she could barely hear him making his own vows. The whole thing was distinctly one-sided as he promised only to protect and provide for her. Nothing more.

When the officiant declared them husband and wife, King and Consort -- and this statement rang loudly in her ears, just dreadful and insane -- the crowd vibrated in a wave of noise, their cheers and screams and claps roaring up through the air and hitting her right in the chest.

She would have stumbled back, but Jareth steadied her. She looked up at him, eyes wet and wide. He smirked at her and chucked her chin

He brought her to the balcony edge and he waved triumphant out to the crowd. One of his arms held her tight by the waist and she stared down. There was a single crack of red jutting across the iron rail. How odd.

. . .

The day went on and on, leading into an even more endless night. Festivities and feasts, one after the other, filled with the lords and ladies of the Fae court who shrieked in delight as their king presented his little wife for them to see. She felt vulnerable before them, unsure and frightened by her own life.

Her gown was constricting around her spine. It was hard to breath, though maybe that was just her. It was a beautiful dress, she had to admit. The first time she’d seen it, her heart had fluttered. The delicate details, the intricate beading, the silvery-white of it… It recalled the ballgown she’d worn in the masquerade dream all that time ago -- a year, my God: it had been so long, she could hardly believe it.

It wasn’t the same, though, not in the draping silk material or the loose sleeves that hung just so. It was much more fragile, dainty. Sweet and refined. A gossamer gown for a gossamer girl.

In a great hall, decorated to the nines, he sat with her, both behind a high table laden with gifts and wines as these nobles approached with congratulations, cooing and tutting and huzzah-ing the marriage. They never spoke to her, all focus on the king, unless to stray appraising looks on her.

“She’s a pretty one,” one lord commented, leering at her. Jareth just smiled and, with one hand, absently brushed her hair over her shoulder - left long and loose against her back, for fertility, a maidservant had told her. “Isn’t she?” he said.

Some of the women looked at her with obvious jealousy, eyes cutting. “Well, I suppose you’ll have an easy time getting a child on her, won’t you, Sire? I heard those mortals breed like rabbits,” one said with a disdainful look.

One old man was delighted about the whole thing. “Congratulations, Your Majesty,” he said bowing low, “Your son will be a great King, just like his father, I know it.” He didn’t even look at her.

There was one rotund man dressed in the most garish red she’d ever seen. He was old, but not quite as much as the other. Jareth stood to meet him. It had surprised her until he greeted the man as the Troll King Quagmire. Then she understood. Were there other royals there, she wondered, casting a glance around and then back to the two kings before her.

Should she stand too? Someone on Jareth’s same level… how odd to consider. The other king’s eyes cut toward her suddenly, sharp. She looked down. “Mmm,” the other king said, “Perhaps I’m overly traditional, but I’ve always been of the opinion that a King should rule with a Queen at his side. Not some glorified whore.” He spit the word out as if it tasted of shit.

She hadn’t heard what Jareth had said in response, for that buzzing sound had come right back in full force.

And, well… she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

She was humiliated by the end of it, face burning and feeling betrayed. He’d kept her for so long -- a year -- away for himself and in one day, he’d thrust her forward to be ogled and spoken about as if she wasn’t there? How could he let them look at her like that? She got it, she didn’t have any power between them, but shouldn’t there be a measure of respect? Surely it was warranted for the Goblin King’s wife…

How could a child of a king and a girl-conquered be raised in this kind of world where the mother is so disgraced?

It was violating to be examined like she was a shiny new slave. She was his to look at, she knew, not any of theirs. She hated them all. A deplorable, disgusting, hedonistic bunch. She wanted them to die.

The feast was a bit better, rich and decadent plates served by magic. As she toyed with the food on her plate, feeling a little less sick, and a little more calm, Jareth absently twirled a strand of her hair. She couldn’t get the feeling of all their eyes off her, but she just focused on her plate.

“I have a gift for you,” he caught her attention some time into it.

She set down her fork and glanced at him. He was holding a small wooden box, intricately engraved. He cracked it open, baring the insides to her. Her breath caught in her throat and she leaned in. Was that--?

“A tradition of the Aboveground, I believe,” he said. Her eyes flicked up to his. He looked kind, his eyes soft.

He tugged the ring out of its brocaded cushion. It was beautiful. A ring like she could never have imagined. “I don’t know which finger it’s meant for, I’m afraid.” His lips curved.

She held out her left hand and extended her ring finger, wordless. He slid it on and she felt sorry for a moment when it seemed too big. But he tapped it once and it shrunk to fit snugly around her finger.

Sarah admired it for a moment and swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered. He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, just above where the ring sat. She blushed and looked away. People had begun dancing in the large hall, in between the tables piled high with food.

“Is the food not to your liking?” he said, hand resting on her thigh. She shrugged.

“Here,” he said, passing her a plate, “Try this.”

“Okay,” she agreed and spooned some onto her plate. It was good, she thought, taking her first bite. It was some sort of desert. Fruity and light, but sumptuous and sweet. Had food ever tasted this good? She couldn’t remember.

“Well?” he asked, and his voice was distant in her ear.

She made a muffled noise around a mouthful and nodded enthusiastically, focused almost whole-heartedly on her plate. He patted her leg.

When she looked up again, the room had changed. It was dark, glittering lights floating around. Everyone was dancing, fast and scary all across the wide-open floor. She felt dizzy. They were bugs swarming around in front of her. Music filled the room, high-pitched and unpleasant.

Her eyes sought out Jareth beside her. He was watching her. It was like an eternity that his eyes penetrated her very soul before she forced herself to look away. But her head turned so, so slowly. Like it was a million pounds of feather weighing her down in its lightness. Forcing her neck to wrench..

Her mouth watered. The desert, she wanted more. She reached for her fork, but… the table was gone? Where did it go?

Sarah looked down at the white of her gown pooling along stone steps. Steps? Why…? She pushed back on her chair, but she stumbled. Her chair… she was standing now. When had that happened?

She felt hands on her waist, a warm body against her back. “Whas’ goin’ on?” she slurred out, turning. Her mouth was cottony, stuck together. “Jareth…?” she mumbled, eyes feeling heavy.

He was in front of her now. His voice was warbly, warped in her ears. “-- about a dance?”

He smiled at her. And she found herself nodding. Yes, of course she wanted to dance. She loved to dance, didn’t he know? He was her husband, that was something husbands ought to know.

She tried to take a step, but her feet were stuck to the ground. Heavy. Her heart pounded. Oh no. Had she tried to escape again? She looked at him, full of worry. She didn’t want to be whipped again, please God, no. She was sorry for whatever it was she’d done, she swore. Crossed her heart and hoped to die.

He pressed a hand to her lower back and her feet unstuck. He didn’t look mad. Perfectly pleasant, actually. He pulled her into his arms and spun her around and around. Her dress was sent in a twirl around her legs and she grinned up at him, delighted. Her hair swooshed cold down her back. How fun.

Gosh, he was so handsome, standing tall before her and holding her tight to him. He wouldn’t let her go; she trusted him. One of her hands lifted up to feel his cheek. His skin was so soft… why didn’t she ever touch him? That was what a wife was supposed to do, wasn’t it?

He spun her more and she traced the line of his eyebrows. He quirked one of them and she giggled, leaning her head onto his chest. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat go thump, thump, thump deep inside of him.

He had them flying, floating through the air. She smiled sleepily into his cravat.

When she opened her eyes again, she was scared. The screeching music drowned out the calm beating of his heart and the shrieking-groaning noises of the Fae made her curl into them. Some were dancing still and some… She reeled back. She’d never seen something so wrong.

On tables and chairs and chaises and steps, Fae were twisting naked and depraved. Grunting like animals, clawing at each other. Having… having sex just right in front of everyone! Groups of them.

“My dear, don’t fret,” Jareth said, through layers and layers of water, tilting her face to look up at him. Had they stopped dancing? Her brow furrowed.

“Everything is alright,” he soothed. Everything was? Okay. Of course it was. He would know...

She tried to agree but her voice was caught deep down. Her tongue wasn’t working. It was so heavy. He rubbed a circle into her spine and she calmed. Okay. Okay.

“Come with me,” he said, leading her by her lower back. She looked up at him adoringly as he moved them.

She was confused when he disappeared from her sight -- he was just there… where…? But there was a tug on her wrist and she collapsed forward into a seat. A warm seat. She looked up. Her eyes widened and she smiled. I found you, she wanted to squeal.

Sarah hugged him around the neck excitedly as he settled her to sit in his lap. She clenched her knees around either side of his thighs, holding on tight. She wouldn’t lose him again.

She breathed deeply. His neck was warm. He smelled nice. His hands were hot against her thighs, under her dress. A tingle went through her belly. Her hips shifted. A gasp left her at the feeling of him beneath her. Hot and hard. He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer. “Mmph,” she moaned into his neck.

His hand whisped across her center and she shivered, looking down. She tensed. She was naked. Where was her dress? Unease filled her. But… why was she scared? He’d seen her like this plenty before. “There, there, you precious thing,” he said, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her hip, “Don’t you wish me for me to please you?”

Yes, she wanted that. She leaned into him again, eyes closing. Under her eyelids, the world seemed vivid and bright.

He touched her cunt and had her shivering into his skin, grinding against him for who knew how long. Her belly was blooming warmly when he finally tugged himself out of his breeches. He filled her deeply and she felt him up in her heart, so close to her. It was so, so good. She touched his hair and gasped heavily each time he pulled her down onto him.

She wanted him to kiss her so she tilted her head, searching for his mouth. But he gripped the back of her neck and pulled her back, away from him. Her eyes peeled open, confused. He leaned forward slightly, slanting her backward on his lap and thrusting ever deeper. Harder.

Something queasy filled her.

Her throat was stuck in a silent scream as she heard the shrieking-grunting of the Fae all around her.

Notes:

Real life has been kicking my ass. I'm so glad to be posting tonight!

I wanted to note that on 2/28/2021, I cut out a few lines from the second section of Chapter 4: The Face of Fate. They no longer worked in my plan for this story. If you want to know what exactly I cut (nothing too big, I promise), I can tell you in the comments. I have gone back and altered other minor stylistic things since posting, but I will let you know if I change anything relevant to the plot. I hope that's not too bothersome!!

Since I'm posting this story as I finish each chapter, this is essentially a first draft. When I finish this story I will likely come back through and do some real edits and finalize it. Sooo if you prefer to wait until all issues are ironed out and it's completely complete, I totally understand :)

Thanks for reading! What did you think? I'd love to know! Things sure are getting juicy xD

Chapter 8: Promises

Summary:

Hands closed around hers. She stilled, breathing heavy. “Come back to sleep,” he said behind her.

“No,” she hissed, violently tearing her hands from his. She hated him.

Notes:

Tags have been updated again. There is a potentially upsetting scene in this chapter. Check the end notes if you would like a warning.

Hope you enjoy!

That very next morning, she woke, head spinning and heart hurting. Mouth dry. Curled under his arm. She pulled away and sobbed, now in her right mind. Her trembling hands fisted in the sheets of the bed. She felt the ring now, burning around her finger.

How could he?

In anger, she ripped at the ring. It wouldn’t budge. She pulled and pulled until the skin around it was red and blistered. Until she was sweating and crying and mewling so pathetically.

Hands closed around hers. She stilled, breathing heavy. “Come back to sleep,” he said behind her.

“No,” she hissed, violently tearing her hands from his. She hated him.

“Sarah…” he sighed.

Full of rage, she flung her elbow back, hard, hoping, hoping so much to make him hurt. But she missed. A scream wrenched out of her as she turned haphazard on her knees. He was watching her calmly.

She threw her fist at his face, but he stopped her easily, tugging her into him and holding her arms down. She snarled and fought with all her might. “Why?” She cried out, hiccupping. “Why would you--?”

“Shh,” he whispered into her hair, even as she thrashed in his hold. “Shhhh.”

It was not long before she grew tired, her head pounding, her strength fading, body growing lax in his hold. “How- how could you? In front of all of them…” She croaked pitifully into his chest, his skin now wet from her tears.

“Oh, precious,” he murmured, mouth pressed against the top of her head. “You’ll never know how sorry I am. If it were up to me, I would cut out all their eyes and feed them to the goblins. No one will ever lay their eyes on you again. You’re for me alone.” He breathed: “Sarah, I promise.”

And, see, that was the thing… such a promise comforted her. It had niggled in her mind for a long time: would he eventually get tired of her and discard her to be used by the lords and ladies of the court? The commoners? The creepy little creatures of his Labyrinth, even? She hated to imagine.

But now she knew… he wouldn’t. It was all so final -- he’d claimed her for keeps and declared it to the rest of his world. Sarah Williams is mine, he’d all but said. She was his, officially and everything. And it relieved her?

She was scared by her own mind sometimes.

. . .

It was strange to think. Her, a wife. As if she were a grown woman. It was just ridiculous. Sometimes she felt like she was playing dress up, clunking awkwardly around in her mother’s too-big shoes. Too little for it all.

Sarah imagined what her father would think about her being married so young like this. Sufficiently enraged. Well… at least he was on her side, as far away as he was. She missed him so bad. The thought of him was enough to make her cry. Though, for that, the bar wasn’t very low. Sometimes she thought she saw tear stains stuck on the wrists of her favorite gowns, too powerful even to be washed away with magic.

Life as his wife was not so different than life before. She wasn’t expected to attend any events, to plan anything, or even to stand by his side. He even stopped bringing her to the throne room so often. She was glad to be away from his disgusting subjects, at least. But when he did occasionally bring her, he would pull her into his lap, no longer letting her choose. An adoring wife instead of a pathetic little slave. There was her measure of respect. The benefit of being his… glorified whore, she supposed.

All that was expected of her was… just to lay back and get pregnant.

When her very second period hadn’t arrived yet three months after the first, she had worked herself up into a terrible fit. Secretly crying in the bathroom each night and unable to eat even a bite of anything. She couldn’t be… she couldn’t do it. It wasn’t fair.

He’d caught her soon enough. “Are you ill?” he’d asked one morning, seeing her ghostly-pale face and her sickly-dark eyes.

“N-no,” she stammered.

His eyes were hard over the mug he held. “I do not appreciate being lied to.”

She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. “I-I- my--” she whispered, ashamed, “...it’s late. It’s been three months. I could be...” She flushed.

He set his mug down and observed her. “That’s normal,” he said after a moment.

Her hands fidgeted in her lap. “...Normal?”

He nodded. “You’re young, a bit of irregularity is to be expected.”

“Oh…”

He shrugged a single shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about any of that, my dear. I’ll be able to tell when you are.”

She perked up. “So I’m not...?”

“No,” he said, taking a sip again, “Not yet.”

.

.

.

It wasn’t long until she was, though.

It was just two months after the wedding that they found out, laying together on the chaise before the fire one night. She was half asleep, curled into him as he played with his crystals. Looking at something, spying on someone… she wasn’t sure.

She felt it vaguely when he twisted closer to her, lowering down and pulling her into him. Sarah shivered as he ran his hands over her skin, warm and comforting. She shifted and yawned.

He pressed a hand to her belly. He did that sometimes, checking if she was with child yet. In the beginning, it had frightened her each time. Just waiting to see: am I, am I?

But… she didn’t have the energy for it anymore -- to freak out each time. It was like her body had removed that response from her… an adaptation to the stress.

She heard him breathe sharply and before she knew it, he was twisting away again. Her eyes opened blearily. “Jareth?” she mumbled. His ear was pressed to her belly and his hands were tight at her hips.

All traces of fatigue left her when he turned so she could see him, his teeth bared in a terrible smile. Pleased.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “No! I’m not--!” She sat up and scooted away, frantic.

Sarah didn’t even fight him as he pulled her back down to lie beneath him. She moaned shakily, covering her eyes.

He pulled her hands away and looked in her eyes. His lips curved. “Sweet Sarah, you have made me the happiest man from this world to the next. I knew you could do it.” He kissed her chin.

“No...” she choked out, “I don’t want to- to- I don’t want it!”

He pulled back a bit. “You… don’t… want… it?” A note of displeasure was in his tone. “You don’t want the child we made together, out of love?”

“But- I don’t love you!” she burst out.

He tilted his head, eyes crinkled in his wide smile. “Are you so sure about that?”

And she shrank back, her eyes wide. “O-of course!”

“Of course,” he repeated, his lips curved again. He touched her lip. “Well, out of desire, in the least,” he said. And he made space for himself between her legs, resting a weight on her.

Her face bloomed hot. He laughed.

“Jareth, please…” she whimpered, terrified. “I- I’m not ready! I won’t be a good mother!”

“Sure you’ll be, all you have to do is try.” Then his face twisted, something mocking about it. His face came closer to hers, too close. “And you’ll try, won’t you Sarah? I hate to imagine that the woman I love would not even try to be a good mother to our child.” His fingers dug into her hips, bruising.

Her eyes darted around in the impossible task of avoiding his. It was getting hard to breathe.

“Won’t you?” he murmured.

“... yes… of course,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the stinging of them.

. . .

One night, she tried some of the wine that was served with dinner, taking a small, testing taste. It was unpleasantly bitter on her tongue, but she swallowed down her wincing reaction when he didn’t even bat an eye.

She considered the jug for a moment before pouring herself a bit more.

The next night at dinner, she did the same, drinking some more. And more the next night and the next and the next, until she started to feel tipsy with each meal. It made her tired and it made her want more.

When she drank four full cups of it one dinner two weeks later and went to pour a fifth, feeling sleepy and sway-ey, Jareth snatched the pitcher from her. She blinked at him. “What?” she glared.

He leaned forward, looming in his seat and even through the fuzziness of her brain, the look in his eyes was enough to make her flinch. “You’ve had enough,” he ground out.

“But... why?” she whined, eyes half-closed.

He scoffed and slammed the pitcher back onto the table. “I won’t have a drunkard for a wife, Sarah. Don’t make a fool of me.” Don’t make me regret marrying you.

It made her warm body cold.

She didn’t touch the wine again, not for a long, long time.

. . .

“I hate you,” her voice grated, shaking with disgust as she looked down at herself, half-submerged in the water.

It had taken a while, but there was a small bump now. It bloomed out just barely. But it warped her. She hated herself like this, she hated that thing in her, she hated him... Jareth, her husband, her monster, her betrayer… he had done this to her. He said he loved her… but sometimes she wondered if he really hated her.

She scratched at her arms, digging her nails into the skin. She rocked back and forth in the bath. The water sloshed loudly.

Then, it was like her brain went fuzzy with the rage of it all.

It just happened. Her fist came hard down on her belly. And then again and again. She punched and punched, slamming her hand into her belly until she was doubled over, weeping in the water, fist weakly going for more but her arm unable to keep it up.

A whisper sounded: “Lady?”

Sarah spun around, covering her chest with a screech. There was a goblin girl, one of the ones who brought food in the mornings, standing in the doorway. Her eyes were wide and frightened. She was holding a bundle of Sarah’s undergarments in her arms.

“What are you doing in here?” Sarah shrieked.

“I sorry!” the goblin girl cried, looking distraught. “I drop off Lady’s washings but hear crying!” She turned, holding the bundle over her eyes. “I leave now!” And she scurried away, disappearing quickly behind the door.

Sarah sat there stunned for a moment, before she scrambled up out of the bath so fast she almost slipped and fell right on her face. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself as she sprinted through the door. The goblin girl was leaving Sarah’s wardrobe and heading toward the door.

“Wait!” Sarah cried. “Don’t- don’t go!” she gasped out, out of breath.

The goblin girl spun around, looking up at her, full of worry. “...Yes, Lady?” she wrung her little hands together.

“Please--” Sarah covered her eyes with one hand, clutching at her towel, “Please don’t tell the king what you saw. Please, I’ll give you- I’ll give you...”

Eyes wide and panicked, Sarah ran to her vanity and ripped open the jewelry box. She grabbed the first thing she saw, an impressive necklace made of deep green jewels. Her fist clenched around it and she thrust in before the goblin girl, collapsing onto her knees before her. “Please, take it. Just don’t tell him! Promise me!”

It was a long moment before a little hand closed around her own, folding Sarah’s fingers shut around the necklace. She looked up, shocked. The goblin girl peered at her sadly. “Is okay, Lady. I no tell King. No worry!”

“Oh..” Sarah’s lip trembled. She hunched over, feeling the cold of the room on her wet skin so painfully. “Thank you,” she sobbed, “Thank you.”

The goblin girl patted her hand. “All is alright, Lady.”

And she left, leaving just the echo of little feet in that terrible room.

Sarah stared down at her belly peeking out from the towel. “I wish the goblins would come take you away.” she muttered. A wretched little girl kneeling on a big, stone floor.

When Jareth saw the bruises hours later, he gripped her wrists so tightly. He stared down at her. “Where did this come from?” he snapped.

Her heart stopped in her chest. Was she stupid?

She forced a weak chuckle. “I accidentally tripped and fell onto the bathroom counter… Silly, huh?”

He pursed his lips. His hand found her belly and she closed her eyes, just laying there, letting him, unable to watch.

Finally, he said, “The child is healthy.”

“Oh.. good. I didn’t...” She touched the bump.

“Mmm,” he caught her eyes. His expression was indecipherable.“See that it doesn’t happen again.”

Sarah smiled a strained smile and nodded. She let out a breath when he returned to undressing.

Notes:

Warning for physical violence toward a pregnant belly (self-harm).

.
.
.

Oh dear. What a rough spot she's in.

A chapter with no sex in it, you say?? I'm just as surprised as you LOL. It's implied at least xD

I'd love to know what you thought! Let me know in the comments below! <3

Chapter 9: The Orchid Garden

Summary:

The orchid garden. Three o’clock.

Notes:

Holy crap, we're over the 20k mark!!!

It was a few nights later that she found it. A piece of parchment, tucked between her stacked underpants. Her brow furrowed and she unfolded it.

The orchid garden. Three o’clock.

Her lips parted and she glanced quickly behind her, barely breathing. She traced the looping ink with her fingers and stared at it for a long time, mind racing.

She threw it in the fire when Jareth wasn’t looking, just in case.

The next morning, when the goblins came to bring breakfast, she observed the goblin girl from the corner of her eye, pretending to be asleep on the bed.

Her buggy eyes kept straying over to Sarah every few seconds. Sarah chewed on the inside of her cheek, peeking quickly at Jareth, still asleep beside her. When she looked back, her eyes locked with the goblin’s worried ones.

Sarah let her head tilt just so. A nod.

A toothy smile spread across her face as quick as can be. Sarah let a small smile show, giddy with this secret. Then, she saw the goblin girl’s eyes grow wide and fearful before she turned quick and busied herself with pouring coffee. There was only a brief moment of confusion before--

A warm body molded against her back and the smile on her face fell away. He kissed the back of her neck and she shivered, eyes closing. He pulled her close against him and ran his hand all along her side, warming her up. He touched her belly softly while he started to suck and kiss along her neck.

Under the sheets his hand found her breast, brushing her nipple with a thumb. She blinked. “Jareth, wait,” she whispered, “we’re not alone!”

“They’ll be gone in a moment,” he said into her skin. It sent a quiver through her. His voice was so deep first thing in the morning. She placed her hand on top of his.

“But you said you wouldn’t, not again...”

“They’re just goblins, Sarah, nothing more…” His hand trailed a line down her front, stopping between her legs and touching, playing. She whimpered.

“Please…”

He sighed and shifted, propping up on an elbow.

“What’s taking so long?” he barked. She shrank a little into the bed. The goblins all jumped high into the air, their ears falling flat against their heads. “Well?” he said, sounding angry, “Leave.” All at the same time, they dropped their tasks and scurried out. The door slammed at last behind the goblin girl, her head as low as her heart.

He shifted back against her. “Never say I’m an ungenerous husband, Sarah mine.”

He found that spot between her legs again, toying with her as he pulled moans from her. Sometimes, it was easier not to think.

. . .

When the clock struck a quarter to three, Sarah anxiously stepped out into the orchid garden. It was a small one, hidden behind the main gardens full of fountains and statues, overhanging with orchids, closed in by tall hedges.

It was beautiful just like everything in this place, but in a cozy sort of way. Orchids of all colors tangled together all around, embracing. It reminded her of the chaotic garden her grandfather always tended to in his backyard.

She was on edge anyway, waiting and wandering, trying to not be suspicious. He could always be watching, she knew.

It felt like forever before the clock chimed three. Her heart was bursting in her chest, half-terrified and half-excited to see the little goblin girl. To talk with someone. A friend, for her? Oh... she could hardly believe it!

But the minutes passed and soon it was five past with no little goblin to be seen. Sarah dropped onto the bench, eyes watering in her disappointment. How foolish she was… hadn’t she learned? Fate wasn’t on her side. There was no one rooting for her.

Then… she heard it.

“Sarah!” a low hiss sounded. “Sarah!” the voice said again. Her head perked up and she looked around the empty garden.

“Over here!” the voice grumbled.

Her eyes locked on a gnarled hand sticking out from an open space in a hedge, gesturing for her to come closer. Her eyes widened. She recognized that hand. She practically sprinted the short distance to the hedge. She peered at the hand. That was her bracelet!

“Hoggle?” she gasped, choked up, barely able to comprehend. “Is that you?”

The hand disappeared back into the hedge. “Be quiet!” he scolded and she stood back, anxiously on her toes, unsure what to do. An opening appeared suddenly, leading into a stone tunnel. She glanced around the garden once behind her before hopping inside, a bright smile on her face.

The tunnel grew dark again when he snapped the hedge opening shut again. There was a strike of a match and the earthy tunnel was illuminated a soft golden color. Her eyes teared up. “Hoggle, it’s really you!” She collapsed on her knees and hugged him tight. She was shaking, she was so happy.

He patted her awkwardly on the back. She was rambling into his shirt. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, all of you. You wouldn’t believe what’s happened….”

A sob left her. And then another. And another. She pulled back unsteadily and covered her face as her lips trembled.

“Sarah?” he muttered, an anxious tone in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” she warbled. “It’s just so nice to see you!”

A thought struck her. And her heart stopped. “Hoggle, you can’t be here! If Jareth finds out, he’ll…”

Hoggle looked uncomfortable. “I ain’t scared of that rat. He’s a no good bully.”

She looked down. “... You should be scared. Besides… he won’t be happy with me.”

“He won’t find out,” Hoggle said immediately, full of bluster. “I asked… the goblins say he’s always busy at three.”

“But his crystals…”

Hoggle shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Her brows knitted together. She was worried. Would she ever not be worried in the rest of her life?

“The goblin girl!” she said, “that’s how you got that note to me. I thought I was meeting her here.”

He nodded, lighting another candle. “Her name’s Bug. If she hadn’t decided to help… might not’ve been able to contact you at all.”

In the brighter light it was more obvious; Hoggle looked terribly exhausted, lined face even more rough than ever before. His russett eyebrows had turned white to match the rest of his hair. Was it the lighting in there that made his skin look so gray?

“Hoggle…” she started, “... are you okay?”

“Are you okay, she asks,” he muttered, shaking out the match. He turned to her, eyes sad. “Are you okay?”

She looked away. “... Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Don’t play that game with me, girlie. I’ve seen you at his court, stuck on that stone floor like a dog. I was there, I know you saw me. And I was there when he married you, just like the rest of the kingdom.”

She hated knowing that. It embarrassed her. That he’d seen her make her vows to him. It was different when it was only a crowd so far below she couldn’t see their faces.

Her lower lip jutted out and she hunched slightly, still on her knees. “I don’t know what to say.”

He looked worried. “Is this… something you wanted?”

She flushed. Was it? She remembered being once enamored with this monstrous king. She’d wanted him to love her, before. And sometimes… she still did. But had she wanted… this? She looked down at her middle. She twiddled with the sleeves of her favorite gown, loose and flowy. Not yet showing her three-month-distorted body to the world.

“... No,” she whispered.

He growled and kicked the dirt wall, sending dust poofing angrily around. “We shoulda gone with you at the end… this wouldn’ta happened.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said much more harshly than she could ever imagine herself being. “He wanted me, there was no way he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. You being there wouldn’t have changed that.”

He looked away, gnarled brow bone crunched up. There was a silence between them filled with all the things that had happened. Sarah felt awkward, talking to her ten-hour friend she hadn’t seen in over a year.

“But you are okay, aren’t you?” she asked, “You and Ludo and Sir Didymus?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “we’re fine. Worried about you. They woulda come, but…it was too risky for all of us to.”

“Then why did you come at all? It’s not like you can do anything about anything.” She felt something like anger in her heart. She always was a spoiled, selfish little girl. Her fists clenched in her skirt.

He huffed. “Wanted to check on you.”

She looked down. “...Sorry,” she said. How horrible she was.

His eyes softened. “It’s okay,” he grunted. “I know you’ve had a rough go of it.”

Sarah shrugged listlessly, her back resting against the dirt wall behind her.

“Sarah…” he said.

“Hmm?”

“There is something we can do about it…”

“Mmm-hmm…” she was just so tired of it all. She wanted to sleep, she wanted to die.

“Sarah, I’m trying to tell you that we have a way for you to get outta this place!” He bellowed. An echo sounded.

She looked up quickly. “You- you do?”

He nodded, “Aye. There’s a passageway… we can get you back Above.”

Her eyes were wide, looking everywhere, seeing nothing. Her hand pressed to her heart. She shifted and something sharp scraped against her back. She flinched.

“... I don’t know, Hoggle,” she said, “I already tried and… he caught me so easily. It’s just-- it’s not worth it. And… I’m his wife now, he’ll never let me go.”

Unease flashed in Hoggle’s eyes. But then, stubbornly, he said: “This time you won’t be alone. You’ll have all of us helping. You won’t get caught. Promise.”

“You can’t promise something like that, Hoggle,” she said, resigned.

“Why not?” he grumbled, crossing his arms, “It’s true.”

She smiled sadly, looking away.

He toddled closer. “If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’, Sarah. I promise. The plan’s solid, ain’t no doubt.”

She took his hand in hers softly. “You’re the best friend I ever could’ve had, Hoggle,” she said, voice soft. She met his eyes. She wanted him to know.

A blush bloomed along his face and he twitched in embarrassment. He shifted away, bashful. “You too,” he admitted. Fondness bubbled up inside her.

“Will you trust me?” he asked, looking down and scuffing the ground with his boot.

“I always trust you, Hoggle,” she hesitated. “But ...I have to think about it.”

Disappointment bled into his eyes. But he just sighed and patted her hand. “I understand… If you decide yes, we leave from here, same time next week. Got it?”

Before she left, she hugged him one last time, eyes pricking. “Thank you,” she whispered. “If I don’t see you again, know how much I appreciate you. Tell the others the same.”

. . .

When she got back to the room, she lay in the bath for a long time, thinking and worrying. She thought about Hoggle and Ludo and Sir Didymus and Bug and how much they’ve stuck their necks out for her. Hoggle had looked so tired. So old. He’d found a way out for her and it had taken over a year. Her chin fell to her chest and she shrank into herself. He’d done it all for her, no questions asked. He really was a good friend. Him and Sir Didymus and Ludo, too.

And Bug, a little goblin who didn’t even know her.

What had she done to deserve such loyalty? In such little time? She’d always had a hard time making friends. And even her parents, well, she’d never been too close with either of them. She knew she wasn’t good at being loved or even giving love. Sarah wasn’t one to inspire the epic love fabled in her storybooks.

And this, this everything… it all befuddled her.

Her mind drifted to her mom and dad. Did they miss her? Did they even notice anymore?

She then thought of Toby and Karen. She scowled when the thought crossed her mind; no doubt, Karen must be happy she was finally out from underfoot. And Toby… he wouldn’t know any different. Sarah, who, he’d ask fifteen years from now, none the wiser to what she’d done. And what had been done to her. How hard it was not to feel uncomfortable when she thought of her half-family, a full step away. If it wasn’t for them…. but, no. Stop that. She shook her head roughly, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes.

She hated herself.

She was there, skin pruning up until Jareth returned late into the evening -- later than usual. He entered the bathroom and smiled at the sight of her. That’s right, she thought, feeling warm when he joined her in the bath and held her tight. She had inspired a love, an utter obsession, strong enough to strike down the barrier between this world and the next.

Notes:

Ooooh, plot things are happening!! Hmm, what do you think is going to happen? :)

Hope you enjoyed!!! Thanks so much for reading!

Chapter 10: Friends

Summary:

And, for some reason, a feeling, heavy and terrible, dropped right on her chest. The skin around her eyes tightened once more and something like guilt curdled in her stomach.

Notes:

I added a bit to the end section of the last chapter... I know that's kinda annoying, but I needed to flush out a few things. Sorry! Maybe check that out before you continue with this one?

This was a monster to write and I'm so glad it's finally up!

Hope you enjoy!!

She woke up the next morning to the feeling of him tracing lines along her back, fingers prickling at the sensitive skin there that had been torn apart by those same hands. Sarah froze under his touch. Her heart seemed to stop in her chest. Did he know? He couldn’t. Hoggle had said, he’d promised.

She was stuck in her worry but he brought her out of it soon enough. “Good morning.”

Eyes tight around the edges, she dutifully replied: “Good morning.” Slowly, spine tense, she turned her head just enough to look at him over her shoulder. “Another day off?” she wavered, seeing a beam of bright sunlight strike across his eye. A bright, bright blue color she’s never seen before she’d wished for him. He leaned sideways, head resting lazily in his hand.

He smiled softly. “I couldn’t resist.” He leaned in and kissed her. Her eyes fluttered shut, but still, that worry pounded away at her insides. His hand still played at the skin of her back. She was stiff and loose all at once.

Jareth pulled away with a little flick of his tongue. Her eyes remained shut in her newfound softness. “Sweet Sarah, you’ve made me so happy,” he said into her shoulder.

“I have?”

He ran his face along the line of her shoulder and up the back of her neck, breathing her in. “Oh, yes,” he said. “You’ve adjusted here so beautifully.” His thumb striped down her spine and her eyes popped open. She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Had she adjusted there? The thought scared her.

Then, he said: “I’m proud of you.” And her eyes pricked. No one had ever been proud of her before.

She felt slack inside and he turned her around. It was an uncontrollable response that she shuffled closer to him, letting him gather her into his arms and pet her hair, whispering words of affection right into her ear. It made her want to cry. And so she held onto him tight, like a lifeline.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me,” he said, pleased-sounding, “I think we can get rid of these ugly things now,” he added, tracing more lines along her back.

It took her a moment. “Really?” she whispered into his chest, toes curling with the surprise of it.

“Of course,” he murmured. “You’ve learned your lesson, after all. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” she breathed, holding him tighter and nodding into him.

“Very well,” he said, pressing the flat of his hand between her shoulder blades. There was that sparkling feeling of magic in her skin, a whooshing noise that set her ears alight. When it was done, she let out a shaky breath and reached her hand back around her waist, exploring the skin she’d hated to touch for so long. Where raised lines had dominated, now there was smooth skin, soft and supple like it always had been before.

“Thank you,” she gasped, flinging her arm back around him in her appreciation.

“My pleasure,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s what you deserve.”

And, for some reason, a feeling, heavy and terrible, dropped right on her chest. The skin around her eyes tightened once more and something like guilt curdled in her stomach.

. . .

The weight of her decision was too much, growing more and more massive and monstrous with each day that passed. She had to try. She knew that deep down. Or else, what was the point in anything? In any of the suffering or in any of the exertion of the past year and a half. But… above that, more presently, her fear crippled her. Her mind found excuses not to. Not to bother, for what was the point if he was just going to catch her again? To ruin the good faith he’d given her. He was proud of her, he loved her… she couldn’t throw that away.

She didn’t love him. But wasn’t it nice to be loved? Even in such a terrible way.

What was the point, what was the point?

In her mind, she imagined seeing her family again after all this time. They would awkwardly take her back into the fold, unsure how to be around the girl they knew even less than they had before. She would once again drift into the background of the day-to-day as her mother returned to her acting and Toby grew older and untroubled under the watchful eye of his loving parents. Well… Merlin would be happy to see her, at least.

And there was the child to think about.

It grew each day inside her, not affected in the slightest by her one-time violence nor her stint of alcohol guzzling. Not even when she sprinted in the gardens for hours, exhausting herself so terribly, did any issues arise. Each time her husband touched her belly and met the magic of the child, he looked upon her, pleased. It was a strong one, he’d say. Just like his father, she’d think.

The baby would be here, six months coming and there was nothing to be done about it.

But… she didn’t want it. Even in the face of Jareth’s delight in her, she couldn’t muster up the joy she was meant to have. An expectant mother-to-be. If she left… she yearned for the possibilities there above. Away from Jareth’s strict hand. Sarah knew that if she asked, her dad would drive her to the clinic and quietly wait for her as it was taken care of, no questions asked.

Soon, there was just a day left. A full twenty-six hours of panicked, fumbling thoughts. As the seconds passed, her mind grew evermore frazzled. It felt like that time she’d waited to start a huge math assignment until the night before it was due. It made her skin itch.

It really was the final straw when, that night, eighteen hours to go, he told her he would be announcing the pregnancy to the kingdom the next afternoon with her at his side. Three o’clock. On the east balcony, exactly where they’d wed. He would come collect her, he told her. Then he added: “Wear that lovely blush pink gown of yours. It will show the curve of you, just so.”

A smile froze on her face and she forced out an agreement. An announcement? They would all see this part of her too, knowing she’d finally satisfied her burden of belly. She didn’t want them all to know. She couldn’t bear the embarrassment of it. Of what he’d done to her.

They couldn’t see, it just wasn’t right. For it would make it all real. Verified by these loathsome witnesses.

The timing of it all was so suspicious. Contrived by Fate who hated her.

She barely slept that night, laying on her back and staring up at the canopy, eyes heavy with the weight of it all but not sleepy in the slightest. A monster was sitting on her chest. It was hard to breathe like that, two things tearing her apart.

She had to leave this place, but she was terrified to try.

Sarah lingered comatose in that room all the next day, dozing and avoiding. At two on the dot, she forced herself up from bed and got dressed, brushing out her hair and pulling on the rosy-soft dress that draped so tenderly over the curve of her bump. She blotted pink lipstick along her lips and pinched her cheeks, staring at her pale, drawn face in her vanity mirror.

She sat, anxious, in one of the armchairs by the fire, waiting for Jareth to come collect her. Her fists clenched over the knobbed ends of the chair, knuckles turning white. Now or never, Sarah. But she couldn’t get up from her spot, no matter how hard she tried.

The clock struck a quarter to three and she sobbed, shaking, knowing he would soon be there. She wanted to leave, she told herself, but she knew… she was his good girl and she’d stay right here waiting for him.

But it was at the very last moment, when Jareth still hadn’t arrived at five minutes until three, that she frazzled. The courage filled her. It was a wave of certainty that she hadn’t felt since she’d declared those useless words to the Goblin King, still yet unknown to her.

She ran to the door and flung it open, taking nothing with her except the clothes on her back and the child in her belly and the fragile bravery in her heart. Heart pounding, worrying. It was too late, she thought, sprinting, terrified she’d run right into Jareth, forced to fold her bluffed hand and dreading that Hoggle would already be gone when she got there.

That monster still crushed her chest and the lungs underneath. By the time she reached the garden and rasped a plea out to the proper hedge, she was out of breath and gasping, tears streaming down her face and legs aching.

The hedge opened for her and she lunged into the darkness, her muscles tensing with the gravity of what she was trying and her heart loosening in the freedom of it.

“Hoggle?” she whispered, unable to see as the hedge closed back behind her.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “Follow me,” he said and a single candle flame lit up under his chin. The darkness was so absolute that she could barely see as he nodded at her and turned to head deep into the blackness that stretched out before them.

She didn’t know how long they walked for but the thinness of the air and the tightness of the dirt walls around them turned her worry into a terrible thing. Jareth would be looking for her now, she knew. Her hand came to touch on her belly and a real feeling of remorse filled her as each step took her further away from him. If he caught her, what would he do?

Shoulders practically up to her ears and breath coming in quiet gasps, she doubled over in the darkness at some point, wanting to puke and cry and die.

“Sarah?” Hoggle stopped and turned back around a few paces ahead.

“This was a bad idea,” she choked out, nails clawing into the dirt wall. “He’s gonna be so- so… mad! We can’t!”

“Stop that!” he scolded and took her hand, dragging her forward. “He will be if you keep lollygagging and let him find us. Come on, we’re close.”

She stumbled behind him as he urged her along. When a light shone finally at the end of the tunnel, she was half-crying and half-smiling and she broke out into a jog, the anticipation too much to handle. She had to get out of that tunnel already.

The sun shone bright in her eyes as they spilled out from the oppression behind into a wide field of rolling hills. A bright blue-green view and clean air.

She gasped in delight to see Ludo and Sir Didymus standing in front of them, waiting for them. She hugged them each tight and never wanted to let go as they exclaimed their enthusiasm in seeing her.

“Oh, you guys!” she said, smiling so wide. How happy she was to see them.

Hoggle coughed. “We need to go.”

She tensed and stood back up, wobbly in the knees. She smoothed out the fabric of her dress. “... Right, of course.”

Sarah glanced around the rolling hills, searching, wondering… “Where...?”

When there was only a silence, she turned back to look at him. He looked stricken, pallid in the face. His candle had dropped to the ground, rolling in the grass.

“Hoggle…?” she wavered, peeking over her shoulder in fright. Had they been found? But there was no one in the vast stretch of land except the four of them.

When she looked back, worry had overtaken the knight’s face too.

“Guys, what’s wrong?”

Ludo frowned and scratched his head. Sir Didymus shifted. “Is the Lady with child?” he asked with spoked wonder.

“Oh…” she looked down at herself and flushed. Ashamed, she said: “...yes.”

Her eyes darted around uncomfortably as no one did anything except to stare. She caught sight of Hoggle once again, standing behind her. His face was a ghastly pale color and his eyes wide.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Hoggle shouted, face twisting. She flinched and her shoulders caved forward.

“I- I’m sorry… I didn’t think it was important.”

“Not important!” he growled, kicking at the grass angrily. “We’re running you away from the king and you think this isn’t important?”

Her eyes stung and she looked away.

“Brother Hoggle,” Didymus said, “There is no need to be impolite. What is done… is done.”

Hoggle grumbled and turned away, sticking his head into his hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said again in a desperate whisper, feeling cowed. “I didn’t think…”

“Well, that’s for sure!” He pulled at his hair. “What did you think, Sarah? That the rat wouldn’t care you were running off with his only heir?”

She stamped her foot. “I told you, Hoggle! I told you he’d never let me go! But you didn’t listen!”

“That’s different!” he bellowed.

“No,” she said quietly, “It really isn’t… you don’t understand.” Sarah turned away, eyes burning. “He’s obsessed with me… with or without this,” she gestured wildly to her middle, unable to look at them.

Hoggle moaned weakly. “Oh, he’s going to kill us when he finds us!” He looked ill. Ludo was cowering, face in his hands. And Didymus was growling to himself, holding onto his mace tightly.

“Hoggle, stop it!” she shrieked, distrubed by this change. “You said, Hoggle, you promised this would work!” She tugged her dress, terrified. But she stood up, back straight and regal. She tilted her chin up and looked at her worried friends, crossing her arms. “Well, let’s go. We’ve come too far to give up… he has to know I’m gone by now. Where to?”

“Lady Sarah is right, brother Hoggle. Now or never, I always say,” Didymus said, placing his paw across his heart. He started off in a direction and Sarah pulled up the hem of her dress and followed.

When she’d taken a few paces, she glanced back to see Ludo carrying Hoggle by the back of his vest, his little feet kicking and arms flailing in the air. “Let go!” he shouted.

She looked down at her feet as she walked, disappointed and scared. Uncomfortable. Nausea curled in her.

Sir Didymus led them through rolling hills for what felt like hours, but that couldn’t be… Jareth would have found them by now if that was the case. She was sweating through her dress, the sun still high in the sky. She still wasn’t used to the way time ran rampant in this world. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast.

Soon, Hoggle was back on his feet, dragging his feet behind her, Ludo’s steps even louder behind him. He looked sad when she turned back every now and then and their eyes caught. But, each time, he looked away before she could say anything.

The trek slowed when they passed another hill, identical it seemed to all the others. They were no closer to any landmarks, still just surrounded by hills and sky.

“Ah, there we are,” Didymus proclaimed proudly. She looked past him and her eyes grew wide with wonder. In between two hills, an impossibly deep valley descended, hidden in plain sight from the rest of the land. Cobblestone steps led the way down to stop by the head of a river, just a sliver in the distance beneath them. Slowly, they traversed down the narrow steps, breaching the shadowed world beneath.

This walk went faster, the bottom lifting to greet them. When they dropped to flat land, she saw it. A bunch of little doors lining the base of the valley on either side. “Wow,” she whispered, looking up, up, up at the sky so far away. The hills were mountains now on either side of her.

She followed, dazed, as Didymus walked along the river, passing each door with barely a second glance. Her ankles were hurting in her flat shoes.

Sarah started when Hoggle caught up to her at some point, coughing to get her attention. She looked down and clumsily stumbled over a stone. He caught her elbow and helped her stabilize, but she blushed all the same.

“Thanks.”

His face twisted again, but this time in sorrow. “... I’m sorry, Sarah. I know I promised you, but I’m scared. I’m a coward and I’m scared. There ain’t nothin’ I can do to change. I’m always gonna be scared.”

Her lips pulled into a frown. “It’s not cowardly to be afraid, Hoggle. I’m terrified all the time. It’s what we can do past that fear that makes us brave… that’s what my storybooks told me.”

She looked at him, peering down with soft eyes. He looked up with a blush along his cheeks. “If you’re a coward, so am I… but you’re not. Not even close. What coward would risk their necks to help me like this, huh?”

He shrugged, bashful. “Still, I shouldn’ta yelled at you like that.”

“It’s okay,” she said, “I get it.” She looked down at her belly. “It’s a big thing not to mention…”

“It don’t matter,” he grumbled, “I was an ass. And don’t you deny it!”

A giddy little laugh escaped her. “Well, I suppose you were... just a little.”

He growled good-naturedly, swatting softly in her direction.

“I wonder…” she joked, “Do you go to this much trouble for all the wayward wishers who run through your garden?”

He frowned at her and shook his head. “There’s never been another wisher.”

“... what?”

He puffed out a bit of air. “You're the only one.”

Her face crumpled in confusion. “But... I thought… That’s his job, isn’t it? To make wishers run through the Labyrinth?”

He looked at her, eyes squinted. “No,” he said, shaking his head again. “That’s the first I ever heard about anything like that...”

She was disoriented and a little horrified. What?

And then his eyebrows raised and he looked at something ahead. “We’re here,” he said.

Her head snapped forward. They’d stopped in front of one of the many doors. A red, wooden door that would open to her freedom. She could hardly believe it.

Sarah clasped her hands to her breast. “This is it?” she asked.

“Verily, my Lady!” Didymus said, “All you have to do is enter and think of where you wish to go and you will be returned to your home.”

She walked closer, touching the grainy wood of the door. She looked back at her friends when worry struck like lightning in her heart. “...once I’m back Above, won’t he be able to find me?”

Hoggle shook his head. “Bug helped me… he can only go Aboveground at the call of a wish, she said.”

“Oh…” she frowned. There it was. She always knew it was her fault she’d gotten into this situation, but to know that if she’d kept her mouth shut, this never would have happened… It was a hard thing to acknowledge.

She looked back at her friends, now that the time to go was here, she realized she’d probably never see them again. Her eyes watered. “Thank you so much,” she said, wringing her hands. “You have no idea how grateful I am for what you’ve done for me.”

Hoggle patted her hand. “That’s what friends are for, cowards or not. Right?” Her lip trembled and she hugged him one last time.

She placed a hand on Sir Didymus’ shoulder. “Thank you, brave knight. How can I ever repay you?”

He puffed up. “No repayment necessary, my Lady. It is my sworn duty to protect thee.”

She turned to Ludo who stood tall and smiled widely.

“Sarah, friend!” Ludo rumbled into her ear as she hugged him tight. She touched his face softly and whispered, “Ludo, friend.”

Pulling herself away from them was harder than she ever could have imagined. “Thank you,” she sobbed, hand finding the doorknob and lingering there. She smiled sadly and walked in, forcing herself to look away from the sad faces of her friends before she could stop herself.

When the door shut behind her, darkness surrounded her and her heart sped up to a too-fast rate. She scrunched her eyes shut tight and her first thought was, Mom, I want my mom.

Notes:

I promise I'm not intentionally ending on cliffhangers, it just happened to be a good stopping point for the chapter ;)

The phrase "burden of belly" comes from the song "Monkey & Bear" by... of course, Joanna Newsom. Her music is a huge inspiration to my writing. Very story-like, very fairy tale. Very emotional. I basically listen to her album 'Have One on Me' on a loop whenever I'm writing for this. Really amazing stuff but none of my friends or family are fans so I have to share somewhere! Sad lol. xD

Thanks for reading! Leave a comment if you wish, I'd love to know what you thought! Interacting with you guys is so fun <3

Chapter 11: The Inchoate Thing

Summary:

9... 1…1. Finally, the line rang and she held it weakly to her ear, hand trembling. Her eyes were half-closed.

Notes:

Tags have been updated.

Yesterday marked a month since I started this story -- I can't believe it! This has been so fun to write! I'm so excited to keep going!

Thanks for all the comments!! Hope you enjoy!

It was the screeching noise that made her eyes open. Squealing tires, shouting, laughing, honking. She stood at the curb of a busy, busy street, bustling with traffic and people. It was dark out. Her mouth parted open as she looked around, surprised. Where was she?

When she looked up now, instead of hills-turned-mountains, she was surrounded by buildings every which way. Billboards and ads shone down at her. It was so familiar and so unfamiliar all at once. She turned around, lost, and her eyes caught on the large shape of her mother’s face, her sultry smile beaming down from a high poster, letters flashing in bright lights under her chin.

She could have cried right there, to see her mother’s face, even so false. But she had an idea where she was now… Broadway. She’d been only once a few years ago, but it had to be.

Sarah pushed her way down the sidewalk, frantic and scared. Where was her mom’s apartment again? It was close, right? How could she not remember? It had made such an impact on her, then, to see the glamour her mother was living in so far away from Sarah’s suburban childhood.

People on the sidewalks, so familiarly human, shot her disgusted, disapproving looks as she ran past. For her dishevelled gown right out of a renaissance fair or the bump she sported so young, she didn’t know. As she ran, a cramp stabbed sharply in her lower belly. She touched it and gasped a shocked breath as it stayed

But she continued on, her pace slowing as the pain seemed to build.

A group of young twenty-somethings leaned against a stone building, cigarette smoke curling around them. “Hey, honey!” one of the men called, whistling loudly. Her eyes went wide and she looked around her. “Yeah, you!” he laughed. “Where’s your baby daddy, baby?” She flinched, her stride quickening and her path widening, putting more space between her and the men leering. “Come lift up your dress and I’ll take care of you, baby!”

“What the fuck, Michael?!” Sarah heard one of the women in the group screech, but she was too busy jogging to get away to care, her face burning. But the pain was getting to her. She was gasping as she tried to move quick, stumbling in relief when she noticed an open phone booth just ahead.

Her mind raced as she dragged her feet, heading toward it. Oh no… what was she going to do? She didn’t have any...

She looked around, frantic. She saw a nice-looking old man sitting on a bench, munching on a hot dog and people-watching. In the midst of all the threatening young men around, he reminded her of her grandpa in the way he crossed one ankle over his knee and leaned back, arm strung over the back of the bench. Only a few feet away, the trek toward him felt like a marathon.

“Sir,” she gasped, holding onto the bench to keep herself up. She was feeling increasingly weak. “Sir, please. Do you have some- some change? I need- I need to call the police--”

She clutched her belly and doubled over. The man stood up quick and steadied her by the elbow, looking worried. “Honey?”

She flinched away.

“Oh dear. Pardon me, I didn’t mean...” he said, distressed-sounding. “Are you okay? Do you need a hospital?”

“No, no hospital,” she stood back up unsteadily. “The police. I need… to find… my mom…”

“Okay. Okay,” he said softly, rustling around in his pockets and pulling out some quarters. He handed them to her and pointed down the sidewalk. She gagged for some reason, body heaving. “Thanks,” she said, voice cracking. She pushed off the bench and stumbled toward the payphones.

“Hey, wait!” he yelled behind her, “Do you need help?”

She waved him off, feeling frail as she faltered her way to lean against the payphone booth. A pain lanced through her and she fed the quarters through the coin slot. Her vision swam and it seemed to take forever for her to find the right buttons. 9... 1…1. Finally, the line rang and she held it weakly to her ear, hand trembling. Her eyes were half-closed. Why was she so tired? So weak all of a sudden?

“911, what’s your emergency?” A woman’s cool voice sounded over the line.

Her emergency? What did she mean? Her eyes popped open.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the woman repeated, a little louder.

Then, through the glass of the booth, Sarah saw… she saw angry blue-black eyes staring at her. There he was, standing a few paces down the sidewalk, crystal-tipped scepter poised just so in his hand. An ugly scowl twisted his face.

Sarah recoiled violently, dropping the phone and staggering back. Oh no. But it was like the strength in her body was oozing out, unchecked. Emptying her out until she was a hollow body, nothing left inside. She could barely understand when her feet stopped only one step back from the booth. She was magnetized to the ground. An unnatural weight in her body that she recognized. “No…” she moaned out, sick.

Her eyes searched around her, desperate. That man! He could help! Where was he? Tears streamed down her face as she strained and strained inside this magical hold. Her muscles ached and so much pain filled her she wanted to die. She was stuck, weak and helpless as Jareth moved closer and closer, stepping right there in front of her, glaring down, wrathful. Not one of the busy New York people seemed to notice as the pregnant girl cried, frozen in place while her king husband loomed furious above.

Her heart pounded so strong it was all she could hear.

Her insides flinched away but her body stayed still as he pressed a hand to her belly. She stared up at him, miserable and pathetic and helpless and terrified. He was blurry in her teary vision, but she would have been blind not to have seen the way fear struck across his face.

Her tongue must have been glued into her mouth for when she tried to speak, all that came out was a weak, mumbling noise.

His hand came down fast on her arm, gripping tight and digging into the bones there. She swayed as he dragged her into him, wanting to jerk away from him but unable to. He moved her so easily when she couldn’t even move herself. Her eyes were wide, confused, but they flinched shut when magic hissed over them.

A sob left her as the sparkling lights of mortal New York City blinked out.

Across the way, the old man blinked and scratched his head. One second, the girl in the odd get-up had been right there in his view, the next, gone, the phone she’d been using left dangling from its cord, swaying in air that had no wind. He puffed a breath, worried -- surely he was too young to be going insane.

. . .

“Get the healers!” she heard Jareth shout, but the sound was fuzzy under waves of water crashing into her ears.

Sarah was disoriented when her eyes opened next, seeing tall Fae guards waving around in front of her like giants in the room. Their room? That was fast...

She moaned when a pain spasmed through her middle and her knees buckled. Someone caught her, lifting her off her feet, floating her in the air. Something soft met her back.

A piercing pain coursed through her and she curled to her side, cradling her middle. Who was that yelling?

What happened next, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was pain and crying and screaming as faceless strangers touched her inside. There were flashes of so much red that she tilted feebly to the side and vomited half on the bed and half on herself.

She sobbed, feeling disgusting and exposed. Unable to process. She searched the room for Jareth, but she couldn’t find him… where was he? She needed him. What were these people doing to her? Why was he letting them… letting them... ?

Sarah must have fallen asleep for when her eyes opened next, bleary in the sunlight that streamed over her.

She blinked at the empty room. Her heart seemed to physically ache, constricting in her chest as she found herself once more in that terrible room… where he’d stuck her to keep forever. The room looked so sterile. Lifeless and vacant. Not monstrous and dark like it ought to be.

He’d caught her. Of course he had. Why was she so stupid? Her mind felt wrong in her upset. It hurt to be aware, to think of what she’d done.

Her arms were weak as she lifted them, patting around the bed covers for something… something she didn’t know. She clumsily pushed herself up to lean against the headboard. It hurt her when she pulled her knees closer to her middle, tucking herself to be smaller.

The door opened and she shrank back into the pillows, eyes wide and nervous as a Fae woman stepped in. A healer, Sarah knew. Her name was… she couldn’t remember. When Jareth had discovered she was pregnant, he’d summoned her to check Sarah over. It had been degrading the way the healer had barely looked her in the eye before she began examining her, speaking to the king as if Sarah wasn’t even there. It had been unbearable then, but now… in the light of her devastating failure…

She could have cried when the healer noticed her awake and walked toward the bed, the heavy door thudding shut behind her. Sarah leaned away as the woman stopped at the edge of the bed. And she recoiled when the woman reached down and pressed a hand over her belly button.

Sarah flushed and looked away, feeling a burning in her whole body as the healer checked the health of the child. “What--” Sarah’s voice cracked, mouth dry, “What happened? Why was I so… so…?”

She dared a glance up to meet the eyes of the healer, but she didn’t even acknowledge her as she pulled a hand back and summoned a scroll of parchment. She wrote something in it. “H-hey,” Sarah choked out, embarrassed and indignant, “Tell… me.... Don’t--” but her voice was weak and wouldn’t work for her any longer.

She reached the woman’s wrist, desperate, but the healer just stepped back, wrenching away from her without a word. Sarah stared at her lap, unable to watch as the healer just turned and walked out of the room not two seconds later, taking her scroll with her.

Her breathing was coming out rasping, her throat scratching something terrible. Water… she needed water. Frail still, she moved to swing her legs over the bed, her nightgown wadding up around her thighs.

It was slow going, but she hobbled all the way to the bathroom and hunched over the sink, elbows holding her limp body up. She turned on the tap and sucked down water from the basin of her palms until she felt sick.

In the mirror, her face was so pale. Her hair stringy and sweat-slicked, her skin grim and pale, her cheekbones sticking out like a skeleton. What had happened? She remembered, before, seeing her pale face in her vanity mirror, still young and healthy despite her stress. Now, she looked like a monster, so sickly and hideous.

Looking at herself like that was hard and so her head collapsed into her hands, body still bent weakly over the counter. She thought of Jareth and of her friends and of herself. What had she done? The future lurked around the corner, waiting to clobber her. The thought was crippling.

She thought she might puke so she stayed there, swaying for a few too-long minutes. When the nausea had abated, she stood back up and wiped her sweaty forehead., stepping out of the bathroom.

Sarah froze in her tracks when she saw Jareth. He was sitting, faced away from her in a chair pulled up next to the bed. He was tapping his scepter against his leg.

Terror bubbled in her stomach when the bathroom door shut loudly behind her and it caught his attention.

He turned, eyes locking onto her. She trembled at the darkness there. When she just stood still, petrified and wide-eyed, he tapped the bed once with his weapon, wordless.

What could she do but obey?

He didn’t say anything as she took one slow step after the other, half in fear, half in her illness. He just watched her as she burned in her humiliation. Still, it was a relief to collapse back into the bed, tucking her feet safely under the heavy blankets.

She fiddled with the sheets as his heavy gaze sat right on top of her, oppressive. Silence remained for too long and when she peeked up just once, she saw him looking at her as if she were something particularly distasteful. A thick stone lodged itself in her throat.

She wanted to hide under the covers for ever and ever.

“I- I thought you could only go Above for a wish,” she whispered, looking at her lap.

His voice was scornful, “And who told you that?”

Unease trickled over her.

“Your little friends, isn’t that right?” he said icily.

Her heart stopped in her chest.

“That’s right,” he hissed, “I know exactly how you got Above. Those traitors will be punished dearly for what they’ve done…”

She looked up, lurching forward, wild-eyed. “Jareth, no! It’s not their fault. It was my idea! Please, don’t- don’t--”

“Quiet.”

Her mouth snapped shut. Her anxiety ratcheted up a million notches as he slowly leaned forward in his chair.

“You stupid girl,” he snarled. She flinched, looking up at him with wounded eyes. He stood up and bent over her, face too-close. She leaned back, but his hand came to grip her jaw tightly. “You are mine. I will always be able to find you, no matter how far you run.”

The weight of her ignorance hit her as if it were a train ramming full speed ahead right into her chest.

“You like making a fool of me, hmm?” he said, fingers digging into her bones. Her eyes watered and she tried to shake her head. “...No,” the word warbled out of her.

“No?” he asked, “I think you do. After all I’ve done for you. Still, you defy me. How foolish is it of me to loosen your leash when you… repeatedly… show that you … cannot be trusted.”

“I-I--” she stammered, jaw aching. “I can’t trust you!” she sobbed. “I had a family… I had a life. You’ve hurt me so much I’m never gonna recover…”

“I’ve hurt you?” he said coolly, eyes full of rage piercing into her very soul. He cooed dangerously and tilted her face up so high she was so vulnerable to the room, to him, her neck wide open: “And what have I done that’s so terrible?”

That unsettled her. Her voice trembled, “How- how can you not know?”

He scoffed at her. “I thought you grew out of this silly nonsense of yours, Sarah.”

“It isn’t--!”

“Isn’t it?” he said, the look in his eyes chilling her to the bone. “I’ve given you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. A castle to live in, jewels and silks to drape upon your body, food from the best cooks of the kingdom. An attentive lover and King for a husband—”

“Stop—!” She shrieked, covering her ears. Trying to wrench away from his bruising hold.

He continued, uncaring. “--an eternity of youth and beauty by my side. The gift of motherhood. All of this and you throw it back in my face. You ungrateful little wretch, when can I expect for you to grow up?”

She was shaking by the end of it. He let go of her roughly and she fell back. Silence stood heavy between them.

“I never wanted any of that,” she rasped finally. “I don’t want these riches or- or to grow up. I’m sixteen,” she cried, seizing the blankets and struggled to sit up high, facing him head on. It was as much as she dared. “I don’t want this baby, I never did!”

He slapped her. A burning strike across her face. Her head snapped to the side from the force of it and she collapsed sideways into the pillow. She touched her cheek, stunned. It was a rare thing that he hit her… but it was always as shocking as the first time, mortifying her.

The bed depressed as he sat on the bed beside her. She leaned away, scared to look at him as he touched her stinging cheek. She flinched. There was something terrifying in his tone when he said: “Well then my dear, I suppose you got what you wanted.”

What? Her mind was muddled… she wanted to ask. Her mouth was glued shut in her fear. There was a confused silence.

And then… his voice was colder, more frightful than she’d ever heard it. “You miscarried.”

Her brow furrowed but she didn’t dare a glance. She looked down at her middle and touched her still bloomed out belly. But… “No, I didn’t,” she whispered, body tensing. She could still feel it.

She remembered the blood and the screaming and the terrible feeling of fear. Now that she thought about it… had he been scared too? No… that couldn’t be right. He didn’t get scared.

“But,” she warbled when he didn’t say anything, “It’s right here, isn’t it?” She touched between her legs and felt an ache she hadn’t noticed before. She remembered the terrible stabbing of her belly that had weakened her so immediately up Above. Something like horror built in her. Disgust. She heaved in her spot, face hot.

“It’s not...?” she murmured, feeling sick.

He touched her belly and she caught a brief glance of sorrow on his face before his eyes hardened once more. “The mortal world is fatal to Fae babes.” He exhaled, “It was so small, an inchoate thing.”

Her eyes closed and she started to drift back into her pillows. “I didn’t know…”

He sounded disgusted with her when he said: “Would it have mattered, Sarah? Truly?”

Shame colored her cheeks and she hid her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I just wanted- I wanted…”

“What, Sarah?” he sounded tired. “What did you want?”

She shook her head into the pillow and cried as, only seconds later, the door slammed, echoing so terribly throughout that room.

Notes:

Oh no. Oh dear... This one was pretty dark.

I realize this is probably not medically accurate, but keep in mind that magic is directly involved.

Thanks so much for reading! What did you think xD?

<3

Chapter 12: To Ache

Summary:

Weak and guilt-ridden, her eyes peeled open.

Notes:

The tags have been updated!

He stayed gone for a long, long time. Left alone in that room, her mind scrambled over everything. She lay in that same spot, aching and cramping and crying until darkness descended outside the mottled window. It was only when the goblins came to light the hearth and still, there was no sight of the king, that she pulled herself from the bed.

She wanted him to come back already. To hit her again or to hold her. Just anything except this. This loneliness killed her. It made her itch.

She dragged her feet to the bathroom, her heart breaking when she saw Bug sadly watching her from the corner of the room. Sarah locked the door behind her, eyes glued to the ground. She snapped her fingers, trying to run the bath just like he’d taught her, but her already small, trifling power just fizzled on her fingertips. Looking at her hands, she didn’t know why. A sort of grief filled her. A sort of abandonment.

So, just like she had for the months and months before he’d trusted her at all, she gripped the large tap and turned. She set the water to boiling and waited.

Peeling off her sweat-soaked nightgown, she shivered in the cold. She stared at her bare body in the mirror.

She could barely recognize who she was anymore. She touched her belly and turned sideways. She pressed down against the roundness that still remained. It sickened her. One minute it was there and the next… just gone? She’d removed the little thing from existence.

She felt violated by her own actions, taken by painful surprise by what she’d caused.

Thinking about the sorrow she’d seen on Jareth’s face made her crazy inside. It made her uncomfortable, it made her eyes sting. But… why? She’d planned on getting rid of it, hadn’t she? If she had managed to find her mom or her dad up Above, she would have. Or, at least… she thought she would have.

It had been soundly ripped from her once again, that dream of freedom. Of her own world with her own people. She savored as much as hated her brief time Above. Familiar strangers surrounding her, she’d found herself in her mother’s kingdom. A fleeting, beautiful moment. But it was bittersweet.

Before, everyone always said she was a dead-ringer for her mom, that she’d grow up to look just like her. Now, she knew, she’d never look so beautifully grown as her mom did in that poster. A mature woman who’d seen the world. Sarah was forever stunted, just like her baby. Ungrown.

She couldn’t help but wonder what it had looked like, taken from her body too soon. It unsettled her to imagine.

The water burned her skin as she lowered herself into it. It hurt her outsides but seemed to soothe her insides. Did she deserve that little pleasure? When she dunked her head underwater, she stayed down there for as long as she could bear, letting her lungs burn and her head pound. Until her body forced her up.

Was he going to punish her, she wondered. Like last time? She almost wanted him to. To return those scars that he’d removed for her even as she plotted to betray him. Her friends… it made her face crumple. She would take a million strikes of his whip if it meant Jareth would leave them alone. Maybe she could convince him. It had been her decision to go for it, after all. Not theirs.

There was just so much raging inside her, it hurt to be awake.

When the sky was so dark that it had even snuffed out the fire in the hearth, she’d finally pulled herself from the bath, its temperature too frigid for even her to handle. With aching arms and legs, she’d pulled on a clean nightgown and laid back in bed, shuddering in the cold sadness she felt.

Even as she curled into the darkness, her eyes wouldn’t shut. Sleep was as distant as her family up Above. At some point, she heard the door open, a whooshing noise neither loud nor soft -- and she could hardly believe it when she did. Sarah tensed, listening as the door thudded shut and his footsteps faded toward the bathroom.

She sat up awkwardly and waited for him, arms wrapped around her raised knees. She sat there for a long time, nervous and longing, even as her lower back started to ache. When the door finally opened, the smell of hot water and soap floated through the air and he stepped back into the darkness, a small ball of light floating in front of his face.

He was dressed only in silk sleeping pants. In the small light, their eyes caught. It made her heart flutter. But he just turned away and walked to the table, pouring water into a cup. He sat and silently filled a plate with some of the bread and cheese the goblins left out.

She was waiting, waiting, just sure he was going to say something, do something. But he just ate, not looking at her, not even acknowledging her.

“...Jareth?” she whispered.

His eyes were scary in the darkness as they flicked in her direction. “Go to sleep,” he said.

“Jareth, I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “I’m sorry. Please, aren’t you gonna--”

“Go to sleep,” he said again, voice harsh.

Her lower lip trembled. “But...”

“Gods, Sarah,” he snapped, and she flinched. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear another word out of you.”

She moved so her legs dangled off the edge of the bed, her toes just barely brushing against the floor. He was watching her out of the corner of his eye, she knew. She could feel it. And it made her nervous, but still she dropped off the bed and started inching toward him.

When she, slowly, so slowly, reached out to touch his shoulder, he looked at her head on. “What?” he hissed.

Her face crumpled and she dropped to her knees between his legs, wrapping her arms around his waist, hugging tight. She cried into him. “I’m so- so sorry… why- why are you ignoring me?”

When he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, she scrambled up half on his lap and kissed him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and licked at the seam of his lips, but he still didn’t respond. Tears were soaking her cheeks when she pulled back and saw. He was glaring at her, lips pressed in a thin, angry line. She sobbed and reached down, touching down his chest. Her fingers brushed against his cock. But his hand clamped down on her wrist like a vice, tight and painful. He wrenched her back and stood up fast, leaving her to crumble on the floor.

She struggled up to stand, still aching all over.

“Why- why-?” she hiccupped. “Why won’t you … touch me? I don’t- I don’t understand!”

Her hands coming to clutch at his shoulders, she tried to kiss him again. He pushed her away. “Don’t you see, Sarah?” he said, voice cruel, “I don’t want to touch you.”

Sarah recoiled, eyes wet and burning. “But--” she reached for him again, grabbing onto his hand with both of hers. “But… I… love... you,” her voice wobbled dangerously.

He scoffed and ripped his hand from her, turning away. He drank some of his water before slamming the cup on the table. She hunched into herself, feeling cold.

Jareth sat back down and gazed out the window. “Leave me.”

Her heart was breaking in her chest and her feet were leaden as she stood there alone even with him so close.

“Now,” he ordered coldly. And it was final.

She trudged painfully to the bed, curling into a wretched little ball. She didn’t sleep a wink.

. . .

It was a week before her body was recovered fully. Her clean bill of health was given right over to Jareth the morning the healer checked her over. It was too soon, Sarah thought. Her body felt fine, but she didn’t think she’d ever heal from that. She’d gotten off so easy in comparison to the little thing that had been lost.

Only one day after she was declared healthy, he took her out of their room for the first time. He cut a hard glance at her when she dragged her feet nervously and whispered a single halting, questioning word. So she followed along obediently, her heart broke by his unrelenting aloofness. He hated her, now. She was just sure of it.

When he brought her to the castle’s main doors, he tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. It was the most he’d touched her since… well, since. The doors opened at his behest and something cracked inside her to see all those Fae staring at her again, lined up in masses in front of the castle, just waiting. And, piled like bugs behind them, there were the lowly Fae -- the goblins and dwarves and pixies and trolls. The creepy Labyrinth creatures. All of them stretching their necks to see as the king escorted his little wife consort to stand beside him on the raised platform before the doors.

There was a gradual dipping of the crowd’s height, all bowing and curtseying as they paid respect to the king.

Sarah looked to Jareth. But he was staring forward, scanning his subjects before him. Something wary was beating in her as Fae guards marched from their stance in front of the crowd to a clanging stop around the platform. Standing guard for her and the king, lingering in the corners, weapons held aloft and ready.

Her fingers dug hard into his elbow when she saw a wooden structure. A noose dangling from it. Her eyes widened and she looked to him again. His eyes were on her now, dark and vicious. Her lips parted to say something, but no sound came out. It was an unnatural silence that hurt her, her vocal cords turned off. It made her panic under his watchful eye. Her hand went up to touch her throat, but it, too, was stuck. Loose against her side. The muscles had lost their function. She couldn’t feel them, her arms or her legs. The feeling in the rest of her was fading.

Muddled and anxious, she stared at him, her neck still barely working, thank God. He patted her once on the hand before glancing away. He nodded in the direction of the guards.

She was scared now.

Suddenly, one of the guards shouted, “Bring him out!”

Her heart seemed to stop. More guards came out, banging against the stone steps. Being dragged in the midst of them… If she could have, she would have screamed her terror. It was Hoggle, dishevelled and shaking. His feet stumbled as the much taller guards shoved him along, the manacles at his ankles and wrists tripping him up every which way.

No, he couldn’t. She’d told Jareth, she had. It was her fault, not Hoggle’s. Why would he do this?

She tried and tried and tried to jerk out of his hold, to run toward her friend. To save him. But she was stuck so soundly, she didn’t think she’d ever move again. But still, she strained, trying to find a way out. Please, please don’t, she wanted to scream, her eyes flickering quick between her heartless husband and her brave friend.

Her eyes were wet and terrified when they caught Hoggle's. She could see the way he was racked with tremors as the guards brought him closer and closer to the gallows. He looked at her sadly, his eyes glassy and distant. She trembled enough that her teeth started to chatter, her jaw vibrating.

It was the most unbearable thing she’d ever felt, the danger looming so scary she could have dropped dead just from what the future promised.

Mutters and jeers were sounding from the crowd and she shook. She wanted them to die, to be crushed under boulders a thousand pounds heavy. Where were the others, Ludo and Sir Didymus? Had they gotten away? She hoped, oh, she hoped!

Her ears were ringing when they forced Hoggle up onto a tall stool and strung the noose around his neck, just leaving him there to stand and wait. They were monsters. How could they?

A Fae man walked up to the gallows and pulled out a scroll. He cleared his throat and faced the crowd. “Hoggle Two-Faced, you stand here accused of treason to the crown. Of abducting King Jareth’s pregnant Consort, and of knowingly sending her Aboveground where the unborn heir would perish.” A wave of angered heckling left the crowd and Sarah screamed inside, NO! Tears leaked from her eyes. That wasn’t what happened. Couldn’t they see, this was wrong! Where was the justice?

The Fae man continued when the yelling had died down. “You are sentenced to death for your crimes.” Sarah’s stomach dropped right through her, splatting all over the ground at her feet. He rolled up his scroll and stepped away.

She wanted to lunge forward, feeling so desperate and aching as Hoggle let out a strangled cry. Her heart was breaking in her powerlessness as a Fae guard marched forward and kicked out the stool from under Hoggle’s feet. He dropped. The choking noises made her sick and her eyes flinched shut. There was a silence that descended in the crowd, a waiting, wanting silence. The noises were so terrible. So, so horrible. There was a little boy in the front row who strained against his father’s grip on his shoulder, his little face twisted in terror. A wail sounded distantly -- a lesser Fae from far away.

Sarah was hyperventilating inside of herself.

Jareth’s hand tightened painfully over hers. “Open your eyes.”

She couldn’t. She shook her head, mouth stretching in the need to scream. “Now, Sarah,” he commanded, “Look upon what you’ve done.”

Weak and guilt-ridden, her eyes peeled open.

Hoggle was alive still, sputtering and choking and spinning on the thread that stole his air. His face was gray. Spittle and vomit covered his front and dripped down to the ground so far away from him.

She felt as Jareth leaned closer to her, his voice cruel in her ear. “This is what happens when you defy me.” Her very bones rattled.

The king snapped his fingers. The Fae guard who had kicked out the stool raised his sword and cut down the rope in a single move. A brief flare of hope filled her even as the sickening thud with which Hoggle hit the ground made her stomach jolt. But then… the same guard grabbed Hoggle by the back of his shirt, ripping him up to kneel. Her friend was rasping weakly, half-gone. Another guard stepped forward.

Sarah’s mouth stretched open in a desperate, silent wail.

The guard slashed his blade down, a single swipe that ripped open Hoggle’s front. His insides spilled out all over the ground, right in front of her eyes. Sarah’s spine seemed to collapse on itself, her body growing limp.

Her lax muscles didn’t seem to stop her as she swayed, faint. The only thing that stabilized her was Jareth at her side, standing tall and gratified.

She was forced to watch as Hoggle dropped dead, bleeding out all around himself. Gurgling. Collapsing with another sick thud. She wanted to gouge out her own eyes. She wanted to collapse into the ground and sleep forever and ever. He was gone. Just like that.

Cheers rang out from the crowd and the guard who’d slashed her friend turned to the king. “Where do you want ‘im, Sire?”

Jareth absently tapped his leg. “Up against the gates. A piece for each of the entrances.”

Her stomach heaved.

“Yes, Sire,” the guard inclined his head. He turned to Hoggle’s body and raised a sword. It was brought down quick, a hacking motion that would have made Sarah recoil if she could have.

It was a blessing that the world blinked just before she could see it happen.

As soon as the distinctive rush of magic had come and gone completely, her eyes blinked open and her body returned to her. She collapsed to the floor, knees slamming hard into the stone. She retched up her meager breakfast all over her dress. Sobs ripped out of her, as built up as they were. Her nails dug into the stone beneath her, hard enough that it stung. “How could you?” she wailed, her voice strung tight with her tears.

He didn’t answer. Jareth dragged her up by her arm and she wobbled, distraught on her feet.

The dungeons, she thought absently, sobbing out loud. It was so empty. An unnatural dimness permeated the long, endless tunnel. It was with fear that she noted how it never seemed to end, thick iron bars banding all the way in either direction. He pulled her like a ragdoll until they stood before a dark, dark cell. She couldn’t see anything.

He pressed her toward the bars, hand tight on her arm. “What?” she moaned, a sad little noise. He made her so weak, couldn’t he see?

He ignored her and looked right past the bars. The shadows cast on his face made him monstrous. He snapped his fingers and a ball of light illuminated the cell. She winced as the new light burned her retinas. The contrast turned her blind for a too-long second. When she could see again… her mouth fell open. It was Ludo and Sir Didymus, strung up and shackled to the damp, dirt-caked walls.

They looked terrible. Weak and wilted. It looked wrong to see Sir Didymus without his feathered hat. His eyepatch was missing. The empty eye now exposed looked wrong on his face. Ludo’s fur was matted and muddy, blood dripping from his mouth. His eyes seemed blank and a small roar left him, a weak, cracking noise.

It was crushing. She could hardly understand… Hoggle had just been killed right before her and now... No, they hadn’t gotten away. They were here, stuck and imprisoned. It was all her fault.

“... My Lady?” Didymus whispered.

“Silence,” Jareth hissed.

The shackles clanged as Didymus cowered back.

A loud weeping noise was coming from her. It was uncontrollable. She could feel the wetness of her throw-up soaking through her bodice.

Jareth’s fingers bit into her skin, sharp and evil. In her ear, he murmured: “I have erred in allowing you so much freedom. I know that now. A strict hand is what you need.”

Her throat was tight and her insides burned with everything.

He continued, “I’ve decided that your… friends here will remain alive so long as you remain obedient. If you... dare... defy me again, I will not hesitate to have them hanged and disemboweled for you to see just like Hedgewort.”

At that, she tried to rip out of his hold, but he shoved her hard into the bars, pushing her tight against them so she couldn’t move. She cried out. A faint growl came from Sir Didymus.

“Hoggle,” she whimpered, “It’s Hoggle.”

Jareth tutted. “Oh Sarah. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead.”

It shocked her into silence. She blinked rapidly, tears blocking her vision.

“And why is that?” he asked, fingers digging into her skin ever more. She quivered like a little leaf.

“Hmm?” he said after a beat of silence. “Nothing to say?... Very well, allow me. He’s dead because of you. And…” his voice grew so much more dangerous, making her shrink into herself, “because of you, so is our child.”

She trembled, staring forward weak-eyed at her horrified friends. The smell of her vomit was wafting up, getting to her. A bit of rust was cutting into her palm.

He hummed a soft little noise and she cringed. “Despite what you deserve, I have been merciful, Sarah. And you will be grateful,” he told her.

“Now,” he said. “What do you have to say to me?”

Spit bubbled up in her mouth as her jaw worked, soundless.

“Well?” he demanded.

She cried into the bars. “...Thank you.”

“Well done,” he said and pulled back, leaving her gasping limply against the bars, her hands shaking around the cold metal. It was with one last, desperate look at her friends that the world blinked out all around her. She would cherish this last sight of them alive for years to come.

Brightness burned her eyes again when they appeared in his rooms. He let go of her.

She wept there for a few moments, hunched over and miserable. And he just watched her.

Eventually, he said: “Go clean yourself.”

He turned and walked away.

She cried for a long time in the bath, the solitude getting to her. Every time she shut her eyes, the sight of Hoggle’s red-slimed guts across the stone steps and the gaping black hole of his mouth flashed. The guilt was eating her up.

When she finished, she shivered and limped out of the bathroom, heading to the wardrobe for a change of clothes.

But he was waiting for her, sitting tall at the table. “Come here,” he said.

She glanced sadly at the closet and then back at him. He rapped on the table with his knuckles and she looked down. She tightened her towel around herself and crossed the room.

He was standing by the time she’d reached the table. And she couldn’t look him in the eye, knowing he’d be regarding her with that stony, hateful look. She stared at the floor, noticing the way her blue toes curled against the cold stone. The way his leather boots scared her, declared her vulnerable.

His hand came up to touch hers, leather glove wrapping around the fist she gripped her towel with. Her head jerked, wanting to look up at him, feeling a sort of hope. But, before she could, he just peeled her hand from her towel and then the towel from her body. She stood there as he exposed her to his eyes. The cold air touched every part of her and she was stunned when the cold leather of his glove gripped the back of her neck.

Her body was slack once again as he guided her forward, bending her over the table. Her face started to burn when she heard the laces of his breeches being undone. His hand was still painful at her neck. His boot nudged at her feet, kicking her legs apart, making her hips crash into the edge of the table and a whimper escape her lips.

Her eyes watered when, without a word, his cock found that so abused part of her. He pressed in harshly, filling her with no preparation. It hurt. It damaged her more than it had in a long time. He touched her only with the punishing glove at the base of her neck and the cock forcing her open. She cried silently, cheek crushed into the table as he breathed harshly above her for a long time, shoving her forward with each thrust, the sharp points of her hips bruising against the table. She felt the fabric of his breeches against the backs of her thighs and the hard line of his boot against the bare inner arch of her foot.

She clawed weakly at the table and wished he’d touch her, pull her into him and hold her. But he never did, not even when he finished inside her. Her eyes fluttered shut as he pulled out. He left her there, cold and alone and aching worse than she’d ever ached before.

Notes:

Oop. Talk about some guilt tripping, am I right?!

For all of you who love Hoggle, I'm sorry! It makes me sad but it had to be done. :' (

For those of you that don't... ;)

What did you think? Leave a comment below if that's your jam! <3

Chapter 13: Life

Summary:

Bug let out a grumbling noise. A little growling thing. “I sorry too,” she said. “I give note, I help, it happen.”

Notes:

Tags have been updated!

“Lady?”

Sarah whimpered and shifted. The sheets were all tangled up around her legs. She was so hot.

“...Lady?”

Her eyes blinked open. Her breath was coming in little pants. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the brightness. Life rushed at her and her eyes pricked. She turned and then jolted. Big, buggy eyes were staring at her. The little goblin girl was there on her tip-toes, peering over the edge of the bed at her.

“Bug?” she rasped out.

Bug nodded her head rapidly, her big, floppy ears wagging about. Sarah rubbed at her eyes and pushed herself up to lean against the headboard, clutching the sheet to her chest. She looked at the clock. One? Jeezus.

Sarah blinked and yawned. “What are you doing here?”

“I come see Lady.” She was looking up at Sarah earnestly, eyes glassy-wide.

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Bug, you shouldn’t be here…”

Bug’s eyes teared up. “I come check on Lady.”

Sarah panicked, reaching her hands out uselessly. “Hey, hey! It’s okay. It’s just…” she swallowed against her tight throat, “... didn’t you hear what… happened? With- with--?” She cut herself off. “You could get in a lot of trouble being here.”

Bug’s ears wilted. “I hear. I see.”

“Oh…” Sarah looked down.

“I see Lady there… sad.”

Sarah smiled uncomfortably, lips stretched out sideways because her body didn’t know what else to do. “...Yeah,” she said finally, eyes averting.

“I sorry,” the goblin girl said quietly.

Sarah’s eyes were wet. “Don’t be. I’m sorry. It never would’ve happened if I…”

Bug let out a grumbling noise. A little growling thing. “I sorry too,” she said. “I give note, I help, it happen.”

Sarah dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, liking the pressure against the bulging feeling of her brain in her skull. She ducked her head, eyes clenched tight. “Does the king… does he… know that?”

A big crease cut through Bug’s little forehead. She looked skittish as she shook her head. “Is days since. I think no.”

Sarah sighed, relieved. “Good… that’s good.” She pulled at the sheets between her fingers. “But Bug… if he finds out we talk. Or...”

Bug winced, a big expression that took over her small face. “Is dangerous. But... I see Lady since…” She looked at Sarah sadly, eyes tracking down her body. “I see what happen first.”

Sarah hunched, playing more frantically with the fabric in her hands. “I’m okay. Don’t- don’t worry about me.”

“I worry,” Bug said.

Sarah wanted to cry. “... I’m not worth it, Bug.”

The little goblin girl growled again. “Lady worth it.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter… please, please… I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“I no get hurt.”

“Please,” Sarah snapped, her nerves were starting to get to her. “Bug, you need to leave.”

Bug flinched back. “Lady…”

“No,” Sarah hissed, “I won’t watch you die too. Just- just leave, and don’t come back. It’s not safe!”

Bug’s eyes were wobbly in their teariness, her ears flat against her head. “But--”

“Go!” Sarah shouted. And when Bug hesitated at her bedside, she let out a shriek: “Please!”

It was with a terrible quiver that she forced herself to look away, crossing her arms and staring blurrily at the opposite wall. She heard the sounds of Bug’s feet pitter-pattering away and the little weeping noises coming from her. Sarah’s heart wrenched when the door thudded shut and the echoes of Bug’s cries ringing in the room.

She let out a sob and collapsed back into the pillows. Holding one to her face, she screamed so hard her head felt like it would explode, like her neck would break from the strain of it. Sarah held her breath for as long as she could, her brain turning fuzzy.

It wasn’t long before her lungs wrenched her back from her pillow and ripped air past her lips, making her live.

. . .

It took everything in her to continue living inside herself. Her guilt, her sorrow… it ate away at her. Her list of sins was long and crushing. To think, just three years ago, her biggest misdeed might have been screaming at her father over who knows what. Could she ever have imagined her life would turn out this way?

Where she was directly responsible for one of her only friends being executed before her? Cut open and killed because of her. Where her two other friends were condemned to a life in a dingy, dark, lifeless dungeon just for helping her? Where she’d killed her own child, intentionally or not? Where she’d ruined everything on the futile, stupid chance that she’d ever get away from this place?

And now, the one person who had loved her, hated her. Jareth abhorred her, she just knew it. She still slept by his side and ate by his side. Her title of Consort still remained intact. He still used her body, fucking her coldly each night and touching her belly each morning. But with each day that passed that she wasn’t pregnant, the look in his eyes grew more and more annoyed, and she grew more and more hopeless. How long did she have before he discarded her, the foolish girl who had squandered the king’s love on a risky-big gamble?

Then, would he send her to the gallows to be hanged and quartered too? For treason? Would he finally admit to his subjects that it was her fault their child would never exist? That it was her who had decided (tried) to leave this place, not Hoggle.

And, oh. Her poor, dead friend. Her grief was too much.

She’d lost everything in her recklessness. Every fragile gain in her dark life Underground had been crushed to nothing. Why couldn’t she just have been grateful for it all?

It was no way to live. To be stuck in this room day in and day out, not allowed to explore the castle anymore. To be touched so clinically, leather-clad hands gripping her around the hips as he fucked her from behind, barely touching her. To not be spoken to except to be told to bend over or to take off her dress or to wash herself.

Even when she tried to initiate something more -- dropping to her knees and reaching for his belt or lifting onto her toes to kiss him or hug him -- he would push her away or scold her. Enough of this, Sarah.

Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. It was all he called her now. She hadn’t realized how much she’d liked it… the way he used to call her his dear, his precious, sweet thing. It made her eyes wet with tears to think about it. Sometimes, she hated the sound of her own name from his lips.

What was worse? Being the lover and wife of the man who kidnapped her? Or the prisoner he so loathed? A body for him to use, meant to get pregnant and nothing more. Now, he saw her like the rest of the Fae did. She never would have thought it possible when he first broke her into her life here… her already miserable station had dwindled ever more in his simple abandonment of her.

It was this terrible loneliness that made her stew. Itching out of her own skin, it was excruciating. The feeling of wanting… just not to exist anymore.

Her thoughts scared her sometimes, more graphic and frightening than ever. Sarah used to imagine killing Jareth, of bashing in his head for what he’d done to her. Now… she imagined walking right off the balcony edge or running full-tilt into the stone wall just so she could hurt. Of bashing in her own ribcage with the candelabra that mocked her.

One night, with the fire flickering in her eyes as she sat alone and cold before it, she imagined sticking her hand in and watching the skin bubble up and melt off. She wondered if he’d stop her. If he’d heal her. If he’d even notice. Surely it would be ugly, the mess of boiled skin and bone… but, he barely looked at her anymore. No, she decided finally: he would leave it sore and terrible.

There was one day where she’d lain on the floor of the wardrobe and stared at the ceiling. She imagined that the roof would come crumbling around her, crushing her skull in one blissful swoop. She imagined the swift blackness that would follow, where she was just finished. Done and gone.

She got close too close to it sometimes. Like when she’d stare at his straight razor for too long and trace the blue lines of the veins in her wrist. Or when she’d observe the room’s chandelier, high enough that she could dangle from, choking, just like her friend had, for her.

The thoughts grew more obsessive with each wretched day that passed. More appealing as her skin crawled and her mind hurt her. It was relentless.

She rationalized with herself late at night, alone in the bed even as her husband slept next to her. It was the best solution, wasn’t it? To leave this pathetic existence… She’d tried to escape twice before. She knew now for certain, the consequences… well, they weren't worth it.

Besides, she would never get so far again.

There really was only one way out.

And Jareth would finally be rid of her, the girl who had disappointed him. Her future children, too, would be freed from the burden of having such a pitiable mother, one who would never be happy, not even with the light of them to brighten it. It was her penance, she thought. For killing so many people. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

Her back began to hurt from laying in the bed all day long, only getting up to wash or to get fucked or to eat so sparingly. A brittleness started to take shape in her nails and hair. Her lips cracked in her dehydration. She couldn’t be bothered anymore.

Now, she was ugly inside and out. But even as her looks seemed to fade, lines in her face far too old for someone so young… he didn’t seem to care.

The sex... How it was now, it was worse than it had been in the beginning. She’d had a taste of his love and his touch before, as trespassing and as invasive as it was. And she missed it. But now… he was punishing her with his coldness. He hated her.

One night after he’d finished using her, she felt unbearable inside. He’d left her bent over the bed with her toes barely just scraping the floor below. With trembling arms, she pulled herself up to curl sideways at the foot of bed. His release was leaving her, dripping uncomfortable between her legs. Sad and soiled and sore, she watched as he straightened behind her and started lacing up his breeches.

“Are you ever gonna love me again?” she croaked out.

He paused in his movements. Her breath caught as he found her eyes, wet and blurry as they were. He looked down at her, lying prone beneath him. “Why should I love you, after what you’ve done?” he asked her.

It made her turn her face into the bedding and cry. A wet spot bloomed there. What could she say?

He patted her once on her bottom. And she heard the sounds of his boots clicking further and further away.

. . .

It was some time later (she couldn’t be sure for the days worked so oddly now) that, one morning, with his hand on her belly, he paused. At first, she didn’t notice, her eyes looking distantly past him, tracking streams of light that bent through the warped glass window.

There was a change in the air, and she felt it. Her gaze slid back over to him. He was looking right at her. Not through her, not past her. Right at her, eyes intent.

She stilled.

“There it is,” he said, finally.

Oh, she thought, dazed. She looked down at herself. She rested her hand an inch or two above his, not quite daring to touch him. Sarah couldn’t feel anything, her magic was too weak for that, but she knew… she just knew. And with relief, she thought, finally.

“I’m…?”

He rubbed his thumb into the dip of her belly button. “Yes.”

A lump built in her throat. “Are you… happy?” she asked.

His eyes were locked onto her middle. But then they flicked up to meet hers. “Of course I’m happy, Sarah.”

He tilted his head and his eyes bored into her. “Are you not?” He said it softly but she heard the dangerous note behind it.

She tensed. “I’m happy.”

“Good,” he murmured. She gasped when he gripped her hips and leaned forward, looming. His hands compressed her hip bones and she winced. Hesitantly, she met his gaze. He looked right into her. Frightening her. “...because if… anything... happens to this child, I will be more than displeased with you.”

She trembled and nodded a jerky little nod. “I- I know… I promise.”

He looked at her for a long moment, just assessing. She quailed under his gaze, heart beginning to pound.

Then, his lips curved just a bit. He leaned forward and kissed her, a quick little smacking thing on her lips. But it amazed her. He left one long, lingering, warm touch over her belly before he left the bed, facing the day ahead.

When he’d left some time later, her fingers were pressed to her lips. And something like promise carved its space inside her.

Notes:

After my more plotty chapters, I feel a bit nervous posting this one!

Thanks for reading!
I'd love to hear what you thought! Your comments brighten my days <3

Hope you all are well! xoxo

Chapter 14: Interlude

Robert Williams sobbed violently into his hands, rocking back in forth on his chair. His wife, Karen, was whispering into his ear, glancing nervously at the two other men who shifted uncomfortably across from them.

The second biggest office room of the town police station felt extraordinarily small just then.

One of the men, Tommy, a newly-minted detective at just twenty-two years old, felt his eyes sting. With panic, he blinked the coming tears away and leaned awkwardly against the wall in the corner of the room. To see a grown man break down in such racking tears… it made him uneasy. It wasn’t right. And it was heartbreaking to see.

“It’s been almost two years!” Mr. Williams wept loudly. “How can you have nothing?”

“Mr. Williams--” Detective Bill tried to interject.

But Mr. Williams slammed his fist on the table hard, causing everyone to jump at the loud thunking noise. “My baby girl is gone!” He fell into more sobs, shoulders shaking and quivering. Mrs. Williams looked stricken beside him.

They all waited there for what felt like an eternity before Mr. Williams seemed to calm. Tommy winced as the man looked up, gazing distantly at the corner of the room. He looked terrible, red and blotchy from crying, and old and weak from everything else. Tommy remembered when the call for Sarah Williams - fifteen, missing from her home one night - came in. He’d been just a beat cop then, but Robert Williams had looked dapper and professional standing in the middle of the tiny police station, even if terribly desperate and scared. Now, Mr. Williams went about the world as if it were his own personal Hell. It was hard to see.

“Mr. Williams,” Bill said again, hesitantly, “You have no idea how sorry I am, but…there’s only so much we can do. We don’t have anything more to go on than we did when you first reported her missing, which was very little. Whoever took her, they didn’t leave a trace.”

Mrs. Williams stroked her husband’s arm when he didn’t respond. She looked up to speak, her voice shaky: “Pardon me, Detective, but… what are we supposed to do then? We can’t keep living like this, in this- this limbo. We need to know already. In your… professional opinion…?” Her words petered out and she looked down at her lap. Mr. Williams was breathing heavy at her side.

Tommy grimaced. Bill paused, clenching his fists tight. “I understand, ma’am.” Then, he sighed and smoothed out a wrinkle in the photo laying in front of him.“...Unfortunately, it is... unlikely... that Sarah is still alive, wherever she is.”

He tried to catch either of their eyes, but Mrs. Williams was staring frozen at the ground and her husband...

Mr. Williams stood up then, his chair scraping out behind him with a terrible screeching noise. He loomed over the table. His face was thunderous and beet red. He raised a shaking finger. “I don’t care what you do, but you’re going to find her! I’ll pay you if I have to. So help me God, just do your fucking jobs!” He turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The room seemed to shake with the force of it.

“Oh!” Mrs. Williams gasped, hands fluttering about in front of her. “I’m so sorry!” she said, standing up quickly. She sent them one more apologetic look as she gathered up her coat and purse before rushing after her husband. The door thudded a second time and Tommy swallowed a sandpaper swallow.

Bill leaned back in his seat and rubbed a hand over his face. He thumbed at the papers in front of him where a dark-haired girl smiled innocently up from the glossy photo she was trapped in. He sighed and closed the manila folder, tucking the files under his arm as he stood.

Before he reached the door, he clapped a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Don’t say I never warned you, son,” he said, feeling world-weary.

Notes:

Here's a little ditty! I know it's short but I didn't want to include it in a regular chapter because of the pov change.

Chapter 15: Books

Summary:

“The King said I could have as many books as I wanted.”

Sarah could see her future. Something like love waited there, just beyond her reach. Her fingers brushed against it… she was so close. Nine months. Her task was simple. And, well… she was made for it, wasn’t she? How hard could it be?

And so, she dared to ask. At dinner one evening, she fiddled with her hands in her lap and peeked at him over the table. He was eating idly with one hand and observing a crystal with the other.

He looked up. She blushed and her eyes darted away.

She peeked at him again to see his lips curved up into a smirk. “Yes, my dear?”

She squirmed in her seat, feeling warm. Fluttery inside. “I was… wondering,” she looked all around, at the wall behind his shoulder, at the table, at the stone floor, at her lap, “...if I could visit the library again...?”

He tapped a finger against his mouth and looked at her for a long moment. “The library… why?”

“Um,” she wavered, tugging at the ends of her sleeves, “well, I don’t really know what to… expect with...” Sarah left a brushing touch against her belly before she pulled away and tucked her hand between her knees. “And I thought there might be books about it… you know.”

He hummed. “There are.”

“Oh,” she said, “That’s… good.”

“I’ll have someone bring them to you.”

Her heart thumped. “Well,” she said, hardly believing her nerve, “I mean-- I thought maybe I could go…”

“Did you?” he asked casually. The crystal in his hand disappeared with a pop and he leaned forward onto his elbows, resting his chin on his clasped hands. He looked at her like she was a curious thing.

Haltingly, she nodded. Her knuckles were white in their straining. Sarah babbled in the silence, “I just thought maybe it would be good to get out. To stretch my legs a little. I remember when Karen was pregnant… she went on a walk every morning. I think- I think it’s good for the baby--”

He made a considering sort of noise and her mouth snapped shut. His eyes were hard again. He leaned back in his seat. “Do not presume to manipulate me, Sarah.”

Her lips parted and her eyes went wide. “I’m not--!”

Jareth tilted his head. “No?”

She shook her head, mouth gaping uselessly. “I just… I really thought...” Her face was becoming hot and her eyes were itching. Miserably, she said: “Jareth, I don’t feel healthy stuck in here all day. It can’t be good.”

His lips pursed. “From what I recall… you didn’t care one bit about the health of our child the first time around. Why the sudden concern?”

Sorrow filled her. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat and looked down with blurry eyes. “I feel terrible about it, okay? I- I just… I want it to work this time.”

She stared at her lap for what felt like a century, burning all over with the shame of it. He was silent for a long time.

Finally, he spoke: “Very well.”

Her head shot up and she perked up in her chair. “R-really?”

He inclined his head. “You may continue visiting the library. However,” he said, drawing the syllables out long and steely, “two guards will accompany you at all times. And you will return here within an hour of leaving.”

A loopy, disbelieving smile stretched across her face. “Oh, thank you,” she breathed out, almost bouncing in place.

Jareth leaned forward again. He held out a hand and waited. Her eyes darted to his hand and then back to his face. He raised an eyebrow. Warily, she reached her own hand out and he took it in his. Over all the food, he gripped her hand, just shy of too hard. His thumb ran along her knuckles.

He looked her in the eye. “My trust is not to be taken lightly.”

“I-I know,” she stammered. “I promise… I won’t do anything wrong.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and smiled.

. . .

Breathing the air of the rest of the castle was a balm to her soul. The smell of the wide stone corridors, the scent of the people who had been there before her lingering in the air. Even the smell of her guards’ metallic armor. It was different and it was good.

On her first trip to the library the next day, she’d been beside herself with excitement and nerves. The guards -- who she knew stood guard outside her door each day, ordered to make sure she stayed put -- made her jumpy. She shied away from them -- with their weapons and boots and hidden faces. Was it one of them who sliced open her friend? One of them who kicked the stool out from under him? They didn’t speak to her, not ever. They lingered in her periphery and it was all she could do to ignore the itching of their eyes on her every move as she perused the shelves.

The library was beautiful and uneasy that first day. The smell of the old paper. Of the ink and parchment. It was her favorite place in the entire castle and it made her heart bloom out. But… her eye was always on the clock, fearing the ticking-tocking of her time there away. She was scared to get caught there, to stay too long and to anger her husband. She had less than an hour. How could she ever find anything like that? She’d learned a long time ago that this library didn’t follow any sort of organization system. You had to hunt for it. Or, if you had magic… well, lucky you, she thought bitterly.

Well, lucky her, she thought sometime later with a smile, as book titles beckoned her from the shelves.

With fifteen minutes to spare, her arms stacked full with any and all books she could find on pregnancy, childbirth, and even raising children, she headed for the exit, feeling pleased with herself.

But just before she could leave, the castle librarian stopped her, barring her path. The stocky little man glared at her and crossed his arms. She paused and bit her lip.

“What are you doing, girl?” he demanded, adjusting his spectacles. “You better not be leaving with all of those.”

Sarah flushed hot. “Oh,” she muttered, “I’m sorry… is it not allowed?”

The librarian scoffed. “Of course not, mortal.”

She blinked rapidly, dispelling tears as he reached out and took most of her stack from her. Sarah stared down at her meager few books left in her hands. It made her angry.

The librarian was turning away with her books and it surged in her. “Wait,” she said.

He looked back at her with contempt and impatience. “What?” he snapped.

“The King said I could have as many books as I wanted.”

He paused. Then, he sneered. “What business do you have reading?”

It offended her. And her mouth fell open. “Excuse you,” she said and stuck her nose up in the air, thinking of that production she’d seen her mother in where she’d played a woman haughty and commanding, striking submission into everyone on the stage. “Are you going to ignore a command from the King?”

He glared at her. “I hear no command from my King, just words from his consort.”

Her heart shriveled inside her. But she looked down at him past her nose and affected a sympathetic tone, “Hmm. Do you really want to take that chance? Just think… what will happen when I tell him how you refused to help his consort educate herself on such … important matters?” She gestured to the pile of books he held. He looked down and blanched, his beady eyes flicking from her to the books to the guards and back.

Finally, he made an angry noise and shoved the books back into her arms. She stumbled back a little. But she righted herself. “Thank you kindly,” she said, saccharine sweet. She brushed past him without looking back, hearing only his mutters and the footsteps of the guards falling in behind her.

That was fun, she thought to herself. Satisfaction coursed through her for a long time after that. The small curve of her lips stayed stuck even as she returned to the solitude of the room.

It was a relief to her arms as she dumped her books onto her vanity. Brushing her hair out of her face, she plopped onto the chaise and cracked open the book that looked most promising.

It didn’t take long for it to become her new obsession. She reveled in having something to fill her days.

Read, read, read. It was most of what she did. She read dusty old tomes filled with rhymes and times of old and she read polished leather-bound books straightforward with their information.

It was a pleasant and terrifying distraction. To know what would happen to her body. To really know… it disquieted her. But she just shook her head and shouldered on, picking up her next book, and her next and next. Returning to the library whenever she finished one of them and replacing it quickly with another, remaining unaccosted even as the librarian scoffed at the sight of her.

There was one book she’d picked up on a whim. It had been buried under stacks of larger tomes and she was surprised she’d found it at all. A small green battered thing entitled simply Woman, the cover engraved with the silhouette of a pregnant woman. She’d shrugged and thrown it in her pile.

When she’d picked it up one evening, she slammed it shut not one minute later, a hot blush taking over her face. But it became an itch in her fingers, the curiosity. And she’d peeled it back open, glancing around her before hunching over it and devouring it. It made her squirm and flush, what was written. It was so lewd, she could barely believe it. The things it described!

And it wasn’t just that book. All of them, they didn’t shy from anything. Less scientific than she was used to with her school textbooks, they provided her with anecdotes of womanhood and biology and sex. It shocked her, how explicit some of them were.

She remembered the horror she’d felt the evening of her wedding, with the depravity taking place around her. That Jareth had made her take part in.

It was just indecent, she thought, blushing at an artistic rendering of the female body in one of her books on pregnancy. She’d never seen anything like it.

He’d caught her fidgeting over the green book when he’d returned one night. She hadn’t even noticed him entering, absorbed into the liaison being described when he cleared his throat and she jumped, gasping.

He was watching her by the door. She slammed the book shut, blushing hot. She tried to hide it underneath her skirts but he strolled closer and plucked it from her hands. Her heart thumped at being caught reading such a thing.

When he saw the cover, his eyebrows raised and he grinned at her. “Well, well, well, I didn’t know you had it in you,” he laughed, catching sight of her red face. “It’s a fun one, isn’t it?”

She stammered her denials, her ignorance, her explanations, but he just smiled and handed the book back to her. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to open it back up for days after that.

As she crawled through her stacks of books, she learned a lot. Even past her initial embarrassment, it was a lot of information to handle. Anatomy, gestation, maternal health, labor, post-birth. Everything that can go wrong.

It was so much. She felt like she was lagging back, far behind where she should be. She was pregnant for a second time and she didn’t even know anything more than the bare basics?

What she learned… she wondered, would that be her experience? These books were meant for Fae women, after all. And Sarah knew next to nothing about any of that. She’d never paid much attention to Karen when she’d been pregnant and nobody had ever talked about this to her -- not to this extent.

It was so foreign, all of it. Her toes were barely scraping the bottom of the pool she’d been thrown in and she was only now learning how to swim.

But… there was a goal to reach. Nine months, nine months. She would make it work.

With her new knowledge, food became easier to eat. Water was kinder on her tongue. Sleep was reserved for nighttime. Life had a purpose. She’d spoon food bursting with flavor and tingling with spices into her mouth, imagining it going down, down, down. She’d keep a glass of water always nearby to soothe her throat whenever the barest of tickles passed by. To nurture the barely there life in her. She’d stroke her belly and urge, there, there, grow big and strong for me.

Jareth was pleased by her initiative, she could tell. His lips would curve when he returned for the evening, finding her nose buried in some book or other, and he’d greet her softly. He’d watch, something satisfied in his eyes, as she ate and drank enough for two. He’d ask her what she’d learned each day and she’d tell him, at first haltingly -- for there was a tension in the air, knowing what had happened not so long ago -- and then in a sort of spooked awe as her nervousness thawed with their meal. He’d offer to answer any questions she had and though she’d been too embarrassed initially, she’d soon found herself spilling out her crammed confusion, listening intently as he explained the things she couldn’t quite grasp from her thick, meandering texts.

And she calmed under his softening affections. When he stroked his hand over the line of her shoulder. When he used her more often, more gently, and more closely. When he smiled at her, when he kissed her on the forehead, and when he looked at her, not with disdain, but with a careful sort of fondness. When he spoke with her, listening to her words.

Things hadn’t changed much, but for all of this, she was forever grateful. Even as he controlled her every action, as he sometimes watched her, examining and calculating and cold, as he demanded her utmost obedience, his hands and his voice warmed her.

He made her feel good again. And she could look past her fear. Like on the mornings when she’d wake up to him drawing shapes on her back or the evenings when she’d fall asleep wrapped up in his arms.

Or like when, one evening, he’d joined her in the bath and washed her hair, soft and sweet. She’d sighed into his touch and let him wash her body and let him dry her with a plush towel, shivering from the gentleness. She let him tug her out of the bathroom and she let him lay her out along the chaise before the fire.

He joined her. Chest to heaving chest, he held her to him, the line of their bodies tight against each other. The crackling of the fire sparkled in her ear just like his touch sparked feeling along her skin. He kissed her softly, his fingers caressing the skin of her cheek, of her neck and her collarbone. It was lazy and slow and decadent. He was so close and her skin burned hot all over.

His kiss turned her body boneless and his hands urged her to melt into him. Her breath turned to pants as he rolled their hips together. As he shifted and hooked her leg over his hip, pressing his cock just against her. She gasped a shivery little gasp into his mouth. And his hands took hold of her hips and moved her, grinding her slowly, slickly against him.

She came like that, panting into the skin of his neck and letting out shocked little noises as he continued rocking circles into that nervy, sensitive spot between her legs. “Beautiful Sarah,” he groaned into her hair as she did.

Coming down, she shivered and blushed even as he moved her body beneath him. He settled his weight between her legs and his eyes caught hers. She was struck by it. Her lips parted and she stared at him in soft wonder.

He smiled at her and kissed her again, a long, lasting, indulgent thing. His chest was warm against hers and his hands were hot gripping her hips. A long sigh escaped her as he pressed inside her. A steady pace, an inch by inch crawl that made her toes curl and something in her belly jump. He groaned into her mouth as he filled her fully. The feeling of it all, the closeness of him, the pleasing pressure that built, it made her quiver in his hold even for the time he remained still, just kissing into her. In her everywhere.

When he moved it was calm, deep, and dragging. He rocked into her, the line of his chest and the grip of his hands angling her so that each roll of his hips made her mewl, their kiss turning sloppy in their distraction below. It was so soft, so sweet. It lit up her body, every single one of her nerves bubbling up inside her. She held onto his shoulders and then his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and tugging him ever closer as he moved within her and all around her. He breathed words into her skin, into her mouth all the while. “Oh precious,” his voice rasped, “my Sarah.”

He… he… was making love to her. The emotion of it made her eyes sting.

He never strayed from it, maintaining that slow rolling, dragging motion that made her whimper into him. That made her eyes flutter shut. It built and built, little by little, slowly and surely. And when it tipped over, she gasped out loud and her body curved, strung tight. She pulsed with it, trembling all over as his cock dragged that sweet feeling out of her. As he continued driving deeply-slowly into her, not stopping until he, too, stilled and groaned his release into her thrumming body.

They stayed there, just breathing heavily against each other, the damp slide of their skin hot between them. He kissed at the pulse point in her neck. “Lovely, perfect girl.”

It made her shiver again and a pleasant soreness radiated when her body clenched down around him.

It came on suddenly, the lump in her throat and the watering of her eyes. She gripped him tight to her, holding herself still against him, but it all wanted to burst out so badly. It made her shake.

A loud, wet, honking sob left her.

“Oh Sarah,” he said quietly.

Tears burst out of her at that. She clung to him, hiding her face into his neck, so humiliated that this was happening. She couldn’t hear anything past her snuffling, pitiful cries, but she felt overcome as he pulled out and rolled them back onto their sides. Gently, he tugged apart the grip she had around his neck.

Red-faced and wet-cheeked, she felt exposed as he looked at her like that. She tried to hide her face in her hands, but he took her wrists in one of his and stopped her. Her eyes scrunched tight against her suddenly fast, suddenly violent tears.

But they opened again when he wiped the wetness from her cheeks, fingers soft against her skin. He smiled at her, kind. And it made the tears come harder, her face crumpling up. He clucked his tongue and gathered her back into his arms, tucking her into him. She cried into his chest as he ran his hands up and down her skin, murmuring soothing noises.

Her body coursed with so many things that night.

Notes:

Is it hot in here or is it just me? xD

This one was fun to write!

I'd love to know what you thought! Consider leaving a comment if that's your thing! <3

Chapter 16: The Alone

Summary:

Sarah took the bin from him, wrapping her hands around the rim and looking inside.

Notes:

All aboard the angst train? All right! Choo choo

previous tags are being invoked again :/

He held her hair back from her face as she kneeled over the toilet, retching. “God,” she choked, feeling disgusting. “It’s horrible,” she gripped the edge of the toilet and heaved again.

Jareth made a sympathetic noise behind her. He played with her hair and stroked her back until her stomach calmed. “Here,” he said, handing her a glass of water.

She slumped back against the wall and drank, grimacing at the taste. She made a disgusted face and he smiled. He reached out and helped her stand up on weak legs. “He’s just letting you know he’s there, that’s all,” he said.

“Well, if he could be a little nicer about it, I’d appreciate it,” she muttered, leaning over the sink to rinse out her mouth.

“Wait,” she said, realizing. She glanced at him. “He?”

Jareth was leaned against the counter, just observing her. He tilted his head. “Perhaps.”

Her brow furrowed. “When will you know?”

“Once you give birth, I presume.”

“Oh.”

He smiled and beckoned her. “You should eat.”

Sarah followed him out to the table and sat, feeling queasy at the sight of all the food. He must have seen it on her face because he passed her a simple bowl of fruit and some toast.

She nibbled at it, thinking to herself as he served himself. “So… you want a boy?”

He hummed. “I do need an heir.”

“Right,” Sarah said. She stewed for a long minute. “Why can’t the heir be a girl?” she blurted out finally.

He smiled at her indulgently. “Oh, Sarah. That’s just not how it works.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like the concept is so novel. The Aboveground isn’t exactly champing at the bit for female monarchs, either.”

She looked away. Something about it made her anxious. A worry was rolling around inside her.

Her hand rested on her barely curved belly. Her eyes darted back over him. “And… if it is a girl?”

He took a bite of his porridge and leaned back in his seat. He looked at her and said: “Then we’ll keep trying.”

Her stomach rolled again and she looked down. “... will you be disappointed with me if it is?”

He set his spoon down with a metallic clang and her fingers tightened around her seat.

“Honestly, Sarah,” he sighed. “Do you take me for a fool? Whether the babe is a boy or a girl… it’s not something either of us can control.”

Her spine seemed to loosen and she let out a breath. “Right,” she said again. “But… what if they’re all girls?”

“Then we’ll keep trying,” he said again. It jolted her and it shut her up. Something about it… it unnerved her. How many kids did he expect her to have?

“Enough of that,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He looked at her over the table. “I have to travel to the Dwarf Kingdom tomorrow. I’ll be gone for five days.”

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment, twirling her spoon in her bowl of fruit. “You will?”

“Unfortunately,” he sighed. He pursed his lips and watched her closely. “I trust my absence will not result in any… misbehavior.”

She looked down at the table. There was a chip in the rim of her bowl. How odd. “No,” she mumbled and shook her head to prove it.

She swallowed past a lump in her throat and waited a beat. “You’ve…”

“I’ve...?”

“You’ve never left before…” It came out in a whisper.

He tilted his head and reached over the table to pat the top of her hand. “No, I haven’t,” he agreed. “But it’s only for a few days. I’ll be back soon enough.”

She forced out an understanding sort of noise and continued playing with her food. “Um…. I- I’ll miss you,” she said, staring hotly into her bowl.

He was silent for a moment. “I’ll miss you too, my dear,” he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing softly.

. . .

In the darkness of night, he would sing. He would sit by her hips and lean over, murmuring soft lyrics for the baby to hear, kissing the small bump, and stroking her skin. Some nights she’d wake to his voice curling over her and around her.

“Can he hear you?” she mumbled that night, curling into the bedding, half-asleep.

He shook his head, his lips tickling just barely against the skin above her belly button. “He can feel the magic of it.”

Sarah reached out and touched his hand, dozy and moved. He smiled at her, gleaming teeth in the dark room. “Sleep now, Sarah.”

He threaded his fingers through hers and began singing again. The warmth of his hand and the deepness of his voice lulling her back to sleep.

It was nice.

. . .

He left the next evening.

In the privacy of their room, he said his farewells, kissing her deeply and looking long into her eyes, deep and sweetly frightening. Threatening and loving. Her fingers clung to his when he stepped back but he chucked her chin and smirked.

She blinked back tears when he was gone, disappeared behind the door too soon.

She didn’t know why she was so sad over it. Only a year before and she would have been delighted to be free of him, if only for a few days. But she’d always been afraid of being alone, and now… well, had she ever felt so alone in her life?

The first night was hard. When she crawled into that big, cold bed he shared with her… she clutched his pillow to her face and wrapped the blankets tight around her neck, touching at the ring on her finger. The emptiness of the room made her nervous, made her worry a monster would come up from under the bed and attack. Or the guards! Oh, the guards who were right there on the other side of the door, stationed outside the room at all hours. Would they barge in and take her, rip off her clothes and use her while the king was away? The thought of it made her sick.

She missed the telephones back home. To be able to dial a number and check in with someone. What if there was a rebellion while he was gone? What if he was hurt? What if he died?

And… and what would happen to her? To the baby? She pressed a hand to her belly and hoped to God it was a boy.

It was all she could think of, the possibilities and probabilities swarming around in her head.

Would they, would they, she fretted to herself, too keyed up to sleep. It made her get up and lodge a chair under the door handle. She collapsed back into bed, so tired but so awake. But still her mind wouldn’t rest and next she had to stack book after book onto the seat of the angled chair, hoping they would crash and wake her if anything happened. And then, again, she had to rip herself from the bed to balance a candelabra on top, because what if the books weren’t loud enough?

She only shuddered herself to sleep many, many hours later.

In the daylight, the silence, the aloneness wasn’t unusual. She was used to it by now. But it was somehow different and it got to her.

She couldn’t bring herself to leave the room that first day, not even to go to her favorite place. She just sat in that room alone, staring at the pages of her book, barely absorbing anything, but never looking up even as little goblins streamed in to serve food and stoke the fire. It was all she could do not to look at Bug. The temptation was strong. But… what if Jareth was watching her through his crystals, right now, at this very moment? Sarah wouldn’t condemn another life for her selfishness.

Though it made her lower back cramp up, a dull sort of ache that penetrated the mind, though her gown began aggravating her, and though the heat of the fire tugged an abnormal amount of sweat out of her, Sarah barely moved from the chaise the entire day.

When night had fallen, a thundering knock sounded at the door.

She walked across the room slowly, holding her book tight to her chest. With wide eyes, she cracked open the door, peering out into the corridor.

A guard stood there, helmet turned to face her.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“All good?” His voice was deep but she couldn’t see his face.

“Um,” her voice quavered, “yes, thanks.”

He inclined his head and stepped back, resuming his position at the door opposite his partner.

She slammed the door shut and leaned back against it, her heart thudding loud inside her. Her eyes darted toward the stacks of books and the candelabra she’d shoved aside for the goblins that morning and set to work, carefully, silently wedging her contraption under the door for the night, acutely aware of those large men just a few feet from her.

She worked up the courage to visit the library late on the third day. But she regretted it almost immediately. The walk there taxed her. She tried to watch the guards from the corner of her eyes, but it made her dizzy. She noticed the curling of her stomach and beading sweat dotting her skin. It must have been the lack of sleep getting to her. That’s all.

In the library, she wandered up and down the shelves vacantly, her belly feeling empty and gnawing, barely able to focus. Oh, she realized, she hadn’t eaten breakfast. Stupid, stupid. She wanted to smack herself right in the face. It wasn’t good for the baby. She’d be a horrible mother, she just knew it. Why had Jareth ever wanted her? She wasn’t worth it. Even her parents would agree!

When she went to leave the library only a few minutes after arriving, a single disappointing book in hand, she tripped on the leg of a chair. One of the guards caught her by the arm. It made her flinch as he hauled her back upright.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, burning hot.

He let go of her and surprised her when he spoke. “Are you ill?”

“What?” she mumbled, wiping at her forehead. “No, ‘m fine.”

She felt limp, like she was being held up by strings as she walked haltingly back to the room, the guards’ eyes heavy on her back. She wiped at her forehead and her breath seemed to be coming on heavy.

Back in the room, she tried to eat something, shoving pieces of bread into her mouth and gulping down water. But it made her gut churn. Damned if she didn’t and damned if she did. She tried, she tried to be a good mom. She forced down the food, the nourishment her baby needed, but her body revolted against it. She was forced from her chair and into the bathroom.

She cried into the toilet, missing Jareth and his comfort. He would make this all better, she knew. He would. Weakly, she stumbled over to the bath and ran the tap, making sure the water wasn’t too hot. She’d read hot temperatures weren’t good for the baby.

Even as she dropped into the warm water, she shivered and shivered and sweated and sweated. A fever? She remembered the last fever she’d had. She’d been twelve and hating the world. Karen had recently moved in and in a show of goodwill, had made her chicken noodle soup and brought it to her bedside. But Sarah hadn’t touched it, bitter that her father’s new wife would do something for her even her own mother never had. Never would. Sarah remembered how sad Karen had looked when she’d come up to retrieve the bowl from her room and how sickly satisfied she’d felt afterward.

She must have dozed off in the tub because she became aware again with a jolt that sloshed the freezing cold bath water all over. A terrible cramping was stabbing, ripping into her belly and she hunched over, eyes clenched tight, a shriek of pain escaping her. Sarah breathed heavily through her nose and clutched at her stomach. There was a pink tint to the water. What...?

Her eyes widened in horror when she realized. A silent scream tore at her throat. “H-help!” her voice rattled, weak and reedy. “Help!” she tried again. In so much pain she could barely think, she clawed out of the tub and tore down Jareth’s robe from the door, throwing it over herself and fumbling with the tie. A dull, throbbing ache rocked through her pelvis and she whimpered.

Her feet were barely under her as she staggered out of the bathroom, dripping wet all over the floor and teeth chattering. She was bent over, arms pressed tight to her middle as she tried… she tried so hard to reach the door. “Please!” she shrieked as loud as she could, “I need help!”

A wave of pain passed through her and she crumpled to her knees. She curled into herself and cried into the stone. “HELP!” she screamed. It was a long, drawn out thing that echoed, shocking. “Help!” she whimpered again to no one but herself.

There was a great big slam at the door and it was a relief when she heard books and candelabras scattering across the stone floor.

She felt large hands hauling her up, and she heard yelling and she heard herself crying.

She was awake for the whole thing.

. . .

When it was over, she stared at her hands. At the blood-soaked sheets on the floor. At the trash bin two feet away.

Little goblins were shuffling around, cleaning up the mess left by the healers. The mess from her body.

One of the guards walked in. He stopped by the foot of the bed. She tugged her bloodied robe closer to her body and stared at the trash bin.

“The King has been informed,” the guard said. Tears leaked from her eyes. “He is returning tomorrow.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” she whispered. The guard didn’t respond.

One of the goblins picked up the trash bin. “Wait,” she said. The goblin looked at her with wide eyes.

“I want to see,” she said, not bothering to wipe her cheeks. She shakily propped herself up to sit as the goblin tottered toward her, the small trash bin almost the size of him.

Sarah took the bin from him, wrapping her hands around the rim and looking inside.

Her eyes were heavy-feeling as she stared into the bin. Her heart was broken. She stared at the thing for a long time, just looking. Hugging it to her chest, tears dripped down inside, clinking against the metal bottom. Why couldn’t her tears have magic like all those fairy tale tears did? She moved so that they’d dribble over it. Come back to life, she urged with her tears, live again, be.

The bin was pulled from her grasp. It was Bug, holding the base with her tiny hands. She looked up at Sarah sadly before tugging it away. Sarah let her, just watching as the bin was tottered out of the room, never to be seen again.

The guard was still there. “It wasn’t my fault,” she insisted again. It wasn’t my fault, she wanted to scream.

But she was so weak in her heart that she couldn’t.

The guard shifted and she heard the metal of his armor dragging. “Save it for the King.”

She flinched back and hid her face in the collar of the robe.

His footsteps clanged out of the room and the door slammed shut behind him. Soon, the room was empty and she was alone again, really, very, so, so alone. Lifeless. She laid, bereft, upon the stripped bed, her bloodied legs strewn out and her belly deflating, aching and dying.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she whispered to herself. “It wasn’t my fault,” she tried to convince herself.

Notes:

:'( Sadness

Sooo... I'm kind of worried this is coming across as shock value. That's definitely not my intention, as the events of this chapter have been in the works for a while. I realize it happened kind of fast (which I am crediting to the chapter method I'm going with? perhaps the effect of it is lost when it's read as each chapter is updated instead of all the way through like a regular story?) but if it is coming across as shock value... do you have any tips on how to avoid that? Or how better to lead into something?

Like, all of this has a purpose, but maybe that can't be seen right now?

Ehh idk.. what do you guys think? I'm pretty new to writing so if you have any advice or whatever, please share!

And like I've said, I do plan on coming back through once I've finished this and refining everything and tying up all my loose ends. So I'm trying not to freak out over anything right now because this is basically the first draft.

So that's my whining done lol. Well despite all that, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you thought <333
Thank you all for reading!

Chapter 17: Blame

Summary:

“Sarah,” he said. He was close now, standing right by the bedside. His hand fell on her shoulder.

Notes:

Tags have been updated!

:( Next stop: Sadnessville.

It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t--

Jareth’s straight razor shivered in her trembling fingers. The golden bathroom light glinted oddly against the silver of the blade, out of place. She shuddered out a breath.

--but it was. It was her fault. It had to be, it just had to, she thought, rocking back and forth, leaning against the sink counter.

Sarah racked her brain. She needed to know -- what had she done wrong?

The bath must’ve been too hot last night. That was it! She should have been more careful with that.

But… no. She’d made sure to keep the temperature low. Then… then, what if she’d eaten something wrong? A food forbidden for pregnant mortal women but not for the Fae. But, no. Jareth had already said, her body wasn’t any different from a Fae woman’s. Not where it mattered.

Her eyes scrunched tight and one hand came to grasp at her weakened belly. And she knew... she hadn’t eaten enough yesterday. Left her baby to starve in her. Was that it?

Or… or was it all that abuse she’d done to herself after the first one. She’d done irreparable harm, hadn’t she? She’d never, ever be able to have kids…

“Stupid,” she hissed to herself, dropping the blade to clink on the counter and digging her fingers into the hollows of her pelvis, a burrowing, painful, remembering touch that went through the fabric of her nightgown. Jareth would be so, so mad. Madder than he’d ever been.

He would hate her again. He would kill her. The hours ticked by and she was ever closer to losing one other thing. She imagined what he’d do when he got back. Would he storm in, raging? Would he hurt her, use her? Kill her remaining friends? Her eyes watered.

… would he stare at her coldly, distantly, hating-ly, again? Cast her out and get rid of her for good? How could he want her anymore, the disappointing girl who had killed not one, but two of their children. Two escapes and two dead babes. It was her third strike and she was out. She was done for.

Now folded over and crouching on the stone floor, her head felt heavy.

But she’d tried so hard. She’d tried so hard to make it work. She’d wanted it to work. It wasn’t her fault. It… it just happened. There was nothing she could have done!

And yet… wasn’t there? She could have called for the healers as soon as she started feeling ill, she could have made sure to eat properly, she could have asked for a sleeping medicine, she could have calmed herself, avoiding the stress she knew was so bad for the baby. She could have called out Jareth’s name, hoping against hope that he’d hear her.

She hadn’t done any of that. She’d just let it happen.

Sarah stood up with a groan, feeling so old and so young all at once. Scared of life and the future, unsure and ungrown, yet still burdened by the crushing of guilt crashing into her shoulders, the responsibility of it all. Her hair hanging past her face, she swiped the blade off the counter and limped to the bath.

She stepped in it, one foot slow and then the next, the bottom of her dress drenching through and weighing her down. The water was too cold and she shivered when she sat down, dropping down enough for the water to seep through the entire gown, soaking her to the bone.

She stared at the ceiling, blade held trembling in her hand, her breath steaming against the frigid water lapping at her chin.

Sarah hated herself. She was a wretched being that didn’t deserve to be. She would never see her seventeenth birthday. She was grateful for it.

Her chest felt like it was caving in, but she flicked open the razor with a certainty she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. She lifted it above the water and stared at it, sorely tempted, and sorely sure. She had to. She couldn’t bear any other course. She couldn’t bear herself, and she couldn’t bear a child.

She lifted her wrists out of the water just enough and set the blade against the skin of her left inner wrist, lingering. With the edge of it, she traced her meandering blue-colored veins. She shuddered once. And then a second time. The promise of sharpness tickled her translucent, fading skin. Do it, do it, the voices in her head whispered.

Be free and be done. Sarah held it there and took a deep breath, a calm overtaking her.

But the bathroom door opened. Her head snapped sideways to look. A feeling of pure terror coursed through her. Jareth was there, standing at the door all the way across the wide bathroom. Her heartbeat skyrocketed when his eyes tracked over her poised blade. Fury twisted his face. He lunged for her and she panicked, gasping.

She sat up fast, splashing water all over. In a single decisive swipe, she ripped the blade across her wrist. His voice was loud and fuzzy in the background but she couldn’t hear it over the sound of her own shriek. Her body seized in the pain, jolting and curling. Choking for air, she looked down on what she’d done. A jagged, weeping mess of red. The bath was tinging pink again, not with her baby’s death but with her own. Warmth was seeping out of her faster than ever.

She fumbled to bring the blade to her other wrist. But he got there before she could. “No!” she shrieked when he seized her hands in his, a punishing grip so hard that the blade dropped from her hand and into the water. “Jareth, no!” she sobbed. She tried to pull back but her vision was swimming, black dots floating all around. He yanked her toward him and water sloshed all around.

She was screeching and crying as he pulled her out of the tub and dropped her on the floor. She shook into the cold floor, fighting his hold. But she was so weak and he wrestled her still, holding her down with his weight on her back. He wrenched her injured arm away from her chest and ripped off his glove.

He wrapped his bare hand around her wrist and murmured something. She cried, cheek pressed against the edge of the bath. The feeling of his magic tingled through her arm. The skin she tore open stitched itself back together.

She burned with the heat of the bloodied magic running through her veins and she cried into the wet porcelain.

He was breathing heavily behind her. “You stupid girl!” he spat at her.

“Why?” she moaned. “Why would you--?”

He made an angry noise and she reached up to cover her ears, recoiling from him. The weight left her back and she could breathe again. Her disappointing breath.

He took her by the shoulders and forced her to turn. She slumped back against the tub, feeling the drip, drip, dripping of the water leaking from her dress.

She couldn’t look at him. She covered her face with her hands, but not before noticing her wrist, painted with homeless blood but good as new. Her veins and her life were still intact.

There was a feeling she couldn’t name crawling up her insides.

She saw him then, kneeling in front of her, his shirt soaked through with water and splotched pink. He stared at her, his face grave and his eyes dark. He looked tired.

“Why, Sarah?” he said.

Her face crumpled and more tears dripped down her face, wetting the already wet collar of her dress. “You weren’t meant to be back so soon.”

“Why?” he asked, grabbing her by the arms and gripping tight. His fingers dug into her skin and she choked on a sob.

“I had to,” she whispered into her hands. She insisted again. “I had to.”

He was silent.

Her eyes were half-closed but welled up all the way. “Are you gonna get rid of me now?”

“Get…. rid of you?” His voice was low, quiet.

“I messed up… I- I messed up so bad,” she wailed. She cried steadily, hiccuping something terrible. “ Jareth, I’m- I’m so…. sorry! Please, please don’t hate me again…I can’t take it!”

She shook, her head falling back limply against the rim of the tub. “I tried so hard. I did, I promise I did. I don’t- I don’t know what happened!”

She sobbed. “‘m sorry. ‘m sorry. ‘m sorry…” she whispered over and over and over.

“Enough,” he said, “We’ll speak later. Right now, you need to rest.”

Her head lolled back and a moan left her when he lifted her, arms snuck under her knees and her back. She clutched pitifully at his soaked shirt as he carried her out of the bathroom, weeping silently. He sat her on the edge of the bed and tugged her drenched nightgown off her shivering body. Then, he nudged her under the covers, tucking them tight around her before turning to walk away. But her hand reached out, clinging onto his last few fingers.

“Please,” she said, whimpering, already fading, “please, don’t leave me.”

He paused.

She was half-asleep and so exhausted as he crawled in beside her, sitting propped up against the headboard, their sides pressed together. He was warm against her and silent, breathing slowly, the up and down of his bare torso calming her.

She drifted off soon after, still clinging to his hand.

. . .

She woke up dazedly to the sounds of speaking. Alone again in the bed, she frowned into the sheets, reaching out for something… something.

The fuzz in her brain cleared and she became aware. Her eyes peeled open. Daylight streamed through, too bright, the dark morning hours long gone. Jareth was speaking with a guard at the door, wearing only his silk sleep pants and his amulet. Her breath hitched. Her eyes clenched shut tight. A few seconds passed…

She peeked again. The shuttered eye holes of the guard’s helmet were turned in her direction. And Jareth was looking over at her.

Her heart stopped.

She hid her face in the bed, scared. She listened to the sounds of him dismissing the guard and shutting the door, her nerves rattling.

“Sarah,” he said. He was close now, standing right by the bedside. His hand fell on her shoulder.

She curled up more, away. Miserable.

“Sarah.”

Her fists tightened in the soft sheets easily. She was half-expecting her ripped tendons to not let her, for them to be aching and weak. But there was nothing wrong with her. She was perfectly fine. It made her want to cry.

The bed sank and a warmth surrounded her. He curled up behind her, pressing his chest to her back, wrapping an arm around her middle, hand gentle against her belly. His front lined the back of her from head to toe.

She quivered, a wave of something building in her, her body tense and strung tight.

“The guards think you did it,” he said. He rubbed circles into her belly, soft.

Her eyes shut tight.

“Did you?”

“No,” she choked out, and she flushed, “Yes. Maybe.... I don’t know!”

“You don’t know?” There was something steely in his question.

She tensed. “I-I didn’t mean to,” she said, her voice weak. “It just happened. It was so fast. I don’t know...”

He cut her off. “Why did the guards have to kick down a barricade to get to you?”

Sarah went silent. Her eyes watered and she felt ashamed.

“Well?” he asked.

“I just- I got scared.”

“Scared of what?”

She gripped the sheets and burned hot, too aware of him right there. “It wasn’t.... I wasn’t trying to keep them out so I could…so I could....” She shook her head aggressively, “I just- I dunno.... it was silly...”

“Tell me.”

She reached to cover her face with her hands, but her arms were clamped into her chest by his own. So she turned her face into the pillow. “I was worried something would happen while you were gone,” she said quietly. “I got scared… I thought the guards would… I don’t know! It was stupid.”

“Have the guards done anything to suggest they would… harm you?”

“...No,” she said in a hoarse whisper, embarrassed. “But- please, believe me,” she said, “It wasn’t anything bad, I promise. But I thought... what would happen if- if you got hurt… or-or if there was a revolt… Jareth, everyone hates me here. They’d hurt me, they’d kill me! They’d kill our- our...”

He sighed, a frustrated sound. She shuddered. Her teeth were chattering in the intensity, her jaw vibrating with it all.

“There is no need to be concerned over this,” he told her. “Nothing will happen to you while I live.”

“But if you die--”

“Which is exactly why I need a son.” he snapped.

She quieted. Her lips quivered. She looked down and touched her belly. I’m sorry, her mouth formed the words, but no sound came out.

“Explain everything.” His voice brooked no arguments and his arms tightened around her.

Her eyes closed and she breathed a ragged breath. She explained, stammering out everything that had happened, stuttering over her mistakes and her wrongs and her questions and her sorrys while he remained a silent body banding along her back.

“What did I do wrong, Jareth?” she whispered when she was finished, after warbling out how she’d seen the thing in the bin and how horrible it was and how empty and how alone she’d felt, how wretched of a girl he’d married and how sorry she was.

“I tried so hard. What did I do? Please, please tell me.” She shook in his arms. “I-I’m so sorry,” she said again, and again. And would say it again.

He sighed again. “Nothing, precious thing,” he said, “You did nothing wrong. You were perfect.”

Her mouth gaped uselessly as he reached up to brush her hair away from her face.

“But- but,” she warbled, gripping the sheets, “I should’ve called for the healers… I-I- I wasn’t feeling well. I must have eaten something wrong or- or eaten too much… or done something wrong. But I don’t know… what!”

He shushed her, pulling her in tighter. “Sarah mine, this sort of thing happens. I spoke with the healers. They said there was nothing that could have been done.”

Her brain seemed to halt, no longer moving, no longer working.

“No, you’re wrong,” she said finally. She dug her nails into his arms. “I did something, I know I did…. What was it? Tell me!”

When he didn’t respond: “Jareth, please! I can’t… I can’t stand it, it hurts so much. What did I do?”

His lips pressed against the back of her neck. He murmured there: “Listen to me, Sarah. You did nothing wrong, I promise you.”

Her eyes scrunched up tight. “I don’t believe you,” she moaned out, trembling so much.

“Would I lie about this?”.

Her eyes popped open.

He spoke again: “Do you truly think I would allow you to live guilt-free if you had, in fact, been the cause of this a second time?”

Her mind whirred too fast and she thought. “...No.”

“No,” he agreed, “I wouldn’t. If I thought you did this, you would be in an oubliette for the foreseeable future.”

Fear striked through her and she tensed.

But he continued, whispering into her skin: “Fear not, sweet Sarah. Not today.”

Her jaw was aching in its tremors. Her head was starting to hurt, a pain that creeped up from her neck and bulged at her eyes.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck and then turned her around so she faced him. She must have been a sight-- eyes puffy and red, nose running. Sad, dulled skin. Her eyes closed so she didn’t have to see him looking at her.

She felt his fingertips tracing lines onto her face.

It was sometime later that he spoke again: “You tried kill yourself.”

She gurgled out some sort of noise, sniffling.

“Why?” he asked her.

Her insides felt gaping open from everything. She was so wrung out.

“I... thought you’d hate me again… I thought… I was scared and I was so, so--” she clenched her fist of her heart and her mouth curled into a snarl, “--so guilty in here.”

His hand closed around her fist and she looked up at him, eyes puffed up and making him blurry. He pressed his lips to her forehead and said: “I could never hate you, my dear. I love you.”

A sob slowly built. It ripped out of her, followed by another. And another. She crumbled into the bedding, into his arms. He rocked her back and forth. She was so relieved and so sad. “I love you too,” she choked out wetly, grateful.

Notes:

:( I... am sorry.

Thanks for all your comments on the last chap! I feel a bit better about things now <3

Since I am shameless, I have to share a song that relates to the miscarriages in this story. "Baby Birch" by... yes, you guessed it, Joanna Newsom. If you want to cry, play it and read along with the lyrics. Or fuckin watch a video of her performing live. so heartbreakingly beautiful. Here's an excerpt: "Your eyes are green, your hair is gold / Your hair is black, your eyes are blue" :') Remind you of anything? XD

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

EDIT 3/30/21: cut out the last few lines of the chap.

Chapter 18: The Babe

Summary:

She wiped her eyes with her sleeves. “Why couldn’t we wait? It’s… it’s too soon. I’m not ready yet.”

Notes:

Tags have been updated.

There is some disturbing imagery in this one.

Hope you enjoy!

After... after everything, she had a lot of dreams. Almost every night without fail, there they were, vivid and terrifying images in the deep dark of her life.

In some of them, she would look down at herself and see blood everywhere, just draining out of the gashes of her wrists -- two this time, not just one. Then, everything all hazy and distorted, she’d look up to see Jareth. He’d be white-faced and crying, begging for her to live, voice blurred over the vibrating of the dream. It saddened her and it scared her. From these dreams, she always woke up quietly: one moment, heart thumping at the sight of her death and the next, eyes sliding open to the still dark room. Her vision was always fuzzy after these ones… as if a grain had been laid over the whole room. An old-timey, roaring-twenties texture that looked odd against the regal, even older old-world castle. After, she’d lay in the darkness, awake and alone, feeling strange as the details of the dream dripped away from her, bleeding fast from her mind.

In others… Jareth would be there, screaming at her. Not desperately like those other ones, but angrily. Furiously. In his hands, he’d be clutching the bloodied bin. Red in the face, he would spit his hate for her, his disgust with her, and she’d reach out, beseeching. She’d cry, over and over: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” But he would only look at her with such dark black eyes, irises bleeding out into the white, and tilt the bin, thrusting it in such a way that the dead inside would be flung at her, splatting against her skirts and making her scramble to catch it.

When she woke up from those, she’d weep and weep until her shudders against the bed woke Jareth too. He’d pull her into him and hold her, soothing her until her tears dried and her breathing evened out. Until her upset was only a small thing in the back of her mind, buried beneath his comfort.

But there was one that stayed on her mind, persistent in attacking her thoughts night and day. A one-time thing that’d had her waking up screaming her throat to shreds, clawing at herself, unable to breathe. In this one too, she’d look down at herself. But… it was devastating. Her stomach would be so big -- exaggeratedly, grossly so -- that it was all she could see. There would be five tiny hands pressing, clawing out the skin of her belly, sending her skin out in sharp relief. It disgusted her. And then horrified her. Guilted her. The dream punished her for it. Eyes and noses and mouths appeared pressing out on her belly, staring up. Little baby faces. They warped and twisted and screamed at her, like those grinning-screeching trees. She could hear them inside her, crying and wailing and high-pitched enough that her ears rang even at the false noise. Never before had she wanted to leave her body and stay in it at the same time: to flee and to save…

It was enough to make her never want to sleep again. Each night before bed, she’d shiver and stall, trying to keep herself awake, alone in the dark even after Jareth had finally tired from her fawning and initiating and adoring of him, going to sleep when she wouldn’t. Leaving her alone to face herself.

The dreams were nightmares. There wasn’t any question.

. . .

“I can’t do it again!” she scrambled off his lap and stood there bawling at him in front of the fire, red in the face and fists clenched. With child again. “I can’t- I can’t take it… it hurts so much, you don’t understand!”

He’d glared at her from his seat. “I understand well enough.”

She averted her eyes. “Please,” she choked out, “please, don’t make me! I can’t handle it… not- not again.”

“What would you have me do, hmm?” he said. “What’s done is done.”

She quieted down, staring at the floor, chastised. “‘m scared,” she mumbled eventually.

He stood and approached her. He reached out, rubbing circles into her upper arms. “I know you are.”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeves. “Why couldn’t we wait? It’s… it’s too soon. I’m not ready yet.”

He sighed. “If I wait until you’re ready, I’ll die childless.”

Something about it… it made her mad. Rage bubbled up in her. She glared at him with wet eyes, feeling the heat of the fire sweating her up, boiling her. “Why is it all about you, anyway? You’re not the one who has to have them die inside you each time! Or actually do any of the work, god forbid!”

His hands paused their motions, just halting there. Something flashed in his eyes. “Watch your tongue.”

“No!” It tumbled out of her mouth, unheeded: “It’s not fair!”

The words rang out in the air.

She gaped at him, unable to believe herself, mouth opening and then clicking shut. He raised an eyebrow at her but she crossed her arms. “...It’s not fair,” she said again, hesitating over her own words but not quite willing to give up on them, “and you know it...”

“Oh, do I?” He tilted his head, eyes stony.

She shifted nervously, looking past his shoulder and grinding her teeth, feeling terrified and foolish. “...Yes.”

He hummed and, after a moment, said: “Yes. Well, I suppose you’re right.”

She glanced up at him, lips parting. Eyes wide and hopeful.

He tutted. “It’s not fair, is it?” An exaggerated look of sympathy twisted crossed his face -- a pouting lip, a scrunched up brow -- and her brief hope shrivelled up. It was wrong on his face and she had to look away. The resigned disappointment almost crushed her.

He rubbed at her arms again, stepping ever closer, pulling her into his chest. She went limply, just letting him pull her. His embrace almost lulled her. “Tell me, Sarah,” he said quietly into the side of her head, “When have I ever promised you that your life would be fair, hmm?”

Her eyes closed and she buried her face in his shoulder, just breathing deep, calming breaths. “...Never,” she whispered, embarrassed.

“Never,” he agreed. He pulled her back and tilted her chin up. “You really should think before you speak, precious. Words have meaning here. They are not to be thrown around without care, or taken for granted.”

“Sorry,” she said, eyes pricking.

“Oh, my dear,” he said, “It’s okay. You’ll learn.” Her wet eyes darted to look up at him and she saw him smiling at her, a wry, understated thing. It thickened the lump in her throat.

Then he leaned down to kiss her softly, a light press of lips against lips. Her eyes fluttered shut and they opened again when he pulled back a moment later. He was looking right at her. “You’re having the child,” he told her.

And she nodded, fingers fidgeting in the fabric of his shirt. “Okay,” she said. And that was that.

. . .

Third time’s the charm, he told her on the fourth month of her third pregnancy, lips curved, pleased. They were past the deadline neither babe before had reached. The scary marker they had finally conquered. His confidence eased the sorrow in her, the utter fear of losing another. The terror that plagued her night and day. It was an edge off of her constant burden. But still… in her mind, she wondered: what if…?

And then… a new sort of fear came. It was happening. It was real. Real like it had never been before. Four months, then five, six, seven, and on and on. The babe grew fast and slow all at once, changing her body and making its space in her. It was coming, whether or not she was ready for it.

She wasn’t ready.

How could she be? She was in a still-strange world among still-strange people and about to do something she’d never done before. A big something. A strange something.

When she was so big she could barely walk, toddling to and from the bathroom at all hours, she would gaze down at herself with fright. It looked like it was about to burst, seeming huge on her thin (stunted) frame. Her child body growing a child.

The promise of pain made her nervous. The stories she’d read… she just wanted it to be over with. To fast forward until after, when the baby was born and in her arms. A zzzzst noise as the TV remote squirrelled over all the scenes she didn’t like.

But then, the promise of the baby being born, being awake in this world and in her arms… it frightened her too. Would she be a good mom? What if the baby didn’t love her? What if he sensed it: what she’d done, what she’d caused…

Sometimes, when she stared down at herself, she could almost see the imprint of those tiny hands pressing out, clawing free.

. . .

Jareth’s thumb pressed into the arch of her foot, massaging out the tension of the swelling and of all that extra weight. They sat quietly before the fire, her feet in his lap. The thought stuck her suddenly. “Oh,” she said. It was surprising… How had she never…?

His eyes were on her now and he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. The fire’s flickering shadows licked darkness over his face.

She pursed her lips and blushed, her toes curling in his hands. “Um… what’s your last name?” she asked, feeling a little embarrassed, a little stupid. That was something she ought to know by now. God… if she was married and had a last name she didn’t even know about.

“Last name?”

She sighed as he rubbed out a particularly tight spot in her ankle. Then she frowned. “You know… a family name. Like Williams.”

“Ah,” he said. “No. Commoners sometimes do, but not nobility. There’s no need.”

Some of the tension in her shoulders released. The embarrassment left. But the memory of the sharp prick of it remained. “Really?”

He made a noise of agreement and ran a finger down the bottom of her foot, tickling. She squealed softly and jerked, a little laugh leaving her. He grinned.

“Our titles and holdings differentiate us. They’re like family names in that way, I suppose,” he added when she still looked at him curiously.

Her lips parted in a slight ‘oh’ shape. “Guess it makes it easier to name kids then… don’t have to make it match with the last name.”

“Quite,” he nodded.

She touched her belly and looked down. “Do you… do you have any ideas?” she said, “...for the baby? I mean… names?” She flushed again over her stammering.

He tilted his head sideways, observing her. “Yes.”

“Oh..?” she said, hoping he’d continue but he never did, just watching her with an amused little smile.

The words were right there on her tongue and her jaw worked, but she couldn’t get herself to utter a single one. There was a tightness to her face she couldn’t get past. She looked at him, her brow furrowed, uncomfortable in her worried desire to speak.

He could see her struggle, just watching as she battled over it, his hands warming her up.

It took a few minutes for her to work up the courage. “I thought…” she stuttered over it, finally, “I- I… if it’s a boy. Can his middle name be Robert? Or… um. Linda if it’s a girl?”

Jareth’s hand trailed up higher on her leg, rubbing out the muscles in her calf. He tilted his head. “After your parents?”

She fiddled with the sleeves of her robe anxiously and nodded.

He caught her eyes. “It’s tradition for children to be named only once in this world,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, looking down fast. She swallowed. “... Right. Sorry.”

His hand came off her leg and brushed against her cheek. She looked at him with glossy eyes, embarrassed again. “Dry your eyes, Sarah mine. Your parents will live in our child in more than just a name.”

She tilted sadly into him. “But…the baby…”

She breathed out. “He’ll never know them, will he?” It hurt to say. The admission seemed too much, too real.

“No,” Jareth agreed, “he won’t.”

As he tugged her into her side, she blinked back her silly, overused tears. Why was she crying, she wondered. What had she expected, anyway? Foolish girl.

. . .

Her-- their-- first child would be born when she was seventeen years and nine months old.

She would give birth alone, with only two midwives to help her as she kneeled on all fours on the birthing room bed, screaming herself hoarse and crying out to no one. It was the worst pain she’d ever felt, a tearing, aching, spasming pain she couldn’t believe. It made her woozy and it made her sweat, damp hair clinging to her face as she cried and cried and screamed.

It was a long thing. A prolonged pain. Hours and hours of contractions that made her weep alone in the plain room, two strange women watching over her until finally and distressingly, she was ready to go.

The midwives were silent but gentle throughout, one letting her grip onto her hand and the other carefully connecting with the magic of the babe. But Sarah wanted Jareth there too, to hold her and to hush her. To hold her hand and to soothe her. He’d done this to her. He should be there.

He’d been notified, she knew. The midwives had said. He must be somewhere close, waiting… but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t with her. And it made it worse. She wanted him so much. The sorrow and the pain and the fear of it all made her shiver and shake as she pushed and tried and hurt and thought she might have died.

It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

The end came too slow, but when it did, it was all at once. A pressure released and Sarah sobbed, looking down, frantic, worried the baby would fall hard-- against his neck or in a way that hurt. But a midwife was there between her legs already, arms out, prepared to guide the babe as he came out quick.

There was a beat of silence and then… wailing pierced the air.

There were four people in the room now instead of three.

Sarah could barely handle it as she held herself up, strung tight and worried over the baby crying beneath her. It took all her energy, her eyes scrunched up tight, and her arms and legs shaking. The midwife gathered the little thing up from beneath her and Sarah trembled, finally collapsing into the bed, feeling numb and overwhelmed, panting and gasping for breath.

But then… the baby screeched out a terrible screech and it set her on edge. An impossible rush of strength filled her. Concerned and frantic, she scrambled up to sit, turning to see the babe in the midwife’s arms, wailing loudly. Strong.

She could barely believe it. Her baby… she had a baby…She was a mother now.

She was exhausted and deprived and she was tilting sideways against the pillows, but her arms reached out weakly. “Please,” she said, watching as the midwife cleaned her baby, wiping him down and checking his health, snipping the cord that connected them.

“Please,” she said again. The midwife turned to look at her. Sarah’s eyes were blurring as she stared and stared and stared. The midwife’s eyes softened and she leaned down and pressed the baby into Sarah’s arms. “A little prince,” she said gently.

Sarah couldn’t breathe. A little prince. The little thing was red in the face, bawling and so, so loud. She drank in the sight of him, the furrow of his brow and his tiny button nose. The way his little lips stretched out, scared in the new world he’d been born into. His little fists and feet curled up and clenched, waving angrily in the air. The little tuft of blond hair on his head. She felt the touch of him against her skin, warm and alive and real.

He was the most exquisite thing she’d ever seen. Tears dripped down her cheeks and she pressed her trembling lips against his little forehead, breathing him in. She clutched him to her chest, snug but careful. And she heard him snuffle, a hiccuping cry. He quieted down and she looked at him in wonder as his eyes peeled open.

Grey-blue eyes gazed blankly around the room, taking in his world. A shocked little, “Oh,” left her as his eyes seemed to track onto her. As his yawning mouth seemed to curve up at the sight of her.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered against his hand, laying there and meeting her baby.

“He is, isn’t he?”

Her eyes were puffy as she peeled them away from the baby in her arms to see Jareth standing there beside the bed, watching them. He leaned closer and reached out a gentle hand to touch the baby, his hand, his face. He looked so kind, the soft smile on his face, his eyes transfixed on their… their son.

Hands gentle, he helped her shift to lean up against the headboard properly. Even as her body cried out in their aftershocks, she hardly noticed, too taken by the little boy in her arms. Jareth sat beside her on the soiled bed, the side of him warm against her.

“May I?” he asked, holding out his hands. She trembled but nodded and he softly urged the baby from her arms, tugging him to his chest like she herself had done, holding him tight and snug. He smiled down at the snuffling babe and started to sing, a soft little lullaby of hums and sighs.

Sarah reached out and tickled the baby boy’s little palm, heart bursting when his little fingers wrapped around one of her own. Love burst in her as the baby’s eyes fluttered and closed, his little fist clutching at her finger. She was vibrating with it all as she rested her head on Jareth’s shoulder, looking, seeing this… the most remarkable thing she’d ever seen.

“Did you decide on a name?” she asked, voice cracking in her throat when Jareth’s song had come to a close.

He was silent for a while, both of them looking upon their slumbering baby boy, considering. Eventually, he murmured: “Ewan.”

“Ewan,” she sounded it out, whispering it. “Our son, Ewan.”

Jareth smiled again. “Our son.” He looked at her, eyes catching hers. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m proud of you, precious thing,” he said, shifting Ewan closer between them. “You did so well.”

She was exhausted and pained and drained. She was relieved. She was pleased and she was proud and she was overjoyed. Her baby boy. She’d finally reached the scene she’d been waiting for. Everything would be perfect now.

Notes:

Ohh I'm so glad to finally have this posted. It would have been up sooner but... I spilled hot tea all over my laptop and had to get a new one. 🤷 Thank god, I was already planning on upgrading my laptop sometime soon so it wasn't tooo painful lol. My new one is freaking awesome I love it so I guessed it worked out in the end XD

So how do you feel about the name Ewan? picking names for characters is hard as all get out. I can't imagine what it's like actually naming a child. If you think it has the wrong vibe for the story, let me know and maybe leave a suggestion?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
I'd love to hear what you thought! <3

Chapter 19: The Prince's Mother

Summary:

Mother, father, and son. What a picture it was.

Notes:

This story is officially 2 months old! Wow! And we're over 50k!??? This has been so fun, I can't believe it :D
Thanks for everyone who's come along on this adventure with me <3

Here's a slightly longer chapter to celebrate :)

Her first night as a mother was strange. Healed up and cleared to leave, Sarah held Ewan snugly in her arms as Jareth returned them to his chambers, poofing away from the room that had so exhausted her, so dark in its privacy, and into a familiar one bathed in light and warmth.

She was so tired that she could barely argue as Jareth urged the baby out of her arms and placed him in the shining white bassinet at the foot of the bed. She sat heavily on one of the chairs and watched him, heavy-eyed, as he soothed their newborn to sleep.

Then, quietly, he led her to the bathroom and ran her a bath. To leave Ewan alone like that… she felt a twinge of nerves, but his hand was gently insistent at her lower back, moving her forward as her legs seemed to lag.

He helped her wash off the sweat and the mess, eyes sweet and soft, lips curved and pleased. A warmth was in her heart as he took care of her, as he dried her off and dressed her, escorting her to the bed and tugging her close to him under the covers, whispering his love for her.

He was so happy with her, he told her. She’d done so well. It made her eyes prick in her exhaustive relief.

But… even as Jareth drifted off, breath rumbling out of him, Sarah couldn’t sleep. The darkness of the room wasn’t quite dark enough and the silence wasn’t quite quiet enough. She heard her baby breathing near her feet, smacking his little lips, and she couldn’t bear to be away from him. The distance was too much.

So, she crawled out from Jareth’s arms and turned, inching on her belly to peer into the bassinet, seeing her baby sleeping so soundly.

She watched him for hours and hours, just astounded by him. He was hers. Her creation. From her body. It was crazy to think about it, it was insane.

Before… before everything, before her wish… she’d sometimes imagine what her future would be like. What she’d do for a living, who she’d marry, how many kids she’d have. In most ways, she’d always wanted to be like her mother, to act in plays and movies, to dress glamorously and be beautiful, but unlike her mother, she also imagined coming home from a day on set to her family. Her daydreams would first be filled with visions of her gentle husband. A doctor or a lawyer. Or an actor. Yes, an actor! Someone she’d meet on set and sparks would fly. And then, later on in her imaginings, they’d have children. One or two. And they’d raise them well. Present, stable parents who were always there for them.

It was not that long ago that she was dreaming those things, thinking of names she liked, the ones all her favorite actors had. She’d think, when I’m thirty, I’m going to have the most beautiful babies anyone has ever had, with the most handsome man ever to be seen.

Her sixteen year future had been quickened to three years. But it was okay. It was good even, she knew, for as she looked down into the bassinet, she thought she never could have had a more beautiful baby than the little boy in front of her. Could she ever have had a more handsome husband, either?

Btill, she was too young for it. She wasn’t ready. She’d been thrust into true adulthood, kicking and screaming. Too early. Too much responsibility on her teenage shoulders.

She’d never even graduated high school. Her father would be so disappointed in her. How could she be a good mother? An intelligent one who taught her child right from wrong?

Seventeen was when you were meant to dream of turning eighteen, of finally being an adult. Allowed to buy cigarettes and lottery tickets and vote. Allowed to be your own person for once.

She hadn’t had any of those things and she never would. But, she had the most perfect baby. And that would have to be enough. It was enough. She’d done enough, finally. She thought she could be happy like this if she really tried.

But even as she marveled at the creature she’d born into this world, anxiety caught her. It got her and yanked her around, merciless as it always was. She lingered there for hours, just gazing, body so utterly worn out but mind so completely awake.

Whenever he shuffled awake, face twisted up in a way that suggested upset, she picked him up before he could make a sound. She tended to him and soothed him and sang to him and fed him throughout the night. But… as the night wore on and she still didn’t sleep… the ache in her body became even more painful.

It hurt to be awake, but sleep sounded horrible. The baby! He was so helpless right there alone. What if something happened to him? What if someone attacked? She’d be helpless to protect him if she was asleep. What if he grew uncomfortable and whined and she didn’t hear? He could die, lungs or heart failing when mom wasn’t paying attention! The thought damaged her, making her hands tremble and shake.

He was so little… he needed her.

But her eyes drifted shut more and more. And more and more, she snapped back to attention, focusing her unfocusing eyes on the perfect little boy who slept right there. The battle was hard.

Ewan. Her son.

In her mind, she knew him as Ewan Robert Williams. It would be her little secret, she smiled to herself, trying, trying to ignore those horrible thoughts beating at her mind, distracting herself.

She focused on him. It was important. Stay awake.

She trailed fingers over his little knuckles, so tiny, and fussed with the blanket around him and blinked her eyes open against the sleep that was ripping her away. She gripped the rim of the bassinet and murmured the words of the only lullaby she knew.

Stay awake, stay awake.

.

.

.

Then, she jolted. A noise was bothering her. The room was bright. She blinked and realized, sitting up quick and groaning at the ache. A blanket was tucked around her waist.

She panicked.

Her eyes focused immediately on Ewan, sleeping quietly in the bassinet still. Oh, thank God, she thought. Then her eyes focused on the source of the noise. It was Jareth. He was speaking to some woman over the baby. She was plump and young looking and Sarah stared.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Jareth said, noticing her. “Feeling rested?”

She nodded after a slow pause and rubbed at her eyes. “Um… who…?” she asked, glancing over at Ewan for a long moment and then swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

Standing gingerly, she touched the top of the bassinet nervously.

“Ah,” Jareth said, “Yes, this is Eve. The wet nurse.”

Eve offered a polite nod and a sliver of a smile.

Sarah’s face twisted in confusion and she looked over to Jareth. “Wet… nurse? What’s that?”

A brief flash of surprise crossed his face. He raised an eyebrow. “To nurse the babe.”

Her brow furrowed. “... my babe?”

He inclined his head. She was confused.

“But…” she said, “I can do that.”

Jareth stepped closer to her. “There’s no need. Eve is a professional, and you can focus on healing up.”

Sarah looked down at the floor and pressed her hand to her forehead. Her head was spinning. What…?

Then, a sharp noise pierced the air. Ewan was crying again. She panicked and turned to him, reaching her hands out but Eve was already gathering him up and rocking him.

Sarah gaped, her hands out uselessly. She looked between Jareth and her baby in another woman’s arms. Her fists clenched by her side and her breath started to come quicker. The woman approached one of the chairs and sat, tugging at the laces of her bodice.

“No!” Sarah shouted, lunging forward, but stumbling over the leg of the bassinet. Jareth stopped her from falling and hauled her back up. She batted his hands away and rushed forward. The baby wailed still.

“Don’t you dare,” she ground out, feeling angrier than she’d ever felt before, snatching up Ewan from her arms and glaring before turning away.

Eve looked at her with raised eyebrows and then at the king, standing up with her arms reaching out for the baby. But Jareth raised a hand and she stilled.

“What’s the problem, Sarah?” Jareth said.

“What’s the problem?” she shrieked, bouncing up and down with Ewan in her arms. “He’s mine! I’ll nurse him, not anyone else!”

Eve shifted. “My Lady, there’s no reason you should nurse him. I’m perfectly capable of taking him off your hands.”

Sarah saw red. “Get out,” she said, voice tight and cold. Eve’s eyes widened and she noticed them flick between her and the king. When she didn’t move, it burst out of her: “GET OUT!” A shrill scream, it vibrated in her rage.

Ewan’s cries rose in volume, sharp and tragic, deafening her. Her focus snapped down to him immediately. His little face was bright red and angry and he was crying so hard. “Oh,” Sarah said, voice cracking. Guilt filled her up. It was a terrible, terrible feeling. Like stepping on a dog’s tail and hearing it whine, but so, so much worse. She wanted to rip at her hair or dig her nails into her skin.

She hurried to the chaise and sat with Ewan secure in her arms, rocking him and whispering soothing noises. She heard Jareth sighing. “It’s all right,” he said, words barely heard under the screeching of her baby, “You may go. We won’t be needing your services after all. Thank you.”

Sarah stared fixedly down at Ewan until she heard that woman, that horrible, nasty, thieving woman, leave. She felt sick. Only when the door sounded shut behind her, did Sarah allow herself to open the front of her nightgown and guide her baby to latch. It was a bit of a struggle -- she didn’t have much practice at it, not at all -- but when he did, a breath of relief left her. His cries stopped and little noises of satisfaction sounded. Tiny eyes closed and flickered under his eyelids.

Everything rushed at her. A lump built in her throat and she smoothed out the crumple of Ewan’s brow with her thumb. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jareth came up behind the chaise, his hands curling over the back of it. He brushed some of her hair out of her face. Her eyes pricked. Was he mad at her?

“I should’ve known,” he said after a moment.

She hesitated. “Known…?”

He kissed the crown of her head. “That you wouldn’t be anything like the court ladies here. Of course my beautiful dreamer would want to nurse our child herself. I was a fool to think anything else.”

“Oh,” she mumbled.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. He was upside down in her view, but she could see his solemn eyes. Her lips parted.

His mouth curved. “Well?” he murmured, leaning over her and brushing his lips over hers.

Her eyes fluttered. “Yeah,” she whispered, “um.. yes, of course. It’s okay.”

“Of course,” he said, and he kissed her tenderly, top lips to bottom lips. Ewan made a little baby grunt beneath her. She smiled into Jareth’s lips.

Mother, father, and son. What a picture it was.

. . .

Cheers burst out. Even as far below as they were, they thundered.

Sarah fidgeted, holding Ewan tight to her chest, tucked in and safe as Jareth stood beside her, hand clasped over her shoulder, just at the ledge of the East Balcony. Her fingers itched, worried over the height, the noise.

They were too high! In her head, there was an image of Ewan dropping from her arms all the way to the stone below, splattering and dying. It made her flinch. She fixed her eyes on him, watching the way his eyes flickered as he sucked on his pearlescent pacifier, focusing hard to not move an inch. The effort seemed too much.

It felt like forever that they stood before the kingdom. That Jareth waved and allowed them all to lay their eyes on his son. Even when it was over, it still wasn’t over. He inclined his head at the crowd before stepping back.

He guided her from the ledge and into the corridor, each step toward more solid ground calmed her. The balcony doors shut behind them and a silence surrounded, the cheers now tinny past the stone and glass. Guards stood stationed at either side of the door, staring forward.

Jareth turned to her.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she said, fussing with the collar of Ewan’s little outfit. He was still so small, only four weeks old. Her eyes tightened and she looked at him, “They won’t hurt him, will they?”

He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “They wouldn’t dare,” he said, his voice hard as stone. When she just frowned, his lips curved up, fond. “Don’t you worry, my dear. Nothing will happen to you or him.”

So, she nodded and shifted, tucking Ewan even closer into her, thumbing at his little hand. Jareth rested his hand on top of both of theirs and they blinked away from the corridor, appearing again in front of a pair of grand doors. She steeled herself when the doors cracked, spreading apart inch by inch, revealing the great hall filled to the brim with nobility.

Music played inside, something orchestral, dark and celebratory. The Fae turned when the doors clanged all the way open. Sarah saw grins stretch out on their faces, their hands coming together to clap. Ewan gurgled.

She took one hesitant step forward and paused. She glanced at Jareth, wide-eyed. “Go on,” he said, pressing gently against her lower back.

She breathed deeply and stepped again. Into the snake pit. She stared ahead, eyes hard as she walked straight across the long hall, along the path carved out for her by the rejoicing Fae. Jareth was right behind her, she knew, but...

Her heart thumped hard and she clutched her baby tight to her breast as the Fae converged on her, fingers wisping through her hair, against her face, over her shoulders. As their hands glanced softly over the prince in her arms. His face and his hands and his feet. But she continued on, just as Jareth told her to. He wouldn’t let them hurt Ewan, she knew that.

It was still so hard.

Finally, finally… she reached the end of her path. Just before the raised platform, she turned. Jareth was there, just like he said he’d be. He reached out and she let him take Ewan from her, her fingers twitching as she lost that precious weight in her arms.

Jareth stepped onto the platform and looked out at the crowd, baby tucked sweetly into his arms. The crowd quieted and bowed all as one. Sarah stood a step below, unsure what to do with her arms.

There was a beat of silence as the crowd stood back up. Jareth let the moment settle. And then, he said: “Today I present Crown Prince Ewan, heir to the throne of the Goblin Kingdom. May he live a long and prosperous life.”

It was a proclamation. It was intense. It felt like something from a movie. Sarah watched in a sort of awe as cheers sounded even louder than before, as Jareth’s words were echoed back, as the jubilation built like a wave. A true tsunami, shaking the floor beneath them.

She looked sideways and saw as Jareth smiled. He looked down at his son proudly. Even past all the commotion and all the worry, her heart calmed, a peaceful silence inside her. She smiled too.

. . .

It was a night full of revelry as the Goblin Kingdom celebrated the birth of the heir. Full of drinking and eating and dancing and laughing. A nursemaid had come to take Ewan from a reluctant Sarah, to watch over him and put him to sleep away from the noise while his parents remained seated at the high table, accepting felicitations and well-wishes from the Fae nobility.

Through everything, she couldn’t stop thinking of Ewan. She missed him. She hadn’t been away from him for more than an hour since he was born. The feeling… it wanted to crawl out of her. It made her want to jump up from her seat and sprint madly to their chambers, to pick him up and rock him to sleep herself. It had been hard for Jareth to convince her that it would be okay, that the nursemaid was trustworthy, and that Ewan would be safe without either of them for these late night hours of celebration. For didn’t they deserve to celebrate such a boon, he’d asked her, smiling his little smile. It stumped her. How could she argue with that?

But still, sitting there… it itched and itched and itched. She wanted to celebrate with Ewan in her arms, not here surrounded by all these strangers.

As the night wore on, sitting and jittering at Jareth’s side, it all reminded her of the wedding. She fiddled with her ring and couldn’t stomach any of the food. She peered nervously at him and at the crowd. Would he…? He said he wouldn’t. But it was so long ago… He might’ve lied.

But he caught her looking, a grimace painted across her face. He laughed. “Relax, Sarah mine. No carnal pleasures for tonight.”

Still, it relieved her and she sighed and continued picking at her food, observing.

As the nobility approached her and Jareth throughout the night, she noticed something. There was a change in the air and it surprised her.

They still didn’t talk to her but they no longer ignored her, no longer derided her to her face. Instead… they gave both King and Consort their congratulations, nodding and smiling at the both of them. They applauded King’s choice of a bride, for what a great king Prince Ewan will turn out to be.

It had bothered her so much less than two years ago: her job as a mother. But now… something like pride filled her. Yes, she thought, pleased, he would be a great king. Her son was perfect and they all knew it now. Finally, they could see she wasn’t just some… whore.

“They accept you now,” Jareth murmured in her ear at some point.

Her mouth twisted. “I don’t know if accept is the right word.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, shrugging a shoulder. “But they honor you. You’re the prince’s mother. Not a bad station to have, I must say.”

Not as good as Queen. The thought came quick and fast and it shocked her. A resentful thing she didn’t realize was in her. It made guilt twinge. She was happy to be the prince’s mother. She was, truthfully and honestly. How could she not be?

The prince’s mother. It was a damn sight better than being the king’s consort. Don’t be a brat, she told herself, don’t be ungrateful.

She forced herself to smile for the rest of the evening. Even as the hours dragged by slow and painful and all she wanted was to go back to their chambers and see Ewan. “Is he okay?” she would ask her husband over and over, fretting every time some terrible possibility crossed her mind, and worrying still that Jareth would be annoyed at her for it.

But he never was. At her every request, he would produce a crystal and he’d gesture her closer. She’d lean in beside him and they’d both peer into the vision of their son sleeping soundly, the nursemaid reading in the rocking chair beside his bassinet. Then, she’d sit back and gaze at him, grateful eyes and soothed soul.

It hardly felt real when Jareth finally said they could leave, hours and hours later. As the nobility continued dancing and shouting, somehow still full of energy and enthusiasm, he stood and pulled her out of her seat. He took her hand in his and, no Fae any wiser, disappeared them to their chambers.

She breathed easier when they got there, rushing over the bassinet and checking on Ewan as Jareth dismissed the nursemaid. It eased her mind to see him sleeping so peacefully, still okay.

Jareth came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and hooking his chin over her shoulder. He pulled her up from her bent position. His face turned into her neck and he breathed her in. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

She blanked for a moment and then she realized. Oh, she thought. He was hard against her. She blushed.

“But Ewan--” she started.

He kissed the pulse in her neck. “--is asleep, my darling. Come.” He tugged her toward the bed and sat, pulling her between his legs.

She stood there awkwardly, glancing over at the bassinet every few seconds. He kicked off his boots, and pulled off his gloves. “Jareth,” she whined, twisting her hands. “I dunno, he’s right there… it’s not right.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I still can’t believe how prudish you mortals can be.” He unfastened his coat and shrugged it off his shoulders, dropping it to the floor. She pursed her lips and watched while he undid his cravat.

Then, he stood again, so close to her that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. He reached around her, plucking at the fastenings along her spine and letting the silky gown fall like water down her skin.

She covered her belly, self-conscious in its change. Her body wasn’t unmarred anymore. It wasn’t untouched like it had been. But he took hold of her wrists and pulled them away, uncovering her to his eyes.

It had been a while. She was so acutely aware of it, feeling more embarrassed and flustered than she had in a long, long while. Over four weeks since he’d had her last. “Wait,” she whispered as he pulled off his shirt. “Isn’t it… too soon?” she said quietly, looking anywhere but at him. “I’ll be all… I won’t be right down there.”

He paused. His hand came to her chin and slowly he tilted her head up. Her face burned and her arms went back to cover herself. “The healers said three weeks, remember?”

His lips brushed against hers. “Everything will be perfectly alright, precious. Just enjoy.”

Her eyes slid shut when he kissed her again, more deeply, tongue touching against hers, soft and sweet. One of his hands wrapped around the side of her neck and the other came up to pull out the pins in her hair, letting them clatter down to the floor.

She allowed the kiss to take her away, to sway her around. He scratched her scalp and she shivered, her hands coming up to his shoulders.

He guided her toward the bed, urging her against the edge, making her plop to a seat. His hand pressed gently between her breasts, pressing her back until she was laying flat against the bed, her legs dangling off at the knees. Above her, he loomed, watching her with burning eyes.

He gripped the backs of her knees and yanked, dragging her so her bottom was just at the edge of the bed. She gasped. He tugged at her underpants, pulling them down her legs and over her feet. She tried to fall her knees together, but he stopped her, keeping them parted as he undid his trousers.

She watched him as he pushed back her legs and settled there between them, standing tall above her. The glow of the fire diluted in the distance. Its soft light painted his skin. There was a stirring in her.

But there was also a nagging in the back of her mind... She tilted her head toward the bassinet, eyes searching.

Fingers caressed her cheek, urging her eyes away and bringing her back. His eyes caught hers. “He’s okay,” he told her, his hands warming up her skin. She made herself nod, but she wasn’t sure she believed it. She second guessed it. “Are you-- are you sure?” she whispered, “Maybe we should wait until… until he’s in his own room, you know?”

His hand reached between them and he touched between her legs. There was something wet on his fingers; he smeared it around. Something jolted in her belly. “That won’t be for many months,” he told her.

“... yes?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “No,” he said, “we shouldn’t.”

Her eyes closed. “Okay.”

“Come to me, Sarah,” he said, running his hand over her leg, over her hip, over her belly, and over her breasts. He thumbed at the hollow of her neck. “Wake up, feel my touch.”

He bent closer to her, licking into her mouth. Then, he stood back up, hands tightening around her hips. Her fingers found his arms and she clutched there as he touched his cock against her. She stared at him, eyes fixed on his eyes, his nose, his brow, his hair, or else she’d be tempted to look away, to make sure Ewan was okay.

A flash of insecurity came over her as he moved forward, spreading her open. For the first time since. She winced at it and jerked.

“You’re beautiful,” he groaned, stilling and shuddering out a breath when he had filled her again so fully. He bent over her enough to mouth at her breasts. Hot tongue against her shivering skin, holding himself up with his arms.

But her body held tense, something foreign about the familiar feeling that bothered her. He began to move, slowly at first, and then faster, more desperate. Deep and powerful, she was almost unused to it now.

It was uncomfortable, but soon she began to warm up to him again. At his hands all over her and his insistent rhythm that built something in her. Her body melted in his hold, no longer stiff but now moving easily with his motions. She gasped and touched at his hair when he angled himself differently, hiking her legs up further.

He licked at her collarbone and ground and she moaned and--

A noise sounded out from the bassinet.

Sarah jolted up, pushing Jareth back, but he wouldn’t be budged from her, stilling only when Ewan started to whimper. They were sad little noises that set her on edge and sent her eyes wide. Jareth covered her mouth and looked into her eyes. It was a tense moment as they seemed to wait for Ewan to settle.

It wasn’t long before he did, his little whimpers fading as he fell back to sleep. But to Sarah, it felt like an eternity. Her eyes watered. She wanted to hold him.

“See?” Jareth said, groaning in her skin, fingers clenched painfully into her flesh. “He’s fine.”

And he started to move again.

But she barely noticed as her eyes drifted over to the bassinet, wishing she could see into it. To make sure he was okay.

Notes:

Gosh diddly darn, I had like a gazillion zoom meetings last week. It really took it out of me.. I'm sooo not good at that sort of thing. All I wanted to do was write, but noooo. Responsibilities, you know? Sheesh

xD well, at any rate, I'm glad to finally have this up.

Hope you enjoyed!
I'd love to hear your thoughts! <3
Best wishes!

Chapter 20: Interlude

Summary:

“Ladies and gents, please give a warm welcome to our next guest…. Linda Williams!”

“Ladies and gents, please give a warm welcome to our next guest…. Linda Williams!”

Cheers rang out. They build in excitement under the saxophones and drums. The live band jived as Linda Williams stepped out from behind the curtain. Wearing classic black dress and sharp violet heels, she appeared statuesque as she crossed the stage, one foot in front after the other, coyly waving at the live studio audience and flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder.

“Hiya, Jim!” she exclaimed, red lips curved to show off her perfectly white teeth

“Linda, welcome to the show,” Jim O’Connor shouted back over the sound of the place. They embraced and he held out his hand. She allowed him to guide her to her seat with a grateful smile.

She sat, crossing her legs daintily and smoothing out her dress, quirking her eyebrow out at the crowd as the cheers went on, laughing when they finally faded out. She grinned at O'Connor as he sat back in his seat.

“Good to have you on finally, Linda. How are you doing?”

“Thanks for having me, Jim. It’s great to be here,” she smiled. “You know, things have been busy-- a lot of back and forth. But I love it. I really love it.”

The crowd cheered again and her eyes twinkled.

“I bet,” he laughed, “you have three movies coming out before the end of the year and you’re working on… how many right now?”

She nodded, lips tilted, pleased. “I’m going between two sets right now. And a play too.”

“That’s a lot,” he raised his eyebrows.

Linda laughed. “It is. But, I have to say… they’re all so great to work on, so it’s no hardship. Not one bit.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see them, personally,” O'Connor said. He turned to the crowd. “Right, folks?”

The crowd seemed to agree.

“So,” he turned back to her. “You went from a relatively unknown, but -- don’t get me wrong -- commended stage actress to a Hollywood starlet, appearing in every big movie, beside every big actor, in just four years. The people want to know… how did you do it?”

Linda seemed to grin, demure and flirty. Looking down at her lap before glancing up through her lashes. “I don’t know how to answer, Jim. I can hardly believe it myself. I just got so lucky… Woody happened to come to one of the showings of Rags--” hoots and hollers sounded from the audience and she spared a quick glance of appreciation-- “and well… he approached me after. I couldn’t have been more shocked, I must say.”

“That’s Woody Allen,” O'Connor added.

She nodded. And he whistled.

“You caught the big one, gal.”

She threw her head back and her laugh chimed like bells. “Don’t I know it!”

He looked at her. “So, Linda...”

She cocked a curious eyebrow.

“This is your first time on the show. We hardly know you, but we want to.” He leaned forward onto his elbows. “Tell us about yourself.”

“Well, what do you want to know?” she asked, and leaned forward too.

“I heard you got hitched recently. Is that true?”

She smiled slyly. “It is.”

The audience cheered and she nodded appreciatively.

“Oh, Congratulations! How’s that going for you?”

She flicked some hair over her shoulder. “It’s really great. My husband -- he’s a stage actor too, that’s how we met -- is just amazing. He’s the sweetest. Breakfast in bed, long strolls through the city…” She sighed happily. “I’m the luckiest woman alive.”

O'Connor smiled. “Is that just the honeymoon phase talking? How long have you been together?”

“Oh, quite some time,” she said, sounding positively delighted, “we met around eight years ago, so…”

“Very nice,” he said. “Now, I’m curious, is it true you were married once before?”

She seemed to pause. “Why, yes. That’s true.” she said.

“Why did the two of you split?”

“Well…” she said, mulling it over, “I was married to my first husband when I was just twenty. He was twenty-one. We were so young, you know? I hardly knew my own mind. We just… drifted apart, I suppose you could say.”

O'Connor nodded. “Highschool sweethearts?”

Her hands ran over her dress again, smoothing out the fabric. “Something like that, yes.”

“And the two of you, you have a daughter. Isn’t that right?”

She really paused this time. Her lips parted, jaw working for a second but no sound coming out. “Yes… we do,” she said finally.

O'Connor leaned forward even further. “Sarah, isn’t it?”

She nodded slowly, eyes flicking all around. “Yes, that’s right.”

“And her eighteenth birthday was just last week, wasn’t it?”

Her smile grew fixed. “Now, Jim. You’re going to give away my age.”

“I’m sorry, Linda,” he said, not sorry at all, “The cat’s already out of the bag. Didn’t you see the newspapers today?”

“The newspapers?” she asked, voice going faint, gripping at the arms of her chair.

He looked surprised. “You didn’t see?” She shook her head, bewildered, and it was permission enough for him to reach under his desk. He pulled something out, a newspaper. “I hate to do this,” he said, then he propped it up for the cameras to see.

Linda stared. The headline was large and shocking. Murmurs overtook the crowd. It said: ‘Actress Linda Williams’ Daughter Missing From Home: 3 Years Presumed Dead.’ There was a black and white picture attached. A young girl, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, smiling out at the camera in front of a blank school backdrop, her dark hair and face strikingly similar to the woman sitting stock-still and silent before the whispering audience.

Linda’s hand reached out of its own accord, toward the photo. A conflicted gesture, longing and scared.

“How do you have this?” she whispered, voice hoarse. No longer smooth and decadent like it had been only moments ago. Where had that sultry actress gone?

“It’s all over the newsstands. And TV. How did you miss it?”

Her eyes closed and then opened again just as quickly. “This was supposed to stay out of the press!” she snapped. “I don’t appreciate being bombarded with this, Jim!”

He raised his hands up, gesturing surrender. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger, Linda. Shouldn’t you have known about this sort of thing?”

She looked at the crowd. They were watching her, all a mix of shock and sadness and distaste. She took a deep breath, but it came out shaky, audibly so. “I was busy today,” she said stiffly. “No one informed me.”

“A lousy press team you got there,” he suggested.

“Obviously,” she ground out. Her eyes were glossy now. She was blinking rapidly.

“Excuse me,” she choked out, “I have to- I can’t…” She stood up and covered her face, hiding from view.

“Linda?” O’Connor stood up too and reached out his hands.

Her body jerked with the sob that came out. “I’m sorry,” she burst out, voice warbly. And she turned quick and walked off the stage, heels clacking in her speed, her face directed downward all the way, covering the audience’s view of her face with a single perfectly manicured hand. The crowd was gasping still. The trembling of her shoulders could be seen even by even those in the furthest seats of the studio.

“Oh,” O’Connor said when she disappeared behind the curtains. He sat back into his seat and looked out to the cameras, “how horrible. That’s too bad. I hope she’s okay.” He shook his head, a sympathetic twist to his mouth but eyes alight. “We’ll see you after the break, folks. Stay tuned to see what happens!”

The music jived and the crowd clapped.

Notes:

So, Jim O'Connor is a made up talk show host. I was going to use David Letterman or potentially someone else, but... I felt kinda bad using a real person. This guy's kinda an asshole and I don't know much about Letterman in the first place, so...

Thanks for reading :)

Chapter 21: Worth & Power

Summary:

He scoffed. “This again, Sarah?”

Notes:

So glad this is finally up!!
:P

Hope you enjoy!

“Jareth,” she whispered. He shifted but didn’t respond.

She touched his shoulder. “Jareth,” she said again and shook him.

His eyes cracked slowly open, and then they snapped over to her. After a moment, he said: “What, Sarah?”

She stilled, but barrelled forward with it. She scooted toward him on her knees and grabbed his hand, brow furrowed and lips pursed. “I just-- are you sure he’s going to be okay? He’s never slept alone before. I mean, what if something happens to him? Toby was still in Dad and Karen’s room when he was one. Ewan’s only twenty-one weeks, Jareth! It’s too soon! And-- and-- I was thinking. Up Above they’ve got these things called baby monitors. It lets you hear what’s going on in the nursery.. And, well, I didn’t know… is there something we can do that’s like that?”

“I told you already,” he sighed, turning over onto his back. His voice rasped. “My magic is connected with his. If anything happens to him, I’ll know immediately.”

She sat back on her heels. “But… what if it’s too late? To get to him if something has already happened?”

He glared at her and spoke slowly, spelling it out. “Sarah. He’s right across the corridor. There are guards outside his door and ours at all times. What do you think is going to happen?”

Sarah hunched a little and looked down at her laps. Mulishly, she said: “The guards could do something--”

“The guards,” he scoffed. “They would have to be fools indeed to think they would live after harming my child.”

“Well, I don’t know!” she threw up her hands. “What if he gets sick? I- I remember Dad and Karen talking about this thing where babies would just-- just die in their sleep for no reason sometimes!”

The image crossed her mind and she had to blink back tears. “Jareth, I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed, “I just-- I can’t stop worrying, I can’t sleep. I can’t take it. Please, can’t we bring him back in here? For a little while longer?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, we can’t. The separation is important right now. Surely you read that in one of your books?”

“... Yes,” she said, wiping miserably at her eyes.

Jareth sighed and propped himself up. He pulled her hands away from her face and peered into her eyes. He cracked a smile. “Here,” he said, and a crystal appeared on his fingertips, glinting in the moonlight that peeked into the room. She looked at him, puzzled. He gestured with it. “Go on,” he said, “take it.” And so she reached her hand out, slowly, hesitantly. She’d seen them before, of course. He always had one or two, or three even. He’d offered them to her, once. But she’d never held one for herself.

She took it in her hand. It was lighter than she’d expected and felt like something… she didn’t know what. Not glass, not plastic, nothing quite known to her. It was a little bit of magic. Sarah looked inside. There he was, her baby boy, sleeping in his new nursery, the beautiful, calming room that Sarah herself had taken the reluctant pains to fashion in a way befitting of her prince of a son.

She smiled sadly at it. And then went to hand it back. He stopped her. “Keep it,” he said.

Her lips parted. “Really?”

He nodded. “Check on him whenever you wish. But know it cannot be used for anything else.”

She clutched at the crystal greedily, eyes fixed on it. “Thank you,” she said, voice thick with it all.

He inclined his head and then laid back, shifting to his side and closing his eyes. “Come here.”

She scooted closer, still gripping tight to the crystal, eyes unable to stop from flicking towards it every few seconds. She curled into him, tucked under his arm. He was warm around her and the crystal in her hand eased her. It made her eyes grow heavy. She listened to Jareth’s heartbeat, a slow, steady thing right in her ear.

“You’re a good mother,” he murmured into her hair, voice deep with sleep, tickling his fingers over the skin of her arm. Butterflies fluttered inside her.

She fell asleep like that, watching Ewan all the while.

. . .

“I thought…” Her lips trembled.

“What did you think, Sarah?” he asked, twirling at a piece of her hair.

She tried to roll away from him, to put distance between the two of them on the bed. He let her. She curled up on her side, facing away from him. Tears leaked.

“Well?” he wondered. She clenched her eyes shut.

“I thought-- I thought we were done with that.”

He was silent for a beat, then: “Why ever would you think that?”

She drew her knees up to her chest, shivering. “I already gave you your heir.”

He touched her waist. “Yes, you did, precious thing. And I’m so proud of you for it. You were perfect.”

A shiver of something ran through her. Gratification. Pride. He was pleased with her. When he praised her, she always got caught up in it.

He closed in behind her, curling up around her back. “Don’t you want to experience that again? That joy, that rush? That feeling of your love expanding boundlessly with each child you bring into this world?” His lips press to the back of her neck. “Motherhood suits you, sweet Sarah. You’re beautiful with it. Look at how you are with Ewan. I know you love it. Am I wrong?”

Her fingers twitched against the arm he had wrapped around her. “...No.”

He rubbed her belly. “What’s the issue, then?”

She stumbled over the question. “It- it hurts. And it... scares me.”

He tutted. “You cannot go through life without pain or terror or tragedy,” he told her, “haven’t you realized that yet?”

Sarah stayed quiet. He nuzzled her neck. “And wasn’t it worth it?” he asked. “If you had to go back in time to get rid of all the pain, all the fear, would you give up Ewan in order to do so?”

“No.”

“Of course not,” he soothed, his voice gentle, “I know you wouldn’t. But just think how you’ll feel with another babe to care for… don’t you want that?”

It was true, she thought, she loved being around Ewan. She loved taking care of him. It brought something to her life she hadn’t had before. It made sense that another one would only double that. But… the risk of it all.

“Besides,” he said, brushing hair back from her face. “Don’t you think he’d love having little siblings he can play with once they’re a bit older? You know there are very few children around here. You wouldn’t want him to be lonely, now would you?”

Her hands fisted in the sheets and she frowned. She hadn’t thought of that. “...No.”

“Of course not,” he said, tracing his lips over her skin, “You want what’s best for him, as you should.” He touched her belly again.

Her hand fell on top of his. “After this one,” she broached haltingly, “... can we please maybe… wait a few years? Before…”

“Let’s take it one at a time, hmm?”

What could she do but agree? She nodded into her pillow.

“Jareth?” she whispered out only a moment later, a tiny little sound, barely there. “How many do you … want?”

He hummed. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, thumbing now at the hollow of her collarbone. “The Fates will decide that, I think.”

Her eyes closed and tightened. The Fates.

They were silent together, listening to the pitter-patter of rain on the glass window. The fire crackling. It was oddly silent without Ewan there. A melancholy was in the air. She blamed it for her silliness, for the blues that seeped into everything just then. It loosened her tongue.

The words meandered out, a sad, quiet observation that weighed on her: “I think I’ve had enough pain to last a lifetime.”

In the wake of it, his silence crawled up her spine. He remained still behind her. The moment was heavy. His words pierced it. “Self-pity is an unattractive quality, Sarah,” he told her. She cringed, feeling his eyes boring into the back of her head. He was displeased with her.

Her neck grew hot and she fidgeted in his hold. “I’m grateful,” she said quickly, “it’s not that. I just…”

“You... just?”

She sniffled. “I don’t know if I can do it. Not properly. Not well. It’s like… what do I have to offer our… our kids? I’m less than nothing here. And- and.. I was nothing Above either. Don’t you see, Jareth?” she whispered miserably, “I’ve never done anything with my life. I’m just- I’m just your whore!” She burst into tears and her words came stuttering. “That- that- c-can’t- be good- for- them!”

He touched her shoulder then, urging her to turn onto her back, but she curled up tighter into her ball, just crying and resisting in her shame. Everything was wrong. Nothing would ever be right again.

But his strength won out and he turned her. She couldn’t bear to look at him as she dissolved into more and more tears. She covered her eyes and wrenched her neck to the side, away from him. She could almost feel the skin of her throat stretching out, ready to snap.

He tugged her hands away from her face and she flushed with insecurity, sure snot was everywhere, making her ugly. He wiped her cheeks with his sleeves even as the tears continued coming quick, her fists clenched protectively under her chin. He tilted her face toward him, fingers along her cheek.

“You are not my whore,” he said, “You are my wife.”

“Same thing,” she bawled out, body bowing with the unbearableness of it.

“It is most certainly not the same thing,” he snapped. She flinched. “Don’t devalue yourself like that. You insult me.”

She fumbled. “I- I’m sorry, I--”

“You are not my whore,” he said. “I chose you for a reason, Sarah. I won’t hear you debase our union or the products of it with such crudeness.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “I didn’t mean it like … that.” She hesitated. “...But…”

“But?” He loomed over her, staring down. Her heart thumped and her eyes darted all around, slippery in their sockets.

“... It doesn’t make sense,” she said, tears dripping. “... why would you want me for a wife or… to have kids with me? I’m too weak. What if the kids are the same? Then you’ll really hate me! And you’ll hate them too.” Oh, the thought was too much. It hurt her. It killed her.

“You are not weak, Sarah.”

She was hiccupping. “How can you say that?”

“It’s the truth.”

It astounded her. He sounded so sure. “No, it’s a lie,” she sobbed. She kicked her feet at the end of the bed, tossing the blankets, childish.

He gripped her chin. Made her look at him. “I have never lied to you,” he said, piercing her with his eyes. She stilled.

“You’re stupid, then,” she said, shivering again, “If- if you think that I’m not weak. Look at me. Where’s my power?” she spat, the stuffiness of her voice weakening her words.

He scoffed. “This again, Sarah?”

His fingers dug just a little too hard into her jaw and she whimpered. Her eyes cast downward. Tears welled up again as he stared at her, waiting. The rainstorm outside grew in strength, the pitter-pattering now a baseline roar, echoing around her. It felt like drowning.

“You have too much power over me,” she rasped out, dangerous words on her tongue.

“Too much power,” he repeated. He tilted his head, observing her. “What’s too much?”

She pressed back into her pillow, eyes widening. She’d crossed a line, she thought.

“Tell me, Sarah. I’m curious.”

Her jaw worked, soundless, but he just raised an eyebrow. “... You control my life.”

“I’m your husband, and your king.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work!” she cried.

His lips twitched. “Says who?”

“I-I-” she stuttered, “E-everyone!”

“Everyone... Above,” he smiled at her, patronizing, “you mean?”

She quieted.

“We are not Above,” he reminded her. “We are here. In my kingdom.”

She winced. “I know that,” she said quickly, chastised.

“Do you?” he loosened his grip on her jaw, then tickled over her cheek with the tips of his fingers, “It seems you forget so often. How am I to be sure?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He patted her cheek. “You do have power, Sarah. You’re just too conceited to realize it right now. But you’ll learn.”

She flushed. How could she believe him? Her nails were digging holes into her palms.

Her chest felt heavy. “You don’t respect me,” she said, imploring him with sad eyes. The thread she was hanging on tore at her, burned her.

“Oh, Sarah,” he said, “You think I don’t respect you? Of course I do. Would I marry a woman I did not? Have a child with her?” He shook his head. “Don’t be foolish.”

It confused her, it set her heart all to sorts. Her eyes watered. And he cooed. He dabbed his fingers under her eyes and smiled. “How green your eyes are, like jewels in the rain.”

. . .

He’d told her once in the early days: you are the one making yourself miserable here, Sarah. Make no mistake.

She thought he was right. She was never leaving this place -- she’d come to terms with it long ago. She was there and there was nothing she could do about it. It was her life, it had been for years. She hated him and she loved him. She hated it there. But it was her home now. What could she do but accept it?

And she had accepted it.

Things were easier with Ewan. Life there had a new sort of meaning. She loved him with everything in her. With all her might. It was worth it all, she thought.

Yes, it was exhausting. To feed him, to care for him, to rock him to sleep and to wake up to his cries each night. But, even when Jareth offered to get her help -- nursemaids and nannies -- she always said no. For he gave her a life to live.

It was so much better than before. It was hopeful now.

Before, being alone in the chambers every day had been so hard. With no one to talk to, no one to see. Now her life was full to bursting. She played with Ewan each day, she read to him, she sang to him, she loved him. It occupied her. She could almost forget everything else. Jareth’s demands upon her were taxing, but Ewan’s bright smile made it worth it.

It was in the early months of Ewan’s life (and her own, growing one) that she’d learn something that surprised her. Jareth was good with children. He was good with their baby. He was a good father, sweet and gentle. It didn’t quite make sense to her sometimes. She’d see him beaming at their son, holding him and throwing him up in the air to the sounds of delightful little baby laughs and ushering Sarah away as he himself got Ewan ready for bed, and she’d think, how peculiar.

Hadn’t this man kidnapped her? Beat her… raped her. Ruined her life? But wait, she’d think, stopping herself, the guilt hitting her, thoughts coming too fast; he hadn’t ruined her life. Stop being ridiculous, she’d tell herself. She never would have had Ewan if it wasn’t for him.

But… he was a bad man, wasn’t he? She had learned it the hard way. He’d hurt her so much. He was a villain, he was her villain. He stole children, he kidnapped them. She remembered… Toby, then her, all in the span of thirteen or so hours. It only made sense that he’d be terrible with them.

A cruel king who liked to hurt.

And he hurt her even as he cared for her. She was scared of him and she fretted over it. Would the children be scared of him too? That was no way to grow up.

When Ewan was only six months old, it had been nagging her for too long. A new life was growing in her at her husband’s command.

“Jareth,” she’d said quietly, nervously, the feeling of the court’s eyes still clinging to her, honoring her just as much as they examined her. It was after they’d finished with court, one of the rare times she could be found away from Ewan. Her husband had taken her on a slow stroll through the gardens, a detour on their way to their chambers for lunch.

He made a questioning noise, leading her by the twisting tulips and the bright, bright sunflowers.

“Isn’t it… bad? For...” she touched her belly, still flat. She breathed out sharply, forcing it out. “The children... If they see the way you… treat… me--”

He cut her off, eyes slanting in her direction. “How do I treat you, Sarah?”

She looked down fast, lips thinning out, knowing she’d gone too far with it. Stupid, she thought angrily. She had everything she ever could ask for, she’d finally found a measure of peace there, but she was complaining about… what? How he spoke to her? How he used her? How he scared her and demanded things of her? How he wanted more children from her? Big whoop, she thought to herself, feeling unforgiving. Shouldn’t she be used to all that by now? And besides, Ewan did deserve to have little brothers and sisters to play with. They would bring laughter like never before to the stony, scary halls of the palace.

All of it… it was a small price to pay for Jareth’s love, his warm want, his kindness. His generosity.

And he was generous. How else could she describe the way he held her at night or the way he’d given her the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. That she’d ever see. Sometimes she wondered if the majesty of her firstborn could ever be matched. It caused a worry in her for the lives yet to come. I’m sorry, babies, she’d pray to the idea of them, guilted and horrible, all my love is used up already. How do I fix it?

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled finally. But then she slowed to a stop. He stopped too, turning.

She peered up at him, looking into his eyes, her own glossy with tears of tremendous feeling. He looked back at her, head on. “Just promise me,” she said, demanding him of something for once, “Promise me you won’t ever hurt them. Not Ewan and not any of the others that come. Promise that you’ll love them no matter what. That you’ll protect them always. Even when I’m gone.” It came out steely, a strength to her voice she hadn’t heard since she’d faced him down those three years ago, saying her words and thinking she’d won his game. “And promise me,” she said, “Promise you’ll never take them from me.”

Her hands were clasped in front of her chest, a prayer, a plead. There was a zing of fright in her heart when he just stood there, looking at her.

Then, his lips curved. He stepped closer. “An easier vow has never been made,” he said, voice quiet in the chirping bird-flocked air. “You have given me the most precious gift any man could ask for.”

His hands found her middle, just touching. Her own hovered between them, over his. Their eyes were locked. The moment was laden. “You have my word,” he murmured, and it was backed by truth. A shiver of something coursed through her, magical even if it wasn’t.

Her breath had caught in the intensity. “How’s that, precious?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” she said, breathing out her worry, “That’s- good. Thank you.”

He smiled and took her hand.

But, it was just outside their chambers that she stopped him. It hadn’t yet been laid to rest. Her body was trembling and her mind was frazzling with her courage. She seized his hand in both of hers, nerves wracking. “Jareth,” her voice cracked. He turned, so close that he looked down on her. Their chests almost touched. “Yes, Sarah?”

Her breath was shaky. And it was hard to get the words out. But she had to. She peeled her eyes up, heavy and leaden as they were, to meet his own. “If you break your promise,” her voice shook with her fear, but was banded with something else, “I don’t care if it takes all my life, I’ll- I’ll find a way to kill you. I will.”

The words rang out in the air and she clenched her eyes shut tight, scared of what would come. She dropped his hand like it burned and huddled her own to her chest. The world sounded tinny in her ears.

She must have waited a century for him to speak, her terror the only thing she knew. When he did, he took her shoulders and tugged her into his chest. Her eyes snapped open. He pressed his face into her hair. She was frozen with it, hands hovering behind him, confused. He murmured into her: “I would expect nothing less from the mother of my children.”

It made her shiver when he pulled back and looked at her with dark, hot eyes. Burning her. Dangerous but not. “My worthy wife,” he mused. She blinked at him and he kissed her.

Notes:

This chapter was originally going to be quite different but Sarah and Jareth wouldn't stop yapping at me lol. They really wanted to talk, I guess. xD

I'd love to hear what you thought! Leave a comment below if that's your thing <3
Hope you have a great night or day, whenever you're reading this :D

Chapter 22: The Green-Eyed Boy

Summary:

“He’s clever,” Jareth said, “And children pick up on cues easier than you’d think.”

Ewan was seven months old when her body failed her for a third time. And he was eleven months when it happened again.

Two more little babes lost. She’d killed four, now. Oh, the pain, the grief. Each time was harder than the last. It took so much out of her.

She started to doubt whether Ewan would ever have those little siblings she’d promised him. She started to wonder how long Jareth’s love would last. A wasteland for a wife was what he’d gotten. Did he regret it now? She thought he must’ve, for she could see the way his eyes pinched each time it happened, the way his voice strained as he talked to the healers over her head, how his hands trembled ever so slightly when he held her afterwards.

How empty she was. Barren but not. Life came easy but death came easier. She wondered: would it ever end?

Her little prince was the only thing that got her through it, for if he wasn’t around she surely would have long since leapt from one of the balconies and saved Jareth the trouble.

. . .

Ewan’s firsts were a sight to behold. As he grew older and passed each milestone, she was so, so proud. But… as much as it delighted her, sadness oozed, hidden just in the background, a lingering thing in the back of her mind. Her time with her son was limited. Soon he would be grown, and soon he wouldn’t want her around. What would she do then?

Eleven months old and grinning with chubby cheeks, Ewan gurgled in his high chair, He was messy with the banana he was eating. That was when he said it: “Mama!”

She almost didn’t register it, but when she did, a gasp left her. A smile stretched so wide. “Mama?” she asked, voice hushed in wonder, her eyes tearing up.

“Mama, mama!” Ewan said, flinging his arms up and down.

“Yes, baby, I’m mama,” she said and she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his little nose.

When Jareth returned that evening, it must have been an odd thing for him. Accosted by his young, oft-miserable wife, who had just that morning been crying in the bed, her grief too much to handle, now laughing and bouncing on her toes. “Oh Jareth,” she exclaimed as soon as he walked in, rushing to him and taking his hand in the both of hers. “Guess what,” she beamed, “Ewan said his first words today! He called me mama, can you believe it?”

He smiled at her and chucked her chin. “I believe it.”

He walked over to where Ewan was seated on the rug, blocks in hand, and knelt to kiss his bobbing head. “Good boy,” he said, “You make your mama happy, you know that?”

Ewan grinned up at his father. And Sarah twirled in her place, so overjoyed.

She had to focus on what she already had, not what she continued to lose. Never before has there been a more necessary thing.

. . .

As far as she could tell, Jareth kept his promise to her. He never hurt their son, not even when Sarah herself was exhausted from the screaming, the crying, the feeling of being Not Good Enough. Not even when she was so frustrated she thought she might scream -- another thing to add to the guilt that churned in the night, overflowing, spilling out, relentless -- did Jareth lose his temper. Instead, he would lift the babe from her arms and tuck him into his chest, rock him until he shuddered back to sleep in his father’s neck. It amazed her. It warmed her.

She loved him for it.

But despite what she saw before her eyes -- the serious upholding of his vow -- the nerves about it would get to her. Random moments where she worried so much, where she doubted. They accosted her.

There was one day when Ewan was near a year old that the three of them took a picnic out in the private gardens. It was idyllic: the breeze on her skin, the baby’s infectious laughter as Jareth poofed and twirled tricks of magic for his amusement, the simple sandwiches that reminded her of home. At some point, Jareth pulled her in for a kiss over Ewan’s head and her eyes fluttered shut. What a beautiful day.

But then, as his lips were upon hers, soft and warm and loving and perfect, she heard it. A grunt and a smacking noise.

Her eyes snapped open. Ewan’s little mouth was wide open and angry and his hands were pushing Jareth away from her, hitting at his father’s face and neck. “No!” Ewan said, a wet noise that shocked her, “No, no, no!” Her heart rate skyrocketed. She sat up quick and her hands were raised, prepared to…

Her eyes darted up to see Jareth’s reaction.

But there he was, looking amused down at their son, hand held out to block the baby’s tiny fists. He grinned.

“You have a little admirer,” was all he said, eyes twinkling. “Not that I blame him.”

She could almost feel her heart slowing as she calmed, like suddenly she was returned to regular speed after being set to fast motion. She sighed it all out. Of course Jareth wouldn’t get mad over something like that, she reminded herself. Don’t be silly. He’d promised her. And even as terrible as he could be… she didn’t think he’d ever lied to her.

And he loved their son, just as she did. That part of the promise was kept, too. It pleased her -- he was proud of what she’d given him. What she’d created with him. For him.

. . .

At fourteen months, Ewan’s eyes were the most brilliant green color. They were hers. And it delighted her so much that she picked him up the day she noticed and held him back against her chest in front of the standing mirror. With his chubby cheek squished against hers, she grinned, she bounced on her toes. Green eyes next to green eyes. “You’re all mine,” she said to him, with a kiss to the side of his head, and her baby smiled a sopping grin, teething ring stuck halfway in his mouth.

. . .

Her body was uninhabitable. It kept happening. She saw as her strength seeped out of her as the years passed. All the while, her son grew too fast, too quick, and too alone. She was deformed, it had to be the case. No life goes here, a sign must have warned, staked into the muscle of her body. The little things only saw when it was too late.

Ewan was three when he wondered about it for the first time. “I have a… ques-. Question,” he said, sounding out the difficult syllables as he scratched a miniature quill over some loose parchment. He drew something, and she lay on the carpet of the nursery, watching fondly from a few feet away. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him with soft eyes. “Okay,” she said, and she waited. He dropped his quill. And he used his hands to push himself up to standing.

She couldn’t help but smile as he toddled across the lush green carpet. He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Mommy,” he started, and he leaned down and pressed his ear to her belly, face turned to look at her. Her hand reflexively raised up half-way and then it paused, trembling, unsure. “Mommy,” he said again.

“Yes, sweetie?” she whispered, but her mouth was dry all of a sudden.

His lips were pursed, and he looked so much like his father. “Where did the baby go?”

She breathed sharply and her hand finished its journey. She stroked the mess of blond hair on his head. She didn’t know what to say.

“Mommy?” He sat back from her belly and crawled closer to her face. He looked at her seriously and then touched her nose. Then her cheeks. “What’s the matter?”

Her eyes blinked rapidly. “Nothing’s the matter. I’m okay,” she reassured. She made herself smile for him. He took her hand in his and played with it, moving her fingers around. He looked at her curiously, wide-eyed and little. He was so innocent, so sweet. How could she explain something such as this?

“The baby…” she said, “Um… well, you know how sometimes the flowers in the gardens won’t grow even though the seeds have been planted?”

He nodded, still peering at her with those huge green eyes. They went to the gardens all the time. It was only recently that the wizened old gardener had shown her and her son how to plant flowers, how to care for them as they bloomed. Ewan absolutely adored it. He always grinned when they went, hands dirtied and cheeks bright pink in happiness as the gardener gave them their tasks.

It reminded her of the days her father would drive them out to visit her grandfather. Her grandpa had had the most amazing garden, full of color and life. He used to take her out to the backyard and let her help him. When she was little, she loved digging out the soil and carefully pressing in the seeds and covering them back up. Her grandfather had a song for his garden, too. They sang it together, over and over. It always made her so happy. He always told her, waving around his water pot for emphasis and wagging his finger at her, beaming a toothy smile that made her giggle: Green bean, you’ve gotta sing to the flowers and the veggies and the fruits if you want them to grow! Now, how does it go again? … What was that? … Yes, that’s exactly it! Let’s sing!

She missed him so much. Sometimes at night, in the dark of her grief, she tried to remember those words to his song, but they ran from her. She could barely catch the tune of it. The echo lingered just out of reach. If only she could remember… Maybe then her little flowers would grow.

“Well,” she said, “It’s kinda like that. The baby seed was-- was planted. And he started to grow, but…”

“He stops growing.” Ewan said, tilting back and sitting Indian style.

Sarah closed her eyes and she nodded. “He stopped growing.”

“But…” he said, his brow furrowing up, confused “Why did he stop? Maybe he was scared, but… I would be a good- a good big brother. I would protect him! He doesn’t need to be scared.” His eyes were glistening wet as he looked at her.

Her heart thumped. “Oh, Ewan,” she whispered, touching his face, “I know. You’d be the best big brother. I’m sorry, but I- I don’t know… why he stopped.”

“You don’t… you don’t know?” His thumb went up to his mouth and he started to suck on it.

She shook her head. “No, baby,” she said, “I wish I did.” She reached out and gently urged his thumb from his mouth while he blinked at her.

He was too sweet for her.

After she and Jareth tucked Ewan into bed that night, they crossed the corridor to their own chambers and as soon as the door was shut behind them, she told him about it.

He stood there and tapped at his lip, seemingly lost in thought.

“I didn’t even realize he noticed anything, he never mentioned it, when...” she trailed off, dropping to the bed and kicking off her slippers. She slumped back and wiped at her eyes. She wrapped a blanket around her and hunched into herself. It was draining, the real life that accosted her when she wasn’t so preoccupied with her son.

“He’s clever,” Jareth said, “And children pick up on cues easier than you’d think.”

“I wish we never told him,” she said, sounding miserable.

She heard him pulling off his boots. “There wasn’t any way around it, precious. You were pretty far along.”

Her eyes closed. So much hurt in her heart. Beneath the blankets, she touched her belly. She grabbed the skin there, vaguely loose with everything that had happened. She tightened her fist. It hurt and she hissed out a breath.

“I couldn’t tell him why,” she whispered after a moment.

He sighed and his footsteps padded nearby. He stroked her hair. “I’ve told you, Sarah,” he said, “There isn’t a why. These things happen.”

She scoffed but it was weak, half-hearted. “There has to be a why. It’s not normal to... lose so many.”

She felt the bed depress slightly beside her. He remained silent for a moment and she turned. She looked up at him with sad eyes. “There’s something wrong with me.”

“No, there isn’t,” he said, lips pursed just like their son.

She peeked her hand out from her blanket wrap and scrubbed at her eyes. Where she let go of her belly, there was a stinging feeling. Blood rushing back. “Do you regret it yet?” she wondered.

He tilted his head, his eyes were intent. “Regret… what?”

She hesitated and her lips tilted downward. They quivered. “Marrying me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be daft, girl.”

She sucked on her lip and her eyes slid shut. “That’s not an answer.”

He sighed again. He lifted his hand and trailed it over her cheek. He touched the blanket where it was tucked right beneath her chin. “No,” he said. “I do not regret it.”

Her belly fluttered. She turned her face into the bed and a little smile creeped up. But still she thought; how could he not?

. . .

It hurt so much when Ewan began his tutoring. He was four and she’d succeeded one out of nine times. He was the only thing she had. But Jareth had scoffed at her when she’d turned miserable about him being gone in the day and started fretting over and over about whether the tutors would be good enough for him, and that maybe she should teach him, at least for the next few years.

But he’d looked her right in the eye and told her that Ewan would be the next Goblin King, that he would have the best education in the entire Underground, and that she would not interfere in his studies at any point in time. She’d quieted and looked down to her feet, passed her endlessly warped middle, the eight things having left their echoes stamped all over. She would say no more on the subject.

So, when the day came, a forlorn Sarah walked her son to the private study and met with the tutor, a nice-looking old woman that clasped her hands in front of her and had a gentle smile. Ewan looked at the strange woman with wide eyes, little hand gripping Sarah’s as tight as he could. When it was time to say goodbye, he clutched at her skirts and wouldn’t let go.

She knelt in front of him and tugged at the hem of his tunic, straightening it out as he stared at the ground. “Go on,” she said gently, smiling past the lump building in her throat. He looked up at her and his lower lip was stuck out, trembling. His eyes were watering. He flung his arms around her neck and clung long enough and tight enough that Sarah's heart broke and she had to quickly wipe her eyes over his shoulder.

The tutor stood there at the door, watching. “Ewan, go on,” Sarah had to say when he clung tighter still, forcing a smile for him to see when she pulled him back. “It’ll be fun, I promise. You’ll learn lots. Right?” She turned to address the tutor, still on her knees.

The old woman inclined her head. “Yes, my Lady.” She smiled at the nervous little boy. “Young sir, I think you’ll find your schooling to be quite fun. Did you know,” her voice dropped down to a whisper, “That once upon a time, I taught your father when he was as little as you?”

Sarah’s eyebrows raised. Ewan fidgeted. “Really?” he asked, voice quiet, but a tinge of curiosity peeking out.

The woman nodded. “Maybe I can tell you a story or two about the things he got up to as a boy. Hmm?” Ewan’s eyes darted between the tutor and his mother. Sarah could tell, he was warmed up to it now.

Sarah smiled, trying to be encouraging. “That’s right,” she said, kissing him on the forehead, “And you can tell me all about it later.”

“Okay,” he said, and his little feet shuffled. “Bye-bye, mommy.”

Her body vibrated with the force to keep it in as she watched the tutor take his hand and lead him into the study.

And the door shut behind them.

Even with only a door between her and her son, silent tears burst out and she slumped against the stone wall.

They dripped down her nose, soaking into her dress clinking to the floor. She pulled out her crystal, setting her eyes on the sight of Ewan and this woman. She watched for so long that her legs stopped carrying her weight and she floated to the ground, listless and unaware. The guards stood around her, waiting.

When she was finally able to force herself back to her chambers, she collapsed into the bed. Her arms wrapped around her middle. This swell would soon be gone too. How could it be any other way?

She slept for the rest of the day.

. . .

With Ewan, the castle was more fun. She saw the way his eyes lit up, the way he scampered down the halls, his mother or father or guards watching carefully from behind. How he explored the secret passages and the different rooms.

How he excitedly watched from Jareth’s lap as his father held court, fighting the way his eyes would grow heavy, the call of sleep strong. He was so adorable, head bobbing and swaying as he jerked himself awake every few seconds. He was so fascinated with the world that he never wanted to miss anything. But still, always, Jareth would rub his little arms and he’d drift off against his chest, lips smacking and drool pooling. Sarah always watched those moments, full of fondness and warmth even as she sat off to the side in her small chair, away.

And her son loved the library. Just as she did. She took him all the time. When he was just a little thing, she would strap him to her chest in a sling and walk through the shelves, humming little songs to keep him calm. Even when he was too young to understand them, she delighted in telling him stories. She would read them from her favorite tomes there and she would relate the ones she could remember from so long ago.

And he loved them. Now that he could, he begged her to tell them, always pleading: one more, one more. His favorite was of a girl named Alice.

Now, flanked by guards and guided by an exuberant little boy, the patrons of the library and the librarian himself were kinder. Jareth had said they honored her. But really, they honored the boy who would be king, who loved his mother.

She could still see the suspicion with which they gazed at her.

. . .

Ewan was almost five years old when she failed again. Again, again, again, again. She couldn’t do it anymore.

She lay in the bed some days after and watched as he read by the fire. “Please don’t make me do it again,” she said.

“Sarah,” he said, sighing. He looked up at her and she noticed: he was tired.

Sarah’s face crumpled, twisting up. “This is torture, what you’re doing to me.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What am I doing to you?”

Her eyes slid shut. “Please,” she said, “give me a few years. A- a break, please. Let me heal. Then… we can try again.”

He leaned forward to set his book down on the small table, using a ribbon to mark his place. Then, he shifted in his seat, propping his elbow up on the back of the armchair. He watched her, and her fingers fidgeted over her belly.

He seemed to consider it. “Sarah,” he said again, and she winced, “You are a mortal.”

She frowned at him. “...So?”

“You asked me once if I regretted marrying you.”

Her heart thumped. Her hands clenched into the sheets and her neck wrenched around so she could see him better. She looked at him with frightened eyes, panicked and sad.

He shook his head. “Come here,” he said and he gestured for her.

She hesitated, starting to wilt.

“Come.”

She tip-toed out of the bed, but paused across the rug from him.

“Silly girl,” he said, and it sounded fond. Her toes curled into the rug as she took her slow steps to him. She stood before his chair and he took her hands. He kissed her knuckles and she blushed. He smiled.

He turned her around and tugged so she sat back against his chest. Her body was stiff with her dread. But he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his hands against her middle all the same. He rubbed her with his hands. “I still do not regret it, Sarah,” he said quietly into her ear. “Stop worrying.”

She blinked at the ceiling. Her body seemed to lose its tension. Slowly, she started to relax into him, growing lax where he supported her. He hooked his chin over her shoulder. “...However,” he started.

She got all tense again, cramping up in her muscles.

“However,” he said, running hands up and down her still, gentle and lulling. “You are a mortal. And this puts me in an uncomfortable position.”

“Why… uncomfortable?”

“Uncomfortable because some of my subjects and more significantly, the other kingdoms of the Underground, have begun to doubt me. It’s a rare thing that a Fae will wed a mortal woman, but if he does, it is so he can more easily have children. Multiple children.”

Her hands came up to grab his own. She clutched tightly over his knuckles. Her heart fluttered in her throat.

He continued, “You know that our birth rate is low, hmm?”

“Yes,” she choked out, understanding. “Jareth, I’m sorry,” she cried, “They’re doubting you because- because you married a mortal and I can’t even- I can’t even give you kids like I ought to.” She sniffled.

“Hush now,” he murmured into her skin. “But that’s technically correct. They wonder why you’re still around. You already gave me my heir, but no more children have come since, so by all intents and purposes, according to them… you should be gone.”

“What?” she gasped, she turned as much as she could. “Jareth…”

His hands gripped her body tighter, he looked aggravated. “It doesn’t matter, you aren’t going anywhere. They can doubt me all they want.”

“But…” The skin around her eyes was tight. “Will they… do something? Against you?” She clutched his hands tighter.

He looked into the hearth, left unlit in the summer months, and his lip seemed to curl up. But then, his face was blank and his eyes turned back to her. “No, precious,” he soothed. “Don’t you worry.”

When she still looked worried, he cracked a smile. He pressed a finger to the crinkle of her forehead and he smoothed it out. She turned so she sat sideways across his lap and tilted into him. The crown of her head pressed into his neck. He stroked at her hair. “As much as I would like to allow you a break from this… grief,” he said quietly, “I cannot. The sooner we have another, the better.”

Tears soaked into the collar of his robe. He held her there for a long time as she came to terms with it all.

At some point many hours later, she whispered, voice sad and resigned, “I’m going to go check on Ewan, okay?”

He nodded and brushed the hair from her face. “All right, precious.” He pressed lips to her forehead. She lingered sadly for a moment before she finally slid out of his hold and padded across the room, across the corridor, and into the nursery.

Notes:

Me, writing Dad!Jareth: 😳😳😳😳😳😳

Well, hope you liked that dose of sad AND cute. Ewan is such a lil bean, isn't he? I love him.

Btw, if any of you are interested.. I wrote a (very) dark Jareth revenge one-shot called 'The Empty World' :D It was very fun to write. The tag line is, “He comes for her again when she has a child of her own.” Anyway, thought I'd do a shameless plug xD

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought <3
Hope you're all well!

Chapter 23: Looking Glass

Summary:

“Then the Fates are mean,” Ewan said, sounding frustrated. He curled up closer. “It isn’t fair.”

Notes:

warnings for labor complications

Hope you enjoy <3

P.s. I changed the summary of this fic (it's an excerpt from ch 7), just in case that's something readers want to know.

The next time it happened, she absolutely lost it. She was alone in the chambers two days following, Ewan napping in his room, Jareth doing whatever it was that he did. She was alone, and she was sick.

She sat in her vanity chair, looking through the looking glass. She frowned at herself, at her ugly, despicable self. There was too much to remember. It wouldn’t be contained.

A roar so horrible it could be heard echoing across the whole of the kingdom ripped out of her. Her hands were on the books stacked beside her before she could think and she hurled them across the room so hard that the tendons of her body seemed ready to snap. The books scattered across the floor, thudding against the wall. She screeched, hunching into her hands, clawing at her skin. She swiped her arms across the vanity, sending jewelry boxes and makeup to crash on the ground. She upended the drawers, destroying everything she could get her hands on.

She was out of her mind, unable to control it as she trashed the room. Wailing out, she ripped down the tapestries and tore off the bedding. She kicked and kicked at the table till the plates and platters and the pitcher of water on top spilled, splashing and dripping all over the floor. The drip, drip, drip of it unable to be heard under the roaring in her ears.

She grabbed a candelabra. She flung it at the window. Glass shattered everywhere and her arms came up to shield her face in a panic. When she looked back up, the candelabra was gone from sight, the window a gaping hole in the wall. She walked to the window, shoes crunching over the mess. She touched the ledge, bits of jagged glass digging into her palms.

She looked out the window, and down, down, down. So far to go to the bottom of the kingdom. There was a moment she could see it, herself climbing up and jumping. Hurtling to the bottom. Then, just gone.

But she yanked herself back, guilted by it. She remembered Ewan. Her son. How could she even entertain such a thing?

She tore at her hair. And the clock on the wall ticked at her. Tick, tock, tick, tock. It was evil, it was mocking. Body throbbing, discordant pulses that jerked her, she wrapped her hands wrapped around the fire poker and swung it like a bat against the clock. Like a chair in a bubbled-ballroom. The clock smashed, falling sadly to the floor. She flung the poker, hearing it clatter. Her mind was too fast, she couldn’t keep up. The emotions were attacking.. Brutalizing her.

Her hands ripped at her hair and at her clothes, pulling, pulling. Straining so hard that it didn’t take long for her to grow exhausted with it. The room was destroyed around her as she collapsed to her knees. It hurt to be alive.

She hunched over, forehead pressed to the stone floor as her body shook and shook. She couldn’t breathe, she was going to die. Her face was red and she was horrible.

It was all-consuming. Time was a distant thing.

A hand was on her arm. Her ears were ringing, and she resisted the tugging of the hand. “NO,” she screamed into her knees, huddling herself tighter, pulling away. But the hand was joined by another one. And she was dragged up by her arms, set on her feet.

She could barely focus, her eyes too flickery, upset. She looked everywhere and nowhere. Still, she couldn’t breathe. Jareth held her by the shoulders. His mouth moved, but she could barely hear him. His words were fuzzing.

She saw his eyes. They were angry, hard, stone-cold. He was glaring mad at her.

She just swayed there, barely breathing, barely alive. He loomed closer, he shook her. “Sarah!” he thundered, “Stop this at once!”

Her face crumpled. Her arms came up and she pushed him, hard. As hard as she could. He stepped back, but she wasn’t done. The screams wrenched out of her, over and over, “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” Over and over. She shrieked and she cried, and she lunged at him. Her hands came up to his face, scratching. She could barely see, her eyes puffed up. Sight red and blurry-wet. “I HATE YOU!”

He blocked her, and his face was enraged. He caught her arms and she strained against him, thrashing.

She spat in his face. His face twisted, disgusted. He pushed her away and she stumbled, crashing hard into the table, crying out. She clawed at the table, but she was too tired. She panted, drifting off to the floor. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I h-hate you,” she wailed, grabbing her hair again and yanking. It stung her scalp. There were strands of hair in her palm when she pulled back.

He stood a few paces away, wiping his face. He glared down at her, looking so disgusted. Somewhere inside of her, she cringed. But she couldn’t stop. She burst into tears and tilted sideways, falling to lay there, despondent. Her body jittered, her teeth clacked.

She hid her face, but she heard his footsteps getting closer. She huddled into herself. He grabbed her arm and yanked her up. She could barely catch her footing as he shoved her into one of the chairs. “Get ahold of yourself,” he snapped. “Right now.”

And she bent over, folding over her knees, breathing so fast she was hyperventilating. She could feel him standing just there. His eyes burned into the back of her neck. “Go away,” she sobbed. “Leave me alone.” Her nails dug into her ankles, just exposed by the long wrinkled-up gown she wore. Her voice was hateful, choking, when she said it again, spitting it, “I hate you.” The red crescent lines on her ankles wept blood. She bawled, and she kicked at the water pitcher just lingering by her feet. It scraped across the floor madly, rolling haphazardly, the handle getting in the way.

A hand touched her back but it made her burst. She screeched out, head so heavy, and flailed out, arm flinging back into empty air, over and over. She bawled when nothing happened.

“M- mommy?” a little voice said. “...Daddy?”

Sarah snapped upright, her eyes going wide, her breath completely gone. Ewan stood in the cracked door, staring at them. She wiped frantically at her eyes, scrambling to stand. His eyes were big, shocked. He was scared. His little mouth trembled and got wide, face crumpling up, eyes scrunching. He turned red. It wound up for a second and then… A sharp child-cry pierced the air.

Her heart stopped. The snot and tears bubbled as she tried to gain control of her breathing. She stepped forward--

Jareth stopped her with a hand at her shoulder. “Leave him. I will handle it.” He looked down at her, furious. She gaped, red-faced, wet-cheeked. “You will not leave these chambers until you are able to conduct yourself properly once again.”

Without another word, he let go of her and crossed the room, scooping Ewan up in his arms and kissing the side of his head. Her son cried in his arms. She was weak and she faltered against the table. Jareth turned to her, the boy’s crying face tucked into the crook of his neck. “Clean this up,” he said. And they were both gone, the door thudding shut. Leaving her alone.

She had never felt so sorry before. The only thing she could see in her mind was her baby so scared, so sad. Because of her. She wept as she cleaned up her mess, barely functioning, the shakes so bad she couldn’t get past them.

. . .

Sarah was pale and red-eyed and regretful and ashamed when she was calm again. Mind thrumming with the hangover of what had happened.

She crept across the corridor, eyes averted from the guards, embarrassed that they might’ve heard what happened. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and leaned her ear against the door to the nursery. There were faint sounds of talking. Murmuring voices.

Tears pricked in her eyes as she nudged the door open just enough. She peered into the room. Jareth was there, sitting in one of the chairs. Ewan sat back against his chest, eyes intent on the picture book his father held. Jareth was reading to him, putting on voices and laughing when Ewan giggled. He tickled the boy and Ewan squirmed, grinning and trying to tickle him back. Sarah’s heart was warm, but she was so, so ashamed of herself.

It took her a long time to work up the courage to move from her spot half-behind the door. The sight was so enchanting, but everything roiled within her. Hands fisted in the skirt of her dress, she crept forward, letting the door close quietly behind her. Haltingly, she stepped closer, dragging her feet up one at a time.

When Jareth noticed her, her face burned hot. He watched her over Ewan’s head, staring. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye as she crossed the rest of the way. Instead, she focused on Ewan, the little boy who just then turned to look at her too, curious why his father had paused his story.

She saw and it hurt her; her son looked wary, his thumb creeping up to his mouth, watching her with sad eyes as she approached. Aching, still not recovered, she knelt before the chair. She smiled up at him. A sad little smile. She blinked away the tears building and she touched his little knees. “Ewan,” she whispered, voice trembling, “Are you okay?”

He shifted a little, pulling his thumb from his mouth. “I was scared,” he muttered, looking down.

Her heart broke. “Oh,” she breathed out, “I know. And I am so, so sorry. I never meant to scare you. I promise--” her voice cracked, fingers twitching, “I promise it won’t happen again. Can you forgive me?” She brushed the hair out of his eyes, focusing solely on him. Not the man just there behind him who watched silently.

“It’s okay, Mommy,” Ewan said, “You don’t hafta be sad. I’m not angry. And- and I for--give you.”

She smiled a watery smile. “Thank you, Ewan,” she murmured. She held out her arms. “Can mommy have a hug?”

He flung himself forward without a second wasted, wrapping his arms around her neck, clinging on, dangling half on her, half on his father. He held tight, like only a little kid could. Tears fell down her cheeks, hidden from view, and she grasped him by the back of the neck and breathed him in. Her eyes clenched tight and she rocked him side to side. “Thank you,” she said again, barely holding it together, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too Mommy,” he replied, hugging tight.

Over Ewan’s shoulder, she locked eyes with Jareth. His expression was unreadable, but as she looked up at him, shameful tears dripping, he softened. His hand came up and softly, while her eyes fell shut, he wiped away her tears.

. . .

“I’m sorry,” she whispered that night, peering at him sadly, imploringly. They were back in their chambers, having soothed Ewan to sleep, still a little frightened from her display. The place was fixed. The clock right again, the window repaired. The floor cleared. The goblins had already been to finish what she couldn’t. Darkness had fallen since.

Jareth sighed and brushed some of her hair back behind her ear, thumb stroking along her cheek. Then, his hand dropped, and he turned. He stepped away, leaving her standing there. He disappeared into the bathroom without a word.

There was a moment that she just stood there, waiting for something… The shower sounded.

She looked down to her feet, toes curling into the cold. She scrubbed at her eyes.

She followed after him, walking slowly, sedately. She cracked open the door, peering in. He stood facing away from her in the bath. Water washed down over him, a bit of magic stopping it from spilling out of the bath. She crept in, crossing the wide tiled floor. Just there, at the edge, she paused. He still hadn’t turned to her, though she knew for certain he knew she was there. His hands raked through his hair, head under the wide stream. The bathroom air was fogging up.

Her wrinkled-up gown floated to the floor at her feet, and she stepped out of it. She caught sight of herself in the large mirror. Long, dark hair. Sad eyes. Thin everywhere but one place. Her eyes closed briefly before she stepped in, feet wetting first, then water splashing onto her legs, her hips, then her upper body and her hair as she molded herself to his back. He stilled.

She wrapped arms around his middle, lips pressed to a notch in his spine. “I’m sorry,” she said into him, just almost drowned out by the raining all around them. Her mouth trembled. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Her arms fell from him when he turned around. The water sprayed all around and her eyes clenched shut. She leaned her head against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. He tugged her back, tilting her chin up. She gazed at him with wide eyes, fingers curling against his sides. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, saying it again. Her hand strayed down, she tickled fingers over his hip. His silence crushed her.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t.” Was she convincing herself? Fingers down further, toying just there, right above.

He cracked a little smile. “It’s okay,” he murmured. His hands buried in the damp strands of her hair. “I forgive you.” Her body relaxed, going loose right there in his hold. She sighed out, eyes fluttering. He leaned closer, scraping lips over her cheekbone. The wet slide of water and mouth. “Don’t do it again,” he said.

She nodded, contrite, fingers wrapping finally. He groaned softly. The warm water had blushed her skin. She was pink as she touched him.

He tilted her head back. And he kissed her. She moaned, mouth opening to him, to his touch, and to his tongue.

. . .

“Is this baby gonna stop growing too?” Ewan whispered in the dark. He lay between them, having snuck into their bed in the middle of the night, shaking from a nightmare. He turned toward her, curling up against her middle. She was big now. The farthest she’d gone since she’d had Ewan. “I can’t hear anything,” he said sadly, ear pressing.

A frown tugged at her mouth. She stroked slowly down his back and glanced at Jareth over his head. She could barely see in the darkness of the room, but she could tell; the skin around his eyes was tight, flicked down watching his son.

She didn’t know what to say. Neither, it seemed, did Jareth.

Finally, she whispered back, her voice wavering despite herself. “We don’t know, Ewan. It might… it might not. We just have to wait and see.”

“But,” he said, his head snapping around to see his father, face brightening. He had an idea. “But… Daddy, you can make sure it won’t happen. With your magic!”

Jareth came closer, reaching out, hand coming to play with Ewan’s hair. “Magic doesn’t work like that, Ewan,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” the boy demanded, head turning back and forth, looking at both of his parents. His lips were tilted downward. Sarah ached in her heart and in her mind and in her body too. Of course she did. She always did.

Jareth touched her hand that curled around Ewan. He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb and leaned in to kiss the crown of the boy’s head. “Magic has its limits just like anything else. When it comes to nature, we are powerless to intervene…. The Fates will decide this.”

“Then the Fates are mean,” Ewan said, sounding frustrated. He curled up closer. “It isn’t fair.”

Sarah’s lips parted. Her eyes slid over to Jareth. He looked… maybe sad wasn’t the right word. She didn’t know what the right one was.

“No,” she said finally, looking back to her young son, “it isn’t.”

Ewan let out a little whimper and his tiny arms wrapped around her, holding just shy of too tight. He cried against her, his tears dripping into her nightgown. “Baby, don’t be scared,” he said into her belly. “Everything is happy out here.” He sounded as desperate as a little five year old could sound.

Sarah let out a shuddering breath, tugging him close as can be.

“Shh,” she said, “it’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

Would it be?

Jareth brought his arm over them both, sandwiching the lives they have made between them. One successful, the other… well, who could know? It was a little family.

The quiet sounds of breathing filled the air.

. . .

At eight months, she grew very weak. Bedridden. If she had enough energy to hate it, she would have. But as it stood, she was too tired to do much of anything, let alone stew. She slept a lot of the time, getting up only to use the bathroom, to wash, to eat. She wore sleeping clothes all the time. Food was hard to get down. The healers were in all the time, checking her over at Jareth’s command. They saw her so much that the head healer even started saving little smiles for her.

She scared Ewan like this. She knew it. It broke her heart to see his nervous eyes, taking in her weak appearance, so ballooned out in the middle, but gaunt in the face. When he saw her each day, it took him some minutes to warm up to her again. It felt like rejection even though she knew it didn’t mean anything. Still, in those moments before he smiled at her again, she could barely stand it.

The horrifying prospect of having children who hated her… she didn’t want to imagine.

Her voice was crackled as she read to Ewan in the big bed, telling him stories already written out. When she tried to tell the ones from before, she always lost her train of thought. The effort to think, to remember -- it drained her.

He was always disappointed when she couldn’t tell him his favorite stories… of the Wizard of Oz. Of Alice in Wonderland. He tried to hide it, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but she could see. She knew.

She was his mother, of course she knew.

He was a sweet little boy, more conscientious than she would have expected. He was the son of the man who married her, after all.

He was her son, too.

But even as she dozed through a lot of the day, rest eluded her in the dark of night. Eyes open and staring even as her body lulled cloud-like in that big, big bed. There were flashes of sleep sometimes. She’d drift off in such a way that felt like maybe she was still awake. Half-aware.

The flashes came with half-dreams. Visions of terrible things, or sweet things, or erotic things. No rhyme or reason to it. She’d be in the same bed -- really there, awake, not asleep. Or at least that’s how it felt. Jareth would loom. And there would be pain and fear and something animal about it as he used her. Or she’d be there in the bright of day, a baby (somehow not Ewan) would be in her arms, smiling up at her. Or, in the same place, and the visions wouldn’t be visions at all. A sensory Jareth would touch her, fingers sparking along her skin, different and nice. Breathing tickled her skin and something caressed her.

The half-dreams always brought her back to the dark, blinking and unsure. Confused, for Jareth would be sleeping there beside her even though she could have sworn he’d just hit her, just gripped her jaw too tight and forced a kiss. Or looking down at her arms, missing the baby who was hers. Or the sweet touch of him lingering on her skin. It all faded quick, not sticking around for long. If she cried or she pressed her thighs together, Jareth always knew.

He would comfort her in her discomfort, always.

He was around more in the day, staying as much as he could to watch over her as she got weaker and weaker. He brought Ewan or he kept her company himself while the boy went off to his lessons.

He made her laugh.

He started to tell her about the absolute buffoonery of the goblins, or of his subjects. The stupidity of the endless agreements and accords and treaties that were balanced so delicately between the surrounding kingdoms. And he’d tell her in such a way that cracked her up, weak body shaking, eyes tearing up for once in laughter. His voices were too much; they amused her greatly. It seemed to please him when she laughed. He smiled at her fondly, seated across from her at the table or lying beside her in the bed or sitting with her in the bath.

But with each day that passed that the baby didn’t stop, Sarah grew more and more terrified. When would it happen? To come so close and to lose again… She saw in her mind what it would look like. A real baby, as big as Ewan had been, or maybe just a tad smaller, blue and limp and dead in her arms. Wrong, wrong, wrong… The thought hurt her, it horrified her, it offended her so much that she chased it away thinking of anything, anything else. But it wouldn’t leave her. It remained there. Poised, waiting in the back of her mind. It desired to pounce.

She was paralyzed with the fear. She thought that Jareth might have been too. Darkly-circled under eyes, pale face, dark eyes. It was wrong to see him vulnerable, she wasn’t sure about it. It didn’t make sense. You are the lordly king who took me, she wanted to say, you are untouchable; why are you scared?

Even when nine months came and her water broke, she couldn’t shake off the fear. The feeling of imminent doom. Something bad would happen. It was certain.

It was scarier than the first time, somehow. She woke up in the night, sheets damp, sticky, and already half-dried. The contractions hit and her breath was choked, pained and scared together. She shook Jareth awake and in a tense silence, he’d brought her to the infirmary. In the hands of the professionals, she was sequestered away, alone from him.

It was less private this time. Exposing. The same midwives were there, but so were the healers she’d so gotten used to. Even with its tall stone walls, bare except for the iron sconces, the infirmary reminded her of a hospital. Of a doctor’s office. It was the white of the beds, probably. The basins. The lack of windows. The tall, imposing healer-doctors who handled her, no time for smiles this night. There was a sterility, a lack of personality to it. She missed the comfort of the room Ewan had been born in. There was good luck there. Only something bad could happen in this place, overseen by too many.

She couldn’t kneel either. They had her on her back, sweating and crying on the small bed. She felt helpless like that, unable to do anything. They did everything. Those foreigners to her body.

As the hours passed, things got hazy. She got drifty, floaty. The healers spoke to her, but she had a hard time responding. Her tongue was thick, eyes heavy. She thought she saw Jareth at one point, over her. His face was warped, swaying in her vision, looking down at her, head hovering. Were there two of him? How odd. And there was a thought she had… something about his eyes. But… it drifted from her as soon as it crossed her mind. She couldn’t remember… what was she trying to remember? She was trying to remember something?

It frightened her, the darkness that crept in. She was barely there, but she saw something in her head. Was it true? The blue, dead babe. She cried out so weakly. So terrified. She reached downward at her body, but she faltered.

The vision was gone. There was blackness.

When she woke again, everything hurt. A numb-hurt. A slow throbbing hurt. Like an elephant sitting on her middle. Her eyes were slow to peel open, dried shut almost.

Eyes aching, bulging in her head, her vision swam. It took all of her strength to lift her weak arms, thinned and tired. She touched her eyes which wanted to stay shut. Then the hands floated down again. She went to touch her belly, pressing where something ought to be. Hands dropped quickly downward, surprised like a foot when it tries to find a step that isn’t there.

A weak whimper left her. Her size was less. It was deflated some from what it had been. Belly so big and tall. Now it felt lumped-up and flatter. She felt a fear. She was all muddled in the head.

“Sarah,” there was a voice. It was clear as day, breaking through the air. “Sarah, you’re okay. Precious, you can wake now.”

Her mouth opened to say… but she couldn’t make any noise. Mouth was all dry. It tickled. Her eyes blinked slowly. Colors and things started to take shape, flickering all over. She looked down at herself, covered in white. She was propped up by pillows, half-laying, half-sitting. Her head was heavy as it turned to look around her, lagging terribly.

“Sarah,” the voice said again, softly. She turned to her right, blinking still.

First, she saw him. Jareth, her husband. Seated in a small chair to the side of her. He smiled when he saw her looking, and it made her want to smile too. But she couldn’t. There was still a worry...

His gaze turned downward, and she followed it. She looked down, down…

She gasped. In his arms was...

A baby. A breathing, living baby. Pink cheeked and eyes closed. The little thing was swaddled up, held tenderly in Jareth’s arms.

Sarah sobbed out, her eyes shone. A blinding beam so bright stretched across her face. It beat back the weakness still tugging at her, pushing it away. Not now, not now, her joy scolded, can’t you come at a better time?

The tears that burst left a salty taste as they streamed down, wetting her dry lips. But she was fixated on the much sweeter sight before her. She couldn’t look away, eyes tracking the sleeping thing as Jareth stood from his chair and stepped the one pace closer to her. She yearned and yearned as he lowered to sit beside her on the bed. Her arms were already held out. There was a strength to them that there hadn’t been only moments before.

Wordless, Jareth placed the baby in her arms. She shuddered, holding tight, close. She was blinded with the beauty she held as Jareth wrapped his arms around her back, tugging Sarah close, making sure she could hold the weight.

Her smile trembled, it was so overwhelmed with relief. With happiness. “Jareth…” her voice croaked.

His fingers came up to stroke at her hair; they were bare. “Meet your daughter, sweet Sarah,” he said softly. Proudly.

“Daughter?” she breathed. So this was what a baby girl looked like, Sarah thought, looking down, just amazed. Her fingers quivered around the bundled up babe sleeping, puffy-eyed and scrubbed clean.

There was an echo of fear. She remembered, but she didn’t. “J-Jareth? Is she okay?” her voice shook, just so overcome, “What happened? I don’t remember...”

He kissed the side of her head. “She’s perfectly fine,” he soothed, rubbing her arm. “A healthy baby girl you gave me.”

Her numb body sparked with relief… There was hope in her heart.

She watched as his thumb found the crease of the baby’s little forehead. He smoothed it out. “There were some complications,” he said quietly, as they both looked upon this child. Their second. A daughter. Finally in her arms after so many tries.

“What complications?” she asked, still smiling down. Only half-listening.

“The birth… it was too hard on you. Your body couldn’t handle it, it was fighting too hard. The healers had to put you to sleep so they could deliver her safely.”

He was silent for a moment. “I thought I lost you,” he said finally, voice tight. Hand finding her cheek, he turned her face toward him. He pressed lips to her forehead. “I thought I lost both of you.”

She bowed her head, hair falling around her. “Am I safe now?” she asked. He rubbed her arm still, a friction. Up and down, up and down.

“Yes,” he murmured. “You are safe.”

She let out a sigh, and she touched the baby girl’s nose. So tiny and cute. Sarah was in love again. “Is Ewan all right?” she asked, suddenly concerned. “Oh,” she said worriedly, turning to Jareth. “I hope he didn’t get scared. How long…?”

“Just two days,” he said. “Ewan is fine, though a little nervous. I told him you needed some alone time to recover from the birth, that that’s why he hasn’t seen you yet. He doesn’t know what truly happened.”

She felt the tightness in her chest release. “Bring him,” she said, gazing up at him with big eyes. “Please?”

Jareth nodded. “It’s night now, but I’ll bring him in the morning. He’s anxious to see you. I could barely get him to go to sleep.”

A breathless little laugh left Sarah and she looked back down. The weight in her arms was so right. It was perfect. Jareth’s arms were warm around her.

“Tell me her name,” she said, tracing fingers over the baby girl’s face.

Jareth smiled against her temple. “Alice.”

“Alice?” she choked out, not believing it.

His eyes were crinkled, lips curved. Soft. “Ewan suggested it. He thought you might like it.”

Her eyes teared. She beamed. “I do. I do. It’s perfect.” She kissed her baby on the forehead.

“Hi, Alice,” she breathed, mesmerized. “I’m your mommy. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Tears were brewing once again. Her face was turning red, so many emotions in her. “Thank you,” she sobbed out, a stifled little thing. She was speaking to her husband, and to Alice, and to herself all at once.

“Precious thing,” Jareth said, “Thank you.”

Notes:

Yay! A baby girl! I hope you guys are a little less stressed now after the last chapter :P

What do you guys think of the name Alice? Literally only made the decision yesterday. Thought it would be cute!

So, thought I'd give a sort of update here about the story progress. There are a few more chapters in this arc before we move into the next and final arc of the story! We're still not close to the end, but we are getting there. How many chapters will there be, you ask? To that, I say: I have no fuckin clue. :P

Though I thought maybe I'd reassure anyone who was curious... we ARE definitely heading somewhere!! :D

Thanks so much for reading and thanks for all your support <3

Chapter 24: Not Long At All

Summary:

Jareth chucked the boy’s chin. He smiled gently. “Death meets us all in the end,” he said, “But it will be a very, very long time until you must face him, my son.”

Notes:

Hi, I'm back :D Hope you enjoy!

The sounds of the healer’s footsteps faded away. Her and her husband were alone in the infirmary.

Sarah stared at her lap, her feet dangling off the edge of the bed. She twisted her hands in her dress, hair falling past her face, shielding her away. She wouldn’t look up. She just couldn’t.

She felt his eyes fixed upon her from where he stood, just watching.

It tumbled out of her mouth, unbidden, “I’m sorry,” she said. She burned.

She heard his sigh and she saw as his booted feet approached her. His hand fell upon her shoulder, and surely he could feel the way her body vibrated, angry and sad and scared and mortified. What a let-down she was, she thought as she twisted her face away as much as she could. Away from her shame.

The hand remained on her shoulder as the bed sunk beside her, and then it trailed all the way down her spine. He rubbed her hip opposite him.

Sarah bit the insides of her cheeks so hard there was a metallic taste that coated her tongue. She didn’t stop, just biting and biting until it hurt so much. Hurt enough to satisfy.

“Sarah,” he said. And she swallowed past the thick, heavy lump in her throat. It was so large it was hard to breathe, a boulder right there suffocating her. She choked on a sob, hiding herself even more, hands over her eyes. He didn’t say anything but continued to stroke at her hip. Silence reigned for an eternity.

She hurt for so long, but eventually it all had to burst out. How could it be any other way? Her voice cracked in the quiet, a tragic little whisper, “Jareth…”

She fumbled for her words. Her eyes closed and she hunched even more, back curved impossibly. Fingers quivering over her mouth, dabbing just so on her blood-dotted lips.

He was quiet still.

“I-I’m sorry,” she choked out, words coming out in puffs of strained air. “I’ve disappointed you.”

His hand paused in its circles over her hip. His voice murmured in the air, “You haven’t.”

Her body was so strained with everything burning within her. She tremored.

“Sarah,” he said, and when she didn’t respond, still turned away, he plucked her hands from her face and held them both in one of his. She stared at her lap. “I’m not disappointed in you,” he said.

“Yes, you are.”

He sighed again. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Her little fingers shook in his hand, so much so that his other hand left her hip and secured his hold. He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles.

“But,” she quavered, “I- I’m not what you wanted.”

His hands tightened. “And who says that?”

She huffed sadly. “I can’t give you what you want. I’m sorry.”

“How many times do I have to tell you it isn’t your fault, Sarah?”

She tried to turn from him, tried to wrench her hands away. She didn’t believe him. But he wouldn’t be swayed. He held her still. And she breathed heavy.

“It is,” she snapped, nails digging into her palms. Her hands sweated in the surrounding heat of his. “It is my fault. There is something wrong with me, the healer said so. You- you were wrong.” Then she scoffed, sounding bitter, “A mortal girl who can’t bear you any children.” She shook her head jerkily, hair flying all around.

“You have given me two children,” he reminded her. “That is not nothing.”

“Yes,” she said sadly. “Two beautiful children. But over how many years and how many tries?” She choked on a sob, “I’ve failed you so many times. And now… I’m- I’m useless.”

“You are not useless,” he hissed.

“But I am,” she cried into her hands.

“Oh Sarah,” he said quietly. Like he pitied her.

It was too much to handle. And she flung herself toward him, fast enough that his hands loosened on hers, leaving them free to wrap around his neck. He jolted back from the force of her hug, catching her, tucking her closer, as she exclaimed over and over, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck and cried as he stroked her back. She was half on his lap now, sobbing out and shaking, stammering into his skin, “I know you- you can’t… keep me like this. What will- what will the other kings say? But- but please don’t send me away! Please, let me be with them both. Please, Jareth, I’m their mother! You can’t-- you can’t--” Was she hyperventilating? She thought she must be.

His hand petted over her long hair, a soothing motion. But she wouldn’t be calmed, just utterly distraught. She couldn’t bear it, the thought of her children being taken from her. She was a horrible failure, a wretched disappointment.

“Enough of this, Sarah,” he commanded, but his arms still held her. “You think I care what these other kings think? No.” He shook his head just slightly and she could feel the movement against her. “I’ve told you before; you aren’t going anywhere. You’re my wife and the mother of my children. And you will remain so. This is my word on the matter and I don’t want to hear you question it. Do you understand?”

If anything, his reassurances only made her cry harder, blubbering against him, belly jolting as it all crashed easily through the desperate crumbling stone walls she had tried so hard to build, feeble stone by feeble stone -- labouring to protect herself. But she had not succeeded, for she continued to lay herself bare before her king husband, so kind and horrible all at once.

He held her like that for a long while, her vulnerable self falling to pieces in his arms as she came to terms with it all.

It seemed like forever before she calmed enough, wiping her wet-reddened eyes with her sleeves, asking quietly if they could go home now, to their chambers, to see their beautiful little boy and beautiful baby girl. Their two children -- more than he would have gotten from a Fae woman, he’d at one point whispered as she hated herself.

He agreed, taking her hand in his, helping her up to stand on wobbly, newly relieved legs -- she carried no weight other than her own. And so he returned them to their chambers, a supportive hand at her lower back and a hidden glower upon his handsome face.

. . .

Sarah was terribly weak in the time after Alice was born. Strung out and fatigued. Her muscles seemed atrophied. She’d lain in bed for so long before her daughter ever even took a breath, but the healers sentenced her to remain there for longer. Rest up, so your barren body will live, they said. It will live for you alone, but it will no longer create life, they condemned.

The empty girl. That’s who she was.

She couldn’t understand why Jareth wanted her around. Why he smiled at her so softly as he helped her with Alice day in and night out. Why he was so patient when Ewan clung to her at all hours, even in the night.

Why he wasn’t mad at her.

She wondered… was he worried about what his subjects would say when they realized the King had maxed out the use of his little consort? Sarah thought he must be mad, somewhere underneath everything. It didn’t make sense otherwise.

He did everything for her, but she did nothing for him. Her life had turned on its head.

He helped her more than she thought he ought to. He was a king, wasn’t he? Where were the nannies and handmaids and servants? Do not worry, he would tell her when she worried about keeping him from his duties. Everything is being handled. This is more important.

He was there for her through everything. Through the struggles of those first weeks. It was harder this time, her feeble body, her fussy baby, her nervous little boy. But Jareth wouldn’t allow her to handle it on her own. When Alice struggled to latch no matter how hard Sarah tried, silent frustrated tears bursting from the both of them, Jareth would be there. He would wipe her tears and cradle the two of them in his arms, murmuring out one of his songs. A soft little song that lulled not only Alice, but Sarah too. Mother and daughter turned a little less red in the face, a little less sad in the heart as husband and father held them.

And he was there for little Ewan when she couldn’t be, too exhausted from the demands her body made upon her -- to heal herself and to provide for another all at once. He brought the boy to her in the mornings and tucked him into bed each night. And he kindly allowed it when Ewan crept into their chambers and crawled into their bed, cuddling up between them and hugging tight to his mother, for he had been scared by the whole thing with Alice.

Sarah wanted so terribly to be able to take care of her little son like she used to, not so long ago. Take him to the gardens, sing to him at bathtime, play with him, and dance. And she wished she could take care of her baby girl each night when she cried out, scared of this new world. She remembered fondly the late nights she would rock a newborn Ewan for hours and hours till he calmed again, Jareth sleeping soundly nearby. Now, it was harder to get up in the night. She was drained… she slept like the dead.

Jareth had to wake her himself when Alice was hungry, guiding her to sit up, placing the babe in her arms, helping Sarah with her duty even as her eyes kept closing and her mind just barely returned from the mushiness of sleep.

But then sometimes she’d drift awake in the night on her own. No baby crying and no husband waking her. And she’d see him standing there before the window, gazing out against the light of the silver moon, a little bundle all quiet and soft in his arms.

It was one of her favorite sights.

She gained her strength at a snail’s pace. It crawled back to her. Soon, she assured herself, she would be able to play with her children, to be there for them in everything.

But new worries were dragged along with this new, budding strength. Presented at her feet, like those unique little stones Ewan would find in the gardens and give to her, his bashful smile and sweet blush setting her heart aflutter.

But these were sad worries, much less pleasant than her son’s kind gifts. There was always something more to fret about, something that made her uneasy. It was a roll of the dice each day. What would it be, what would it be?

Sarah couldn’t help but be self-conscious of the way she looked, of who she was. She was ashamed. She hated the stretchiness of her middle, but more than that, she loathed the failing organs within her.

It was a strange thing… to be betrayed by one’s own body. It had wronged her, where it never had before. Before this place, she had never so much as broken a bone or sprained an ankle. Her impervious child body had given way to this sad woman’s body, not able to function as it should. And oh, where had the years gone? She didn’t think she felt like a woman, not even after all this time. She wondered… when would her children surpass her in age? Would there be a point where they outstripped her in her unfinished adolescence. She was stunted. She figured that was why she didn’t work.

When she sometimes found herself glaring at her naked woman body in the bathroom mirror, dark smudges under her eyes and straggly hair, she would grip the edge of the marbled counter. She’d glare and glare and glare at herself, at the little button in the middle of her belly. Why, she wondered? Why?

But then, as if he could feel her very emotions, he would appear in the bathroom, the golden light glinting. She could never look at him when the door creaked open, and instead, her head would bow down, her eyes would close, she’d feel so sorry for herself she could hardly believe it. Then, he’d come around behind her and wrap her up in his arms, bare hands touching her bare belly. His fingers would spread, spanning her skin and he’d stroke her, rubbing his hands over that part of her, slowly. Up and up and warmly down.

He rubbed her back to life. So much that her sadness seemed to wane, to recede into the background, the feeling of him upon her enough to push it away. Her head would roll back against his shoulder so she could see him as he warmed her. In the mirror, her eyes would be heavy and wet and his would be dark and intent, turning hot as his hands caressed up. He would touch her everywhere and she would shiver, feeling the warmth of him, body arching for him. It pleased her, this sight. To see herself stretched out before him, his hands all across her. She thought she might be beautiful like that, when he looked at her like that.

In all he did for her, she was loved. She wasn’t sure she deserved it.

But… didn’t she love being loved? It was true-- it blossomed within her.

And she loved loving. She loved so strongly. Even through all the weakness and sadness that plagued her.

Sarah was enamored by her little children. Once, she’d worried that she wouldn’t have enough love to spare for anyone other than her firstborn. But she’d been wrong. Oh, how wrong she’d been. She barely knew the little thing, the little baby girl who smelled so sweet in her arms. But Sarah knew… she would do anything for her. She would love her until she died, and she’d love her in the afterlife. Just like Ewan. Her angry love for them hurt so much, it was unbelievable. She thought she might burst.

Her sweet children gave her smiles and they gave her laughter. Without them, surely she would have wasted away. She knew it for a fact; their happiness healed her.

They made her happy with everything they did. When Alice smiled her newborn smile in the center of the large bed, little hand gripping tight to Ewan’s as their son laughed and kissed her, innocent lives protected on either side by mother and father. There would be no more, but there was Alice and there was Ewan. She could be proud of that, at least. To see her children together, it was a tremendous thing.

It was powerful.

. . .

She drifted awake one evening to the sounds of Jareth and Ewan talking. The fire crackled and the blue light of early night sky just barely lit the room. It was a painted place; monochrome blue. Sarah listened, half-awake, blinking half-lidded up at the canopy of the bed, to the sounds of their voices. Giggles and laughs, hushed so as not to wake the sleeping girls nearby. Sarah smiled at the sounds, comforted, vaguely following what they were saying, content just as she was.

Then: “Daddy?….When Alice was born, did mommy almost die?”

Sarah tensed up, eyes going wide and awake. She turned slowly and saw them in the blue-hued chambers. Ewan lay on the rug, belly down. He fiddled with his toys; wooden trinkets and magic things that blinked light and shifted shapes. Jareth sat in one of the armchairs, fingers poised just so against the arm as if he’d been frozen still in the midst of his piano playing.

There was a pause. In Sarah’s tiredness, she just blinked at the sight of them. Father and son. Matching hair shone bright against the gold-orange of the fire. The blue and gold and silvery-blond collided together into something hazy she couldn’t quite pin down.

Ewan turned, leaning his little head against his arm. “Daddy?” he said, his voice small and quiet. Sarah ached… her sweet little boy.

Jareth let out a breath. He crossed his legs the other way and his fingers found their rhythm again, thudding little thuds against the arm of the chair. “Yes,” he said finally. “Almost. But she did not.”

Ewan’s lower lip jutted out, it trembled. He sat up and dropped his toys with a little clang. He looked up at his father with such a sad little frown.

Jareth’s head tilted. He frowned too. “Come along, then” he said, and patted his lap. Ewan didn’t need to be told twice, for he stood up and stamped his little feet across the rug and climbed up on his father’s lap without a second to spare. His arms tugged tight around Jareth’s neck. Sarah could see the way he trembled.

“Hush,” Jareth hummed, stroking his back. “Hush now. She is perfectly fine.”

Sarah’s eyes pricked. She pressed a fist to her mouth. She didn’t want to interrupt, but she desperately did.

Ewan’s voice was wavy and warbly when he spoke next, muffled in his father’s neck. “I don’t want mommy to die.”

“Of course not, Ewan,” Jareth said softly, “Nor do I.” He tugged the boy back and looked him in the eye. He wiped his tears and cracked a smile at the distraught little boy. “But don’t you worry, I won’t let anything happen to her. Or you. Or little Alice.”

“You won’t?”

Jareth shook his head.

Ewan snuffled, bringing his hands up to his eyes. His breath hiccupped, stuttered in that little kid way of recovering. “But they’re still gonna… gonna die, right? You too. In the future...” He seemed to know the answer to that and his little face twisted up. “Daddy, I don’t want anyone to die!” he cried out desperately, quietly, sniffling and wiping at his face.

Sarah could see Jareth still frowning. He patted Ewan on the back and bounced his knee. He didn’t respond, just held the boy. He held him like he did her, kindly. Sometimes she realized how strange that was. How utterly confusing.

Then, their son whined, his little hands coming to fist at his father’s flowing white shirt. “Am I gonna die, too?”

Jareth chucked the boy’s chin. He smiled gently. “Death meets us all in the end,” he said, “But it will be a very, very long time until you must face him, my son.”

“I don’t want to meet him, ever...” Ewan said quietly, so sadly. He dove back into his father’s chest, clinging tight.

Sarah stared at the two of them. She thought, she worried. Something new had been presented before her.

. . .

It was one night after the children had been put to bed. The bathroom was steaming up, warm and cozy. Sarah leaned her elbow against the edge of the bath and watched while her husband shaved in the large mirror.

The scrape of the blade against his skin was loud in the quiet bathroom, the only other noise was the swishing of water around her as she shifted. He pulled tight the skin of his face and dragged the straight razor -- a new one, not the one stained with the blood of her impulsive almost-death -- over his jaw.

He noticed her watching, eyes going amused as he continued his task.

She was overcome by this feeling of fondness, right then. For the way he stood in just his breeches, no boots. The way his pendant fell against his chest, always there. The way his hands flicked, assured and practiced in his movements. The way the warm golden light of the bathroom bathed him in front of her. The light made her warm, aided by the steam of the water around her.

Her eyes tracked his motions, just quietly observing. She liked to watch him like this. It was so normal, so… calm. She loved him like this. Her husband, shaving, like he did every other day. Sarah could almost imagine it; Aboveground, living in a large, stately mansion, charming and old-fashioned, built far away enough that the townsfolk wouldn’t bother them. Sequestered away enough that the odd comings and goings of the little sprites and fairies in the garden wouldn’t be noticed. The mysterious mister and missus and their two young children. What a handsome family, the people would say whenever the man and the girl and the son and the daughter made their occasional stop into town. It pleased her, the thought. It drifted her away.

He dipped his blade in the basin of water, and the foam dripped off, floating like clouds at the surface. She wanted to smile; now he had a mustache of white. It reminded her of those liquid mustaches Ewan sometimes got with his gulping from cups too-big.

“Can’t you just… spell it all off? Instead of shaving it?” she wondered, leaning forward even more, her cheek squishing against her hand.

He caught her eye in the mirror. He smiled and continued, running the blade over his neck. “I could.”

She tilted her head.

His voice was low, silent for the baby just in the other room. “In fact,” he said, “If I really wished it, I wouldn't have to shave at all.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” he said, standing up a little straighter. “The things you can do with magic, Sarah! I’ll never get tired of it, no matter how long I live.”

His eyes twinkled and he waved his hand in the air. A brilliant blue-green butterfly appeared fluttering from the whoosh of magic. Sarah perked up. Its little wings batted in the air and it spiralled around, flying toward her.

“Hi there,” Sarah said in a whisper. It landed on the top of her hand, little legs tickling against her knuckles. She smiled.

The butterfly strolled over the hills of her knuckles. It kissed against her wedding ring, seeming to take stock of that glittering thing, nudging it and admiring. Sarah stayed so still, not wanting to frighten the little thing. It turned to face her and, to her astonishment, its tiny head tilted, big eyes glinting. It smiled hello. Sarah gasped, and the butterfly launched itself into the air, floating around before her eyes.

“To create life,” Jareth said from across the room, “Even for just a moment. It is a beautiful thing.”

How beautiful indeed, she thought, as it shimmered in the air.

“Still,” he said, “All things must eventually end. Even magic.” His fingers snapped. Sarah was transfixed as the shine of its wings, as the magic dissolved, dripping through the air, trickling down. The glittering magic was gone from the world before it could touch the bath water.

She sat up straighter in the bath, hand reaching out to something that no longer existed. “It’s sad… in a way,” she said. She turned to look at him, to see as he leaned against the long counter, gazing upon her.

“Yes,” he said, “But that’s what makes it so beautiful, don’t you think?”

She frowned a little, she thought about it. “Sad and beautiful together,” she mused, “It’s a strange combination.”

She watched as he turned back to the mirror and picked back up his blade. “Not so strange,” he said.

“You don’t think so?”

He smiled. “My lovely wife, don’t you realize? The sad beauty in you…” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen such a tremendous thing.”

Her lips parted. Her eyelashes dusted against her cheeks as she looked down. She wasn’t sure what to say to that. She peeked back up to see him watching her through the mirror, dark eyes flicking every few seconds, his progress slowing ever so slightly. Still, bit by bit, the skin of his face appeared to her, flushed and warmed.

“If magic is so beautiful to you,” she said, “How come you don’t use it for everything?”

“Ah,” he said. “But that’s just it: you must save this beautiful magic for the proper things. To create butterflies or ballrooms for your wife, glimmering toys and stories for your children, castles and art and brilliant power for yourself. The magic… it deserves respect.”

She quirked an eyebrow, peering over at him over the rim of the tub, leaning back to relax. She bit her lip, holding back a little smile. “Is that why you shave by hand? How noble of you.”

A surprised chuckle bubbled out of him. He grinned at her from the mirror and wiped at his face, the flecks of white that still lingered now wiped away. “Well,” he shrugged a single shoulder, “When you live for as long as the Fae, you must fill the days with something, no? If we did everything with magic...” His lips pursed and he tilted his head, “What would we do with all that time on our hands?”

She smiled, dropping lower in the bath. The jasmine bubbles dabbed over her collarbone. Her hair floated around her, seemingly weightless. She’d always loved how it looked, her hair left loose submerged in water. Ever since she was tiny, she would pretend she was a mermaid in the small tubs of her parents. Bathtime as a little girl, Sarah would always say: Mommy, mommy, look at my hair! I’m the Queen of the sea!

“I can understand that,” she said, “I think.”

Her eyes drifted over to him again, letting her body float in the large bath. She watched the way he rinsed off the razor one last time, leaving the water basin thick and clouded. The way he dried it with a towel and the way he folded it together and closed his hand around it. The way it was gone when he opened up his hand again.

Vanished from the bathroom, the blade was. She didn’t know where it went, somewhere in the magical abyss of summoning and sending. Where did these things go, she wondered. The food and art and clothes and blankets that he could provide or get rid of at will. Was there a storage place in the castle for such things, or did they just float in some wavy-purple-hazy-blue landscape of junk and things? A limbo for the lost.

Where did he send it? The blade he always sent away. It was different from the one she’d used all those years ago -- God, she realized, had she been sixteen once? How quick the time had passed! -- but it still was one. A sharp knife that could so easily cut her skin open, spilling out her life all over the tiled floors. Jareth worried she’d try again, she knew. If ever the blade was in her presence, it was also in his hand. He made sure of it; there would be no risks with her.

But didn’t he know? She would never. Not again. She had too much to live for, now. Little lives -- two, no more, no less -- that depended on her life.

A sadness washed over her. A sad, sad feeling that lapped and licked at her just like the water in the bath did. No, he was right to hide this thing from her. She worried about herself sometimes.

She thought she would never try such a thing again, but… what if she did? What if something -- anything-- went just slightly wrong and those battering thoughts hit her like they liked to do, what if she was pushed to it so hard that she had to, she just had to do something. What if she left her children alone without her.

Her eyes closed. Yes, she thought, he was right to keep these things from her. She couldn’t be trusted. She hoped he would be there if went crazy again, that he would stop her from doing something horrible.

She felt the wave of the bath, the water displacing as joined her. Her head lolled against the backrest. Heavy eyes blinking open again. She looked at him, where he lowered himself diagonally from her. She felt his feet brush against hers. Her heart was so sad that the beat of it had slowed. It languored in its melancholy.

He looked back at her, the ends of his hair getting wet, sticking to his skin. “There’s that sadness I was talking about,” he murmured, voice skating across the water top.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I don’t know about beauty though.”

“Silly girl,” he smiled. He splashed water on his face and she noticed how the droplets lingered on his skin, beading over him. She was close enough that she could see the wet triangles of his eyelashes, but far enough that there was space between them.

She exhaled, accepting. Her foot wiggled around, it fished. With it, she found his own. She pressed the arch of her foot against the top of his, just holding it there. Something about it grounded her.

“Tell me,” he said. “What makes you so sadly beautiful today, my dear?”

She frowned. “I don’t know,” she said quietly, forlornly. She flicked one of the bubbles that floated on the water surface. It burst apart, a wet film that splashed.

Her hand dropped into the water, heavy and leaden. The water plunked around the weight. Lethargy had got her now.

Then, two hands grasped her foot, tugging it over his lap. He rubbed it and she sighed, eyes falling closed. It was when he’d finished with her first foot and exchanged it for her second that her feelings seemed to come tumbling out.

“I… heard you speaking with Ewan the other night,” she said softly.

He made no reaction, just continuing to rub her foot. His thumb relieved the tension of her heel.

“I think…” she paused, “I think maybe I’m sad because everything will end.”

His hands drifted to massage at her bony ankle that had strained with the pressure of Alice in the last months.

She swallowed. “I’m going to end...” she rubbed her forehead. There was a confusion in her.

“Death frightens you?”

Her eyes drifted to the ceiling. She shook her head, sedately. “No,” she muttered, “It’s not that.”

His hands slowed their movements and he just held her food against him, hands scorching even in the hot water.

“It frightens me how much I’m going to miss once I’m gone… Ewan and Alice… they’ll have me for, what? Eighty more years, tops.” Her lips quivered and her eyes closed.

“They’ll live so long without me, forever and ever. And I’ll never know them.” She let out a shuddering breath. “I can’t bear it.”

“Oh precious,” he said. His voice rumbled across the small distance between them. His hand patted the top of her foot. Her eyes lowered, looking at him so sadly, eyes shining with the desolation of it all.

His lips were curved, softly amused. She looked at him sadly, unable to get past this heaviness in her heart. Was he making fun of her?

“Didn’t you know?” he asked.

“Know…?”

He tutted, shaking his head. “Really Sarah,” he said, “I’m certain I told you before. You’ll live for a long as I.”

Her brow furrowed and her hands clenched in the water. Her fingers were wrinkled up, her skin grainy to the touch. She sat up, her foot falling from his hold, the empty air of the bathroom ghosting against her now exposed skin. “But… how is that possible? I’m mortal...”

He tapped his lip, considering her. “Yes,” he said. “But we are married. Think of it as… a gift from the Fates. Your life will be much longer than your eighty years.”

Her eyes were intent upon him, searching him for any kind of falsehood. She scooted slightly forward. “As long as the Fae?”

“Hmm,” he murmured, “No, not quite. For as long as I live.”

Her eyes fell to the water surface. The bubbles remained even though she had been in there for a good long while. Magic bubbles, resilient ones. “I will die when you do?”

“Yes.”

She wrapped her mind around it. She could see the way her knees folded under the water. The way his leg stretched out nearby. Her wet hands came up to her face, dragging down over her eyes, her cheeks. She imagined she looked like that famous painting from Above; what was it called again? Scream or something like that. Here she was, long stretchy face, gaping eyes and mouth. She was befuddled, confused, and unsure. “If I die… will you?”

She wouldn’t look at him for this, for she had an idea already what he’d say. She stared over the point of his shoulder. There was a telling pause. And then, “No,” he said. “I won’t.”

Her toes curled. She fell silent. She remembered all those times she’d thought of killing him. That time she’d threatened to kill him. Was she a fool?

“I had no clue,” she said quietly, staring down still at the water.

The water waved as he shifted, moving forward, approaching. He met her there in the middle. He touched her chin, turned her to look at him. A smirk tugged at his mouth and his thumb tugged at the soft spot between her chin and lower lip. Her mouth parted open from the pull.

His eyes were on her lips. “The children will have you for very long,” he said. “Aren’t you happy?”

Her eyes fluttered. “I think so,” she whispered.

His eyes flashed and his eyebrow raised. Her heart skipped a beat.

Quickly, she said, “Yes. Yes, I’m happy.” She cracked a small little smile, “I don’t know why I said it like that…”

She bit her lip, looking up at him through lowered lashes. “I’m so grateful,” she whispered, “Jareth… thank you.”

That pleased him. Teeth gleamed when he smiled. Her eyes floated shut when he leaned closer. He kissed her, thin lips touching hers. She sighed into him.

And she was grateful, truly and honestly. To be able to know her children as they found their place in this world; it was a wonderful gift. She was lucky to have such a generous husband.

His hands were on her legs now, and he guided her closer, tugging her to sit across his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he kept on kissing her. His mighty kiss, that seemed to never end. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted it to.

But, as he said, all things must come to an end, magic ones too. He pulled back, breath of the both of them panting over each other’s mouths. Her eyes were heavy when they flicked up to his.

She was surprised when she was able to think, even as he dragged her center against him, making her shiver.

“And you’ll keep me?” she wondered, water-logged fingers clutching at his shoulders. “For as long as you live?”

His hands were drifting over her skin, tickling her waist and her belly and her spine and her breasts and her collarbone. Her lips were open, shiny-wet from his kiss. She gazed down at him, amazed.

Those dark eyes, she thought. They were terrifying and they were beautiful. Oh, she realized. Terrifying and beautiful and sad and beautiful, that’s what they were. This handsome couple. Would their children be the same?

Those eyes consumed her. “Oh, yes,” he murmured, hands wrapping tight around her waist. He held her. His smile was terrible, it made her shiver. “You’re for me,” he said, “Forever.”

Notes:

Y'all, I had a shitty kinda week. 1) was told by my dentist that I might have to get braces for a SECOND time because I've got some TMJ problem and my jaw is all messed up. LOL, I'm not doing that, but I was freaking out for a few days. Tbh, I don't think it is bad enough to do all that so that’s good. 2) had like a gazillion headaches (see: tmj) 3) had writer's block, which was really the worst part of the week. I tend to be melodramatic, so I was quite literally worried that I'd never be able to write again. XD obviously I got past that. Thank freaking god.

Anddd... that's the end of my whining :P Are you still with me? XD

Well, good news is that I'm going to have more time to write for the next few months :DDD So hopefully posts will come more frequently again!!

And as far as the story goes:
1) in this world, Fae children grow up at the same rate as human children. But once in adulthood, they live for a long-ass time.
2) I do not believe that a woman's worth is tied to her reproductive ability lol. But Sarah does. And no wonder! Anyway, I thought I should clarify that in case I was giving off the wrong vibe.

Hope you all are well! I'd love to hear what you all thought! xoxo Thanks so much for reading <3

Chapter 25: Tall Tales

Summary:

“Once upon a time…” she said with a flourish, “There was a princess--”

Notes:

:') I'm back

Hope you enjoy!

“A new story, hmm? Let’s see...” Sarah tapped at her lip, enjoying the way her son and her daughter stared, transfixed. They waited in anticipation, Ewan’s face lit up and Alice’s little body shaking with the excitement of it all.

Then, Sarah raised an eyebrow. There was an idea. She glanced around the colorful garden around her. They were alone together, her and her children. She breathed a soft sigh of relief. Of excitement.

She leaned slowly forward on her knees, raising her hands and spreading her fingers as if to frame this moment. Alice and Ewan gazed in rapt attention from where they sat across from her on the large picnic blanket.

Sarah let the excited pause linger. A smile curved at her lips.

“Once upon a time…” she said with a flourish, “There was a princess--”

Alice let out a shriek of happiness, jumping up and wiggling around so much that wild blond hair went flying. But Ewan sighed, crossing his arms. “But mom… all your stories are about princesses…”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Hush, Ewan. You’ll like this one, I promise…” She bit her lip in amusement as he pouted at her. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, there once was a young princess. She lived in the most beautiful land. There was no magic but still, it was marvelous. It was a place with flying metal dragons that could carry hundreds of people at once, with little boxes of moving pictures, tiny people singing songs and acting in plays at the command of a single button. A place with buildings built up so high that they pierced through the very clouds--”

She could see, Ewan was starting to warm up to it. His arms uncrossing and his lips parting. Alice was still bouncing in her place. The warmth of this sight boosted her. It was perfect.

“But this young princess was lonely. For she was alone. Oh, yes, she lived in a grand palace with her father and her stepmother and her little baby brother. Yes, it was loud and busy with the rich lives of the king and the queen. With events and travelling and guests. With the baby always screaming and squalling. But the girl was so, so alone. Nobody ever did anything with her. Her days were slow as she was made to clean and cook. As she took care of the baby who wasn’t hers. As no one noticed how sad she was. As no one cared. But,” Sarah whispered, leaning closer to see her children’s eager faces, “There was a book…”

And it was with a stroke of brilliance that Sarah performed this story for her son and her daughter. The story that wasn’t really a story. The story from so long ago.

As they watched, raptly attentive, she gestured her arms and boomed her voice. She spun the tale of her time in the Labyrinth. The annoying half-brother, the cruel stepmother, the dangerous king, the crotchety gardener, the snappy fairies, the illusive secret passages, the fear and the regret and the danger and the bravery and the perfect, bubbling excitement.

She told the truth. But she told it vaguely. Her children would never know that the girl she spoke of was really their mother and that the king she spoke of was really their father.

They would never suspect it, she would make sure of it.

And if there was ever a moment that a lump formed in her throat or her eyes watered or her voice caught mid-sentence, she would distract them. Turning away and lifting her arms up high, imaginary baby in hand, thundering those right words. Biting dramatically into Ewan’s apple just when the girl took a bite of her peach. Summoning up a brilliant rosy-pink butterfly to flutter in the air between them all as she described the way the princess had seen a thousand of them dancing in the air around her, transforming her clothing into a beautiful gown and transporting her into the most fanciful ballroom she had ever seen. Picking Alice up and spinning her in the air to demonstrate the way the king had led her in a dance, how his eyes had never left hers. Putting on silly voices for all the characters. The deep one of the king, the funny one of the gardener, the growly barking of the princess’ terrier guard, the guttural call of the beast who was really a friend.

Telling stories like this, it was where she belonged. It was completely her. She had never before been more in her element, even as wove this tale. This tale that had led to something so terrible, and something so beautiful.

But still, there was a moment of hesitation as the boy and the girl watched her, bouncing in their seats, just as the princess confronted the king for one final time. Sarah’s eyes closed and she took a deep breath.

She smiled once again, looking both her children in the eye in turn, “The moment was heavy, her heart thundered in her chest. Her little brother was in danger, he would be stuck there in that world forever if only she could remember! She just had to remember… And then, her eyes lit up. She stared the king down, a look of wonder in her eyes, ignoring his outstretched hand. And with more certainty than she had ever felt in her life, the girl said...”

She let the moment linger, lips curving at the sight of the wide-eyes of her beautiful children.

Her voice went strong, intense and sure, “You have no power over me.”

The words rang in the air. She was consumed with it, her own story. And so she barrelled forward. “And right before her eyes, the king was gone. He had vanished and she was back in her own palace, the clock striking only an hour since she had first left, her baby brother crying from his rooms across the hall. She let out a deep, exhausted sigh of relief. She had won. The dangerous king was gone for good, she had beaten him, and she was so, so proud of herself. For fixing her mistakes and learning. And the girl would never be so lonely again, for she had made so many friends during her adventures. She had learned to love her brother. Life at home in her non-magic palace really wasn’t so bad.” Sarah closed her eyes once again and exhaled. She lied, she told the truth, “The princess would live happily ever after.”

She opened her eyes. “The end,” she said with a pleased little smile. “How was that for a new story, hmm? Enough magic and kings and battles for you, Ewan?”

“It was so cool!” he exclaimed. Sarah’s heart fluttered as he shuffled over to hug her, his face squishing against her shoulder. “Thanks!”

She rubbed his back. “You’re welcome, my love.” As he pulled back, she looked over to Alice. The little girl was pouting at her.

Sarah grew concerned. “Alice, are you alright?”

“Yeah, but Mommy,” she said seriously, “The story is all wrong! The king and the princess are sup-supposed to live happily ever after together!”

Sarah was taken aback. Her lips parted. “But Alice,” she said, “The king was the villain, he took the princess’s brother. How could they be happy together?”

The little girl perked up. “They could be happy together because they were in love!” she said as if it were plainly obvious.

“No, they weren’t,” Ewan piped up.

“Uh huh!” Alice said back.

Sarah rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know, honey…”

“But Mommy,” she said exasperatedly, “The king wanted her to stay in the end! He would marry her and they would live happily ever after! That’s how it always goes!”

Sarah looked down at her lap. There was something wrong with the way her heart was working. It was heavy and it seemed slow. She was bothered.

But she forced herself to smile, she didn’t want to hurt her daughter’s feelings. “I think you’ve heard too many romance stories,” she teased gently.

“Well,” a deep voice said, “I, for one, agree with little Alice on this matter.”

She stiffened and she froze. It was like she had been dropped into an icy lake for how suddenly cold she was, doused with terror or fear or embarrassment or something. She looked to where the voice had come while the children exclaimed their excitement.

“Daddy!” Alice shrieked, getting up and running over to him. Jareth picked the rambunctious little girl up and swung her around in the air to the sounds of her delighted giggles.

Ewan ran up as well, grabbing his father’s free hand and looking up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Father, did you hear the story mom told? It was kinda like the one you told! But it had a magic king like you!” He puffed up happily, “Like I’ll be one day!”

Jareth ruffled the boy’s hair. “I didn’t hear the whole thing,” he said, looking over to Sarah. “Just the ending.”

She swallowed, looking down once again. Her eyes burned. She felt caught, ashamed. It was all wrong.

“Your mother has a gift for story-telling, don’t you two think?” Jareth mused to the children, walking closer to drop down onto the picnic blanket across from her, Alice still clinging to his neck like a monkey. The children both chimed their agreements.

“Yeah but,” Alice giggled, “I didn’t like the ending! I always like Mommy’s endings, but this one was boring. The king and the girl shoulda got together in the end!”

Jareth hummed. “Yes,” he said, “I think so too.”

He turned to her, he caught her eyes. Sarah’s fists clenched in her lap, she tried to breathe. She couldn’t bear it, this horrible feeling, whatever it was.

He smirked at her, simply amused. “Don’t you think the king and the girl should have stayed together in the end, precious?”

There was a beat of silence, her whole family watching her, waiting for her to answer. Her eyes slid away from Jareth’s, she looked at the edge of the picnic blanket.

She forced a small smile. She waved her hand in the air, as if to brush away all her tension. “How silly of me,” she said lightly, “Of course they end up together in the end. It wouldn’t be a happy ending otherwise. Isn’t that right, Alice?”

. . .

She crashed to the stone floor, knees scraping, palms skidding. There were footsteps and she was screaming. She scrambled forward. She needed to get away. Oh my god, oh my god. A shadow loomed over her, she could see. It came from behind.

She twisted onto her back, clawing into the stone. Her breath came in short pants, fearful puffs. She cried out when she saw...

His face was missing in the dark. The shadows cast from the flickering fire darkened him. She could see only the line of his shoulders, armored and painful. The wild of his hair as he stood there, watching from above. Then, there was a gleaming of teeth. A smile through the darkness. He stepped forward.

She continued back desperately, scrambling, clawing. But it was like she wasn’t moving at all. He stepped again, and again, gaining on her. His boot clacked between her feet. Over her, he loomed. She cowered, covering her face, hiding from view as best she could. At the last moment, she turned again. Crawling forward, hands and knees and belly.

But hands gripped her hips and yanked her back. Her legs kicked and kicked and she flailed, screaming-crying. Her fingernails scratched at the stone, making that horrible scraping noise. He had her tight.

She was shuddering all over. Tears pooling on the floor, building and building. If she cried any more she might drown. The skirt of her dress was ripped up from around her ankles, thrown over the back of her. She panicked, thrashing something terrible. But hands were there again. They were heavy at her hips and they yanked them up. There was a pressure on her neck and her cheek was pushed into the stone.

She sobbed and she sobbed. And there was a terrible pain between her legs. Like a tearing, ripping thing. He forced himself into her, and it burned so much she’d never recover. There was nothing she could do. Her hands were limp, curled uselessly by her head as he made his way inside her. Roaring like a monster, he devoured her from behind. Thrust after thrust, she scraped forward on her knees and on her face, flinching and bawling.

“S-stop,” she cried at one point. “I love you,” she whimpered, “Stop.”

He slowed. And she felt him still inside her. She felt the way her own body pulsed around him, unsure what to do about this thing had invaded. Would there be a trial? Retribution? An answer for why? But her entire self just quivered like a leaf as he turned her, guiding her down onto her back. She laid there, limp and quiet. She felt his hands as they gripped her. His touch was gentle, but still they pushed her, twisting her to suit him. She was bared to him.

His face was still gone, but now he moved slower. Softer. He rocked his hips each time and he caressed her skin. Tears leaked from her eyes and she stared at the ceiling. The chandelier was swaying above, swinging scarily. Dangerous movement, as if they were on a boat about to capsize. There was a storm or there was a sea monster. But it was incongruous to the rest of the room -- so still and stable. Eerie except for the screeching gold, the tinkling jewels that were flung to and fro, up and down.

Her head lolled sideways, her hands clutched sadly up to her chest. She heard him grunting and moaning above her. The door creaked open.

She saw...

A little boy, clutching the edge of the door with his tiny fists. He peered in the room, green eyes bright among everything dull. He watched as she was used. He didn’t say anything. Sarah cried out for him, but he just observed, little face expressionless. He judged her.

The door opened wider and behind him, there was a young girl. She stood taller than the boy, just behind him. But her face was obscured too. Black and gone. There was only her silhouette. Sarah’s hand reached out, yearning, but she blinked… the door was gaping open, but there was no one. No boy and no girl. Just the man and her, the woman who was really a girl.

He was holding her tight, and he was kissing, licking at her neck. He had her hands in his.

He pulled back and he thrust, hard. The breath was knocked from her, and her vision was blurry. But when she could see again… There was his face. Her husband smiled, he reached down and he petted her cheek, her hair. His head tilted.

Sarah woke up.

Evening fire lit the room. It was glowing and golden in the chambers. Jareth was sitting in a chair by the hearth, reading something. Everything rushed at her.

She sat up, panting for breath. She clutched at the edge of the chaise, pulling her knees up into her chest. Tears trickled against her silk nightgown, seeping dark. The fabric grew warped and wetly sad.

“Another bad dream, precious thing?” she heard. There was a cushiony sound of the armchair as he stood up from it. Footsteps approached.

She stayed like that as he stopped beside the chaise, just there beside her. She nodded sadly into her knees.

He sat beside her, and she tensed a little, tilting away, into the backrest of the chaise. He paused, and then his hands found her waist. He tugged her up and stroked a hand along her spine. “Sarah,” he whispered, voice lulling, half-singing.

Lethargically, she turned her head, resting her saddened cheek upon her knees. Her heavy, mournful eyes peeled open. Her lips were tilted down so far as she blinked at him.

He looked at her softly, gently. He was her husband, in this golden light of the crackling fire. The feeling was different. She went loose at his touch, at the slow up and down of his hand over her back. At the loveliness in his eyes.

She unfolded her legs and reached out her arms to him. And without a word he gathered her up against his chest, holding her close, tucking her up underneath his chin. She breathed slowly against his chest. Deep inhales and exhausted exhales. Breathing it all out.

Her tears had dried quick. He comforted her. He soothed her as he always did.

Her hand fisted into the fabric of his robe. She clung to him as he tilted them to lay against the back of the chaise. She looked past him, but she saw nothing. The touch of him and the heartbeat of him… those most important senses.

She could have fallen right back asleep against him. It was the warmth of his hold. The comfortable silence of the fire and the ticking clock and his breathing. But… there was something on her mind.

“Jareth?”

The laziness in the air seemed to slow everything down. “Yes, precious?” he hummed into her hair.

Her fingers played with the bunching fabric of his robe. She clenched her eyes shut and whispered, “You … raped me.”

His voice was just as soft when he responded. “In your dream?”

She nodded tiredly against him. She listened to his steady heartbeat. It was strong. It went thump… thump… thump… thump, endlessly. Reliably. Her husband was strong. He was unaffected. She wondered if she had ever affected him. Had she ever made his heart skip a beat? Not out of fear, but out of love? Hers had skipped for both, for him. It was strange… those gasping, silent moments where the body stood still, where the blood stopped in its tracks… Fear and love, she thought they might be the same.

He stroked her arm, long fingers tickling. It was aimless, it was meandering. It was so nice to be touched. She thought she’d never get used to it. Not even when she was as old as he, not even when she was at the end of her long, long life, not even when Fate had decided he would die and so would she.

Her fingers trailed over his chest, partly exposed from the way his robe gaped open. She touched his amulet, tracing the lines of it.

She sighed, allowing her eyes to close. “The dream... ” she mused, “It was almost a memory.”

He made an urging noise, as if he were curious. As if to say, do go on.

“But… it wasn’t one,” she said slowly. “Not quite. There was… something strange about it, unreal. The fear… it was different. The worst part was seeing Ewan there. He watched silently as....” she shook her head against his steadily rising chest. She puffed out a breath. “And… there was something else? But I can’t… I can’t remember...”

“Are you still afraid?” he asked when she had fallen back to silence, eyes still closed. She just felt. Her surroundings touched her.

“No...” she whispered. “I don’t know…”

She shifted so she was closer against him. Her arm wrapped tighter around him. She breathed in deeply. The scent of him… there had been a time that such a smell scared her. Now, it comforted her. She recognized it. The scent of her husband, the father of her children. How could she ever be frightened by something like this?

She thought of something. “Jareth?” she said, “Does it… bother you when I tell you things like this?”

“No, Sarah,” he said, stroking still at her skin, fingers trailing over her shoulder now, brushing back her hair.

Her lips tugged down. There was a weird feeling in her.

Her toes curled. “You don’t feel bad?”

“No,” he said, “Why should I?”

“Because you… you raped me,” she murmured.

His hand never stopped its path upon her skin. “It was just a dream, sweet Sarah.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “In real life… you raped me. In the beginning. All the time...”

There was a beat. And then, “Yes,” he said, so calmly, so matter-of-factly.

She peeked up at him, tilting her head back enough to see him. His eyes, still soft. Kind. Husbandly. Not dark or horrible like in that dream (like they still sometimes were). He looked at her, relaxed. There was nothing wrong.

His hand came to her face. He stroked a finger along her jaw. Her brow furrowed. “Do you feel bad about … that?”

His thumb came traced over her cheek. “No.”

She frowned, but still her fingers pitter-pattered all over his skin. She couldn’t stop touching him. There was something about it… “Why not?” she asked quietly.

His eyes held her transfixed. “Precious thing, I didn’t have to hurt you.”

Her eyes closed, heavy things they were, and a shuddering breath left her in a great whoosh. “I don’t understand…”

He tilted his head at her. Smiling. “I would just as easily have made love to you instead.”

Her eyes lowered. She looked at the line of his jaw. The apple of his throat. The jut of his collarbone. She touched him there. There was a melancholy in her. “Why didn’t you?” she asked, “Make love to me instead?”

He hummed. “Is that not what I offered? To make love?”

Her words caught. There was a slight tremor to her muscles. Just enough to feel, not enough to sweep her away. “...Yes,” she whispered guiltily. Against him, she burned hot. Something bad crashed against her. Her boat would capsize soon. Her eyes drifted to the chandelier. It was still, just like the rest of these chambers. Only the flames of the fire moved, but still they were held captive by the grate.

His hand at her jaw pulled her away from these thoughts. He tilted her face up. And she peered there at him, big-eyed. Confused. He smiled and kissed her on the nose. Then, he asked, “Now… was it my fault that you didn’t want that? Should I feel bad about that?”

She blinked away the coming tears. “No,” she whispered. “Jareth…”

He raised an eyebrow.

She bit her lip, she fumbled with her words. “I… I didn’t think about it like that.”

Still, his face was soft. Gently amused. He tugged her closer. “Oh, you precious thing. Tell me… how could I have ever resisted such a sweet girl like you? Hmm?”

She blushed at his gaze. “Oh.”

He pinched her cheek softly. His lips curved. “Yes, oh.”

Her hand came up slowly. She touched his cheek in turn. That high cheekbone. His eyes fluttered at her touch. His eyelashes were so long. They caressed one another.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, “I… I won’t bring it up again. I didn’t mean to...”

“Hush, darling girl,” he said, “There’s no need to fret. We have an eternity of making love to look forward to. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

She hooked her knee over his, pressing the pad of her foot to the inside of his leg. “Yes,” she said. She held him tight.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait guys. As soon as I was like "oh I'll have tons of free time coming up", my life got real busy. Blergh. It should be better now though, thankfully.

And writer's block again. :'( I don't know what it is... maybe it's because we're in the end of the middle of the story, or because of external factors, or because things are getting more complex with multiple characters. But... I'm not very satisfied with this chapter. I'm not really sure why, but I'm glad to be moving forward with it. And don't worry, I don't intend to stop writing this story.

A fun thing was that I went on a trip to Asheville, NC over the weekend. At the Biltmore Estate, I saw a girl with a shirt that said "The babe with the power" and a white owl. I said, "Nice shirt," and felt like there was a moment of maximum fan-kinship we shared. Anyway, that was pretty cool.

Thanks for reading and sticking with me! I'd love to know what you thought <3

P.s.🙈 I wrote another one-shot. Somehow NOT dark!Jareth. In fact, it's a comedy lol. Jareth is still a little bit of an asshole. But def not evil. And some sexy times included! Sooo... if you're interested in that, do check that out :D

Chapter 26: Interlude

Summary:

Richie grew bored with the strange doll and placed it back down on the vanity with a thud. “Your sister was weird,” he said finally.

There was a rustling noise. Cardboard against denim. Then, a tapping. Toby lay sprawled sideways across his mattress, his elbows bent so his hands cushioned his head. He stared at the ceiling, at the sluggish fan that swirled.

“Shit…” The tapping noise stopped. “Hey man, got a light?”

Toby pursed his lips. Still staring at the ceiling, he dug into his jean pocket and rustled around for a moment, propping up on his elbow. He tossed his lighter to the boy sitting lazily in the desk chair across the room. Richie grinned in thanks and stuck the cigarette in his mouth. He went to light it.

“Whatever,” Toby said, falling back against the bed and closing his eyes. “Just open the window, will you? My mom will kill me if she smells that…”

“Yeah, sure,” Richie said, and there was the sound of the chair squeaking and footsteps thudding.

Toby heard the window squealing open. His house was really old. He thought it must be ancient for how the floorboards creaked and the walls smelled of dust and the way the ceiling always leaked during hurricane season. He wondered when that would be fixed. His father had been saying soon, soon to his mother for years now. Really, Toby thought they ought to just move somewhere else already. He hated this town. He hated this house. Time to leave it behind, that was his opinion.

But he knew better than to say anything like that to his parents.

There was a flick of the lighter and the smell of tobacco filled the air, musky and heavy. Toby’s fingers twitched.

“So,” Richie said in between puffs of smoke, “Is it true?”

“What…?”

“You know… I heard they kept it exactly like it was before... No changes, nothing.”

Toby’s eyes peeled open. He glanced at his classmate.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, it’s been the same my whole life. Maybe it was different before, I dunno.”

He sat up. “Hey, give me one of those, would ya?”

Richie smirked and tossed over a cigarette and the lighter. Toby dropped his feet down to touch the hardwood floor and then hauled himself up from the bed. He leaned against the window opposite the other boy and took a drag. He blew it right against the screen. “Thanks,” he said absently.

Toby watched out the window. He had a perfect view of the backyard. It was unkempt, grass grown too high in the hidden, fenced-away place. There was a big oak tree smack-dab in the center. A structure of wooden planks decayed from it, overgrown by weeds. It was evening then, but still light enough to see. Crickets and frogs could be heard so clearly. A chorus of them.

He scratched his forehead and took another puff. He glanced over. “Wanna see it?”

Richie looked surprised. “Really?”

Toby huffed. “Yeah, really. Isn’t that why you came in the first place?”

“Hey,” Richie protested with a little smirk. “It wasn’t the only reason.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “Whatever. So, do you wanna see it or not?”

Richie didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, man. Show me.”

Toby took one more drag before he put out his cigarette against the window ledge. Richie followed suit and trailed after him as he crossed his bedroom and pulled open the door into the upper-level hallway. The floors creaked as they walked, pausing at the small window that overlooked the side of the house. He coughed into his elbow as he peered down. The driveway was clear except for Richie’s car and his mother wouldn’t be back for hours. He didn’t know when his father would be back. It wasn’t worth it to wonder, he had learned.

Toby rolled his eyes again at the eager look on Richie’s face as they stopped in front of a closed door. He turned the doorknob and pushed. The door swung open with a sad little squeak.

The room itself was rarely frequented, especially not by Toby. His mother, he knew, went in every other week to tidy up a little, dusting it and cleaning, but other than that she never stepped foot in there.

His father, though… Sometimes, Toby could hear him in there, just breathing. He remembered creeping in there once when he was eight. Even though he wasn’t allowed -- there had been an incident when he was little where he’d gone into the room without permission, just exploring, and he’d found so many toys and games and he’d made an utter mess in his excitement -- he had broken the rules and snuck inside. It had been because he’d heard crying noises behind the door of the forbidden room. He knew it was his father, and he had been so worried he just had to see if he was okay!

And inside the room, there he had been. Toby’s father, curled up on the tiny bed even though he was much too tall for it, his suit jacket crumpled and his leather shoes left haphazardly across the floor. His back had been turned and he faced the wall, and little Toby could see from the door the way his father’s shoulders had shook, the way his breathing was ragged. It had confused him and he’d stepped forward. “Dad?” he’d asked in a tiny voice.

His father had stilled, quieted. Toby had stepped forward again, the wood creaking beneath his feet.

Without turning, the man had responded unevenly, “Go find your mother, Tobe.”

And so Toby had, too frightened to question it.

Toby had only gone in there a handful of times since, but as he stepped in with Richie on his heel, it looked exactly the same as it always had. Littered with toys and games and stuffed animals. Books stacked on shelves and posters covering the walls.

His sister’s room. Could he really call her his sister? Calling her Sarah was no better. He’d never even spoken to her.

“Wow,” Richie said, walking around and gaping. “Wasn’t she, like, sixteen when she went missing?”

“Fifteen.” Toby dropped to sit on the vanity chair. His fingers skated over the trinkets and the makeup left scattered on the desk.

“Still,” he said, “This looks like a kid’s room. My cousin’s thirteen and she’s got freaking boy band posters all over hers.”

Toby glanced around. He frowned. “I guess...”

Richie shrugged. “Seriously, when did you outgrow your stuffed animals? Like, twelve, right?”

“More like ten.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Okay, tough guy.”

Toby crossed his legs. “Is your curiosity satisfied yet? We gotta start on that project...”

“Forget the project, man! This is crazy. I can’t believe your parents kept this room the same for so long. It’s spooky…” He picked up the doll on the vanity and poked at it. A line marred the skin between Toby’s eyebrows.

Richie grew bored with the strange doll and placed it back down on the vanity with a thud. “Your sister was weird,” he said finally.

Toby glared. “Shut it, Richie.”

Richie held up his arms in a signal of peace. He chortled at the look in Toby’s eye. “Relax, muchacho,” he said, before turning on his heel and ambling toward the bed.

Toby frowned at his back for a few long moments.

“Come on,” he said, standing up stretching his back out. He started tapping his foot impatiently as Richie ignored him and poked at the stuffed animals on the shelves. “Time’s up. Come on, already.”

“Aw, don’t be such a pussy. You know you want--”

The door swung open.

Toby’s head snapped around and his eyes widened. Richie’s words died out.

His mother stood in the door frame with a thunderous expression upon her face. Toby’s heart thumped. How had he not heard her coming?

She took one step in, her heels clacking ominously against the wood flooring. There was a loaded silence. Then, “What. Is. Going. On. Here?”

Toby glanced over nervously and saw Richie wincing, hastily putting back the plushie he’d been holding. He couldn’t quite look his mother in the eye when he turned back. “Nothing,” he muttered.

“Nothing?” she said, voice cracking through the air in a way that made him shuffle in place. “Would you like to repeat that, mister?”

He glared at the floor.

“Tobias Robert Williams. You better look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

His neck was growing hot. He rubbed it, still looking down past his feet. “Mom, Jeez… it’s not a big deal. I didn’t mean anything by it, alright?”

“It certainly is a big deal, young man,” she said harshly, angrily. “You know you’re not supposed to be in here. And to bring a friend on top of that! How disrespectful can you be?”

His eyes snapped up. He glowered at her, at her crossed arms and her never-understanding face. “That’s rich! Maybe if you and dad let me in here in the first place, I wouldn’t feel the need to be disrespectful at all.” He shook his head, “How am I supposed to respect a room that means nothing to me?”

And Toby felt a sort of sick pleasure at the way she flinched from his words, her eyes going wide and shocked. She was silent for a few beats, mouth going open and closed as if she were trying to say something, but couldn’t quite find the words.

There was a squeak of the floorboards. And both Williams’ turned to look at the nervously standing Richie. Karen’s eyes hardened once again as she observed the stranger.

“Young man,” she said, voice made to sound perfectly controlled, but Toby could hear the way it trembled. Of course he could, he was her son. “My son and I must discuss a few things. Alone. Do you have a ride home?”

Richie looked between them awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. Right… Sorry, Mrs. Williams.” He glanced at Toby and gave a look of exaggerated nervousness before turning back to his mother, “Um. I’ll be going now.”

On the way out, Richie clapped him on the shoulder, but Toby just shrugged him off angrily, face burning. His mother’s face pinched up when the boy passed her by. And when Richie was gone, his steps echoing down the staircase, leaving them both alone in that room, she rounded on him. “Have you been smoking?”

Toby glared, crossing his arms. “So what if I have?”

She looked thunderstruck. “Toby, you know you can’t smoke with your medication--!”

Rage boiled in him. His sneakered foot collided with the leg of the vanity, hard, and everything rattled. The strange doll toppled over, and Toby had to look away. “I don’t care about my medication, mom!” he spat, voice dripping with anger and growing louder by the word. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not fucking crazy! I don’t need it!”

“I will not be spoken to this way,” she said, voice pitched high and shaking. “I know you’re having a hard time right now, but that is no excuse--”

“Oh, spare me,” he scoffed, turning and stomping across the room.

“Tobias Williams! Where do you think you’re going?”

He shouldered the door open and strode into the empty hall. “Away from you,” he shouted, voice cracking despite himself.

He heard the door to The Room slam behind him just as he reached his own room. “Your father will hear about this!” she shrieked, but he could hear the hurt in her voice. He ignored it, his fists clenching at his sides, stepping into his room.

“Good,” he ground out, loud enough for her to hear, “Maybe then he’ll actually bother to talk to me for once! God forbid!”

He slammed his door shut with all his might, letting everything around him rattle and shake. There was a lump in his throat. It was thick and heavy and horrible.

He hated this house.

Notes:

Thanks for all the comments on the last chapter! I appreciate all your support <3 It means a lot.

Hope you enjoyed this little interlude. It will probably be the last one! Btw, I got the idea to write a Toby interlude from one of my reader's, YuuriQueen. Then I couldn't get the idea out of my head! So thank you very much for the inspo :DD

Chapter 27: Sinner Woman

Summary:

“I thought… I thought it would make me look older. That… maybe people would take me more seriously with it like this…”

Notes:

We're over 80k words??? How did that happen? I remember when this was supposed to just be a one-shot XD

There was a woman in the library who glared so hatefully as Sarah walked the aisles. That, she was used to. She ignored it like she always had. She was searching for a new book to read.

But this… she was not. It came on all at once, way too fast. She could hardly process it when it did.

Suddenly, the woman was no longer lurking with a glare. She bumped into her, hard. It sent her stumbling. The books tumbled out of her arms and slapped against the floor.

“When’s the next one coming, mortal filth?” she said as Sarah scrambled. The words froze her in her place for one horrible moment, and when they hit, she flinched back against the ceiling-tall bookshelf. She thought it might have wobbled from the force of her nerves. She stared at the woman, shocked.

“Well, Consort?” the woman spat. She advanced on her, click-clacking of boot heels ringing out. “When’s the next one coming?”

Sarah was cornered, eyes darting around, panicked. Where were her guards? This stranger had her stuck. She was so close now that Sarah could feel her breath. She cringed away, bracing herself. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

The woman in her perfectly-pressed gown and her perfectly-done-up hair scoffed. It was so fast and so horrible when it happened. Her hand slithered in the place between them, it grabbed onto Sarah harshly. Her belly.

Sarah was stiffened in stone. She had never been more ashamed, more embarrassed as when this stranger’s hand twisted and scrabbled at the soft empty uselessness of her middle. The woman’s hand was seized upon her and she felt violated in a way she hadn’t in so long. She wished it would end. She wished she weren’t so weak. For she was weak, in the way she recoiled back and couldn’t look, the way her own hands pushed pathetically at the woman who loomed. It was true, she had learned long ago… the Fae were much better, faster, stronger. She didn’t really have a chance.

It was with this knowledge that she excused her bumbling, pathetic weakness, her frailty. She had once imagined herself a heroine. She had once thought herself the victor over a king. Now, her power was gone. But then… had she ever had any in the first place?

The hand on her was unwelcome like nothing had been in so, so long. It was like getting fucked when you didn’t want to be. Like losing yourself to someone else as you scrabbled desperately for escape.

The woman was saying something spiteful, but Sarah wasn’t really sure what. All that she could hear were the pants of her own breath in her ears, building up so strong that it was like the heartbeat in Jareth’s chest when he held her. It was everything.

And then… the hand was gone. Ripped away like so many things. For once, she was grateful.

Sarah blinked, heavy-eyed and hardly-believing. The guards were there, two of them, and the woman was strung up between them, held still by armored hands binding at her arms. She was red in the face, furious. Spitting mad, fighting the strong impossible-to-escape hold of Sarah’s guards. Words were spewing but they were buzzed.

They were dragging her away, but she was close enough to leave one last parting denigration. She spat at Sarah’s feet just as one of the guards yanked her away. In the next second, she was gone. Hidden from Sarah who remained struck-still in one of the hideaway aisles of the library. The guard that remained turned on her. “Are you injured?” he demanded, his voice harsh in her ears.

Sarah looked down at herself. The glob of spit had landed right there on the hem of her favorite soft green gown. Clear-yellow, bubbly spit branding her worthlessness. Everyone knew now, of course. But no one had ever been so cruel about it. None except her own self.

Panting, she crouched down, hair falling all around her.

With her sleeve, she scrubbed at the brand on her, rubbing it off. And rubbing and rubbing even after it was gone. A spot had been left. It lingered horribly. Sarah wanted to gag. She hated this dress. It was so glaring, it would never go away.

She slumped against the shelves and covered her face with trembling hands. She took a deep breath. And then another, and another. There was a discomfort in her that would remain. A gross aftertaste. It was okay, she thought, she disgusted herself too.

A hand grabbed her arm and yanked her up to standing. “Consort, are you injured?” the guard snapped. And he sounded fearful this time. A reediness to his voice that not even the helmet could conceal. The sound waves of fright were stronger than metal.

She ripped her arm from her hold easily, turning. Wiping her face, she knew that if he really wanted to restrain her, there would be nothing she could do. “No.” Her voice was absent, but sad. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m not.”

She imagined his eyes tracking over her, the spit-upon dress, the red, tear-stained cheeks. Her knees seemed to wobble under her weight, that shake of adrenaline that so efficiently hurt and agitated.

“Come. The king must be informed.” He took her arm again.

Something invaded her then. There was a line between her eyebrows. She batted him away. “No, just.. He doesn’t need to know.” She averted her eyes. This was a risk. “I-- I would like to sleep now. If you would escort me to the king’s chambers. Please.”

The guard hesitated. “Consort…”

She raised a shaking hand. Had she ever noticed before how soft her hands were. Small things. Plump and clumsy. Like Ewan’s. At least there was a length to her fingers. She was sort of grown-up in that way.

Sarah sent the guard a look. There was steel behind those reddened-green eyes. “Somehow, I doubt you want to find out what happens when he wonders why exactly she was able to get to me under your strict supervision. Now, correct me if I’m wrong.”

The silent moment was loaded. She watched with bated breath. “Very well,” he said stiffly. She didn’t let herself show her relief. She nodded. “Good. Now, the chambers please.”

Without another word, he escorted her to her rooms just as she had commanded.

Her power was her husband. On another day, such a manipulation on her part might have made her silly with excitement. Exercising some sort of control, it made her malicious little heart sing. But today, there was this discomfort. There was no control except for the cracks left by her husband.

She would sleep until her children were done with their lessons. The hours between then and now stretched out, looking long and harsh.

The after-taste was still there, even in her dreams.

. . .

At thirteen years old, Ewan’s eyes were different. They were redefined in a slow progression that she hadn’t noticed until it was done. Like the baby change she had adoringly watched from gray to green. But when this new sight struck her one casual morning with her children, when she noticed, truly noticed, her own eyes shuttered. She touched her son’s chin, tilting his head up so she could see better.

His eyes were still hers. Still green. But they were Jareth’s now, too. That left pupil suddenly large, wider than the other. Gaping. Strange and fey. It Saw. Just like his father’s.

This cold feeling came. It made her lips press into a thin line.

Somehow, it betrayed her, this new thing. This boy who looked more and more like his father each day, as he shot up like a little weed. Sharp-featured and wild-haired and undoubtedly fae. That one thing that was only hers, her baby’s beautiful green eyes… they were his, too. And it made her wonder… what else would he take from her?

But, when Ewan had looked at her then, sweet brow furrowed in confusion as she stared at his Jareth-eyes, she had softened. She found herself smiling through it all and she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Just admiring your beautiful eyes,” she told him, ruffling his hair, light and wild just their king’s. “Did you notice?” she said, “They’re different now. Like your father’s.”

He had smiled toothily, murmuring a bashful little thanks. “Yeah,” he said, “He said they would change.” Then, he’d looked at her oddly. “Didn’t you know? It’s one of the prince’s rites.”

And once he had left for his lessons -- all alone, because he wasn’t a baby anymore, mom, come on -- Sarah dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. She swallowed.

Her son’s eyes bothered her. She hated that they did.

. . .

She turned in front of the mirror, peering over her shoulder. Her lips pursed. She ran a hand through her hair. It was long and straight and dark down past her waist. It had been that way for a long while. She dragged all of it over her shoulder and played with the ends. It was time for a trim. Sarah considered herself, the softness of her cheeks, of her lips.

Sarah considered herself, the softness of her cheeks, of her lips, the button of her nose.

It was boredom that made her curious. She rolled her hair up, up, up until it was folded in a line just beneath her chin. The rest of it was held behind her head, out of view. Her face looked sharper with her hair like that, more severe. The barely-there cheekbones and the beginning-to-arch eyebrows.

Then, she dropped it all and it tumbled down her back. There was that plumpness again.

The hairdresser would be coming in a few hours. And Sarah decided now she would ask for something new, different. The impulse was strong. It was one of those ideas that came out of nowhere, never before even considered, but is exactly the right thing. It was necessary. She was thirty-one years old. A woman. A wife with two children. And dammit, she would look like it.

It made her giddy, sitting there on the stool in their private rooms. The familiar Fae woman peered over her shoulder, brushing out Sarah’s hair.

“Are you sure, Lady?” she asked, catching her eye in the mirror.

Sarah’s eyes sparkled with it. She nodded decisively. “Please.”

When it was finished, Sarah gazed at herself in exhilaration. There was that delirious feeling of something new. As she admired herself in the mirror, she saw... She looked different now. She felt different. Fresh. Her head was lighter, the burden on her shoulders gone for good. The fluffy ends of her hair brushed softly against her neck.

It made her want to spin, to dance. She looked herself in the eye. This is me, she said out loud when she was alone, voice ringing but not quite sharp-sounding. Wife, Mother, Grown-up, she insisted. She drew back her shoulders and lengthened her neck. Like that, she could almost believe it.

It felt right. But things liked to turn so easily. The fruit rotting in the bowl, or the milk spoiling in its jug.

Why did it have to be so?

Jareth returned late that night, so late that she had already tucked the children into bed, had already eaten and bathed. It was not typical of him to miss these things. He was a dedicated father, husband. But he was a king, too.

When he arrived, she was reading on an armchair, the fire dying out in front of her. A ball of light floated nearby, so her eyes wouldn’t strain in the dark.

She smiled at him as he stepped inside and kicked his boots off. He let out a tired exhale and approached. He pressed a kiss to her cheek before turning to the table and the food still left out.

“How were the children?” he asked.

“Oh, good,” she said, tucking a ribbon into her book and closing it. She twisted to watch as he served himself. She held the book in her lap. “They missed you today.”

“I’ll make it up to them tomorrow,” he said, drinking from a goblet of wine. “We can spend the whole day together, all of us.”

Sarah perked up. “Really?”

She couldn’t see, but she thought he might be smiling. “Of course, precious thing.”

She leaned back, feeling warm. “Oh,” she said then, that excitement bubbling up, reminding her, “The hairdresser came today.”

He made an inquisitive noise. And she watched as he grabbed his plate and strode over to the chaise near her, plopping down to sit and eat.

“I wanted to try something different…” She scooted forward in her seat and fluffed out her hair so he could see.

For the first time that night, his eyes truly tracked over her. Fell upon her. Seeing with those eyes.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. And Sarah started to tense. A weird flash of self-consciousness came quick and hard, surprising her, taking her unawares. Her belly fizzed unpleasantly.

“Well,” she stammered, “What do you think?”

He took a bite off his fork, still observing. Finally, he said, “Cute,” and looked off into the dwindling fire. The flames were slowly sputtering out, some lingering to idle. She heard the soft tink of his fork against his plate as he ate.

Sarah deflated. Her fingers fiddled with her nightgown and she tucked her legs safely underneath her. The book slid to the side, between her thigh and the arm of the chair. She wasn’t sure what to say, or to think. Her brow furrowed at the silence that descended upon them. To her, it was laden. A pregnant silence. It was like that for a long while, her staring into the fire while Jareth ate nearby.

Her heart was tight. “Um…” she let out finally, and there was a thickness to her voice. She didn’t look at him. She whispered, “Should I change it back?”

For she knew that was something that could be done. The hairdresser had told her so. And it had made the cut that much easier. Less daunting to know that it was only a whoosh of magic away from turning it back the way it was. In the quiet space of her heart, even now, she knew that it had never even been a question. Her impulse had been so strong, she had been so sure.

“It’s your hair,” said his voice. It rumbled across the way, casual. Displeased? She couldn’t tell. “Do as you wish.”

She touched the ends of it, the fluffy chopped-off ends. Her fingers trailed to the exposed part of her neck. The skin there prickled. For some reason, she felt in danger. Like she had lost a part of her armor, her safety. She was susceptible to something horrible now.

She tugged the collar of her dressing gown up higher, tucking her chin inside like a baby in a swaddle. Her eyes drifted over the ground. Her feet began to tingle under the weight of her. She pulled them out again and watched as the blood rushed back into them, turning purple toes pink again.

“I thought… I thought it would make me look older. That… maybe people would take me more seriously with it like this…”

He hummed. “They won’t.”

“Oh.” She was downtrodden now. Of course they wouldn’t. It was silly of her to think anything else.

He stretched out in the chaise and groaned. He had finished his plate and he set it by his feet. “Sometimes I hate being king,” he muttered.

Sarah bit her lip. “You do?”

“Yes,” he said. “There’s always something.” His tone went mocking. “Oh, Your Majesty, here. And Sire, what about this? Sign this, come here, do that. It never ends.”

She frowned. “Well… at least you can do whatever you want… right?”

“Well,” he shrugged a single shoulder. His lips curled, “At least there’s that.”

He stood up then and reached out a hand. “Come along to bed, sweet Sarah.”

She grabbed his hand and he pulled her up, his eyes fixed on her. Under his scrutiny, she blushed. The lightness, the danger, of her head reminded her of her hair and she looked away, fidgeting.

Then, his fingers brushed against her neck. She stiffened.

He turned her chin up to look at him. Her heart seemed to jackhammer in her chest but she wasn’t exactly sure why.

“You are right,” he said, “You do look older.” He was agreeing with her, but Sarah wasn’t sure he meant it as a compliment.

The excitement that had burst so perfectly inside her earlier was spoiled now. Nearby was the standing mirror and she peeked into it shyly. Her cheeks were tinged pink and so was her exposed-to-the-world neck. She timidly ran her hands through the ends. The words came stumbling out of her as her eyes darted up to his, “I think-- I think I should change it back, actually. I’m not sure I like how-- how it frames my face.”

He rubbed his thumb over her cheek. “If that’s what you want.”

She licked her lips. “Yes.”

He smiled.

. . .

She didn’t always know what caused those moments. The cold moments that hurt and tore at her. They seemed to come from nowhere, vagabonds that would lay waste to her happiness, no care in the world. Or they came from somewhere, an obvious cause that could be pinpointed at the drop of a hat.

She would be so happy, so utterly content. And then… it would all be gone. As if nothing good had ever happened. She would hate or she would dread or she would fear or she would go sick with it.

Sarah was scared of herself in these moments. Scared she would do something bad, scared she would hurt her own life. Ruin it all. The emotions were so strong; she didn’t trust herself.

It wasn’t that she had forgotten how she’d come to this world, or what her place in it was. It would have been impossible to. It niggled at the back of her mind, always. Even as she looked upon her husband and children with love and desire and utter affection, there was this haunting part of her that whispered: he’s a monster, he’s a monster, your children are monsters, you never wanted them, you never wanted this.

It was like a wound that had healed just enough that it wouldn’t kill her, but it still hurt, it still ached. The discomfort was there, and she knew… it was there to stay. It was all the worse if she focused on it. So she could not, would not focus on it or else she would not be okay. And she needed to be okay for her children. For herself. Desperately. Otherwise she might just go insane with it all.

But there were moments when sad rage or sad hate would attack. Clawing hurtful. Extreme in its power.

From nothing or from something, horrible thoughts seemed to flash. They came when she remembered exactly how her children came to be, when she remembered all the little babes in bins, when the gaping black hole of Hoggle’s mouth would burn in the back of her mind, when she thought of her family from before, their faces becoming blurrier and blurrier with each day, when she saw the whispers of the court behind her back, the disgusted looks, and when her children would ask about Jareth, about his family, about his history and when they wouldn’t ask about hers.

The sad, hateful rage would come and it would beat her. It punched and kicked and slammed and crushed. It left her powerless against it. Leaving her standing stock-still and barely breathing as her children played with their brilliantly magic toys, happy as can be. As they learned their magic and grew fast and slow all at once.

These moments got her so messed up. Sad enough that she had to step away from her beautiful little family, go hide under the blankets. Sad enough that not even her favorite books or her children’s sweet comfort would make her better.

They were flashes of pain. Moments that seeped. They spread out, infecting her life.

She hated herself for it. They didn’t deserve such a weak mother, a mother who thought such horrible things, such wicked, guilty things. How could she not be grateful for what she had? How could she feel this way when she had so much?

She confessed to her husband one day. Like he was a priest and she was a Catholic.

It would come when she was helping him dress for a feast he was hosting that night, many other kings visiting from many other kingdoms. Ewan would be going with him, but Alice was too young. Sarah… well, she was too mortal. Too childless. She was to stay on this floor, no exceptions.

She stood before him with a frown, tying his cravat and smoothing out the wrinkles of the undershirt he wore. “Ewan is nervous,” she told him during a quiet moment, fingers pausing on the lace at his neck.

“I know,” he said, touching her hand. “Don’t worry, precious. He will be just fine with me.”

She chewed on her lip as he grabbed his jacket from where it was smoothed out over the bed. She held it open for him while he shrugged himself into it, watched as he fastened up the front.

“They’re growing up so fast,” she said sadly. She thought of how dapper her young man looked that night, all done up and poised like the prince he was. He was waiting in his rooms for his father to collect him.

There was a sound, then. Fabric against skin. Her eyes darted to it, to catch the sight of him pulling on one of his gloves. The leather creaked around his fingers as he flexed them into position. It was practiced. It was nothing new to her.

So it must have been the sad feelings in the air. The changes that were coming so fast. Her little son, growing up right before her eyes. Her daughter, too. They were becoming their own. She feared being left behind where the past would catch her again, those gloved hands at her hips or harsh against her cheek.

Her eyes were fixed, captured, as he pulled on the other one over his long, lithe, dangerously grown-up fingers. Somehow, it stunned her to see. It caught her and it shook her. It said meanly, there goes your happiness, now you deal with this. It was strange, unexpected. Startling. It made her queasy, ill. It made her hate.

Those hands… They had done so much. Hidden away in dark leather, they were so cruel. And they were so kind.

Without thinking, her hands flew up between them. They seized on his, clawing around the tops. Her lengthy-plump fingers gripping around his protected knuckles. Against the black, her skin looked blue. But when she squeezed, it all went white.

She was riveted, holding them there for she didn’t know how long. The bones of her hands seemed to grind together in the force of it.

“Sarah...” she heard at some point, remembering all the things his hands had done to her. Where all they had touched. How they had hurt.

The frightening hands wrenched out of her hold, then. They turned the tables. Up or dooown? They took hers, capturing. A conquest, wasn’t it? But he held her loosely, not hurting this time. “Sarah.”

She felt slow as she looked up from between them, eyes hazy as they took in the fine outfit he wore, the line of his shoulders, the apple of his throat, the cut of his jaw. His eyes.

She wondered if he could see, if he knew what she sometimes thought. The bad thoughts that she couldn’t get rid of as much as she wished. He looked into her eyes, searching, serious. Did he even care?

When she just stared, stunned into silence, into stress, he leaned closer. He raised an eyebrow. Sarah swallowed. Her eyes fell to the point just below his ear.

It came tumbling out, a guilty plea, hoping he would absolve her of it all. The confession was whispered across the grate. She couldn’t see him and he couldn’t see her. “I get so mad sometimes. So sad.”

Her eyes teared up, bubbling wet. “I don’t mean to,” she implored, her shame filling her up so fast that she thought she might choke on it. “I don’t want to feel this way…”

His hands were tender around hers. Soft. See, she thought, what was there to be angry about? To be sad about? It only stoked her guilt. She thought she might die from it, for how horribly it attacked her right then. Could he feel the way she trembled in his hold like she had always done? Had the vibrations been so common that even he had gotten used to it? His little wife, shaking in the wind. Fear, sadness, guilt… it was all the same.

“Sarah,” he sighed.

She choked on a sob that came tearing out. “I’m sorry,” she warbled, pulling her hands back to cover her face. “I wish I didn’t,” she cried, “I wish I could be perfect like- like you want me to be. It makes me so- so guilty.”

Her head bowed far enough that her elbows dug into her ribs. Her hair draped past her, hiding the sides of her from attack. “I think I hate myself for how ungrateful I am sometimes.” She looked at him, watery eyes pleading. The room had grown cold. “But, Jareth, please, it’s not always, I promise. I promise it’s not! Just sometimes, I-- I--”

“Stop.”

At his command, she did, and then she noticed the way her hands had found the fabric of his jacket, clinging desperately. He looked down at her, eyes stony. In the blurriness of her vision, she couldn’t tell whether he was mad. Would he punish her for it, for her hidden thoughts? The sins she couldn’t stop. Would he forgive?

“Stop,” he said again, and he took her by the shoulders, pulling her back. And he dabbed the tears from her eyes. He looked tired. “Not tonight, Sarah.”

He stepped away. And her hands fell limp to her sides. “I must go now,” he said.

“...Oh.” She wiped her face quickly and fiddled with her dress. Her head pounded and her stomach roiled. “Right. Um.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

He raised a hand to silence her. She chewed miserably on her lip. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Eat something. Get some sleep,” he said before turning away and striding for the door. It creaked open and Sarah felt horrible.

“Wait.” The whisper came quick and unbidden. But it was heard across the room. He paused in the open doorway. He glanced over his shoulder.

She trembled under his stare, half-hidden in the darkness. “Are you… mad?”

But he left her there without a word.

As he told her, Sarah had tried to eat and she had tried to sleep. But while he was gone, not a wink would come to her. She lay in the bed staring at the canopy for hours and hours, imagining the banquet. Young Ewan shadowing his father, learning to host, to talk kingdoms and business and ruling and all the things that mortal mothers and wives didn’t need to know about.

It had been painful to be still that night. She had tried to read, but she couldn’t focus. She had gone to check on Alice, sitting in her darkened rooms for a long while as the little girl peacefully slept in her downy-pink bed. It was that itch of needing something to do but having nothing. It was moments like these that she missed her movies. Her collection of VHS tapes that she always went to when she was too aggravated to even read.

To get sucked into a movie, sometimes it was easier than with books.

But it had been so long since. Her favorites seemed to fuzz in her brain, distant and foreign. There had been one year when she was little that she’d played Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory so often that her father had to buy a whole new tape. All that was left of it in her brain now were flashes of color. Yellows and oranges and purples. She couldn’t remember what any of the characters looked like. Not Willy Wonka, not Charlie. Not even the Oompa-Loompas. It made her sad, this realization.

It was like the song from Dumbo. When Alice had been little, she’d thought of it for the first time in years. It had been absent from her mind years and years even before her husband had kept her. Her mother used to sing her that song, she had suddenly recalled then with her own baby in her arms, her own little boy snuggled up against her side. The tune had come to her, but when she parted her lips to sing it, the words were gone. They had deserted her like everything liked to.

Yes, these things made her sad. And that made her guilty.

When he returned much, much later, she was cold in her place, eyes blank in the darkness. As he crawled into the bed next to her, she huddled into her blanket, tucked close around her neck.

“How was it?” she asked quietly while he settled in.

He grunted. “Exhausting. But Ewan did well. He has a cool head even when he’s nervous. A good king in the making, he is.”

“I think so too,” she said. There was a spark of pride to her voice. Focusing on that made things seem a little bit easier, somehow.

She heard him yawn and she listened to the rustling of the blankets. Warmth surrounded her, and he pulled her back into him. He tucked her in his arms, breath fanning across the back of her neck. Some of the tension she had been holding released. Her shoulders dropping from her neck, her spine going boneless. He must not have been mad, not if was holding her like this.

It made her dozy, tired. Her eyes grew heavy, hearing the sounds of his breathing, the soft rain outside. She took his hand in hers. It was bare and it was sweet. Her husband’s hand. It lulled her.

“Sarah,” he said at some point. And it could have been deep into the night, for the way her body was all wavy and disoriented, like she was floating. “Focus on the good. That’s all that matters.”

She thought he was right.

For it was among the terrible feelings that moments of great joy bloomed. Moments of utterly happy perfection. The most lavish life in a most opulent castle, perfect gowns and jewels and all the books and baubles she could ever ask for. And her generous husband who taught her magic. He was her king and he was her lover. He gave her everything and all he asked from her were three simple things. It was not difficult to fulfill his expectations, not when it meant he would love her, dote upon her, keep her forever.

No, she would love him, fear him, and do as he said for the eternity of his lifetime if it meant she got this from him.

And she would do it all again just to be able to hold her babies in her arms, to kiss their plump cheeks, and to watch them grow before her eyes.

The joy would be so overwhelming when it hit. Like a blow to the chest, it would knock the wind out of her and it would be suddenly hard to breathe. It would hit when she was playing hide and seek with her kids, when she could hear them giggling together, Ewan always perfectly protective with his little sister, hidden in some cupboard or another. She would pause in the middle of whatever chambers they had commandeered, and just listen. To their hushed laughter and their heavy, excited breathing. And she would feel like bursting for this was the most perfect thing. She could never have asked for something better.

Or when her husband would sweep her off her feet in a kiss. Would rub out the tension in her body slowly and carefully, staring at her with those handsome eyes. When he would show her such pleasure. When he would make love to her in a way that she liked. When he’d take the time out of his long days to teach her bits and bobs of magic. When he’d look at her with pride in his eyes as she summoned up a vision, or as she practiced and practiced and finally succeeded, creating something so beautiful to sparkle on her fingertips.

Or when he would play his lute for the little family from one of the great lounge chairs of the playroom he had designed for the children. When Ewan and Alice would dance around her, jumping and laughing and shrieking with perfect childhood happiness, tugging on her arms and spinning her. A smile so wide it hurt her jaw, her heart filled with so much joy that she would forget about anything and everything that wasn’t this. She would forget about her insecurities and her fears, and she would just dance with them. And when Jareth joined them, spelling his lute so that it floated in the air, invisible fingers strumming the tune, her bliss would remain. For he would take her in his arms and bring her into a perfect waltz, so dashing and kind that she could not comprehend how he could be any other way. And he would smile too, to see her gazing up at him with such loving eyes, and to see the way Ewan and Alice would mimic them, holding hands and spinning in circles in the cutest copy of their parents’ dancing.

And these moments of perfect joy would seethe out into the rest of her days, making things better, allowing her to be okay even when the sad things lurked in the background. She only had to remember how happy her little family made her. Everything would be okay.

Yes, she insisted to herself that night in the warm circle of his arms, the good outnumbered the bad. His breath tickled at the skin of her neck, exposed except for the long braid of hair that striped down her back, along his front.

Yes, focus on the good. That was all that mattered.

Notes:

Yay! This chapter was fun to write, especially once I got into the bulk of it!
I'd love to hear what you thought! Leave a comment below if that's your thing <3

Chapter 28: Family

Summary:

But… it boggled her. Fifteen. What an age. She couldn’t tell if she was upset or not.

Notes:

omg I cant believe how long this turned out! well hopefully it makes up for the long wait :P

Hope you enjoy!!

Sometimes, she wondered. The words would come absently. “Is my family alright?” she’d murmur in the dead of night or deep into his skin after they’d been together, laying together, bodies rushing; panting satisfied and scared. Those were the times he was softer, more malleable. Over the years, she had learned, but in the beginning she had been lost. The first time she’d asked, it was before she understood what would come, before either escape, or the wedding, or any pregnancy. Before the children who she loved but would tie her forever to this place. His response had been simple, but in that way it was cruel. “What family?” he’d said.

She’d swallowed, curling away from him in her shivery naked body. Fifteen and grown and used like she was a woman. Like she was thirty and adult and perfectly known to herself. She hadn’t known it yet -- the prospect had been so unbearable, the very consideration of the future had pained her -- but her body would still know him at thirty. Always, it would know him.

“My family…” she’d said into the pillow, pleading-scared. “I need to know,” her cries stuttered in the chilly air of that room, “Please-- please tell me… is Daddy okay? My mom? I-- is Toby safe?”

His hand touched the dip of her waist, bare like it always seemed to be. “You should forget about them,” he said, tickling touches all over her back.

On her side, she tugged her knees into her chest. Fetal. Her toes stung, blood seemed to fear that zone, abandoning it and leaving them to turn purple. A mourning blue. “N-no,” she sobbed, “I won’t.” Her heels tucked carefully against her bottom, they protected, shielded from harm.

(Despite all efforts, harm still seemed to come).

“Oh, Sarah,” he said kindly, softly. He kissed her shoulder, he stroked her arm. “Look at you, so pitiable and sad. Why worry yourself like this? There’s no future in it.”

“It’s my family…” she said, imploring, half blisteringly-mad, half unspeakably-sorrowed. “I have to worry.”

“What a silly reason,” he said, words observational. He stung her with his calm judgement.

Tears leaked so quick and strong and painful from her closed eyes. They never seemed to stop. “It’s not,” she cried, misery hitting so hard. It made her spiteful, bitter. The words sounded oddly cruel in her young, never-again innocent voice.“You just-- you just never had a family. You’ve always been alone, haven’t you? Lonely and abandoned, without anyone to love you. You wouldn’t understand...”

The moment where she realized how horrible she was being, how bold… The man touching her… he was unknowable. A foreign being. A king to whom she was nothing but a prized possession. To poke the bear, it was to ask to get ripped apart.

He hummed, filling the wretched silence. She was stiff under his paused-still hands.

“I had a family… once,” he said instead, not ripping. He sounded musing, calm. “Hmm. I suppose you’re right… perhaps I am lonely. Unloved. But, Sarah…”

He’d turned it all on her, crawling close, setting his strong chin into the flesh of her arm. He was all over her, touching. From anyone else, it would have been loving. “Isn’t that you?”

“What?” she said and her voice was stuffy, shocked. She couldn’t look at him.

He rested his head against her arm. “You called out to me, precious. And you were so, so alone… Forgotten by your own family. Wasn’t there such an ache in your heart for someone to love you? Love you, care for you when your… family… wouldn’t? Lonely girl, you want love just as much as I. You shouldn’t lie to yourself, you know. They didn’t deserve you.”

Sarah trembled then, frozen stiff and unsure. His words had hurt more than anything. More than a strike hard to the face or a cock brutalizing in the body. “No…” she sobbed, hanging on to some sort of hopeless thread. He was right, he was always right. He knew her too well, and she knew him not at all. She would though… she would know him. When she was thirty-some and mothering. When she was at the end of her long, unnatural life, by his side and dying with him, knowing him wholly.

“Yes,” he’d whispered, kissing her arm once again. Lips trailed up, kissing her wet, teary cheek. His hair tickled. Still, she cried. “Forget about them,” he’d said again. “You’ll never be alone with me, sweet Sarah. I’ll love you. I’ll care for you. All you have to do is let me...”

A long time would pass before she asked of her family again, too scared of him, of his speech, and of the truth. Smarter now than she had been, she would say, “Is my father alive?” And he would answer simply, “Yes.” And she would say, “Is my mother alive?” and he would respond again, “Yes.”

And on and on. Toby and others, but not too many. Not all.

The way to go about it… it required care. It required intelligence. Do not ask too often, do not ask all at once, do not ask to know anymore than that. She waited years in between sometimes. For she saw the look in his eye when she broached this. Irritated, bored, displeased. Best not to try her luck.

He was kinder about it now, but only, she was sure, because she did not cry for them. She asked simply. Straightforward. And it was true, her questions had dwindled over time, less often and less inspired. She had another family, now. One that she could see, could touch, could love. A family that loved her, kept her from being alone.

That first time she’d asked… he had spoken truly. She wouldn’t be alone, never again. And he would love her, forever. And she would let him.

She allowed herself to forget what had been. What could have been. It was better this way.

. . .

“What happened to your gown?” he asked one late morning, lounging still on the bed, stretched out and nude. Sarah grabbed her hairbrush and plopped down to sit on the vanity stool.

It was almost afternoon, the sun now high in the sky. They’d had a lazy lie-in. Rare and appreciated time alone, together. Away from the demands of the kingdom and the kids. He’d had her on his lap, on her back, on her side. And Sarah had had him just the same. Senses sleepy and enriched, they had enjoyed each other slowly.

Sometime after they’d collapsed into the sheets, panting and satisfied, Sarah had crawled out of bed, leaving Jareth with one last deep, appreciative kiss in order to get dressed and ready for the day.

She looked down at herself at his words, hairbrush held aloft. Today was a pretty white one, soft around the waist. She liked this one; it flowed. She raised an eyebrow at him and pulled the brush through her hair.

“Not that one,” he said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. One of his knees was propped up. He swayed it, a small back and forth motion. “That green one you used to wear all the time. You haven’t in weeks.”

Her brush paused in its tracks. “Oh. That one…”

The green one she always used to wear. Her husband was so generous; she had such a fine wardrobe. Filled with more gowns than she could ever ask for. Ones so beautiful that she sometimes stood there before them, trailing fingers over the silks and the velvets and the perfect, exquisitely crafted embroidery, just admiring. But despite all that, she’d always had a clear favorite. The soft, mossy-green one. Jareth had gifted it to her when Ewan was just a baby. Just like all her other clothing, it had been fashioned and tailored for her specifically. But this one was special. The real deal.

She’d worn it so often that her husband had remarked on it once or twice. It amused him, she figured, that she was so attached to a single dress. To his comments, she would always say, oh it’s just so pretty, I like how it looks with my eyes, fits around my waist. Or something silly like that. But truly -- and he didn’t know this -- the gown had reminded her of her mother. Of the play Sarah had seen her in once and the costume she’d been in. Her mom had been so beautiful on stage, wearing the most magnificent gown. Green and satiny. From the audience, Sarah had gazed up at the stage, starstruck. That was her mom, she had thought with childish pride. Her mom who looked like her. At thirteen, the impression had been strong. It had remained ever since.

And at eighteen, with a baby in her arms, and a gift that struck memories of five years past… she had loved it. Adored it beyond belief. For years and years, it was her most trusted outfit. The one that made her feel better. Made her confident, adult. Mother. As much as she could be, at least.

But then… that woman in the library had spat on it, staining it forever. It reminded her… her motherlessness in either direction. It was another loss of self, tragic in a way. The gown had been a connection she’d made to her old life with the scraps of the memories she had been left with. And this woman had destroyed it. Oh, the dress itself was fine, nothing a good washing of magic couldn’t help, but... it was ruined for her. She hadn’t been able to stand it, the itching of the fabric against her skin as she returned to their chambers from the library, hazy in shock. The taint had crept into her skin. It reminded her of too much. The threads had held on, contaminated.

The first chance she’d gotten, she’d torn if off and thrown it in the trash. The undergarments she had worn that day too.

Jareth never noticed, the goblins having cleared out the bin while he was away. She was grateful for it… she hadn’t wanted him to know. The embarrassed shame was too much. The nerves. What the woman had said…

But... how easily he caught her, even now. Of course he would notice. Her husband was shrewd. He was clever. Much cleverer than she. He noticed things, he interpreted her. Translated what went on behind her eyes, in her soul. He saw her inside and out.

He must have seen the guilt on her face, for he sat up straighter. Sarah looked down.

“Sarah…” he said. There was a warning in it.

“Don’t be mad,” she said quickly, setting down the brush. He scowled at her and so she scurried across the room. She hovered near the bed, hands out nervously. “Everything was fine… just, there was an… incident in the library a few weeks ago.”

He looked thunderous, eyes going pinched. “Explain,” he said.

Of course, she did. She sat next to him, perched on the edge of the bed. Looking down at her twiddling hands, Sarah admitted to him what happened. Whispering it out, face going hot with humiliation as she repeated the words the woman had said.

When she was done, her eyes were stinging. He was too silent. Never speaking the whole tale.

Then, he sighed out harshly. Aggressive noise. “Dammit, Sarah.”

He stood and he paced, frustrated hand fisted at his mouth.

Her voice was small. “Jareth?”

The look he cast her was aggravated, dark. Narrowed slits for eyes. Sarah took a breath and said, “I’m sorry… I know I should have said something--”

He made some sort of noise. Angry and disbelieving. Sarah pursed her lips, smoothing out the fabric of her dress. He stopped suddenly, turning toward where she sat at the edge of the bed. He looked at her. “Do you understand the position I’m in?” he said, snapping the words out at her. “Hmm, Sarah?”

“Position? I-- ”

“Yes. Position.” He leaned over her, looking her right in the eye. “While other kings speak behind my back, scoffing and pointing, ridiculing and conspiring, I now learn that not only are my own subjects doing the same, but they have since grown bold enough to attack you, my wife, under my very nose. In my own castle. Daring and restless enough that they fear not my retribution or the consequences to their actions. Do you understand why this is a problem for me, Sarah?”

She licked her lips. “Yes,” she said, whispering it out.

It was his turn to scoff. “Do you?” he demanded, frustration heavy between them. She nodded hesitantly, still looking down at her lap. “Then pray tell… why would you keep this from me? Why would you leave me blind about what’s happening in my own kingdom?”

Now, she wanted to cry. “I didn’t think…”

“Clearly not.” He stood straight again. He rubbed a hand over his face, pressing fingers hard into his forehead. He puffed out a breath.

He sat beside her again, but it was stiff. They didn’t touch, not even where their thighs sat parallel, not even with their hands. They sat like that for a while, just stewing in the silence.

When he spoke again, his voice was grim. Sad, in a way. But not quite. She had seen him sad before. After each of the times that her body had failed her, that she had killed another of the babes he had given her. “My mortal wife,” he said and they were quiet, observing words. He sighed again, but this time it was tired-sounding. “They would do terrible things to you.”

Sarah swallowed, she touched his arm. “But you won’t let them…”

He was looking at her again, eyes softer but no less dark. “You know I won’t.”

She lowered her eyes. “I know,” she said. “I feel so bad…I’ve caused you so many problems...”

Her eyes screwed shut, she looked away. “Maybe… maybe we should try again. I fear what will happen if we keep going like this. If things are as bad as you say... If I can stop this with-- with another… shouldn’t I?”

“No.”

“Jareth,” she sighed. She moved closer. “Maybe it’s for the best--”

“I said, no.” He seized her hands, his grip just a little too tight. “The risk is too much. I will not have it.”

“But what if--”

He squeezed her hands. “I don’t want you fretting over this, there’s no point. Everything will be perfectly fine, I’ll make certain of it. But, Sarah… you mustn’t ever keep these things from me. If I don’t know what’s going on, how am I to protect you? Protect the children? Who knows what people will try if they think they can get away with it, how severe it could become if they think I will weakly stand by and allow them to hurt you. Tell me you understand.”

He caught her eyes. He was serious, still mad. Disappointed, she thought. Frustrated, with a scowl upon his face. He would take no arguments. She nodded after a heavy second, agreeing. Her eyes lowered. “I’m sorry… I was just… I was embarrassed. You know?”

“I know,” he said. “But I expect you to think, Sarah. Think before you feel. There are two children who depend upon you to make sound decisions. To think of the best interest of our family and to not be careless. Do not throw all that away simply because of shame. They will think what they will think, there is no changing it. But they are unimportant, they matter not... You know what truly matters, don’t you?”

Sarah’s eyes pricked. “Yes…”

She shifted closer, turning. She hugged him sideways, hiding her face in his shoulder. His arm went around her waist. “I’m sorry,” she said sadly, “I promise… I’ll do better. I don’t want anything to hurt you or the kids…”

His hand came up to her hair and he stroked against it. “I know you don’t.”

He tugged her back and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I must go,” he said, standing up and making a gesture with his hands. In a whoosh, he was fully clothed. Normally, he dressed without magic, filling up all that endless Fae life with the small things. But not today. “I have much to do.”

She saw the darkness in his eyes and it was mirrored in the outfit he chose, dark as night and intimidating. It reminded her of the storminess of when she first saw him so long ago. Strong and punishing.

It was a strange thing… there had been a time that she hadn’t known him. It felt like he had always been there, in her life. Some way or another. As a figment of the imagination of a lonely little girl, as a character born from that book that had started it all, as the villainous king who taunted and teased, as the man who would take her, keep her, marry her, and love her.

Sarah wasn’t sure she had ever been without him. How many years had that book been her constant companion? Her fantasy. Full of the king who, just an imagination away, would come sweeping her off her feet.

And it had been so long that she had been by his side, on his arm. That she had known him for better or for worse. She had lived longer as his wife than she had not. It was a scary thought and it wasn’t. It pleased just as much as it frightened.

He departed in a swirl of his cape. Dangerous magic.

Sarah knew… the woman would be found. She would be punished. So would the guards who had left her defenseless. She wondered if she should feel bad, that she had told so easily. A tattle-tale she was. But she didn’t. She didn’t feel bad at all, not except for how she had hurt their little family, understanding now the risk she had taken. Leaving herself vulnerable to complacent guards and malicious citizens. Leaving her only protector in this pit of vipers ignorant to what truly went on.

When she imagined the woman getting thrown in the dungeons, she was pleased. She imagined Jareth staring down at this woman; at his employed, trusted guards… she imagined them cowering before him, scared and fearful like she had so many times been. There was no guilt in her, just this gratification. This satisfaction. She should have told him sooner, she thought. Those who had hurt her would have been dealt with immediately. She would have rested easier, knowing they had been hurt in turn. Punished where they had wronged.

Well… now it would be done. Her other half would make sure of it. It thrilled her.

There was something vindictive in her soul.

. . .

“What were you thinking?” Jareth’s voice thundered. It echoed in their son’s large chambers, against the stony walls and floors. Sarah felt odd. It was rare that she saw his upset directed at someone other than herself. And that did not occur so often these days.

Ewan stared at the floor, scuffing his shoe. He scowled.

“Well, Ewan?” he demanded harshly, scowling too. Father and son… they looked so alike. “Tell me what would make you act so irresponsibly.”

Sarah stood off to the side, watching anxiously. She fluttered in her place, shifting. She saw her son’s face, all red and embarrassed. He wouldn’t look up.

She frowned. “Jareth--”

Her husband barely spared a glance at her. But the look in his eye was enough to keep her quiet. She chewed on her lip, hands clasped in front of her, doing nothing.

Mulishly, Ewan crossed his arms. “Nothing bad happened.”

“Is that right?” Jareth’s voice hissed out, cold. Sarah was tense, eyes flicking between the both of them. Ewan still stared at the floor.

“Yes,” the young man muttered.

There was a horrible moment of silence, Jareth standing taller. “I’m disappointed in you,” he said. And it was terse, icy. “The dungeons are no place for children to play in.”

“I’m not a child--!”

“No,” Jareth snapped. “You’re not. That’s why I expected more from you. Because your sister is. She’s nine, Ewan. Nine. And you didn’t think that it would be wrong to take her down there? Where there are murderers and rapists who would lay their evil eyes on her? Where she would see the way they waste away down there, rotting for their crimes, decaying and dying before her very young eyes? What if this causes her nightmares? Did you think of that?”

Ewan seemed to shrink with each disappointed, reprimanding word from the king. His voice was small when he said, “She wanted to…” But the excuse was weak and he seemed to know it, snapping his mouth shut quickly under the furious glare of his father.

“Oh, did she? And how often do you find yourself giving into the demands of children? You are her older brother, Ewan. What is best for her is not always what she will want. You will be king one day, and with that comes many responsibilities, none in the least: protecting your family from all that would harm them. So,” his voice was not cruel, but it was strict. Fatherly as much as it was kingly. “This is what will happen… Until you prove to me that you are to be trusted again, you will no longer be around Alice alone.”

The commandment rang out. Ewan’s mouth fell open, glossy eyes snapping up despite himself. Shocked. Sarah was too, truthfully. A grimace fell across her face. There were not many children in this world for her son and her daughter to be friends with and so they had grown up very close. The best of friends despite the age difference. Ewan loved his little sister and Alice adored her older brother. They were inseparable.

“Father, I--” His fists were clenched at his sides.

Jareth raised a sharp hand, his eyes narrowed. Displeased. “Do not argue.”

“But-- but, you don’t understand!” The son’s face was going red, upset.

The father did not like this. His eyes cut. “Don’t I?” he hissed, almost looming. Ewan faltered, identical eyes flicking between him and Sarah who stood off to the side. She offered him a sympathetic look, a tilted head and scrunched brow. She wanted to comfort him… But he quickly looked away from her. His ears were a bright red. He looked at the ground.

Her eyes were pinched and she took a step forward. “Jareth… maybe that’s a little harsh.” She bit her lip, looking between them both. “You know he would never put her in harm’s way. Not intentionally. And I’m sure he’s learned his lesson now. He understands why it was wrong. Right, Ewan?”

Ewan wouldn’t respond, hunching further down. An achiness had gotten into her heart.

Jareth still glared. He cast her a glance. “And he can prove it,” he said coldly. He turned to their son.

“Ewan,” Jareth said, “Look at me.”

Sarah saw the way his eyes were wet, reddening. His face hot and embarrassed as he looked reluctantly in his father’s eyes. There was a twinge inside her, discomfort for his discomfort.

Jareth looked at the boy sternly. His voice was softer, gentler, but no less strict. “You have made a mistake, and you will make up for it. There are consequences to your actions. Have I made myself clear?”

Sarah opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Ewan nodded. Still red in the face, still teary. But resolute. He blinked fast and told his father, “Yes, I-- I understand. I’ll fix it.”

Jareth was pleased at this. “Good,” he said, nodding once. He clapped Ewan on the shoulder and turned toward Sarah. “I have a few things I must see to, but I will be back in time for dinner.”

Sarah smiled weakly, she felt the tension still. “Okay,” she said, “See you...”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head before stepping out of the room, door thudding quietly shut behind him.

Sarah remained. She heard her son let out a great big exhale. And she turned to see him hunching again, head ducked away. He hurried over to his bed, diving into it head-first. He buried his head in his folded up arms.

She frowned deeply, following his steps to the bed.

“Ewan…” she said quietly, perching on the edge. She placed a hand between his shoulder blades.

“What?” he forced out, and it was warbly. A tremor to it. Sarah’s brow furrowed. She felt droopy. She hated to see her children upset… it had always hurt so much, even when they were just babies crying out in hunger, or toddlers teary from a playtime tumble that scraped little hands and knees.

“He’s not mad, Ewan. He just got scared, you know? It’s his worst nightmare that anything bad happens to either of you…”

“I know!” He said in the pillow, sounding angry. Snapping. Sarah paused. The circles she rubbed into his back slowed.

On the verge of a sob, “I know that, Mom.”

Under her hand, his body trembled. Quivering with all his emotions. It must have been a lot. Ewan very rarely got into trouble, and never to the extent where Jareth would be so angry over it. He took himself so seriously. Sometimes Sarah liked to joke with Jareth that he had been born a wise old man in a baby-body. Her son was cautious and careful and he was more responsible at ten than she thought she’d ever been. But he was still just a kid. Young and learning and only fourteen. Her little baby. Messing up was only a part of it.

But he was such a sensitive soul and he cared so much what his father thought. She knew he was beating himself up over this.

Sarah remembered the first time she’d gotten in real trouble with her father. How he’d scolded her and all her indignant, red-faced, teary-eyed humiliation right in front of his perfect, new, usurping little wife.

It was just after they’d returned from their honeymoon off in Hawaii, Sarah having been left with her grandfather for the two weeks since her own mother had been much too busy to take her in right now, Sarah, darling. I’m going on a trip with Jeremy in a few days. Anyway, mommy’s sorry. I’ll make it up to you next summer, how about that, hmm?

Her father had been in such good spirits on their return, tanned and beaming, deciding to take his, “two best ladies,” out to dinner, reservations at the best restaurant in town and all. In the maturity that came with the third decade of life, Sarah looked back on that evening with shame. Horribly behaved and just plain mean, Sarah had glared and scoffed at her new step-mother the whole time. It had been uncalled for. Just beyond the pale.

It wasn’t that Sarah’d been particularly nice before that night. No, she’d always been at least a little rude, just a bit snappy to Karen… but at that dinner, under the soft romantic lighting, seated across from her father instead of next to him (Karen received that privilege now), Sarah was filled with hate. It was like the giddy smiles of her father and that woman hit just in the right place to make spite come spewing out, huffing and puffing and degrading.

Tense smiles began covering up the elated ones and heavy silences took over the easy, lovestruck conversations. It had gone on for too long when Sarah made some grossly uncivil insinuation about Karen’s motivations for marrying her father. Perhaps some gold-diggery was afoot? A young Sarah had been sickly pleased at the shocked, hurt look in Karen’s eye.

But that had gone right out the window when her father slammed his fist down on the table, sending the silverware clattering and the dishes all clanking, drawing attention from the rest of the restaurant, the rest of the patrons going hushed at the noise and peering nosily at the partly-hidden booth with the man who gritted his teeth at the young girl across from him.

Her father had glared at Sarah unlike ever before and soundly told her off. Speaking lowly enough that no one else would hear, he hissed at her to knock it off, that she was acting ugly, and he was so, so disappointed in her, for he hadn’t raised his daughter to be so cruel. Sarah, you better watch your mouth, this disrespect ends tonight. Look at her, he then said, gesturing to Karen, does it make you feel good to act like a bully? She’s been nothing but nice to you, and all she gets in return are insults and contempt. And Sarah had looked at Karen, seeing the glossy sheen in her eyes, the way she so delicately dabbed at them with the fancy, cotton napkin.

And she hadn’t been able to look her father in the eye then, fingers curling up over the table, convulsively swallowing around the lump that had grown so quickly in the depth of her throat. Her heart had hammered and Sarah acutely remembered the overwhelming awareness of the public setting, the way she’d obsessed over whether the families at the booths next to theirs could hear the distaste in her father’s voice, the anger. If they could see the red-hot color that painted her face, the tears that came embarrassing and betraying down her cheeks when he’d told her, I’m disgusted with you right now.

And Sarah hadn’t even argued when he’d told her she was grounded for the next month, no TV, no phone, no friends, no nothing. She hadn’t spoken another word the rest of the night, sitting in her discomfort on that comfortable booth seat, alone and unprotected and guiltified. The rest of the dinner had been stiff, just terrible. Not once the entire time had she been able to look at either of them, keeping her eyes steadfastly at the edge of the table, on her food which she only barely picked at, and on the floor of the restaurant as she followed them out to the car, feeling keenly that the rest of the customers must have been staring at the horrible, disgustingly behaved girl who trailed past them like a kicked dog.

That night, she’d ran into her room and slammed the door shut, crying into her bed for who knew how long. Even as she waited up, hoping that her father would come see her and hoping that he wouldn’t… no one had come.

And the thing was, she had felt bad. She knew she had messed up; been so horrible. No wonder her mom didn’t want to be around her, and no wonder her father wouldn’t sit next to her at dinner. That night, alone in her room, feeling heavy from the weight of her guilt, she’d hated herself. Not even mad about the grounding, she’d been too focused on the badness, the unlikableness in her. The dejection had been so much that she hadn’t even been able to open up any of her favorite stories, not one of her fairytales and not even the red book that took pride of place under her pillow.

Her heart had been too heavy for comfort.

She’d said sorry the next day, and it had been so hard, whispering it out, meaning it but still unbearably mortified over the whole thing. For even though the guilt had driven her to her apology, the five-letter word coming out surrounded by stutters, she still hadn’t liked Karen. Even in that remorseful time, Sarah still hated the place Karen had taken in her life, cutting out any possibility for it to return to the way it was. Her step-mother was a trespasser, and that would never change. But she’d apologized, and she had never been so rude again.

Bratty, certainly. A little ungrateful and unhappy, yes. But nothing more.

Now, with two children of her own and a lifetime away from her mortal family, Sarah’s feelings about Karen were mixed. Her view was colored by the heavy emotions of early her teenage-hood. She couldn’t anymore be sure which memories were true and which were just stained with her overwhelming dislike that had never quite gone away.

But, on the other hand… Karen had brought about Toby. And if not for Toby…

Well, if not for Toby, then where would she be now? Without Jareth. Above. And the thought of that was strange in her heart, because then her children, her perfectly, exquisitely beautiful son and daughter never would have been born. She shoved the thought away, ruthlessly. The feelings were so mixed.

Her hand trailed up over Ewan’s back, threading in the soft hair that brushed against the back of his neck. She felt him shaking.

“Oh, my love,” she sighed, leaning forward and embracing him, pressing her lips against his shoulder blade. He was tense under her so she pulled back, petting his white-gold hair, scooting closer.“You’re such a good boy. I’m going to talk to him… Between you and me, I don’t think it was such a big deal, what happened. Nothing like a little childhood adventure, right? Plus--,” she let out a little laugh, hoping to cheer him up, “-- we both know Alice isn’t the type to get scared so easily.”

But he turned, sitting up quickly enough that her hand was knocked away. He scrubbed at his eyes and turned away from her.

Sarah could only see the back of him. She bit her lip. “Ewan?” she said, tone soft. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, okay? I’ll see if he’ll change his--”

“Mom, just stop!” he said, frustrated, clenching fists into the bedcovers. Still not looking at her. “Stop. Don’t do that, alright?”

There was a beat of silence. Her brow furrowed. He barreled forward, turning to glance at her. He wiped his face furiously, strange, husbandly eyes glaring. “Father was right. I messed up… I didn’t protect Alice like I should have. Just don’t-- don’t try to change his mind!”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. Her hands froze in the air between them; they dropped to her lap. She was confused. “But… don’t you want to be free to spend time with her...?”

He looked at her as if he was frustrated. “Yes,” he ground out, “But not because you asked him to change his mind. I have to earn that back, that’s what he said.”

“Ewan,” she chewed on her lip, “I don’t think the punishment fits the crime…”

“Because you don’t understand!” he burst out, stiffly getting up from the bed and beginning to pace. Sarah watched. She felt a little small right then as her son rounded on her, pointing at himself. He was aggravated by the conversation. “I’m going to be king one day, I have to learn responsibility. I can’t have my mother getting me out of trouble all the time!”

Sarah’s lips pursed and she looked down at her hands. “...Okay,” she said softly. She stood up and approached the huffing boy. She pressed her hands to his shoulders. She tugged him into her for a hug. He was stiff in her arms and almost her height. It was an odd thing, scary. His hands pressed against her upper back when not long ago they could only reach around her waist, and not long before that, her knees. Soon, he would be taller than her. This little thing who had come out of her so small and tiny and helpless, becoming a man before her eyes.

She rubbed his back. “Okay, Ewan,” she said again. “I understand.”

She wasn’t sure that was true, but she said it anyway, filling the words with as much motherly sympathy as he could, glad that he was melting into her; hugging her back. His huffing breaths seemed to slow. He clutched at her back.

Sarah rocked him in her arms as if he were a young child still instead of a boy growing into a man. It didn’t matter… she would hold him like this, be there for him, no matter how old he was. “I won’t say anything to him. If this is what you want… if it’s the right thing for you, then I’ll respect that.”

He pulled back, looking shy, wiping his cheeks again. “Thank you,” he muttered, still a little red in the face. “Um… could you leave me alone now? Please… I just want to think.”

There was a beat. Sarah cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said after a moment, almost hesitating, “Of course. I’ll leave you...”

She turned for the door, but then remembered… “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?”

His face was so serious when he shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, muttering. Staring at the floor.

Sarah frowned. “Okay,” she said softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Up to you, sweetie.”

He was silent as she headed for the door. When she tugged it open, she glanced back to see him perched on the large window rail, peering out over the kingdom, the Labyrinth.

Her future king.

She gripped the door edge tightly. He didn’t respond when she called out with an, I love you. She tried not to let it hurt. She knew he did, oh of course she did. It wasn’t even a question. But… it was like a superstition. Step on a crack and break your mother’s back. What did no response mean?

They were only words, she told herself. Get a grip, Sarah.

.

.

.

Ewan didn’t show up for dinner that night, leaving just her and her husband and her daughter to eat together. Unscared and perfectly-fine Alice; frightening and good-humored Jareth; dazed and absent-minded Sarah. It was hard to focus that evening, as she played with her food, as Jareth spoke with a playful Alice, joking with her and being sweet with her like he always was. As her mind thought of her son; what he’d told her and how he was.

She was proud of him and she was worried. She was frowning at her plate, scraping around the fork, when Alice spoke up. “What’s the matter, Mommy?”

Sarah snapped to attention. “What?” she said, looking across the table at her daughter who peered at her curiously. She glanced at the head of the table. Jareth raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said, setting her fork down and turning to smile back at the girl. “Nothing’s the matter, baby. Just lost in thought tonight.”

“Okay,” Alice said sweetly, any worries seeming to vanish just like that. “I was telling Daddy about the dungeons!”

“Oh?” Sarah wondered. Jareth was leaning back in his chair. He seemed to be calm, unconcerned. She wondered if he was still upset about the incident, whether he had talked to Alice about the dangers of the dungeons while she had been up in her clouds of worry. “What about?” She propped her head up on her hand, elbow resting on the table. She could see the both of them.

Alice bounced in her seat. “It was so dark! And there were all these spooky noises! It was so cool! And--!”

Jareth cracked a little smile at their daughter. His tone was stern, but amused. “And…?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “And,” she said, half-grumbling, half-mocking, gathering up an imperious tone of voice, “I am never to go back down there, not without your es- explicit permission.” She left it off with a very regal nod, neck straight and tall.

Sarah couldn’t help but grin. Alice was the rambunctious, silly, dramatic sort. It made for some very funny child conversations that led into such rambling, meandering, clever little observations about the world. Endless amusement to be had in her company.

“Good girl,” Jareth said, lifting his goblet for a drink of wine, a little smile staining his lips.

Alice looked pleased at that, almost beaming at her father. Then her little brow furrowed. “But I don’t know why,” she said, biting a piece of meat off her fork and speaking through her food. “We only saw a few of the prisoners and they weren’t even scary! I don’t think they were very dangerous… they looked weak, like they’d been down there for a very long time. I even said ‘hi’ to one and he was really nice, like a noble. He even called me ‘My Lady’,” she was grinning, swallowing past her bite, “I guess he didn’t know who I was. So I told him.”

Sarah gave the girl a look, attention focused now. “Don’t speak with your mouth full, please.”

Alice huffed and Sarah wanted to roll her eyes, but she humored her. “Well,” she said, tapping her chin, “He must have been down there for a while if he didn’t know who you were. Who could have missed it?” she said, cracking a grin, “The celebrations when you were born lasted for weeks!”

Her eyes brightened. “Really?” she asked, glancing at her father who nodded.

“Oh, yes,” Jareth said, “The great Goblin Princess Alice, born at last! The excitement was infectious, and the cities were alight in celebration day and night, people chanting your name and dancing in the streets!”

“Wow!” Alice breathed. “Was it like that for Ewan, too?”

“Indeed, it was.”

“Why isn’t he here?” she pouted, “He never misses dinner.”

Sarah poured more water into Alice’s cup. “He wanted to be alone tonight, to think.” She glanced at Jareth. “He made a mistake taking you down to the dungeons and I think he feels bad about it.”

“It was my idea,” Alice grumbled, taking another bite. Her eyes light up again, “You should tell him about the parties when he was born… maybe that will cheer him up!”

Sarah smiled. “Oh, he already knows about all that… he was around when you were born, remember?”

The girl smiled shyly. “Oh, right.”

It was easy to laugh in these moments. Ewan’s absence stuck out too much, but Sarah could focus on the good. Jareth and her both smiled and laughed with the silly girl who bounced excitedly in her seat as she giggled and chatted about everything under the sun.

The topic came around again sometime later, when Sarah had given up on her food, feeling stuffed with nothing, leaning back in her chair and trying to enjoy the time with her family. Jareth was busy so often these days… gone were the days of leisurely strolls through the gardens and fun family picnics. They sometimes came, but not very frequently. To spend time with all of them together was a treat to be cherished. If only Ewan were here too…

But Alice had piped up randomly when there had been a lull in the conversation about the West Wing renovations, chocolate smeared on her chin. “Oh! I remember,” she said, perking up. “It was strange… The prisoner… when I said I was the Princess, not a lady, he said to me and Ewan that it was--” she put on an odd old-fashioned, noblesque voice, sounding caricatured, “-- A great delight to meet the children of the noble Lady Sarah. And the other prisoner in the same dungeon let out a huge roar! It was wild!”

Alice looked at her mother, whose mouth had dropped open, whose heart had stopped entirely, now deathly still. Eyes wide. The girl peered curiously over, “Do you know that prisoner, Mommy?”

It shocked Sarah out of the little comforting world she had built around her, the memories she had swept away and the denial she had nurtured. To her right, Jareth seemed as cool as ever. Watching her calmly as she reeled. She scrunched her eyes shut tight and then opened them back up. In her mind, there remained the sight of her one-time friends strung up in the dungeons. Blood and guts and vomit on a wooden platform flashed. The names she had so guiltily avoided in her thoughts; Sir Didymus, unattired, unknighted, unhimself, and weak; Ludo; matted and bony and bloody and sad; Hoggle… dead. Her stomach rolled unpleasantly. It was a lifetime ago, and it wasn’t. The shame and the remorse filled her, violent as it ever was. Was she bleeding out in this very seat, with the hit of it? Was there the drip, drip of her very soul going liquid, hitting the floor, pooling out around her for her darkened family to see?

“Once,” she said, the simple word seeming to grind out of her with the effort of an entire monologue. She coughed, “I knew him -- both of them -- once. Not anymore.”

She looked down at her plate, her unbitten chocolate pie left pristinely cut. The strawberry syrup was drizzled red and bloody over it. It seeped, wet and sluggish.

“You did?” Alice said in wonder.

Sarah nodded, feeling stuck in her own self. In her periphery was Jareth, slowly leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table.

“But how?”

“Umm…” her voice was high-pitched, questioning her own self. “We were…friends?”

“No way!” Alice exclaimed. “What happened? What did they do?”

Sarah was shaky, her breath was quivery, almost as if it did not want to exist. What did they do, she wondered. The question should’ve been: what had been done to them? Sarah had been done. That’s what. She had ruined their lives and she had ended another. To escape from the memories had proven impossible; her own actions would haunt her forever and ever. What happened? What did they do? Her daughter wanted to know.

When it became apparent that Sarah’s words would not come, wedged bloodily in her throat, Jareth spoke up. “This was before either you or Ewan were born. They tried to take her from here… They kidnapped her.”

Alice gasped. Sarah looked at her now, saw the worry in her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard. Metallic was the taste.

“But,” Alice said, frowning, “If they were her friends, why would they do that?”

Sarah reached across the table; she took Alice’s hand, rubbed her thumb over the little knuckles. Her daughter paid attention to her. “Because--” Sarah said, forcing the heavy words out, heaving a boulder bigger than her up this steep, deathly mountain, “-- because, they thought they were helping me. But they weren’t, not at all. And they hurt me and they hurt this family with what they did.”

“They hurt you?” Alice looked between her mother and her father with wide, shocked little eyes. “How did they hurt you?”

Sarah’s eyes went damp; she remembered. The wrath of all the dead she had produced had blended together… with each time, the individuality of each of them had become less pronounced. There were too many to reconcile. She had to protect herself, she couldn’t think of all of them; it would kill her like she killed them.

She looked down, she looked to her husband. There was a chilliness to his gaze, but he must have seen the way her lips trembled and her cheeks had gone hot, burning under everything that had ever happened. He frowned at her, turning to their daughter. He reached out, brushing the flyaway hairs behind her ear. “Maybe when you’re older we will tell you, my darling.”

Alice frowned. “I’m nine,” she protested.

Jareth’s lips curved, a little amused, a little saddened. “You say that as if it means you’re grown.”

“I am,” she huffed.

He laughed softly. “You’re not… but I love you for trying.”

She seemed mollified enough at that, pout dropping from her face. But then her eyes went round and she turned to her mother. “I’m really sorry you got hurt by your friends, Mommy,” Alice said with kind, childlike concern on her tongue. “That’s probably the worst thing ever, because who thinks their friends are gonna hurt them?”

Sarah swallowed, hard. “It’s okay, my love,” she murmured, picking up her fork. She sliced it through the chocolate pie and jabbed it, swirling it around in the strawberry syrup. She smiled, squeezing Alice’s hand once more before letting go. To the shy, not-so-modest young girl, she said, “You’re the sweetest. Your mommy is so proud of you, you know?”

Alice beamed under the attention of her parents and in the aftermath of the questioning, Sarah placed the bite in her mouth, letting it mix with the bloody wound of her silence, her lies. The taste was odd, not good and not bad. Made bland by her life, by her own self.

Sarah forced a smile. “Excuse me a moment,” she said, standing up and placing her napkin down. Retreating to the bathroom, she bent over the sink and heaved. The rich decadence of the chocolate, the fruity tang of the syrup, and the diseased stream of her blood stained her mouth and dripped into the sink, offensive and vile. It polluted the world she lived in.

With the faucet turned on, the water washed it away, sending it all swirling deep into the drain. Like magic, it disappeared. Sarah rinsed out her mouth, not looking at herself in the mirror, eyes fixed on the pristine sink. She thought maybe she could see a blot of dark in the pure marble. She blinked and it was gone.

When she gathered herself up again and returned to her family, she smiled genuinely. Ewan had joined while she was in the bathroom. She greeted them all with soft, loving eyes.

. . .

Her children grew before her eyes. It wasn’t noticeable until it was, when she’d think back to the years past and remember how they had been… To see them grow and learn and become their own selves… Sarah loved it. It filled her with such pride. These two perfect beings were hers; she had made them and she had cared for them and they were turning out so wonderfully. And yet… it was double-edged. It filled her with an itching discomfort that soon they would be grown and they would be off, experiencing this world of theirs that she had been kept in, but had only briefly seen. She wanted to be needed, and time was running out. She would be left alone. And what would she do? There was nothing but them, she sometimes despaired.

She tried not to think of it. But sometimes it was not so easy… the passage of time was all too evident.

Ewan’s fifteenth birthday was greeted with an incredible celebration. Dancing and drinking and feasting and perfect excitement in that great castle ballroom. Jareth loved his parties, and what better occasion to commemorate than the anniversary of the births of his only children?

Her son… fifteen years old. It seemed to come out of nowhere, suddenly upon them. She found it to be a joyous occasion, as every birthday was -- it was the day that recalled the very first moment she’d ever held him in her arms -- but there was a bittersweetness to it, too.

But she would enjoy the festivities. It was one of the few public events that Sarah was encouraged to attend. It made her scoff. As if she would miss it.

So she danced with her fifteen year old son, who now matched her in height, in front of all of those who hated her. But her eyes were only for the boy before her, soft and proud of who he was becoming. He spun with her around the dance floor as he had since he was old enough to walk, old enough to go to parties. Now, instead of standing on her feet and gazing up at her, chin digging in her belly and smiling wide and boyish, he led her across the dancefloor, sure in his movements, one hand confidently at her waist and the other clasping her own.

But even as she recognized the incredible change in her son from the minute he was born to this moment, fifteen exact years later… as she recognized that he was considered a man by his own people… She couldn’t shake it: her son was still just a boy. Maybe Jareth would disagree but Sarah knew in her heart, in her very soul -- that weak, bedraggled, dirtied thing hidden somewhere deep inside her -- that this was her child, and yes, he still needed her. He still needed his father.

He was not a man yet, no matter what this world would say. Perhaps it was her Aboveground upbringing, those great ages of eighteen and twenty-one marking adulthood, or perhaps it was the moderness of the world she’d come from. Fifteen was the beginning of high school. It was begging parents for the new record that just came out. Sneaking off to parties and starting to learn how to drive.

She had been Underground longer than she had ever been Above, but she supposed these things stuck around.

But… it boggled her. Fifteen. What an age. She couldn’t tell if she was upset or not.

“That was lovely,” she said, squeezing Ewan’s hand when the song, a vibrant, floaty orchestration that had stroked the very bones, had ended. He smiled and led her back through the crowd to the head table.

When he hesitated to leave her, seeing the absence of his father, Sarah shook her head and shooed him with her hands, urging, “Go dance. Have fun, please. Don’t worry about me.”

So he kissed her cheek with a grateful, “Thanks, Mom,” and turned to rush off into the crowd, surely searching for the courtiers closest to his age. There were a few whose company he enjoyed.

She watched from her seat comfortably as the people danced and played, listening as the music filled the air, vibrating pleasantly. She saw Alice dancing on the toes of Jareth’s closest advisor, an imposing man who’d never liked Sarah, but adored the royal children. Something they could both agree on, at least. For that, she trusted him. Ewan had long since disappeared into the crowd when Sarah began humming along with the music, popping bites of fruit in her mouth.

When Jareth appeared again, it was almost out of nowhere. As he joined her, sitting in the chair beside hers, Sarah couldn’t help but smile. She finished the plum, placing the pit on the table in front of her.

“Hello, precious,” he said. There was a flush high on his cheekbones. From drinking and from dancing, most likely. She thought it was quite becoming. When he smiled back at her, it was even more so. “Having a good time?”

She sucked on the tip of her thumb, licking away the juice that remained. She nodded, eyes bright. “Yes. It’s been wonderful.”

Her thumb was removed from her mouth with a smack and she saw the way his eyes lingered there, the way they went dark. Observing. Sarah felt a thrill in her belly and she smirked. She grabbed a strawberry and oh so slowly bit into it, watching him the whole while. She leaned forward and his eyes went from fixed upon her mouth to the curve of her breasts, covered just enough by the bodice of her gown. “Are you having a good time?” she said, wetting her lips, catching all the sweetness that lingered.

His eyes were amused. “Stop that,” he said, lips curved into a smirk. “You’re provoking me…”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging a shoulder and looking away. She bit her lip, eyes darting back, “Is it working?”

Under the table, his hand fell on her leg. Even through the fabric of her skirt and of his glove, his touch was hot, firm. As were his eyes on hers. His hand trailed up, up, up and her legs slowly parted. He stroked her inner thigh, slow circles. Heat pooled. “You know it is,” he said, and his voice was low. He leaned close enough that his breath fanned her. Close enough to kiss. Sarah’s eyes fluttered shut.

But he let out a soft groan and he was gone from her, sat back in his seat, hand no longer on her, but watching all the same. That’s right, she remembered, there were so many around. He was affectionate in the private wings of their castle, not so much in the public. It had been like that always, even since the day of their marriage. When he had fucked her in front of all, but dared not kiss her. She understood… but it didn’t mean she liked it.

Sarah sighed and it was almost a pout that crossed her face. “Don’t you want to kiss me… husband?”

“Behave,” he said, still gently amused. “I will kiss you later.”

“Fully?” she said. She nudged her foot against his. “Deeply?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, voice full of promise, “And so much more.”

It must have been the elation of the party, the wine she had indulged in that made her feel warm all over. She grinned at him even as he tutted amusedly, turning his attention to all the revelers.

She busied herself with pouring out some wine in both of their empty goblets, then handing him his. Drinking deeply from her own, she curled up on her chair, tucking a leg beneath her. She smiled when she saw Alice running around the dance floor, tugging on hands and sweetly interrupting dancers. Sarah imagined what she was saying to those poor, hapless Fae who would do anything to please the precious Goblin Princess. Oh please, won’t you dance with me? I’m so alone, she’d say dramatically, I haven’t got anyone to dance with.

Sarah laughed to herself. To Jareth, she noted, “She should probably go to bed soon.”

He nodded. “We’ll take her up in a bit.”

“We?” she said, leaning forward once again, propping her head up with her elbow on the arm of the chair.

He grinned, baring teeth. His lips were stained a deep red-purple. “What?” he said slyly, “You thought I was going to break my promise, did you?”

“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. That evening, her long hair was done up in an intricate style, baring her neck. The years had given her lots of time to play with and so she had gotten quite handy at fashioning her hair in different ways, of painting her face in various styles. Decorating herself. It was rare that she had an occasion to dress up for, but sometimes she did so anyway. Even if Jareth was the only one to see it… just for the fun of it. The times Alice joined her were the best. Sarah would do her up and Alice would return the favor, layering blush and lipstick over Mom’s face and trying her little hand at braiding, always laughing and grinning in giddy, girlish excitement. As clumsy and colorful as the product of her daughter’s makeover could sometimes be, Sarah wouldn’t trade it for anything.

It harkened back to the childhood days of costumes and dress-up. If only her girlhood self could see her now… in a fantasy land full of fairy-woven dresses, costumed balls, and peculiar creatures. It was less alien to her now than it had been, but she thought that this small measure of wonder would always remain with her. It was a part of her dreaminess, her love of fairy-tales and adventures and pretty things.

She noticed Ewan in the crowd, now. Alice had found him, and she had hassled him into dancing. The boy who had once stood on her toes, now had Alice standing on his. Sarah sighed, again. She took a sip of the wine. Was it with age that made bitter things easier to swallow? The melancholy that hit was strange, for it wasn’t all-consuming. She felt happy, glad, giddy, and morose all at once.

“Will he be okay down here by himself? When we leave with Alice?”

“You worry too much,” he chided softly. “Let him enjoy his night. He’s perfectly safe, you know that.”

“Oh, alright,” she said, conceding easily enough. She watched Ewan as he beamed down at his little sister, twirling her and keeping her from falling. They were laughing together, the best of friends. She loved that about them. It made her all soft inside.

The kids noticed their mother and father watching from the head table and they both waved, Alice bouncing on her toes and beaming, Ewan grinning. Alice kissed the palm of her hand and blew on it. Sarah smiled softly, hand going out to catch the invisible thing in the air. With exaggerated movements, she smacked her lips into her palm, receiving it. She waved back with a grin, hearing Alice’s tinkling laugh even over the music. Sarah sent another kiss back for Ewan, who caught it shyly, smiling softly.

With a flush on her cheeks, and a silly smile on her face, Sarah glanced at Jareth. He was looking at her so softly. Something like tenderness in his eyes. “You’re so good with them,” he said.

It must have been the wine that caused it. The thickness in her throat, the dampness of her eyes. Or else it was the admiring, loving way he looked upon her. Her eyes darted away, almost embarrassed. When she looked back, his love had not left. She couldn’t help the soft smile that took her over, all-consuming and goofy-looking. If only he could kiss her; it would push away this tenderness that reigned, leaving space for something else, something hotter and understood. “Thank you,” she said, voice heavy and choked with all her genuine vulnerability. “Jareth… That means… that means a lot.”

She swallowed, overwhelmed, glancing at their children who she was so good with. The goofy smile remained.

Much later that night, with Alice tucked safely in bed, with Ewan enjoying his grown birthday down below, and Jareth having made do on his promise, Sarah played with the damp ends of her braid, eyes blinking heavily in the darkness. She was exhausted. There had been so many emotions and so many kisses that day. In her body, there was a pleasant sort of soreness. It took over, filling her limbs with warmth and tiredness. It made her want to sleep.

“Fifteen, huh?” she said, drowsy-voiced.

Jareth hummed into her skin, arms wrapped around her. His heartbeat was a gentle sway in her ear, coming through from his neck. Sleepy and slowed like her.

“That’s the age I was,” she said, words a sigh into his collarbone. She was melted into him, body so heavy she thought she’d never be able to stand again. “When I wished for you. I was fifteen,” she said, words wandering from her.

“Yes,” he agreed. She held onto him tighter.

Together, they slept.

Notes:

:O they grow up so fast, don't they! ngl, this story makes me want to have a kid asgjsgdjks.

Also, realized recently that at the beginning of this story, Sarah was younger than me... but now she's older. wtf

Also also, I realize it's a little awkward to keep plugging what else I'm writing but... I just can't help myself XD So... I wrote another labyrinth one shot that's a vaguely historical bodice ripper-y AU PWP called 'Sarah, Sire.' In case you're interested in that LOL

Well, that's my notes done. Thank you for your patience, and please do let me know what you thought! Hope you all are well <3

Chapter 29: Respect

Summary:

“Your Majesty,” he said, addressing the king, but evil, beady eyes glinting at her, nervousness seemingly gone. “My grievance is with the Consort.”

Notes:

gosh, you have no idea how ecstatic I am to finally have this finished. :))))
enjoy!

Sarah flinched back, staring at her son. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t finished.

“And you know… it’s-- it’s pathetic that you always go running to Father when something isn’t going your way! Don’t you have a life, mom? Besides-- besides looking… pretty and getting in the way of my studies any time things get a little tough?” Ewan’s words came out hissing. He kicked at the lowest shelf for emphasis, sending books tumbling to the floor between them.

“I know you’re sad and all that you can’t have anymore babies, and-- I’m sorry... but I’m not a baby anymore! I’m a man, and I’m going to be a king one day! Why can’t you respect that?” He finished with an almost-growl, face reddened.

“Ewan…” she said, voice barely a whisper. A stunned murmur.

His own face seemed to fall, to go slack. His own words had shocked him too. They had caught up with him. Sixteen-and-a-half year old eyes went wide, a little glossy. But his jaw was tight, a muscle there jumping. He brushed away some of his hair and shrugged a single shoulder, as if to say, what’s said is said. But the movements were stiff, unsure. Out of his depth. It was something even she could see in the dim lights of the late night library.

The new, gross silence that took over between them made her sick.

“Is that what you think?” she said quietly, solemnly. It was strange; her brain was split in two. Half unspeakably hurt, offended, ashamed. And half resigned, motherly, understanding. Already forgiving.

He looked uncomfortably down at his feet.

There was a sedateness to the air, the only sounds the wind battering against the nearby window, the breathing of mother and son. At this time of night, they were alone in the library. Within her, her heartbeat marched along, weak and slow and drugged up.

Sarah blinked back the tears in her eyes, and she looked at the shelf just over his shoulder. “I know,” she started carefully, a strange watery quality to her words, “that you’re going through a lot right now. One day you will carry the weight of this kingdom upon your shoulders, and I am so proud of how seriously you’re taking your studies. But... Ewan, I only want you to be happy, that’s all. To be healthy. When I see you losing sleep, or when I see you bruised and winded and worn down at sixteen from your lessons, how can I not worry? How can I not want to run to your father and request that he please allow you time to breathe and to play and to enjoy your childhood -- I know, I know you’re a man now, not a child, but Ewan… I held you in my arms as a babe, you came from me. You will always be my little son, even when you’re old and gray, if I even live to see that day.”

Her eyes were all watery, “Please, you can’t blame me for that, can you?”

His hands were fisted at his sides, his lips pursed up. Through wild strands of pale blond hair, he peeked at her, before darting his eyes away.

“But Ewan,” she said softly, the half of her that understood taking hold, “I’m sorry. I am. Truly. Cross my heart and hope to die.... I never wanted to make you feel as if I didn’t respect you and what you’re doing and who you’re going to be. Because I do. And I’ll never not. You’re a fine young man, and I’m so lucky to be able to call you mine.”

Quickly, she wiped at her wet eyes with the sleeve of her dress. Ewan stewed in silence only a few paces away from her.

She stepped away, picking up the book she had been looking for before she’d been sidetracked by her son, asleep and exhausted against a bookcase on the library floor.

Tugging the book up to her chest, her eyes tracked over her son, in his breeches and his flowing shirt and his tall boots and his wild hair.

He caught her eyes and it was a guilty little look they shared, hurting her heart. The corners of her mouth tilted up just a hairsbreadth, her eyebrows knitting together in sympathy. A sad, tired smile. She understood.

As she turned to leave, she said one last thing. Whispering it out in the dark silence of this place, so often her refuge, now what felt like a trap. “I’ll endeavor not to baby you anymore, my love.” Looking into his eyes, she tilted her head. “But please have patience with me.”

Her shoes clicked against the floor and she headed down the long, endless aisle. Head bowed, heart tranquilized. For once, she sought sanctuary from her own child.

“Mom! Mom, wait!”

Sarah stopped, half-turning to see Ewan in his same spot, but turned fully toward her, shoulders hunched and face upturned. With a crumpled face and a deparate, choked voice, he called for her. “I’m sorry!”

There was a pause. Just loud enough to be heard across the distance, she said, “I know. It’s okay.”

She let out a sigh, and it was loud in the silence of the place. A caressing sort of noise. She forgave him, she understood.

It still hurt like hell.

The unrespectable girl conquered. It was only a matter of time before her kids caught on.

It was times like these that she worried that her children were drifting from her, that she didn’t quite have a good enough grip. They’d float away if she wasn’t careful. From little bundles sweet and loving to sprouted up beings who knew their own minds. They loved her, but it was their father who they admired. The hero king who could do no wrong.

Alice, too.

“Mom!” There was the thundering of footsteps. She came crashing out of the wardrobe, a large half-opened parcel in her arms. “Look what I found!”

Sarah pressed a finger between the pages of her book -- a large volume she’d nicked from Jareth’s study about the properties of dream magic -- and quirked an eyebrow. Alice had been rummaging around among Sarah’s wardrobe, trying on dresses and shoes and cloaks and all. She did have her own vast selection of clothing, but… well, Sarah remembered when she’d been young and all she’d wanted to do was go through all her mother’s things.

Alice scurried over, plopping down at the end of the chaise, the parcel still in her lap.

Sarah frowned at the brown paper and the untied twine. “Is that…?”

“Yes!” Alice squealed, digging into it and pulling out the contents. Long, white, delicate gossamer pooled between them. It was the gown Sarah had worn to be married. To be conquered.

The sight struck hard. Something weird filled her up. It was like nostalgia, but reversed. All the sensations of that day came rushing back at her; the terror, fear, humiliation. The woozy hypnotic spinning across a ballroom. Her hand reached out absently, touching. Trailing fingers over it, Sarah said, “I almost forgot about this.”

It was true. Of all the beautiful garments she had worn in her lifetime, this was perhaps the finest, the most exquisite. Still… her first act as a wife had been to bundle it up and hide it away in the very back of her wardrobe, never to be seen again.

Well, until her future daughter came along, that is, snoopy and ecstatic as she so often was.

She hadn’t thought of the dress for a long, long time. Not even on those anniversary days, which had slowly become less and less upsetting as the years had passed. It was almost a nonfactor; unimportant to the real things. On the most recent, eighteenth celebration, Sarah had been far more happy than she ever would have expected herself to be when she was fifteen, sixteen, or even twenty. No time to think of silly wedding gowns and the like.

Alice stood up, pulling the gown out of the parcel so that it fell its full length against the ground, the train pooling all around their feet. She held it against herself, eyes wide and mouth agape. “You forgot? How could you forget? It’s beautiful!”

Sarah set down her book, shrugging slightly. At Alice’s disbelieving look, she cracked a little smile. “That was quite a while ago, you know. Your poor old mother can’t be thinking of everything all the time.”

“Still.”

Alice pulled it away from her, holding it by the shoulders. She gazed at it in wonder. “It’s so much more gorgeous in person! I’ve seen the wedding portrait, but…”

“Yes…” She stood up and Alice handed the gown to her. She lifted it, holding out from her body like her daughter had done. Walking over to the standing mirror, she turned it around and held it against her body. Alice standing next to her, they both peered in the mirror.

“Wow,” Alice said, breathy-sounding. “Will you try it on?”

Sarah’s eyes flicked to see her daughter in the mirror and her lips pursed. She observed the dress again. Finally, she shook her head. “No…I don’t-- not today.”

“Can I?” Alice said, looking at her eagerly. Almost bouncing on her toes.

Sarah’s arms dropped a few inches, the neckline of the gown hovering just below her bust line. Glancing at her daughter, she bit the inside of her cheek. “...Yes. Why not?”

With a shout of excitement, Alice took the gown in mindful hands, lifting it so it didn’t touch the ground any longer and tore back off into the wardrobe, long blond hair and cute blue dress flowing behind her in her haste.

Sarah placed her hands on her hips and she looked down at the ground. She tapped her foot, waiting. It was just when she’d decided to sit back down on the chaise, that Alice called for her. “Mom, I need help!”

In the middle of the large wardrobe, Alice stood waiting, fidgeting with the sleeves. Her blue dress lay crumpled on the floor. Seeing Sarah, she turned around, back facing her. “Could you do up the back, please?”

Sarah did. She carefully fastened the delicate pearly buttons of the back of the gown. It made her think… When she had put this on that day, it hadn’t been her mother who’d helped her into it. It had been the woman who’d made the gown, practically a stranger to her.

When the buttons were done, Sarah stepped back. “Alright, let’s see.”

Over Alice’s shoulder, she looked into the wardrobe mirror. The young girl, in the dress just a little too big for her, beamed. Though it gaped around her bust and her hips, Alice younger even than Sarah had been when she’d worn this, with the sleeves draping past her fingers, and the shoulders seeming to bunch up, it looked quite becoming on her. A princess gown for a princess. The silvery-white of it shone with the white-gold of the long, soft hair that went down her back. Alice had a giddy little smile, as she turned this way and that, lifting up the train and twirling.

“Gorgeous,” Sarah said with a soft smile. But there was something not quite right about the picture. The eleven-year-old chubby cheeks and the gangly limbs in a gown meant for a girl of sixteen.

Alice beamed. “It’s so pretty!”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Alice gushed out, lifting her arms, mimicking the posture of a partnered dance. “I can’t wait until my wedding! I’ll have a dress exactly like this one...”

Sarah pursed her lips as Alice moved around the wardrobe, straight-backed and elegant. There was an invisible husband leading her in a waltz. She stopped abruptly, gasping and turning excitedly toward Sarah. “But what if I wore this one? How perfect would that be? Oh, could I? Could I? Please?”

It felt like something had gone wrong in that moment; Sarah forced a smile. “Of course, honey. If that’s what you want. But I bet you’ll change your mind once you’re actually looking to marry… this dusty old thing will seem like a relic by then.”

Alice scoffed, “As if! This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And it won’t be that long before I’m ready…”

“Alice, you’re eleven…”

“So?”

“You have a very long life ahead of you. There’s no rush. For any of that.” It was with a stern look that she said this.

Alice harrumphed. “I guess…”

Then, “But it just sounds so nice, doesn’t it?” She sighed out, dreamily. “Like in all your stories… a happily ever after, like you and daddy. I want that.”

Sarah looked at the ground, at the way her toes just barely peeked out from under the hem of her dress. She rubbed her forehead. There was a sense of guilt in her. Had she done something wrong? Made a misstep in the rearing of this girl who didn’t know the full truth? Who knew anything but the truth.

And there was this feeling of abandonment. Like she’d lost a team-member, a partner who was meant to be on her side. A silent war waged on, psychological and hidden away in Sarah’s twisted up self. She thought Jareth was winning. Too easily. Had she helped him in it? In her docile acceptance, had she shown her daughter wrong?

She brushed some of Alice’s hair behind her ear, tilting her head to see her. Her sweet girl, fanciful and romantic. Sarah said quietly then, “Just promise to keep an open mind. No rushing into anything, right?”

Alice huffed, shrugging a single shoulder. “If I must.”

It was Jareth’s world. Jareth’s daughter. At times, Sarah wasn’t sure where exactly she fit in.

It caused a strain in her stomach, the feeling of eating too much, sticky-sick and clinging. And when Alice badgered her over and over to try the dress on, oh won’t you, I so want to see, Sarah found it hard to hide. Impossible to ignore.

No, she kept on saying, eyes darting away from Alice’s pouting expression, I can’t. What if it doesn’t fit? I’ll feel terrible!

Excuses, excuses… they made the world go round.

. . .

“Next.”

A small goblin creature stood at the bottom of the stone steps, a scroll spread open in his hands. He was a regal little thing, straight-backed and chin high. His job as the Royal Scroll Reader was approached with the utmost seriousness. Sarah was fond of him, in his buttoned up vest, just slightly too big, and his bright red kilt. His name was Eileen -- apparently (and proudly) named after the infamous and statuesque barmaid of the coastal town where he’d been born -- and his presence at court was a welcome amusement.

Court had not always been boring. In the beginning, it had been downright terrifying. And in the middle, curious. Intriguing. It was not her husband, but rather the King that she saw in these moments. Governing, dealing with grievances, doling out punishments, and answering the pleas of his citizenry.

But, after so many years, Sarah had seen it all. And on the occasions that she did attend -- not always, but Jareth took her every once in a while, for appearances, he said -- she sat on her small chair which rested at the base of the throne dais and twiddled her thumbs, half out of her mind with boredom.

Eileen cleared his throat, puffing out his chest. “Sir Bewlay,” he said in his squeaky little voice. He tried to make it deeper, pitching his voice low, but only succeeding in making it crack like a boy, “Come forth.”

Sarah couldn’t help but grin, hiding the smile quickly with her hand. Ewan’s hand squeezed her shoulder. He stood to her side, as he had done since he was old enough to leave her and Jareth’s lap. Even when Sarah was not at court, he was. Learning and practicing and understanding what would one day be his own role. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, noting the dimple in his cheek as he tried to keep a straight face. Her hand came up to grab his and she rubbed her thumb along his gloved knuckles, eyes crinkled up at the sides. Her young man of seventeen.

She turned back to face forward, seeing Jareth out of the corner of her eye. He sat casually in his throne, one knee propped up and his foot slung lazily over the arm. He tapped his crop upon his leg, leaning back against the great curved arm of his seat. He observed his subjects, an almost bored look upon his face. They had been at it for a while. At least Sarah could zone out if she wished.

The crowd shuffled, and Sir Bewlay stepped through the throngs of people. He was a tall Fae man who, unlike Eileen, had a naturally straight posture. A born discipline that he no longer had to strive for. He stood in a way that a military man might, though he wore no armor and held no weapons.

It reminded her, randomly, of the career fair she’d gone to her first -- and last -- year of high school. In the cafeteria, there’d been about twenty or thirty booths, adults standing, handing out pamphlets, and answering questions. She’d walked through aimlessly for the half hour or so her homeroom class was scheduled to be there, feeling a little left out. She already knew what she was going to be -- an actress! And if that didn’t work out, an artist! -- so what was the point of getting pamphlets about the best nursing schools to apply for when she already had it all figured out? Besides, there hadn’t been any booths for acting, and there certainly hadn’t been any flyers for drama schools. She’d looked!

But still, she’d walked around, the sounds of voices and paper and footsteps all around her. In her strange left-out boredom, one booth had caught her attention. Two men, standing tall and intimidating in their camo uniforms and their thick boots. It was the expressions on their faces that got her notice. Confident and sure, but not arrogant. Sarah had rarely seen any uniformed military men before, and her eyes had lingered as she walked on by, taking in the sight of their poster and the stacks of paper on the table.

There was an open space around them, most students having flocked to the other booths nearby. A single boy, skinny and scrawny, stood before the men for a moment, saying something that she couldn’t hear, and then he walked away with a flyer.

“Are you interested?” called out one of the military men suddenly. Sarah startled, looking behind her and then back at the man who had freckled skin and surely a shock of bright red somewhere underneath his cap.

Sarah paused. Was he talking to her?

She stepped curiously forward, just a little closer, taking the place of the skinny boy. She shifted in place awkwardly and looked down at herself, at the flats she wore, the pink leggings, and the gray sweater dress that ended just above her knees.

“Probably not,” she admitted, almost apologetically. “I don’t think it’s anything I’d be good at.”

The other man shifted his own stance, his boots hip-width apart. A solid bearing in the world. “There’s a JROTC here. You might find that a way to see whether it’s for you.”

Tucking some of her hair back behind her ear, she looked up at them. “But isn’t that for boys, anyway?”

The man with the freckles smiled at her, almost imperceptibly, “For boys and girls both.”

“Oh.”

“Is this your first booth?” he said. “You don’t have any papers.”

Sarah felt a little hot under the collar. There was always this feeling of self-consciousness when adults took notice of her, asking questions even though she couldn’t imagine they particularly cared for the answer. It was like a rehearsed script: The Speaking of Adults to Kids. She supposed that was something she could understand. The script of it, that was.

“No,” she said, shuffling her feet. “They don’t have what I want to do…”

“What’s that?”

And it hit her as embarrassing for the first time, her dreams. Always, she’d been so single-minded about them. That was what she wanted to do and so that was what she was going to do, thank you very much. But before these straight-laced, disciplined, tough military men, she felt a little foolish. A silly little girl. “Well,” she stuttered, “I- I would like to be an actress. I think. My mom… she’s one, actually.”

The man with the freckles didn’t laugh like she thought he would. Instead, he nodded. “That’s why I joined the military. My father.” He held out a flyer which she took absently. “Here, take this. You never know what you’re good at until you try.” This time, he smiled fully. “I wish you the best of luck with your dreams, young lady.”

But just as the strong presences of those military men in her high school cafeteria had intimidated her, so too did Sir Bewlay, with his straight nose and his carefully tied-back hair and his wide, sure stance. Somehow, she doubted he was secretly kind like they had been, though. The Fae rarely were, you see.

“Majesty,” he said, bowing his head, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Sir Bewlay,” Jareth responded, a note of boredom in his voice. “State your grievance.”

Sarah, having been sitting comfortably against the back of her seat, stiffened. The man’s eyes had fallen upon her. And just as soon as it had occurred, his eyes were back on the king.

“My grievance is not about land, or about crime,” he said, voice loud and commanding. “It is not petty, nor is it with any of my compatriots.”

She looked to her husband, feeling a sort of panic in her throat. Jareth was watching the man impatiently, but she saw that his lazied leg had fallen to the ground.

“Yes,” Jareth said, rolling out the word snappishly, “Get on with it. There are others who follow you.”

For the first time, Sarah noted an ounce of nervousness upon Sir Bewlay. A knit in his brow. A bloodlessness to his tightly pressed together lips. He cleared his throat.

He looked right at her and this time, his eyes remained. “Your Majesty,” he said, addressing the king, but evil, beady eyes glinting at her, nervousness seemingly gone. “My grievance is with the Consort.”

The words hit her loud and terrible. Sarah flinched back into her seat. Ewan’s hand had seized around her shoulder. There was a murmuring in the crowd behind the Sir. When she looked at Jareth, his face had gone expressionless. He leaned forward, elbows rested upon his knees. She could barely find a breath, as she looked between her husband and Bewlay, feeling as if at any moment, an explosion would occur.

Jareth’s voice was icy when he said, “And what grievance is that?”

Bewlay stood even straighter. His face twisted, a scowl so ugly, a look of hate so strong that Sarah felt she’d never be able to wipe it from her memory. His voice dripped with disgust when he said, “That she brings shame to us all.”

In her chest, Sarah’s heart pounded on and on. In the wake of the man’s statement, a silence had taken over the room. And then… sharp murmurs, turning into a clamor. There were cheers, a whistle here, a hoot there. Agreement. The pit of vipers desired her gone, dead, ripped apart by fangs and venom and hate and magic.

She closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of it all. Her hands had come up to clutch at her elbows, hugging herself. Ewan’s hand dropped from her shoulder, and movement rustled at her side. Her eyes snapped back open and she saw he had moved a pace forward, hands fisted tightly at his sides.

Jareth stood up, knuckles white around his scepter. “Silence.”

The command was low, but it was hissed out so strong and cold it would have been impossible not to obey. The clamoring stopped. There was a sickly satisfied smirk upon Bewlay’s lips and he stepped once forward, still looking right at her. The guards who stood at the edges of the room clanged forward as one. Bewlay stopped.

Sarah felt sick to her stomach, and her hand reached out to grab Ewan’s closest when he seemed to lurch forward, ready to go flying at the center of the room where Bewlay stood. His fist relaxed under her hold and he looked sharply down at her, face red with anger. “Don’t,” she whispered so low she was practically mouthing the words, “let your father handle it.”

His face softened, and he stepped back closer, hand still in hers.

Jareth was standing, observing. After a sharp moment of tension, he gestured to the guards. “Stop.”

They did, freezing in place.

“Be thankful,” the Goblin King said icily, staring down at the man. There was a steady click of boots as he stepped down from his throne, one slow step at a time. Sarah saw a flash of fear on Bewlay’s face as Jareth paused on the last step, a crystal now resting on the tips of his fingers. “You are the only soul… brave enough to question me to my face as of yet, and so I will be merciful. Return to your estate, Sir Bewlay, and do not leave. We will have words.”

Then, he flung his crystal at the man, a move so quick and startling that Sarah couldn’t help but jump. Bewlay vanished into thin air.

The silence rang as Jareth looked out upon the crowd of sympathizers. His eyes were dark things, scary and terrible. It had been not too long ago that she herself had been on the receiving end of such a look. Once, it felt like it had been the only thing she’d ever seen. Now, it was in defense of her. The throne room had grown cold, dark, and daunting. Sarah was frozen to her seat, shivering. A jolt in her belly made her tremble, this great familiar shame filling her right up.

It was after that eternity of silence that his words came. “Consider this your warning,” he hissed out, voice so dark it scared even Sarah. “To speak against the consort is to speak against your King.”

The silence shivered. He let it sink in.

Then, “Leave.”

. . .

Alice came to her after her lessons one day, crying and clutching at Sarah’s waist. Though her sweet face was red and wet, Alice blubbered out the reason she was upset. Her tutor, a young-looking woman who came at the highest recommendation, had been giving a lesson on the Dark War. The time so long ago that the Fae and the humans had fought and died and killed and barely survived. Over the years, Sarah had taught herself many things about the world she now lived in. The history of it was particularly interesting. According to the books, there had been once upon a time that the magic and non-magic races had lived together in peace and harmony. Aboveground. Reportedly, filled with the rage of gunpowder and God, the humans went on a rampage, destroying everything their ancestors and the Fae had built together, plunging the land into a deep, sad darkness. Where iron reigned supreme and magic-users were slaughtered indiscriminately.

According to Jareth, the Fae were just as responsible for the long, long war that forced his own kind to make their own land, deep in a place that humans could never find. Underground, but not. Christianity had come, but if not for it, surely the humans would be slaves still, rotting in their own hallucinated minds, to be used at the whim of those much more powerful.

To the humans, it was salvation.

But that was not the common way of looking at it, Sarah would find. To the Fae, humans were barbarians, good at nothing except causing death and destruction and reproduction. Short lives of killing and fucking and dying. (And there was jealousy there, Sarah thought. An ugly envy for the mortal women who fell so easily pregnant. For the Fae women were not so lucky. And neither was Sarah. Sometimes she thought that she was more Fae than mortal, for the way her body worked -- for the way it didn’t work).

To the Fae, there was no doubt about it: it was the fault of the godly humans that the world was cleaved in half, sending those immortal into the dark abyss, having to start all over again.

As far as Sarah knew, there weren’t any other mortals around. Not in the castle, and definitely not in the court. Maybe there were in the other kingdoms, or among the cityfolk that Sarah had never seen.

No wonder the Fae so hated mortals, if they’d never truly met one.

And so, what Alice confessed to her wet cheeks and angry eyes did not truly surprise her.

Huddled up in her arms, hiccuping and as Sarah stroked her hair, Alice explained. “She told me-- she told me that-- that mortals were no better than pigs in a pen, dirty and stupid and savage. And I - I said-- I told her to shut her mouth, cause my mommy is mortal and she’s not like that at all. And-- and--”

Alice pulled back, teary eyes making Sarah’s heart hurt. The girl’s breath came all shuddery, and her mouth stretched out wide, oblong. A silent sob seeming to build up, choking her of her words. It was the same distraught face Sarah had comforted at two, at four, at six, at eleven. Young and scared and unsure.

She held out her hand, snuffling. Still hiccuping. Sarah took her hand in hers. Across the knuckles there was a splotchy mark, angry and red. It would bruise. Sarah’s lips thinned out, a tight line of displeasure. Her thumb skated over the injury.

“And-- and,” the girl sobbed, “she said that-- that you’re a disgrace. That you’re even worse than any other mortal ‘cause you can’t even -- ‘cause you haven’t even done your duty to the crown. That unless you’re having babies, you oughta be gone. And--” she gasped in, shoulders shaking, “I said that she was the stupid one, that she didn’t know anything from anything! And then-- and then she hit me with a cane. For-- for talking back, she said. And it hurt so much! No one’s ever done that before. It’s not fair! She was the one being bad. Not me!”

There was a furrow between Sarah’s brow. And her heart thumped hard inside her chest. Fury filled her up, not for what this tutor had said about her, but for what had been done to her daughter. It made her want to never let go, to keep her little girl safe in her arms for ever and ever and ever.

It had been a similar thing that had happened to Ewan; him realizing for the first time that his world saw Sarah as lesser. He’d been quite a bit younger, about eight. And he’d asked her so solemnly one day in the gardens why he’d overheard the stable boys laughing about her. Why they’d been saying such rude things, why they’d been calling her mortal, and what did that mean, mommy? Why don’t they like you?

And she’d answered as best she could, dumbstruck at the innocent confusion of her son. Laying out the facts for him had seemed to make everything real. They lived in this world but she was from another. His father was Fae and so was he, but Sarah was mortal. And there were not many mortals in this land, and because of that, the people did not often understand who she was.

People fear what they don’t know, Sarah had said, softly. They dislike anything other.

But then he’d said, unwavering confidence in those green eyes, a splotch of dirt across his cheek, “Daddy will fix it. You only have to ask…”

And Sarah had frowned, looking down at the bed of soil. She patted it. She hadn’t had the heart to tell him, no. No, not even your daddy can fix something like that. And even if he could… In the deep, private space of her own heart, Sarah admitted to herself… she didn’t know if he would.

“Oh, Alice,” Sarah said. She rocked her gently back and forth. “I’m so sorry. She shouldn’t have ever done that.”

“It was so-- so horrible!” and she burst into even more tears, clutching at the fabric of Sarah’s shawl. “I hate her!”

There was a prick to Sarah’s eyes, but she blinked it all away. “Oh, honey. I wish that never happened. I’m going to speak with your father. But you know how I feel about that word…”

“But it’s true: I do hate her,” the girl cried into her shoulder. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

The girl snuffled, pulling back and wiping at her eyes. Looking up at her mother with quivering lips and a snot-wet nose. “How-- how could she say those things about you? You’re better than any of them. It’s not… it’s not right!”

Sarah felt her heart melting and her forehead got all scrunched up. With the sleeve of her dress, she wiped away the tears on Alice’s face. “I am so, so touched that you stood up for me.”

She cupped Alice’s cheek with her hand, thumb darting out to dab at the corner of her eye. She sighed, a soft, resigned thing tugging at her lips. “But don’t let that kind of talk get you angry, okay? Not all of your father’s subjects are like him. So don’t waste your energy on them.”

Alice huffed, scrunching her eyes tight and then snapping them back open. “And just let them hate you?” She sounded oh so indignant, face turning red now, not from tears but from frustration.

Sarah tilted her head, feeling heavy. “There’s nothing you or anyone can say that will change their minds. Alice, wipe that frown away. I can’t bear to see it on your face. Besides, I’ve come to terms with all of that a long time ago. All I need is you and your brother to make me happy, not the approval of any of them.” Then, she winked. “They’re stupid, that’s all. Nothing they say will hurt me, or you, or anything that matters.”

Alice looked at her doubtfully.

“Trust me,” Sarah said gently.

The girl pouted, hands dropping to her lap. She fiddled the fabric of her skirt and her shoulders seemed to hunch. She let out a long, labored sigh.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Alice crossed her arms. “But it’s not fair!”

“Alice, trust me when I tell you that I, of all people, know that better than anyone. I never said it’s fair, just that it’s not worth it.”

Her daughter flopped back on her bed, surrounded by a poof of skirts and hair. Her arms still crossed, that frown still not gone from her face. There was a beat of silence and then she sat up straight again, looking at Sarah so seriously.

“Mommy,” she said, brows knitted together. She took Sarah’s hands in hers. “I don’t care that you’re mortal, and it doesn’t matter that you haven’t had any more babies since me. I like being the youngest, anyway. But I do hate Madam Igraine. She’s the worst, so please don’t tell me not to say it, okay?”

Sarah let out a little puff of air. Her eyes had softened. Her daughter’s little speech had warmed her cold, sad heart. A lump had built up.

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “That means the world to me.”

When she pulled back, she quickly wiped at her eyes. “Now, let’s see to your poor hand. I’ve got just the thing…”

. . .

A hand spread over her belly, checking. And then…

A gasp, a sigh. A groan.

Sarah’s hands clutched at her husband’s shoulders, at the base of his neck. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, long hair falling down the entire expanse of her back.

Jareth’s arms wrapped around her waist, tight and sure. His mouth sucked kisses against her neck. His body was so hot against her, within her.

She was lowered upon him, knees clinging desperately around his hips. Her front molded against his own. And she just sat there a moment, belly jolting at the feeling of his cock so deep inside her.

Then, he lifted her. Just an inch or two. And brought her back down smoothly. Sarah dropped her head back, forehead falling against his shoulder, whimpers tumbling past her lips as he continued, rocking into her from below. Their movements together were slick and wet and perfect, that great, never knowable pressure building up somewhere within her.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing out these shuddery breaths. Her knees, where they touched the mattress, had a wobbling feeling to them. Her hips and thighs all shivery where they were spread over his lap. But it mattered not, for he moved her in the way they both loved.

She had found it in herself long ago to enjoy these moments. To fall into them, to move with him. And why not? Together, bodies felt good, minds went clear. It was just him and her.

“Jareth,” she gasped, her hips rolling against him, his teeth scraping against her ear.

He groaned into her skin, bucking up.

“Jareth,” she said again, pulling her face back and looking into his lusty eyes. She kissed him, open-mouthed and wet. Full of tongues and teeth and desire and the chase of the edge.

But still there was a slowness to the way they made love. They basked in it.

Mouths broke apart for air, Sarah’s breath shaking in the warm, pink light of the early morning. The window streamed it over the couple, who so beautifully moved in each other’s arms.

A shocked noise left her when he rocked into her in just the right way. “Jareth,” she moaned, “I love you. I love you, don’t stop.”

Their movements together had grown naturally faster, more frantic. He thrust into her deeper and deeper, pulling her onto him harder, with more power. His eyes were clenched shut, his fingers digging tightly into her skin.

This was it.

Sarah trailed her hand over his chest and down, down between them. She tickled over the skin of his abdomen, still bouncing upon him, still letting out those moans and gasps. Her actions weren’t quite lies, but neither were they the truth.

When he was sufficiently distracted, pulled into the waves of pleasure that normally she’d allow herself to be overcome by, the palm of her hand found her own belly. Biting her lip, and hoping she could pull it off, Sarah rocked against him. She scrunched her eyes tight, and she concentrated.

See, the problem had never been about becoming pregnant. It was the staying part that Sarah failed at. You won’t carry another baby to term, the healers had told her and Jareth after Alice’s birth. Or you’ll die trying, they sentenced.

Sarah hated it. She hated those healers, those magic beings who couldn’t even fix her broken body. She didn’t understand how it could be so. How she could be so. Like this, deformed and disappointing.

She wondered how Jareth didn’t hate her for it when his entire world did. But he… loved her. He didn’t want her to die, not even as the tensions built and built, no more children coming from their union.

There was a spell Jareth used on her. It stopped the seed from catching. He wouldn’t allow her to become pregnant, not even when she begged and pleaded with him to think of his kingdom, to think of the children, to think of her. She knew the healers were wrong -- they just had to be! All the miscarriages, all the complications… it had been so long since then. She was healed now, she knew she was. She wouldn’t die.

But her husband was stubborn, and he refused her always.

It had taken months of research and practice, but she’d finally figured it out. Any form of contraceptive in the Fae world was very rare. The Fae had far too few births in a year, and a pregnancy was considered a blessing, not something to be prevented. So she had searched endlessly and tirelessly to find the spell Jareth used on her.

It had taken up all her free time, that research. When she wasn’t with her family, she was in the library, combing through the stacks and stacks of books to find her answers. And when she had, finally, she’d stared at the page of her tome, shocked and exhausted. There it was!

After that, it was only a matter of learning how to remove it. The counterspell. And she’d studied day in and out. Hidden away in the bathroom, she would practice. First, she’d press her hand to her middle and she’d concentrate, feeling the weaving of the magic within her, and she’d slowly dismantle it, one breath at a time. And then, once it was gone, Sarah would grin to herself for one silly, giddy moment, and then she’d concentrate again, building it back up in exactly the way Jareth did.

He would notice it easily if she didn’t rebuild it. He was obsessive about it, the spell something he renewed often and checked even more frequently. Never would he make love to her without first ensuring the spell was in place. Only then, with such reassurance, would he enter her, would he spill within her.

She would have to remove it while he was inside her. It was the only way.

And she’d practiced this over and over and over until she was certain she had it down. Sure that she understood every little intricacy of the spell. And it was only then, when she was sure she could do it in her very sleep, that she rolled her plan into action.

It was now or never.

He had already checked that the spell was in place, and he was firmly lost in the feel of her body, buried deep within her.

She only felt a little guilty as she held onto him, the motions of their fucking barely swaying her as she dove deep into her mind, as she felt the threads of the spell, and as she tore them all down, one by one.

A euphoria seemed to overtake her, a knowing that soon, oh so delectably soon, everything would be fixed, everything would be perfect once again! It was an ecstatic dizzy excitement, a barely bearable sprint to the finish line. She was so, so close!

Just a few… more…!

Her concentration was broken.

It was quick, and brutal. A hand fisted in her hair and she was pulled back roughly. Her eyes snapped open, the pain in her scalp enough to make her yelp, her hands flying up to her head. Her body clamped down on his cock in her surprise. All movement had stopped, Sarah was frozen under the glare of her husband.

“What are you doing?”

Sarah gaped, mouth falling open. “N-nothing! I--!”

His face was twisted in a terrible scowl. She felt herself wince, eyes darting away. Unease fluttered in her belly, feeling his eyes heavy on her, reading everything about her, understanding her better than she could herself. “Nothing?”

He let go of her hair roughly and Sarah gasped, hands going to her stinging scalp. He touched her belly and his eyes had closed. She panicked, reaching down, pushing at his hands. “Jareth--!”

When his eyes fell open not a second later, they were so dark. A rage had overtaken him. He seized her hips, hard. Sarah winced. “How could you be so foolish?” he hissed.

She looked away; she felt the tears pricking at her eyes.

The words came out mumbling, “You weren’t going to do it. Someone had to--”

He let out a sharp breath, dangerous and heavily-laden. Sarah couldn’t help but flinch. She squirmed in his hold, half-heartedly trying to get away, though she knew it would not be possible. His fingers bit into her skin. Bruises would form by midday, she was sure of it. He had her so tightly; she wasn’t going anywhere.

“So you want to die,” he said coldly, “Is that it?”

“No!” Her hands fell to his own, weakly pushing at his crushing hold. “I don’t want to die… I told you already, it’s been long enough… I-- it will be fine. Can’t you see?”

He made a humming noise, low and dangerous. It had been a while since she’d heard such a thing. A warning. As ominous as those high-pitched alarms that wailed like babies in the streets that warned of tornados and bombs and imminent destruction.

“I see perfectly clear,” he snapped, “that my wife is more of an unthinking child than I ever realized!”

Sarah shrunk back.

“This spell,” he said, voice low and angry. One hand released her hip and went to touch her belly, “is to protect you, Sarah! Why can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

Her lips wobbled. “But we have to try…!”

There was a flurry of movement and Sarah landed on her back, breath heaving out of her with the force of it. He shoved her legs to the side so her lower half was twisted. His cock had fallen out of her and she could feel it against her hip, hard and wet. He loomed above her, his scowl so much that his sharp teeth were bared at her. Quick as lightning, his hand flew up and gripped her jaw, preventing her from looking away.

Tears had beaded in her eyes. Half in fear, half in disappointment. But what had she expected, truly? When had she ever been able to outwit him in anything?

“Sarah,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking to a goblin, “You are no longer capable of carrying to term.”

She scrunched her eyes shut. “You don’t know that!” she cried.

“YES,” he roared, “I DO!”

Sarah gasped out loud, the volume of his words strong and scary enough to make her flinch. When her eyes peeled back open, his own caught them. It was hard to look at him. There was a desperation to his gaze. There was a rage there too.

“Why can’t you understand this?” he hissed. “The healers were certain.”

“I don’t trust them,” she said, “They don’t want me here! Who knows what’s the truth?”

“Sarah, do you hear yourself?” he snapped, “Are you suggesting my healers are treasonists?”

She shrunk back. She bit her lip. “No…”

“Then what?”

Her face crumpled up, surely all red and sad and pitiful. At the sound of his sigh, she burst into tears. “Jareth, p-please! People are angry! They-- they want me gone. And you’re not doing anything! What’s gonna happen at this… at this rate? If we don’t at least show that we’re trying... Your healers can keep me alive, and if-- if it gets too risky when I am pregnant, then-- then… I don’t know.... maybe we could terminate it? We have to at least try!”

“No,” he said, “we don’t. I’ve told you before… I have it under control.”

Weakly, she scoffed. “You don’t…”

She shook off his hand at her jaw and reached up to wipe furiously at her cheeks. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, as enraged as they were, but she muttered out anyway, “You don’t have it under control, and there’s something I can do to fix this problem we’ve got, and you’re always saying no. So tell me, Jareth! Tell me, what am I meant to do! It can’t go on like this! What’s going to happen if it does?”

“You,” he hissed, “are meant to heed what I say, nothing more. I am king here, not you. This is for the best. Don’t. Question. Me.”

“How can you say that? When-- when--”

“BECAUSE,” he boomed, shocking her back. His face was all twisted up. “Because,” he said again, almost wild-eyed. “If there’s even a single chance that another pregnancy would go wrong, that it would result in your death -- and you know just as well as I that there is more than a single chance -- I would never allow it.”

Softer this time, he touched her cheek, turning her head to face him. His thumb tracked over her cheek. “You’re mine, Sarah. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She looked at him sadly. “Even if… it means--?”

“No matter what.”

She fell silent.

He touched her belly again, and his eyes closed. She felt his magic inside her, and her face crumpled once again. He was repairing the spell. “Jareth, wait! Not yet-- don’t--!”

She shoved at his shoulders, pushed back at his chest. And when that didn’t work, she placed her own hand next to his on her belly. She focused. Inside of her, she tore down the threads of magic that he had rebuilt. But just as quickly, he pulled them back up. Sweat beading on her brow and above her lip and on her chest, her mind strained and strained with the effort.

It must have been only seconds, but it felt like hours that she labored, a panicked sort of attempt to catch up to him, to destroy the spell. Later, she would realize how stupid she was. For no matter if she was able to remove the spell entirely in that moment, he would simply put it back in the next.

But it didn’t matter. For even in that moment, his magic was much too strong for her own -- taught to her by him, as leashed and controlled as her life was -- and her soul seemed to collapse in her own prostrated body. What little magic she had was worn down. A dead battery, a burned out tape. Useless as everything else about her was.

It was a last-ditch effort, the anger overtaking her as still she felt him maneuver this magic contraceptive within her, not stopping, not even winded by her own, naive effort -- like the little cub lion nipping at the heels of the pride male. And she flailed in his arms, kicking and screeching, trying to disrupt his spellwork. It was an overwhelmed response; not quite rational. Not remotely rational. That she even fought him was stupid.

And yet, she couldn’t stop herself. She had to stop the spell, she just had to. If she didn’t, some deep, primal part of herself was screaming, then something bad would happen. She had to.

As she thrashed in his hold, he let out a frustrated noise, and the heel of his hand came down hard on her side, that soft, squishy part between her ribs and her hip. It knocked the air out of her, and she was stunned still, reeling from the hit of it. She laid there, stupefied, as he loomed still above her, finishing his work as if nothing was amiss.

When he was done, he pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a sneer on his face. He grabbed her chin, hard, yanking her up so that her neck was wrenched awkwardly. “If you ever try to remove that spell again, I’ll have you chained up in a padded room before you can even blink. Yes, Sarah. That’s what your beloved mortals do with those who like to be reckless with their own lives, isn’t that right? A little barbaric, I must say. But effective, no?”

Sarah felt her breath get all choked up in her lungs. Fear in her eyes, she cringed back from his hold.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, voice rasping. Her side was still smarting.

He patted her on the cheek once. “Good.”

And it was this that made the lump in her throat grow as thick as a boulder, blocking her airway. Where there had once been a delicious warmth building up in her core, of pleasure and sex and desire, now there was only a coldness. A clamped-down frigidity. How could things turn so sour so quickly? It was all because of her, because of her…. her idiocy. Why had she ever thought trying to trick him would be a good idea?

But though the events of her own making had turned her off so thoroughly, ashamed of herself and her actions, the opposite seemed to be true for Jareth.

Still, he was hard against her hip, hard and hot and fearsome. It must have been the fight, the anger, the violence. Such things turned her husband on just as much as kisses and cuddles and sweet words set her alight.

“Now, where were we?” her husband murmured. Her eyes scrunched up tight when he grabbed her knees, spreading apart her legs. She tried to move away, but his hold was too strong. He dragged her closer and settled between her legs. She turned her head away when he scraped sharp teeth over her collarbone. A single tear trickled its way down her cheek.

“Go away,” she said, words mumbling out of her, weak and sorrowed. “I don’t want to…”

He rolled his hips, hardness grinding against the sensitive space between her legs. “Oh Sarah,” he murmured, reaching up and wiping at her cheeks so gently, so kindly. “We were having such a good time before. Why couldn’t you let it be?”

Her eyes winced shut at his words. He was right… Why couldn’t she let it be?

He reached between them, and the head of his cock found her opening. Decisively, he drove himself into her, punching all the air right out of her. Sarah clutched at his shoulders, holding on tight, as if he were the cliff edge and she was the fool who had fallen over the side.

He used her like he had so often all those years ago. And it was all her fault. For if she had done nothing that morning, had been good and sweet and perfect and loving, they would be laying in each other’s arms, basking in the glow of their loving orgasms, or he would be making love to her still, in another position, and another, and another, entering her gently and rolling against her, touching her all over and kissing.

It was all her.

And so it was instinctual that she sought warmth, reassurance. Her legs found themselves wrapped around his hips and her arms around his neck. She found her face tucked into his neck like it had been earlier. Sarah clung on with all her might.

And he moaned into her own neck, kissing her there, loving her. “That’s right,” he murmured. She had repented.

. . .

Something was jostling her. A hand at her shoulder, shaking her. Unintelligible words whispered. Sarah’s eyes scrunched tight, and she turned away from the disturbance.

The shaking at her shoulder grew stronger. “Mom?” said a voice, but it was hazy, half underwater. Sarah was still in her dreams.

“Mommy, please… I need you. Please wake up!” the voice whispered, sounding panicked.

It was the frantic note of her daughter’s voice that made Sarah’s eyes snap open. In the seconds after waking, the room was too dark to see in. She rubbed at her eyes. “Alice? What’s the matter?”

A great big sigh of relief. “Please, I need you.” Sarah’s hand was taken hold of by a smaller one that tugged at her, urging her to leave the bed. Sleep no longer pulled at her mind, and Sarah remembered herself, clutching the bedsheet to her chest. Jareth stirred beside her.

“Wait,” she said to Alice, whose hand was urgently pulling at her. Quickly, she summoned up her nightgown and slipped it on overhead, before grabbing her daughter’s hand again and letting herself be pulled from the bed.

The moving must have woken Jareth, for his voice spoke out, scratchy from sleep. “Sarah? What is it?”

“Shh,” she said, “It’s okay. Alice needs me.”

Alice’s hand was tugging at hers even more desperately, and worry seizing at her heart, Sarah followed her across the room and out the door.

In the corridor, lit by sconces that never died, Sarah was able to see Alice for the first time. Eyes wide and scared, sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead, an overheated flush to her face.

Sarah’s heart seized. “Alice, what’s wrong? Are you ill?”

But Alice was single-mindedly dragging her across the corridor to her own rooms, and she didn’t answer. She pulled her past the door to her room -- on which there was a placard that said Princess Alice in flirty letters -- and into the dimly lit chambers, bypassing everything to go to her own bathroom door.

The light in there was already brightly illuminated and Sarah stood anxiously, bare feet numb against the icy stone floor, as Alice promptly crossed the bathroom, hiked up her nightgown, pulled down her underwear and sat on the toilet.

“Oh,” Sarah said.

Alice was looking at her so nervously, so youthfully, tears beading in her eyes like diamonds. Her underwear was stretched out like taffy between her knees and laid across the gusset were bloodied scraps of tissue paper, having been shredded and torn by movement and the thick clotting of blood.

“Oh,” she said again.

With a flick of her wrist, she summoned up a supply of materials and set them down by Alice’s feet. “Here,” Sarah said gently, “Do you remember how I showed you?”

Alice’s face crumpled up suddenly, and she burst into tears. A sob escaped. And then another, and another. She hunched over and covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking.

Sarah’s brow knitted up and she knelt to Alice’s side, reaching up to stroke her back. “Oh Sweetie.” She pressed her cheek to Alice’s arm. “What’s the matter?”

It took her a moment to respond, but when she did, tears were still heavy in her voice. The words seemed to be choked out of her. “I-- I don’t know!”

Sarah frowned. “Are you hurting?”

Alice shrugged, shoulders still shaking, voice hiccuping. “N-no. Not r-really. It hurt a little when I-- when I woke up, but not-- not anymore…”

Sarah pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “A bit of a shock, then?”

She nodded miserably, wiping at the tears on her cheeks.

“That’s okay,” Sarah soothed.

Alice pulled back, rubbing at her eyes. Quietly, she said, “I’m sorry…”

Sarah pressed a hand to the girl’s cheek, turning her so she could see her face, reddened and tear streaked and mortified. “Don’t be. If there’s ever a time to lose it, it’s now. I know I was just as emotional when my first one came. Maybe even worse. So don’t ever be sorry.”

“Really?” Alice muttered.

“Oh, yes.”

Alice gave her a weak little smile, before turning to face her lap. “I panicked. I know you showed me how to handle it, but…”

Caressing the girl’s hair, she said softly, “That’s what I’m here for, you know that.”

She rose back up, chucking Alice’s chin and smiling at her.

It must have been an hour or two that Sarah stayed with Alice, running her a bath and waiting up for her in one of the lounge chairs. Tucking the girl back into bed and telling her a story, something her daughter was less and less inclined to ask for these days -- she was thirteen, thank you very much. But it eased Sarah’s heart for it did not take long for Alice to return to her usual, happy self. A good cry was necessary sometimes, Sarah thought.

And yet, it struck Sarah as painful when Alice crawled into her bed after her bath, hair still damp and cheeks flushed, and said, her sweet young voice tinged up in this strange, foreign excitement, “I’m a woman now, Mommy!”

The words came half disbelieving, half eager out of the small body of her daughter, thirteen. Who she had held in her arms as a babe, who she had nursed and loved and who she’d almost died for.

And it made Sarah’s jaw clench. It made her let out a great big shuddering breath. It made this tremble in her belly, this shiver that she had to conceal as she tucked Alice into her arms and told her a story. That remained even as her daughter fell comfortably back to sleep, taken care of and okay and safe and still very much a young girl.

As she crossed the corridor and slipped past the guards back into Jareth’s chambers, there was that tightness. It seized at her lungs and at her heart and her stomach and her soul and it left her laying out on her back and staring up at the darkened canopy of the bed, the last vestiges of sleep having abandoned her long ago.

“What was it?” Jareth murmured in the darkness. His voice made her jump, for she had been so thoroughly lost in her own mind.

Sarah stared up at the canopy, hardly blinking. And then, her eyes closed. Almost reluctantly, she said, “Alice… she got her period.”

There was a pause. “Is she alright?”

Stiffly, she said, “Yes. Asleep now.”

He hummed. “You were gone a long while.”

“She wanted a bath, and a story.”

She felt the bed shift as he did. “Good thing you were there, then,” he said.

Sarah scowled at the canopy. “Yes,” she sniped, turning sharply onto her side, facing away from him, “Good thing she had her mother there for her first period.”

It was quick as lightning that he closed the distance between them, tugging her by the waist back into him. It made her tense, her whole body going stiff, toes curling at the foot of the bed. Her heart let out a thump. “Don’t be petty, Sarah,” he said, a sharpness to his tone. Mouth pressed to the base of her neck, he said, softer this time, “You know I don’t like it.”

She deflated, closing her eyes once again and letting her body soften in his arms. “‘m sorry,” she mumbled, “I’m just tired…”

He kissed the bump of her spine in her neck, tugging her closer, shifting to get comfortable around her. He forgave her.

“Sleep,” he said.

Soon, he was asleep. But for hours, Sarah stared out across the room at the pocket window. She watched for hours as the moon travelled the distance of what she could see of the sky.

Notes:

We're getting there!!!! Only one more full chapter and then an interlude ;) and then we're off to arc three (which I think you all will enjoy very much hehe)!

I've been rewatching the show True Blood (set in Louisiana, USA) and I have to admit that for a good portion of this chapter I was narrating it in my head with a southern American accent lol. Now, while I think that accent can be as cute as a button, it doesn't really fit here does it? :P Luckily it wasn't for any of Jareth's parts... I don't know if I could recover from that lol. You're welcome for that image haha.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and please let me know what you thought <33 It would mean the world!

Chapter 30: The Layabout

Summary:

“Sire, I only mean to say that you must think of the kingdom, of the prince and princess first. That mortal girl has brought you nothing but trouble--”

Notes:

Am I back with a relatively quick update?? Who woulda guessed haha :PP

Enjoy :D

“Let them go,” she whispered, head bowed. She held onto his gloved hand with both of hers. “Please, it’s been so long.”

In the dingy dungeons, the drip drip of moisture could be heard every three seconds. The creak of metal, rusted and old. There were skittering noises. Creepy-crawlies, rats. Only small slivers of light streamed from the barred gaps at the top of the stone walls.

They stood in the center of the endlessly long corridor, lined on either side by cells and bars of iron. Jareth remained silent as she squeezed his hand tightly, urgingly.

She turned her face up, catching his eyes. He watched her, something expressionless about his face. He reserved his judgement, had been silent ever since he’d found her down there. For the first time in years and years and years, Sarah had been brave enough. She’d gone down into the dungeons, to see her once-friends in their pitiful state.

So strung up and weak, she hadn’t had the courage to show her face to them. Instead, hiding underneath a cape, far enough away that they would not notice her. And she’d stared for what felt like hours, just silently standing there, clutching at a single rusted bar. The guilt had eaten her apart.

It was just as she was about to collapse to the floor on her knees, wailing her regret to the friends she had forsaken, that he, her husband, appeared at her shoulder. He had not glared, nor had he yelled. No words were said as he only observed her. Her sad, crumpled face and her twitching soul. Her strong, beating heart.

And she’d turned to him, seizing his hand. She’d asked for his mercy.

“Jareth...”

He hardly reacted, but said, in that low, sure, curious tone of his, “And why should I?”

She licked her lips, stepped forward. She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight. Head tucked against his shoulder, she breathed slowly. “For me.”

He held her back, fingers stroking some pattern over the middle of her back. “You tried to leave with them, once. And you wish for me to simply… let them… go?”

“Yes.” She clenched her eyes shut. “But I don’t want to leave now. You know that.”

He hummed.

“Please,” she said again, hands fisting in his shirt. “I never ask for anything. You’ve given me everything I could ever ask for.”

“And... yet…? ”

She winced. “And yet… Knowing they are here because of me…”

His hand raised up, he stroked her hair. He didn’t say anything.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “Please, won’t you?”

The blankness on his face had not changed. In the dark of the dungeon, shadows twisted over his jaw, his cheeks, his eyes. She stood on her tip-toes, clinging to him, hoping…

Finally, he said, “I won’t.”

Sarah deflated. She fought the stinging of her eyes, the lump in her throat. “You still don’t trust me…” she said.

He tilted her head up, thumb and index finger at her chin. “You did a terrible thing,” he said, so matter-of-fact.

Her eyes watered. “... I know that.”

He caressed her cheek with the same hand. “You are young, my love. It must feel like forever ago to you.”

Her breath shuddered out of her. She nodded.

“Mmm,” he said, “To me, Sarah… for how long I’ve lived, it has been merely seconds.”

Her lower lip trembled, “But don’t you know I would never--”

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But how am I to be sure?”

She went silent, her lips pursed. And then...

“I wouldn’t,” she said angrily. She pushed back from him. “You know I wouldn’t. I was sixteen, then. I was childless. I have a grown son now. A daughter. Can’t you see? You still want to punish me for it. To hurt me--” She shoved at his chest.

When she was rearing up to shove him again, his hand flashed out and caught her forearm. He yanked her into him, grip firm, fingers biting into her skin. Sarah wilted under his glare. “And you think that… this will convince me to do as you say?” He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Behaving like a petulant child, Sarah?”

She looked down at her feet.

He leaned closer. “Well, it won’t. Hmm. Now that I’m thinking of it, maybe I ought to separate them. Or throw them in with the really dangerous criminals. You know the ones.” Her head snapped up and she strained to remove herself from his hold. He just clucked his tongue. He let go of her. “What do you think?”

“No!” she cried, “I’m sorry! Please, please don’t do that. I-- I didn’t mean it!”

He tilted his head. “No?”

She shook her head frantically.

He made a considering noise and inclined his head. “Oh, fine then. If my wife insists...”

Sarah had barely any time to breathe a sigh of relief when he seized her arm once again, strong hand closing on her wrist, just on this side of too tight. She winced.

“Allow me to refresh your memory, precious,” he said, looming closer, “since it was so long ago for you. Those… boors… in there are lucky they weren’t executed for what they did. It is only because you were so young and so new to this world that I showed so much restraint. Don’t test me. My tolerance is on a thin thread as it is.”

Her heart thumped in her chest fearfully. Bluffing wasn’t his game.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, blinking her eyes rapidly. “I didn’t mean it…”

He tutted, releasing her wrist. Face burning red-hot, she clutched her hands to her chest, staring at the floor. She had made a grave error. Her anger had got the best of her.

“And Sarah…” He touched her shoulders, hands stroking up and down. “I take no delight in punishing you. But you know what I take even less delight in?”

He didn’t let her answer, instead pulling her tight into his chest. “Being betrayed by you.”

There was the guilt for what she had done to her friends, and there was the guilt for what she had done to Jareth, to herself, to her first never-existing baby. It had never quite gone away, always just there in the background. It rushed through her so strongly. A full-bodied ache that overtook her whenever she allowed herself to think of it, to remember. It was so much that she could almost forget her friends, paled and wasted away and sad and miserable. That she could almost ignore the weak voice that rattled her name across the dungeon space as Jareth enveloped her in his arms, within his cape. Could shut it all down as Jareth soothed her, and whispered, “Hush now,” into her hair as she shook and trembled and remembered. As he said, “Let’s leave this dratted place, already. It’s no place for a Lady as lovely as you.” As she took his hand and returned back to her beautiful, lovely, gilded life. Seeing is believing.

. . .

A beam of sunlight pierced through the window and warmed her shoulders. She stood leaning against one of the shelves in Jareth’s study, thumbing through a book she’d picked up randomly. Humming a little tune, she flicked through the pages. And then she sighed. She’d read that one already.

She returned the book to its place and stepped away from the shelves, rocking slightly on her heels. The room was empty except for her. When Jareth returned they would share lunch together. A large covered platter of meats and cheese and fruits had already been brought up for them by the kitchen goblins.

Somewhat bored, she meandered through the room. Peering at this and that, observing things, occupying her mind, pulling out books here and there, tracing lines over the tapestry maps hanging from the walls, looking out the window at the great kingdom down below.

Eventually, her stomach rumbled. And she frowned down at it. Jareth was unusually late. And she was hungry as a horse. Crossing the room, she jumped up to sit on the edge of the desk and pulled off the cover of the platter. He wouldn’t mind if she started; he was always irritated with her when she wasn’t careful about eating enough.

Grabbing the knife, she cut off a chunk of bread and took a large bite out of it. She let her eyes wander again, leaning back as she did so, free hand propping her up from behind.

But something crinkled under her fingers, disturbing her. She sat back up, twisting around and grabbing the parchment. She glanced at it, taking another bite of the bread. It was a letter, a strict cursive inked upon the fine parchment. She wondered who it came from; her husband’s handwriting was a free, careless sort of script, never quite by the book. Standing up, she circled the desk, meaning to tuck it away in a drawer so none of the food or drink damaged it.

But something caught her eye. It was a phrase, only three words in that strict, noble handwriting. Regarding the betrothal...

Sarah felt her breath catch and, despite herself, she smoothed out the rest of the parchment, letting her eyes find the top and letting them take in the words written. The bread fell from her hand. The more and more she read, the more horrified she became. Lungs seizing. Eyes fixed to the parchment, she collapsed into Jareth’s high-backed desk chair. Her hand clasped over her mouth and when she reached the end of the letter, she stared… she just stared. The inked words swam in her vision, and the paper shivered under the tight grip of her trembling fingers. “No!” she cried. Disbelieving and disturbed.

Then, her face twisted. It turned red. And her skin blazed with heat. She crumpled the parchment in her hand furiously, crushing it into a tight ball and throwing it onto the desk. As it skittered across the wood, she bent over, collapsing her head into her hands. Her fingers tugged at her hair, pulling and pulling.

Her heart beat a rageful march, wanting to come bursting out of her chest and it was all so much that her foot flung out and she kicked the leg of the desk, hard. Everything on top clattered and shook.

And everything within her began crumbling to pieces.

When Jareth arrived in his office only a few minutes later, he would find Sarah still in his seat, sitting straight-backed with her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that they had turned a ghostly white. And he would find her face blank and eyes hard.

She watched as he paused in the doorway. She looked away, but heard him approach. Heard him stop just to her left and heard the sound of leather brushing parchment. On the desk, the letter was laid out, smoothed out as best as can be. But the wrinkles from her rage remained. His gloved finger touched the corner of it and Sarah, staring away, away, away, heard him sigh. “Sarah…”

She stood up and she snatched the letter out from under him, only to shove it into his chest. She let out a noise that must have been building within her. A desperate thing. Sad and angry and fearful. “How could you?” she cried. “How could you do this? A betrothal? Jareth, she’s only fourteen!”

The parchment had folded in his tight grasp. Stiffly, he said, “It would not be for many years. You need not worry.”

She gaped at him. Her fingers twitched at her sides. There was an urge of violence in her. She wanted to hurt him. Face a bright red, eyes glaring mad, tears paining, she looked at him. “You would pawn her off to some man she’s never even met? To-- to be fucked and used and-- and disregarded as a political playing piece? She’s your daughter, how could you even consider this?”

His eyes narrowed on her. “She would be a Queen in her own right. And her betrothed is a good man. He would treat her well.”

Her fists clenched. “And she doesn’t get a choice in the matter? This is her future, not yours!”

“It is all of ours,” he hissed. He stepped back, setting the letter onto the desk. “This would give the Goblin Kingdom a powerful ally. And our daughter would have a better life than most women could dream of. You would deny her this?”

Sarah reared back. And she stared, wide-eyed. After a moment, “Have you even talked with her about this?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes were so sad. “And you didn’t mention it to me, ever?”

He looked at her coldy. “Why would I, when I knew you would react like this?”

“Jareth…” she said, shocked. Her jaw worked for a moment. “This,” she said, finally, pointing at the letter with a stiff, angry finger. “This is wrong. Of all the things you’ve ever done, this must be the cruelest.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

She covered her eyes with her hands and a shaky breath escaped her. “Please. She deserves a choice, at least. She deserves a chance at love. I don’t care about allies or her being a queen, or-- or anything! I just want her to be happy, and healthy. Don’t you?”

“You know I do,” he snapped.

It was an opportunity she jumped on. She looked at him pleadingly, urgingly, grasping his hand, staring up at him. She was on the precipice of something immense. “Then please. Please, just end this arrangement and-- and let her choose who to marry. She can make her own future.”

He sighed, pulling his hand away from her and bringing it up to rub his forehead. He stepped back a hair, turning away to pour himself a cup of water. “I can’t,” he said finally. There was a strain to his voice.

Sarah’s hands dropped to her sides limply. She stared at the side of his face as he tilted the cup into his mouth. Her lip curled and her eyes hardened. When he glanced at her again, she gave him such a look. “You disgust me,” she spat. “To use your own daughter as a whore. For your own benefit.”

“Enough.” He scowled right back at her, slamming the cup on the table. “You forget your place.”

Sarah flinched. “My place?” she said, voice barely a whisper. Sad eyes. Lips tugging down. “My place… caring for our children?”

His jaw tightened and his eyes, as dark and heavy as they were, took in the look of her. He ground his teeth together, and then turned sharply away. He strode across the room, gripping the stone edge of the window. Leather gloves creaked. He stared out beyond at his own kingdom.

Sarah stood back, wringing her hands, biting her lip. They stood in silence for some time.

Still staring out the window, he spoke. “She will be disappointed, you know. She wishes to be married.”

Sarah clenched her eyes shut. Jareth knew Alice just as well as she did. And he wasn’t wrong, not in this. She would be disappointed.

Moving forward, still observing the back of his head, she said, “She’s too young to know what she wants.”

Jareth sighed, deep and long. He turned around, leaning back against the sill of the window. He caught her eyes. The skin around them was tight, stressed.

“Jareth, please,” she whispered. “If not for me, then for her. Years from now, when she meets a man she loves, she will be grateful.”

His eyes closed and he rubbed the space between his eyebrows with two fingers. When his eyes slid open again, his hands dropped to his sides and they clenched into fists. Tightly, he said, “Fine.”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. Her eyes widened. “Really?” she gasped.

He looked away. He nodded curtly.

“Thank you.” She lunged herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Almost vibrating. It was a rush of relief crashing through so strong that she could barely hold on. Into his chest, she cried, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea....”

She felt his arms around her waist, and she hugged him tighter. “Thank you,” she said again, voice crackling with feeling.

It was left unsaid. But they both knew it. The protection of Alice was at a gamble of something else. Jareth was silent on matters of his kingdom, he always had been. It was nothing she needed to stress about, he’d always said. But she had been in this world long enough that she could tell. Something was waiting, ready to clobber them all over the head. She felt it in the air, in her heart. She wondered what it would be, but she hoped she would never find out. All they could do was wait.

Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry. It was a chance that had to be taken. She had counted her cards. Alice would always be more important.

After that, they ate their lunch in silence. Jareth picked at the food absently as he pulled out blank parchment and set to penning a letter. She watched him from her seat across the desk. It was only once that he looked up at her, dark eyes. She noticed the shadows under them for the first time. The sounds of his writing stopped, they shared a moment.

She mouthed her words. Thank you. Her face gave all the meaning.

Carefully, he inclined his head. Then, the scribbling of an inked nib against parchment filled back up the air.

That night, after they shared a dinner with the children, she showed him her appreciation. A sweet kiss, a rub of the shoulders. She joined him in the bath and then on the bed. She took him in her mouth and sucked him deeply, shivering at his hands there in her hair, on her skin. I love you, she whispered over and over. Thank you, she gasped again and again.

Later, wrapped up in his arms, the fire having long died out, she kissed the sharp bone of his collar. She rubbed her nose along it. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” she murmured, “Your children come first, don’t they? It’s why I love you.”

. . .

“What do you mean?” Alice rocked up from her chair, standing up sharply. “You’ve called it off? Why?”

Jareth was right, of course. Alice was not happy about it. Not at all. They had come to speak with her after dinner some weeks after Sarah had convinced Jareth to call off the betrothal.

Sarah nervously chewed on her lip. She stood to the side of Jareth’s chair, holding onto the headrest.

“Sweet thing,” he said gently, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Don’t be upset. It’s for the best.”

Alice crossed her arms, fourteen year old face all flushed and mad. “But- but-” she stuttered, “But- I would have been a Queen!”

Sarah frowned. “But Alice, you can’t want to get married to some man you hardly know.”

The girl went silent, staring at the both of them for a long moment. She searched their faces.

Her eyes flickered dangerously. To Sarah, she spat, “I should have known. This was your idea, wasn’t it?”

Sarah’s palms felt suddenly damp. She wiped them against her skirts. “Yes, it was,” she said slowly, “But I only want for you to be happy--”

“And you didn’t think I’d be happy as a Queen?” she said, stomping her foot and glaring. “Huh, mom? Maybe it’s just cause you’re jealous that you’re stuck as a stupid consort and you’re never gonna be one and you want to make sure I can’t have that either! I’ve never heard anything more pathetic in my whole life!”

It made Sarah recoil, her face go all shocked. Her mouth fell open. What was said, she felt it in her very soul. “Alice…” she started.

“You would speak to your own mother in such a way, Princess Alice?” Jareth’s words were sharp.

Alice’s mouth snapped shut. She looked away and huffed. Then she collapsed to sit in her chair. “Sorry,” she mumbled, eyes stuck to the ground before her.

Sarah brought up her hands to her eyes, quickly dabbing at the corners of them.

Jareth continued, “While it was your mother’s idea initially, I agree with her. Life is long and marriage is forever. It is not a decision to be taken lightly. To live a life of resentment is not something I want for you.”

“But, daddy--!”

He raised a hand. “I know you’re enamored with the idea of being a queen. One day, you will find that there are more important things.”

Alice scowled at him. “But Ewan gets to be king! It’s not fair! Just because I’m a girl--!”

Jareth stood up. “You are our second child. Even if you were born a boy, you would not be king.”

Tears beaded in the young girl’s eyes. Jareth knelt down in front of her chair. He took her hand. “My love,” he said, reaching up to wipe her cheeks free of tears. “When have we ever led you astray?”

She shrugged exaggeratedly, eyes darting anywhere but at him.

Sarah could see Jareth’s small smile from where she was at. He chucked the girl’s chin. “I didn’t hear you...”

Alice rolled her watery eyes. Then, “never,” she mumbled.

“That’s right,” he said, rubbing her arm. “So trust that this will not be the first time.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. Her mouth wobbled. “... okay.”

Sarah was all vulnerable then, to see the way her husband so easily handled Alice in this moment. How he managed so quickly to calm her, to reassure her, to convince her everything would be perfectly okay. It tendered her up, made her soft. In love.

“Good,” Jareth said. He leaned up, pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek. He paused, bent over, whispering something Sarah couldn’t quite hear in the girl’s ear. Alice’s eyes flicked briefly in her direction.

Jareth stood back up, but not before pressing one last kiss into the crown of Alice’s soft blond hair. He held out a hand and helped her out of her chair. He stood off to the side as Alice shifted on her feet for a moment. Shyly, she stepped toward Sarah, eyes lowered. She glanced back at her father, who nodded, and then turned back round. She threw herself at Sarah, hugging her tight around the waist. “I’m so sorry, mommy,” she cried. “I didn’t mean it!”

Sarah caught eyes with Jareth over her shoulder, her arms coming up so easily, so reflexively around the girl’s back. She hugged her tight, savoring it. Shutting her eyes tight, she turned her face into the side of Alice’s head. She breathed in. “It’s okay, baby. I know you didn’t.”

Did she? Sometimes she got to worrying. Her children could be so cruel. It was the Jareth in them, she thought. But no… In the dark space of her mind reserved only for her wretched self, she remembered when she was young. Thirteen and twelve and fifteen and cruel. Hateful.

She’d given it to them. She must have.

There was once when Alice was around six or seven that Sarah had caught her poking at a worm with a stick, throwing it around and jabbing it hard enough that blood appeared. It had made Sarah angry and she’d grabbed the girl’s wrist.

“Stop that! You’re hurting him,” she snapped. “What’s that poor thing ever done to you?”

Alice looked up at her, eyebrows knitted together. And she said, voice almost grumbling, “It’s just a worm.”

Sarah had to take a deep breath at that, kneeling down in the garden soil, taking the stick from her daughter’s hand and setting it away. Then she reached out to the worm, laying crumpled in the dirt. She picked it up, and closed it inside her palms, shutting her eyes and focusing. When she opened back up her palms, the thing was still there, laying limp and sad. Unhealed.

“He’s dead,” Sarah said, looking her young daughter in the eye. “Alice, look at him.”

And Alice had, big child eyes tracking onto it.

“Look,” Sarah said again, voice gentle, but stern. “What gives you the right to end a life, even one as small as this?”

It was only a few seconds that Alice stared, lower lip beginning to wobble. Devastated eyes found Sarah’s. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry to me, Alice,” she said, with one hand taking Alice’s and uncurling her fingers. She placed the dead thing in the girl’s palm, and ushered her closer.

“Here,” she said, bare hands digging into the soil. She carved out a little space. “Let him rest now.”

And Sarah had watched sadly as her daughter placed the worm in the hole and packed the soil back in, whispering a final, solemn, “‘m sorry, worm.”

Ewan, too. Sometimes he was so like his father (like her) it scared her half to death.

She’d caught him kicking a goblin when he was fourteen, punting the creature across the hallway when it got too close to him. The goblin landed in a heap and then skittered the rest of the way down the corridor.

“Ewan!” she scolded, shocked.

The boy looked at her, expression surprised. “What?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not nice.”

Ewan frowned at her. “Father does it…”

And Sarah felt tired, then. “I don’t care,” she said, touching his shoulder and turning him to face her fully. “I don’t want to see you doing that ever again.”

She taught her children her lessons, but sometimes she wondered for how long they stuck around. It was because they could sense it in her, too. They knew she was rotten inside. Her son still occasionally kicked goblins, though usually out of her sight. And Alice, she could be so dismissive of those lesser Fae. Spoiled prince and princess. And both of them… their words could be sharp as barbed wire. Cruel and harsh and a perfect mix of mom and dad.

. . .

She overheard Jareth in his study one day. Having gone to surprise him in the afternoon -- sometimes, even when they didn’t plan to share a lunch, Sarah liked to show up, to have company -- she waited outside, raising her fist to knock first.

Her arm froze. A great crash rang out behind the large wood door.

She flinched.

It was like a thousand things falling over. A million books fallen from their shelves, splatting hard all against the ground. She wavered just outside the door.

“Sire--” a voice said. Jareth’s closest advisor.

“What?”

“Please, I beg you, everything will be solved if you simply--”

“Careful,” Jareth’s voice hissed.

There was a beat of silence.

“Sire, I only mean to say that you must think of the kingdom, of the prince and princess first. That mortal girl has brought you nothing but trouble--”

“Get out.”

“Please, Majesty, listen to me. I’ve always given you sound advice--”

“LEAVE!” he roared.

Sarah’s eyes widened and she panicked, stumbling back. There were quick footsteps and then the door flung open. He was a tall, intimidating man who took up most of the space of the door frame. When he saw her, his face twisted, disgusted.

He took one large step toward her, and Sarah tripped, falling right on her ass. Her face flushed red. He stared down past his nose at her, not offering a hand.

Sarah scrambled up, glancing over her shoulder to make sure her guards were still there. They were. She stepped back once, wiping her hands off on her skirt. “My Lord,” she said quietly.

“Madame,” he said stiffly. He narrowed his eyes at her for one long moment before he sharply turned on his heel and strode away.

She stood in her place, stunned, until he disappeared down a bend in the corridor. When he was gone, she let out a breath. She stared at the closed door in trepidation. A furrow to her brow and a purse to her lips, she backed away. Heading back down the corridor, to the library.

. . .

There was this sort of loneliness. With Alice’s lessons and her friends, with Ewan all grown and learning and practicing and taking his duties so seriously, with Jareth dealing always with matters of the kingdom. With everything.

She stole every moment she could with them, and yet… there was this long, long stretch of the day where she was just alone. Nothing but books to keep her company. The feeling of it, the emptiness, seeped into the rest of everything. Even when she was laughing with her daughter or catching up with her son or holding onto Jareth, there it was.

The library of this castle was her favorite place in the world. The smell of the wood, the fire, the old musty rugs, the dusty books, and wax-dripped sconces. It was cozy and it was safe. For the most part, it always had been. With its shelves that shot up never ending, physics defying, all the way to the barely seeable ceiling. She felt human in there, like she was in as big of a place as Earth. Huge and unkowable with so many things still to be discovered. Not held captive in a tiny palace. It was something else, this place. There was a magic to it. Keeping the bookshelves and her upright.

But even it could not keep the loneliness out.

It was one day that she leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms above her head. It was a soft, plush thing that Jareth had gifted her many years ago and had sent to her favorite cozy spot. It was windowless and it was closed off, a wrap-around of shelves blocking it off. She’d stumbled upon it one day by accident when she was twenty-one or so. She’d taken such a liking to it; it was where her family knew to find her if they ever needed her.

Shifting in her seat, she brought up her knees and set her book upon them. It was one she’d read before, many times. Curiously, it was a story of this Fae land. But, somehow or other… she knew she’d read it before. Just by another name. A mortal one. She wondered which race had stolen these words.

“Oh,” said a voice, suddenly, “hello!”

Sarah’s head snapped up. There was a young man peering curiously around one of the shelves. He was perhaps twenty-seven or twenty-eight, at least to her always-mortal eyes. He had a shock of hair so dark it was almost black.

“...Hello,” she said, shifting so her feet found the ground again. It wasn’t very polite to sit with her knees up on the chair while she was in a dress, was it? She looked at him cautiously. She had long ago negotiated with her guards that she would be fine back here, that no one ever wandered in this area, that they could stay in the front of the library and she’d call for them with the thread she wore around her wrist. It was made of her own magic. The guards had the connecting ones.

“Sorry to disturb, miss,” the man said with a nod, stepping forward out from behind the shelf. He wore a simple shirt, pants, and boots and he held two books in his arms. “I was just wandering about and I think I got lost. This place is quite the maze, isn’t it?”

Sarah smiled slightly. She thumbed at the thread on her wrist. “Hah. Sure is.” She had once and never again found her way to the center of the Labyrinth. This library was nothing.

“Nice spot you’ve got,” he observed.

“Yes…”

A silence fell between them. The man looked around the space with inquisitive eyes. Sarah frowned. She had never exactly been good at speaking with people. And who was there to talk to? In all these years, there had been no need. She was a family woman, after all.

“Um,” she scratched her arm, “Do you need help finding anything? Sir.”

“My way out, perhaps,” he laughed.

“I can do that,” she offered, placing a ribbon in her book and closing it. She looked at him for confirmation, still holding her book in hand.

He said, “That would be appreciated, miss.”

Sarah smiled, setting her book on the shelf right nearby. She stood up, brushing her hands on her dress. “This way,” she said, heading off in the direction toward the front of the library.

He fell into step with her. He was quite a bit taller than her, long limbs ambling alongside her. “Are you the librarian, then?”

She glanced sideways at him, brushing back some of her hair as they walked. She smiled, “Definitely not. Just a… dedicated patron who knows her way around.”

“Definitely not?” he said, peering at her. His eyes were bright, his smile wide.

“Well, as the mortals say…” she shrugged slyly, “I don’t like to shit where I eat.”

He barked out a laugh. Her cheeks tinged pink but she found herself smiling.

“I can understand that, miss.”

They turned a corner and she sucked on her lower lip, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Say,” she started, strangely confident, “Are you here with the envoy from the Pixie Kingdom? I’ve never seen you around here before.”

He nodded. “Yes, good catch! I’m an apprentice under the Lord Salome.”

She made an understanding sort of noise. There had been many preparations in the weeks prior for the arrival of the ambassadors from the Pixie Kingdom. Jareth had been especially busy. Ewan too. And Alice was to begin making her court appearances.

There had not been much for Sarah to do, unfortunately. Or fortunately; she wasn’t sure.

Turning sharply, she faced one bookshelf and sharply rapped her knuckles three times on the fifth shelf from the ground. It shimmered in the air, disappearing. Sarah strode quickly across, glancing back behind her to make sure the man was keeping up. He was quick on the uptake, this one. Only one pace behind her.

“Do you enjoy your work?” she wondered after a moment.

“Hmm,” he paused, thinking about it, “I suppose I do. It brings me to many different places. I’ve always enjoyed travelling, of course.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Indeed, it is.” He followed beside her as she took them through the twists and turns of the shelves. “So if you’re not the librarian, then what do you do around here?”

“Oh,” she mused with an airy laugh, not quite looking at him. “Ask anyone. I’m just a layabout.”

He laughed. “A lovely young lady such as yourself, a layabout? I hardly believe it.”

Sarah fiddled with the ring Jareth had given her so long ago, spinning it around on her finger. She looked down at the ground, a little abashed. “Here.” Her pace slowed and then she stopped, turning ever so slightly toward the man. He halted beside her, peering curiously down. She pointed down the aisle. “If you keep walking straight, you’ll find the exit just up ahead.”

He smiled, a touch of surprise in his eyes. “Why, thank you very much. I think I would’ve been stuck in there for days if not for you.”

Sarah shrugged awkwardly, eyes darting around him, not quite sure what to make of the man who was friendly, who was kind to her. “Anytime.”

“Going back to the books?” he said, shuffling one step past her but not yet turning away.

“Like I said,” she pointed to herself with a weak little smile, “I’m the castle layabout.”

He tsked but smiled. He turned away, and then paused, glancing back at her. “I’m Ralph.”

Under his expectant gaze, she flushed. It had been so long since she’d spoken to anyone. The whole thing bewildered her. Set her heart all confused.

She looked at him shyly. “Sarah,” she offered.

It wasn’t the last she’d see of him. Only a few days later, Ralph appeared in her spot again, looking flushed and out of breath, surprising the daylights out of her. She had completely expected to never see him again.

“I found you!” he exclaimed.

“You... found me?” she said, confused.

He nodded, stepping closer. He held a single book this time. “I’ve been trying to find you since we last met.”

“...Oh.”

He looked bashful all of a sudden. “Oh dear,” he frowned, “I suppose my excitement got the best of me... I don’t mean to disturb you. If you would like me to leave, all you must do is say the word.”

She gaped at him just as he gave her a short bow and said in a rush, “My apologies, miss.” He turned right back around, a red flush at his ears, and was about to round the corner of the shelf.

“Wait!” she called, standing up quickly. He froze, glancing back at her. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, offered him a smile. “You don’t have to go. I was just… surprised, that’s all. Um.” She gestured to the other chair in the hiding spot and sat back down. “Join me, if you want.”

A smile bloomed on his face. Sarah hid her face in her book, pretending to read as he crossed the small space and lowered himself to sit in the other chair. Her eyes got stuck on one paragraph, never leaving. Sometimes they peeked over the rim of the book at him. He caught them once and Sarah darted her eyes back down in embarrassment.

There was a moment of awkward silence before she lowered the book. “... What brings you back?” she said nervously, carefully crossing her ankles.

He looked around himself, observing the little nook. His cheeks were just slightly pink. He looked at his feet, then at her. “Well, truth be told,” he cleared his throat, “I wanted to see you again.”

Sarah’s eyebrows furrowed. “You did?”

“Of course,” he said.

She was taken aback. “Why?” she asked, seriously.

He tilted his head. “I half thought I dreamed you up the other day, you know. You’re so... unexpected.”

There was the taste of blood in her cheek. “Is that… a good thing?”

Ralph looked at her, dark eyes so friendly. Sweet. “In my books, yes.”

She could hardly believe it. A friend. For her. That was the most unexpected thing.

Ralph was a kind man, gentle. A tentative companionship bloomed between them in the few weeks that his envoy had business in the Goblin Kingdom. Easily, they fell into a pattern. Whenever he was able to get away from his work and find her in the library, she’d welcome him with a smile and a book. They’d share a silent hour or two reading near each other or he would engage her in conversation. A fellow lover of stories, he was. They spoke of their favorites, or he would tell her about his home kingdom, the cities there and the people. Tales from his memories.

They did not speak much about her, but she was glad for it. He must not have known who she was or else he might not have been so kind to her. Something about her brought out the worst in people. It was a fact of life, long since accepted. It wasn’t even a conscious decision on her part, the hiding of the truth. She just realized… he didn’t have to know.

And neither did they speak about his work with Lord Salome, where he was surely attending the talks and negotiations with his lord and the Goblin King. He was a loyal servant, she found. For when she wondered once about the state of the Pixie and Goblin alliance, he simply said that he was not allowed to speak of it. She understood. They stuck to material things.

“What do you think of this place?” she wondered once, curious.

He thought for a second, leaning back in his chair and tapping at his chin. He mused, “I’ve never seen so much magic in one place before. Your king is powerful.”

For some reason, this surprised her. “More than other kings?”

“Oh, yes,” Ralph said, exhaling. “He is the Master of the Labyrinth, after all.”

It made her mouth press tight. There was nothing to say.

Sometimes he looked at her curiously, strangely, confusedly; she wasn’t sure. How much did he really know about her, truly? Nothing. She thought he ached to ask.

He turned the question back on her. “And what do you think of this place?”

Her eyes lowered to the ground, she thumbed at the page of her open book. All she said was, “It’s home.”

He was her little secret. Her companion, her friend. Just for an hour or two or three each day. In between his diplomatic duties and her wifely ones. They went off to their own lives, but shared just the small moments. Around him, she felt she could be just Sarah. Nothing more, nothing less. Not consort, not mother, not wife. It was nice.

. . .

She saw his stress. It was there, always.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she said, her cheek pressed against his bare back. “Please, husband.”

He stiffened.

She traced patterns that she couldn’t see over his chest. “I want to know, I want to be prepared. I want to help.”

He was silent.

But then, like he always did, he simply said, “Worry not, precious.”

It was this time that he grabbed her wrists and peeled her still-clinging arms away. He left her standing there, alone. The bathroom door shut behind him. Sarah lowered sad, worried eyes to the ground.

. . .

She mourned already the day her only friend would have to leave. The weeks passed rapidly, time abandoning her as it liked to do only when she wished it wouldn’t. As their weeks drew to a close, during their little visits, hidden away in the back of the library, a somber feeling took over. A goodbye would be soon. Sarah had never had that, had never experienced this lead up to a forever goodbye. People had always been yanked from her, no warning. She couldn’t decide which she preferred. The dread of it was almost bizarre.

It was a few days before the diplomats would depart that Jareth told her that she was expected to attend the final feast. When he told her that, all she could think of was Ralph. Her stomach lurched, embarrassed about it all. She tried to get out of it.

“Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly, curling up into her husband’s side, the fire crackling, warming her chilled bones. “Won’t it make things worse? To bring me out like that.”

He hummed, but the sound was stiff.

“It was not my idea,” he said after a beat of silence.

“Oh.”

It caused butterflies all up in her stomach and it consumed her mind. In the last few days in Ralph’s company, it was all she could think of. The nerves got to her. She knew she ought to tell him, and yet… she couldn’t. Everytime the words began to build behind her tongue, her lips parting, ready to confess, it all froze inside her as soon as she locked eyes with him. Her friend who would hate her.

“Is everything alright?” he asked worriedly once.

She looked quickly away, clearing her throat. She nodded stiffly. “Just- not looking forward to saying goodbye, I suppose.”

His face softened at that.

She almost managed to work up the courage the day of the feast, hours and hours before when they were saying their goodbyes. Her last chance. Ralph didn’t know if he’d be able to visit the library again before the envoy departed the next day.

He took her hands in his, looking at her solemnly. “Sarah,” he said gently, “Your presence has made this trip a most wonderful thing.”

She blinked back the tears in her eyes. Looking down at their hands. “Ralph,” she started, voice strained.

But he continued. His words were coming quicker, hurried. “I know you don’t travel much, but if you’re ever in the Pixie Kingdom, I do hope you send me word of it. I’d hate to miss you. There are so many things I would show you, and I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can visit here again. And--”

“Ralph,” she cut him off, squeezing his hands before pulling back. She stared just at the point of his shoulder. “I would love to, but…I- I just don’t know if I can.”

She saw as his shoulders drooped. Her eyes flicked up. He caught her eyes. “I understand,” he murmured. His hand came up and he brushed away a piece of her hair. “Please… in the case that I never see you again. Allow me one thing...”

She smiled sadly. “Anything,” she offered.

His hand at her cheek shifted, his fingers at her chin now. It happened so fast that Sarah barely understood. Warm lips touched hers, a soft press.

She gasped, loud. Her hands flashed up to his shoulders and she shoved him back with so much force that it was her who stumbled back. “What are you doing?” she hissed, face burning bright red. A terror filled her up.

He looked at her stunned. Confused. Hurt? “What?”

“Oh no,” she moaned, stepping back frantically. “Ralph. I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t realize-” She turned on her heel, thinking only get out of here, get away, go, go, go!

“Sarah, wait! I don’t understand--” His hand caught her wrist, his voice pleading. She yanked herself out of his hold, looking at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“I- I have to go. I’m sorry.” Her last words came out shaky as she covered her face and ran from him, her only friend who wasn’t one.

She didn’t stop running until she reached another hiding spot in the library, one that no one knew of but her. She collapsed to the floor on her knees, hunching over and crying. She wiped furiously at her mouth. What a wretched thing she was.

The misery stayed with her the rest of the day, seeping into everything about her. Even Alice, her sweet, often oblivious daughter noticed. “Mom, are you alright?” she wondered worriedly as Sarah absently stood behind her, decorating her hair for the feast.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, my love,” she said with a fake little smile. “I’m just not a fan of these kinds of things, you know.”

“Cause you’re a mortal?” Alice said quietly.

Stiffly, Sarah nodded.

Neither of them said anything more after that. She worked silently, lost in her own horrible head.

It wasn’t long after that she stood before her mirror, smoothing out her gown. It was a fabric so soft and so delicate it felt like water on her skin. The pale color of it so sweet, so light that it brought out the darkness of her soul. One could see it in her eyes. The top half of her hair was done up in braids, the rest of it trailing straight and long down her back.

“Pretty girl,” a voice murmured. Sarah was broken out of her stupor. Her husband’s hands caressed her waist as he came up behind her. He brushed some of her hair off her shoulder, leaning down, pressing a kiss to the bared skin there.

Sarah felt a guilt inside her, a heat building. He turned her around and he kissed her fully on the mouth. A warm, perfect touch. Her eyes fell shut and when he went to pull back, Sarah reached up and held his head in her hands. She kept him there, kissing him deeper. It was a sorry, it was a proving thing. A see, it wasn’t me.

They parted with panting breath. The sight of him, smirking, mouth red and wet like a fruit, it never failed to make her flush. He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. “Time to go,” he said, sounding almost regretful.

They collected Ewan and Alice in their rooms, both of them looking so put together. Their grown son, so dashing and princely with Sarah on his arm. Their daughter, beautiful and beaming in her best gown, escorted by her king father.

It was the walk to the feast hall that killed her. It made her numb, petrified. It was at the entrance that Ewan glanced at her sideways quizzically. Sarah just flashed a smile and squeezed his arm. The doors opened. Her favorite goblin Eileen was announcing the arrivals to the feast. But it was like buzzing in her ears.

Ewan escorted her across the room, Jareth and Alice just in front of them. Her eyes remained fixed on Jareth’s heels, just afraid of what she would see if she looked up. They approached the long, long table, already filled with the hateful Fae. On Jareth’s arrival, everyone stood around the table. Bowing men and curseying women.

Jareth and Ewan brought them to their seats and then found their own. Standing behind his seat at the head of the table, the Goblin King acknowledged his guests with a nod of his head before pulling out his chair to sit. Everyone else followed. To Jareth’s immediate right sat Ewan, followed by Sarah, and then Alice.

Promptly, the servers appeared over their shoulders, uncovering the plates of food. Steam and scent exploded around them. Noise and laughter and the clanging of plates grew louder as everyone dug in. She looked carefully at her place setting.

“Lord Salome,” Jareth began, gesturing, “You’ve met my son. Allow me to introduce my daughter, Princess Alice. And my wife consort, Sarah.”

It was only then that she looked up. Across them must have been the dignitaries from the Pixie Kingdom, who sat straight-backed and formal, observing. Sarah’s eyes slid over each of them, feeling a hammering in her chest. Dread of a whole other kind.

On the third seat from Jareth’s left sat Ralph.

She locked eyes with him, trying so hard to keep her face still, keep her trembling under control. He stared at her. There was an unusual paleness to his face, a shock. A confusion. Under his neverending gaze, a discomfort rattled in her chest.

The man who must have been Salome sat to Jareth’s left and he was incredibly thin. Almost sickly looking, with slate gray hair that fell pin straight past his face. He smiled without teeth. “A lovely family you have, Your Majesty.” His eyes slid over Sarah, who maintained a placid sort of smile.

“Mmm, yes,” Salome murmured, “No wonder you are so taken with her. She is a beauty.”

All eyes were on her that night.

She was a spectacle to these people. The strange thing that shouldn’t be there. Who had outstayed her welcome. That’s why she was there, she supposed. To be seen, not heard. They were all curious about the mortal girl the Goblin King had kept for so long.

She saw the clench of Ralph’s jaw, the coldness in his gaze. The glare of him all night. She felt it on her lips.

She would wash the feeling it left her off in the shower hours and hours later, shivering to herself. Hating. Hiding. And only after, clean as she could be, nightgown thrown on and ready to collapse into the empty bed to sleep, was she seized by a horrible impulse.

Throwing on a thick night robe, she pulled on her slippers and left the room. “I want to go to the library,” she told the guards standing outside the door.

“It is late,” one said from behind his metal mask. “And you are undressed.”

She scowled, crossing her arms. “I know. I don’t care. Just- let’s go.”

She turned on her heel and strode down the corridor. Her feet were so anxious that a skip grew into her pace, an almost run. She sped all the way to the library, always feeling the gaze of the guards on the back of her head.

At the entrance of the library, she waved them off. “I’m just going to read for a bit, alright? I’ll call for you if I need anything.”

They didn’t say anything but they rarely did. So she peeled off into the aisles, her nightgown and robe fluttering behind her. She was out of breath and flushed hot when she arrived at her little spot.

“Ralph,” she gasped. “Oh, thank god.”

He was perched on the arm of the chair he usually sat in. He turned to face her sharply.

“Please,” she stepped closer, hands held out. “Let me explain. I- I never meant for it to go--”

He stood up suddenly. “Is it a mortal trait to lie, I wonder.”

Sarah reared back. “What?”

He glared at her. “You know what.”

She looked down at her feet, wringing her hands in front of her. “I’m really sorry,” she said, “It wasn’t my intention to lie. I just- I wanted a friend--”

“A friend,” he scoffed. “Right.”

Her lips tugging down, Sarah looked at her one-time friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?” her voice was weak-sounding, sad.

“It means, Sarah,” he said, jeering, “that a married woman doesn’t speak to men the way you did.”

She licked her lips. “What? I- I didn’t--”

“Still lying, I see.”

Sarah blinked back tears. “You’re being cruel,” she said.

“No,” he said, “I’m really not.”

It confused her, this change. Tears swam in her vision. She reached up and scrubbed them away furiously. “Fine,” she said roughly, “fine. I- I’ll leave you, then.”

With hunched shoulders, she glanced once more into his angry eyes. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

And she turned to leave, dragging her feet with her.

“Wait.”

Sarah slowed, turning just her head. Lending an ear. “What is it?” she said, voice all warbly.

“Don’t go,” he said.

Her heart soared. And she spun around. She tip-toed closer, peering up at him, hopeful.

He closed the space between them. And he seized her by the shoulders, dragging her into his chest. For the second time that day, he kissed her. Sarah let out a muffled grunt, arms flailing between them. She shoved and shoved at him but his hold was so strong. Eventually, he pulled back for breath and Sarah yanked herself away. “Ralph!” she cried. “Why would you do that? Are you stupid?”

He was carefully adjusting his shirt and hair. He looked at her coldly. “You owe me, consort.”

“What?” she breathed, scurrying back, wiping madly at her mouth.

He advanced on her. “The way I see it,” he said, “is that you really don’t want me to tell your husband how you’ve been throwing yourself at me these past weeks.”

“I haven’t been throwing myself at you--!”

“If you say so,” he said, waving her away. “But that is what I’ll tell your king if you don’t do as I say.”

“Ralph,” she breathed out, shocked. She could hardly believe the hate in his eyes.

He reached out for her and she just barely dodged him, heart hammering. He glowered.

“Tell him, then,” she snapped, all of a sudden enraged.

He stilled. “What?”

She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “You heard me.”

She took in a deep breath, before continuing. She puffed up her chest and glared right back. “You think he won’t be upset to know that you’ve been the one throwing yourself at me?”

“Why should he believe that? You’re just a mortal girl.”

Sarah ground her teeth together. “I am NOT… just a mortal girl, Ralph. My husband married me over twenty years ago. We have two children together. And I’m still around. Don’t you see? He will believe me. And you’re a fool if you think he won’t.”

It seemed to stop him in his tracks. His mouth snapped shut; a muscle jumped in his jaw.

Sarah’s lip curled, a disgusted look overtaking her pretty face. “Is this what a little rejection does to you, Ralph? I thought you were a good man, but it turns out you’re just a miserable little boy.” She scoffed, “What a disappointment.”

It was as if in slow motion, the way his face twisted, his arm rearing back and then barreling toward her. She barely had time to flinch, barely had the frame of mind to raise her arms up when the mallet of his hand struck her right across the face. It sent her to the ground with a thud, the air knocking out of her. Her stomach heaved and her head spun as she clawed at the ground. A hand was in her hair, yanking, and she was frantic and she couldn’t hear anything and her head hurt so bad and she was tugging at the thread on her wrist and she was calling out Jareth, Jareth, Jareth!

. . .

Her body trembled with it all, her face sticky and sore and throbbing. She lay curled up on her bed. Silent as a mouse.

The mattress depressed beside her. There was a weight by her knees. And a weight of eyes on her. It was heavy and frightening and comforting all at once. She wanted to puke.

“I thought he was my friend.” The words were sad and quiet. They made her eyes prick with tears once again.

A warm, heavy hand clasped over her knee. Fingers stroking the skin in the bend. Jareth’s voice was gentle, in a way. Reassuring. A thing she knew. “Let’s see to your face, hmm?”

When she didn’t make any move, ashamed enough that she never wanted to show her face again, the bed shifted. He took her wrists softly and tugged her hands away. And it was his soft, bare fingers against her throbbing cheek that made her eyes flutter open once again. Blurry vision, blurry husband. He kneeled over her and she saw the movement of his mouth, the saying of magical words. It was an icy rush against her face. A numbness and then… the pain was gone as if it never even existed.

It made Sarah’s lower lip wobble, something about it so overwhelming. She reached up and took his hand in hers, tugged at it. “Thank you,” she said thickly, half into the bedcovers. She squeezed his hand before letting go. The weight of it landed in the dip of her waist and she scrunched her eyes up tight.

“Are you angry?” she whispered.

There was a pause. “... Not with you.”

“You aren’t?”

“Should I be?”

Her body jolted with a sort of sob, a silent thing that shook her. A wave of sorrow. “Yes.”

“Why, Sarah?”

“Because… because I should have known. Because I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

He made a humming noise, hand running up and down along her side. Even through her nightgown, the warmth of him was strong. “You should have,” he agreed, “But now I know.”

She curled up tighter, the ball of her a tiny, sad thing. “I’m so sorry.”

He sighed. “It’s my fault… I’ve neglected you, left you so lonely. It’s no wonder.”

She sniffed. “No..”

“Don’t argue, precious thing.”

She fell silent. Just the sounds of rain on the window, distant thunder. The feel of his hand warming her up. Lead in her limbs, she shifted, leaning up on her elbows and then pushing up to sit sideways. Wordless, she scooted closer to Jareth. It was a slow moment, the falling of her into him. Burying her face into his shoulder, squeezing him tight. She sighed at the caress of her hair, the wrap of arms back around her.

When she spoke again, her voice was all scratchy, vulnerable. “He kissed me. Twice.”

Jareth’s hold tightened around her for a flash of a second.

“I hate it,” she choked out, “It feels wrong. That’s meant for you...”

His hand never stopped in its dance along her hair. But she felt the tenseness of him all around her. “I know, my love. I know…”

“I promise you,” His voice was dark, frightening, pleasing, perfect, “that… boy … will be dealt with.”

Notes:

Alternate chapter title: "The Friendzone."

The pacing of this chap is maybe weird... but I just need to get to arc three already goddang so I'll fix that later.

I really hope you enjoyed! And please let me know what you thought!
Some fun stuff is coming up, I'm super excited and I hope y'all are too!

Chapter 31: Interlude

Summary:

The Labyrinth would have to wait.

“Hi, this is Toby Williams. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks.”

Karen stared at her kitchen table, finger running back and forth on the phone cord. She waited.

Beep.

“Hey Toby, it’s Mom. Just calling to see how you’re doing. We haven’t talked in a while and I know you’re busy but I thought I’d check in anyway. I’d love to hear how the job is going. And Marie, how’s she? She’s such a sweet girl. Oh, and wouldn’t you know? I saw the most beautiful ring the other day at the mall. You’d just adore it, it’s perfect! Next time you visit I’ll show you…. Well, not much has been going on here. Same old, same old. You know. But I was wondering when you thought you might be able to visit again, or I thought maybe I could come out to visit for a bit? Nothing too long, I promise. But I do miss you, you know. Oh well, I better wrap up now. I don’t want to get cut off like last time. Please call me back, Toby. I love--”

The phone line clicked off.

“--you,” Karen finished. She sighed, still twisting up the cord along her finger. Her hands were awfully dry. Feeling tight and cracky with each movement. She could still feel the dust on them, though they were clean. With a wince, she gripped the edge of the table and pushed herself up. It was all the cooking. The cleaning. Packing.

Moving around sure wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Carefully, she stretched out before tugging her robe closer around her body. There was a chill coming up from the tile floor. Even the summer nights got cold there.

Her teeth chattered slightly as she put the phone receiver back in the dock and poured herself a glass of water. Then, it was time to click off the kitchen lights and check the door. Locked. Deadbolted. The alarm system beeped in confirmation: I will protect you. The thing was getting old; she could see the wear on the buttons and the chipping of the beige painted plastic. Robert had installed it many, many years ago and they’d never gotten around to updating it; it had cost so much back then, one of the first systems on the market. Now, they were everywhere. Better quality and cheaper.

It was slow going up the staircase, but it was still going. The creaking under her feet and the creaking of her bones. Surely she was too young for all that.

The upstairs was warmer, luckily. Karen passed Toby’s room and then Sarah’s. Closed off and vacant. It really was an empty nest now.

Wearily, she stepped around the boxes waiting to be donated. Filled with toys and books and games and things. It had been so long that they’d held onto all of it. But Robert had asked her to. He’d come home a few weeks ago, smelling of tobacco and sweat and scotch like he so often did. Already in bed, Karen had woken to the sounds of his stumbling. Listing quietly as he laid over the covers next to her, crumpled suit and fetal positioned and all.

“Karen,” he said. “I’m here.”

She reached out, took his hand. “Yes.”

He didn’t speak for several moments. When he did, there was a tremor. A wobbly, wet thread. This sixty year old man; he was a young boy before her. “I don’t want her to hate me.”

She didn’t ask who he meant.

“Why would she hate you?” she whispered, thumb going back and forth on his knuckles. His hand trembled in hers.

“I… there was a kid at the courthouse today. She was so little… all skin and bones. And carrying this bag. They were taking her to a foster home. But the bag… she could hold it in one hand, could swing it around. And it was blue… with trucks all over it. Karen…” he was haunted, “it wasn’t even her bag. And it held her whole life in it.”

“Bob…”

“Do you think that…that… Sarah would’ve wanted that little girl to have some of her old toys and things?”

Karen had squeezed her eyes shut tight. “... Yes.” She’d swallowed past the lump in her throat. She’d murmured, “... I think she would have.”

She kept on, past the few boxes with their sharpie labels and over the creaky floor, reaching her own room. Pushing open the door, the hinges gave off a little squeak. She crossed to her side of the bed, flicked on the lamp, and placed the glass of water on the coaster. She threw her robe onto the bed and kicked off her slippers.

Without sparing a glance to the pristinely made bed, she headed to the master bathroom and turned on the light. In the mirror, there was a tired woman looking back at her. She had a gray-green painted face and slumped shoulders. It was by rote that she approached the sink and turned on the tap. Grabbing a washcloth, she bent over the sink and began wiping away the mask, seeing the clay swirling in the drain. It made her lower back ache. Times like these she wondered why she even bothered.

When her face was washed clean, she stood back up and dried it with a towel. Her face had gone pink and the collar of her baggy shirt splotchy with water. She stared at herself for a moment before leaning forward, as close to the mirror as could be. Turning this way and that, she observed herself. Up close, she saw the lined crepe-paper of the skin of her neck and the dark smudgy hollows of her under eyes. The one or two burst capillaries on the sides of her nose. Thinned fingers skated over aging skin, not pulling but feeling.

It troubled her, how she looked. Her time was running out. When she was young, she’d taken it for granted. The bounce of her skin, the glow. The promise of life.

Old age had made her vain.

She set to work dabbing creams and serums into her skin. Always feeling just a little bit hopeful. Though in the morning, she knew, she would look just the same. Aged seven hours. When she was finally done, she rolled out her shoulders. Avoided her own eyes as she brushed her teeth and finished getting ready for bed. Putting her hair in rollers and wrapping her head in a silk night scarf, taking her pills with water.

Leaving the bathroom, she made sure to lock the french windows and to draw the curtains before she changed into a clean set of pajamas. Her back screamed relief when she pulled back the bed covers and crawled under them. Resting against the pillows, she let her head fall against the headboard. She flexed her fingers, looking down at her hands. They had that strange dryness that came from touching too many old things at once.

She leaned toward the nightstand and found her hand lotion, rubbing it into the dusted skin with a sigh. Then she added some more.

She returned the lotion to the drawer and leaned back into her pillow. She paused. Eyes were drawn to the small book resting just by the water glass. Should she? Her fingers reached out, skating just over the blood red cover. But she sighed, pulling back. Enough of all that dust for one day.

So Karen reached over it, the gold lettering faded but still glinting in the warm light, and clicked off the lamp. The Labyrinth would have to wait.

Curling onto her side, she gazed sadly at the empty space beside her. She had long since gotten used to his late nights at the office. But still, she worried. It must be why she had all those lines round her eyes.

As she let her eyes fall shut, her ears focused. The frogs and crickets outside were chirping and croaking up a storm. It rained hard earlier that day, sending the sky to night much too soon, only letting up once the sun had once again hidden from view. No need for you, sun, the rain had said.

The sounds lulled her and her hand drifted out, caressing the bed beneath the covers. She touched the spot where Robert slept. If she squeezed her eyes shut tight she could almost imagine he was there now, warm and lovely. It was a nice thought. A pleasant smile tugged at her lips, her eyes going all heavy, tired…

She jolted. All disoriented. Her heart raced for just a moment as she shifted, settling back down.

DING-DONG.

Her eyes snapped back open. She turned over, hand coming up to -- carefully! -- wipe at her bleary eyes. Squinting at the clock, she frowned.

DING-DONG.

She sat up, propped up on her hands, but hovered there. Who would be ringing at such an hour? Had Robert lost his keys? But, no. He wasn’t due back until later. She frowned.

She lifted the covers and swung her legs off the bed. It crossed her mind to grab the shotgun, but she dismissed that as unreasonable. It was probably nothing. Grabbing her robe again, she wrapped it around herself and stepped into her slippers. Cautiously, she walked across the hallway and toward the stair landing, peering over the rail at the front door.

Nothing seemed to be amiss.

The next rings came in quick succession, much louder there than in her bedroom. DING-DONG. DING-DONG.

It set her teeth on edge. Her hand reached out to the hallway light and she flicked it on. Feeling slightly safer out of the darkness, she crept down the stairs. Hugging herself, she approached the door.

Whoever it was pounded their fists on the door. Loud and rapid and sorely impolite. Karen took a deep breath, setting her hand on the doorknob, she held her robe shut with one hand.

Closing one eye, she leaned forward. She put her other to the peephole.

Fisheye view. She froze.

The door kept on banging, and banging, and banging.

A shaking, aged hand came up to cover her gaping mouth.

Notes:

oh???? what's this???? stay tuned and thanks for reading! :DDD

Chapter 32: The Gown

Summary:

“Oh, a wish?” He smiled against her temple, close enough he could breathe her in. “Tell me what you wish, Sarah.”

Sarah woke up one morning -- no longer did she need her husband to wake her for her body had easily adjusted to his schedule over the years -- to find Jareth already dressed and sitting at the dining table. Head propped up in hand, his eyes were fixed down on the papers scattered on the table’s surface. In his free hand, he held a crystal. Even with her early morning, blurry-eyed vision, she could see he was tired. Dark-splotched under eyes and paled skin and a haggard gaze.

She stretched out, face scrunching up as she heard the bones of her back pop. She yawned, arms out high above her and legs out long below. Settling still again, she brought the blanket closer over her shoulder and peered across the room.

“Long night?”

His eyes flicked over to her. “Yes.”

There was something dark about his look and Sarah played with the edge of the sheet. He went back to his work and she chewed on the inside of her cheek. When there was only silence, she stretched again and began sitting up. “Well,” she said, “I better go check that Alice is up…”

“Let her sleep.”

Sarah paused. She raised an eyebrow. “She’s got lessons,” she reminded him.

He blinked, leaning heavily back into his chair. He glanced at her briefly. “Her tutors are unavailable today.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and grabbed her robe where it was draped along the trunk at the foot of the bed. She tugged in on, shivering as the soft fabric warmed her up. She twisted her lips. “...All of them?”

Still looking at his papers, he nodded.

“Why?”

He sighed. “Coincidence.”

Sarah frowned at him, tying her robe closed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Dammit Sarah,” he snapped. She froze, fingers stilling on the string of her robe. His face twisted impatiently. “I don’t have time for this.”

Her eyes fell to her lap. “Sorry.”

But he wasn’t looking at her anymore, instead scribbling something on his paper. “Why don’t you go enjoy a day in the library, hmm?” he said absently.

She smiled thinly and nodded even though he wouldn’t have seen it. Silently, she got up from bed and padded across the stone floor to the bathroom. She didn’t want to go to the library. There was something embarrassing about it. That strange, paralyzing shame. Something mortifying had happened there, not two weeks ago, and now, the thought of that place turned her stomach.

As she left the bathroom and made for the wardrobe, she glanced over at Jareth, who was still absorbed in his work. Quietly, she got dressed in a simple dress and comfortable flat shoes. Then, sitting in front of her vanity and running a brush through her hair, she watched her husband out of the corner of her mirror. Not once did he look up from his papers, so intent upon them. There was an agitation about him, in the way his fingers -- not yet gloved -- rapped against the table, in the way the muscle of his temple jumped, and the way his lips thinned out in such a tight, aggrieved line. It was in the way his eyes strayed every few seconds to the crystal he held perpetually in hand.

She’d grown idle in her spot, hairbrush held absently in the air as she just observed him through the mirror, when he suddenly stood up and vanished his papers and his crystal in one sweep of the hand. “I must go,” he said. She set down her hairbrush and watched as he strode across the room, stopping just behind her shoulder. She stood, turning to peer up at him.

“Have a good day,” she said, leaning forward onto her toes and kissing him.

He tilted his head, eyes dark. He didn’t smile, though he might usually have. She bit her lip. “Jareth,” she started quietly, “What’s the matter?”

He looked at her for a long moment. His cheeks sucked in and she noticed for the first time how thin he looked, shaded cheekbones and gaunt eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed and her breath felt all of a sudden pained. “What’s wrong?” she tried again, making her voice as soft as could be.

His hand came up to her shoulder and he pulled her in just slightly. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “No worrying, precious.”

When he pulled back, Sarah was still staring at him with concerned eyes. But he simply turned on his heel and vanished in a cloud of magic.

She frowned to herself.

.

.

.

When Alice woke up only half an hour later, she shuffled sleepily into her mother and father’s chambers. Sarah watched fondly from the chaise as the yawning girl wrapped her blanket around her shoulder and, almost as if in a daze, plopped into her chair at the table. There was a spread of food left out for breakfast. Sarah had already eaten, but she’d been a picky thing. Alone and thinking too much… nothing had tasted very good.

“Good morning,” she said, getting up and closing her book. Coming to the table, she squeezed Alice’s shoulder and sat at her own seat. “Sleep well?”

Alice yawned again, nodding. She grabbed a muffin from the table and placed it on her plate. Sarah poured two glasses of juice before passing one to Alice.

“Lessons are cancelled today,” she said.

That perked her up. Eyes going bright. “Really?”

Sarah smiled. She remembered how, when she was young, waking up to snow days was the best thing in the world. “Lucky you.”

The girl cut into her muffin and took a bite. “But why?” she said, mouth full. She rolled her eyes when her mother gave her a look.

Sarah rolled her eyes back, but her fingers began rapping at the arm of her chair. She pursed her lips around the rim of her glass of juice. “I don’t know,” she admitted, frowning. “I’m only the messenger.”

Alice glanced sideways at her before shrugging. “This is good,” she said, voice muffled around her food.

Just then, the door opened. And Ewan peered in. “Room for one more?” he said, smiling.

“Always.” Sarah beamed, standing up and rushing over to him, then taking his hand and ushering him to the table. “Sit, sit,” she said, pouring him a glass and giving him a napkin.

She sat back down, gazing happily at her two beautiful children as they dug into their breakfast.

“Since when do you eat breakfast with us?” Alice said under her breath. Sarcastically, she added, “Finally decided you’re a part of the family, huh, dummy?”

Sarah frowned. “Alice…”

Ewan squinted at the disgruntled girl across from him. With long arms, he reached over the table and flicked her in the forehead. Alice batted him away, glowering.

“Aw.” He tilted his head, lips quirking to one side. “Did you miss me?”

“No,” Alice grumbled into her plate.

“Because, you know,” he said, “I missed you. And I was thinking… since I’m taking the day off and all, that maybe you’d want to go exploring the castle. But if I’m not wanted…”

Sarah’s eyes crinkled in the corners. A small laugh left her as Alice’s fork froze in its stabbing motions and she looked up with big, excited eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She gestured madly at Ewan’s plate. “Hurry up! No time to waste!”

Ewan grinned.

It was a pleasant surprise, Sarah thought. Ewan was so focused on his studies, of magic and ruling, that he had not made so much time for his family lately. And Sarah knew Alice had felt this. He was her best friend and he was so often busy. But her daughter could never hold a grudge for long, especially not when it came to her big brother. It was evident in the way she hurriedly finished a plate of food only at Sarah’s prompting and then tore off to her own room to get dressed. And in the way she returned only to bounce all around the room, eagerly waiting for Ewan to finish his own meal. When he finally did, Alice squealed, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the door. He smiled bemusedly.

“Have fun,” Sarah called after them. “Love you two!”

Their voices echoed back through the door, chiming their absent bye, moms and their love yous.

When they were gone, Sarah leaned back into her seat, her bright smile beginning to fall. Chipping away one little bit at a time. She ran her fingers along the table vacantly. She sighed.

She went back to her seat and began to read.

. . .

“Are the men prepared?”

The general, who was a severe man, hesitated. His hand tightened over the staff of his spear. His eyes flicked over to the king before returning to those of the advisor. He carefully inclined his head. “Yes.”

The throne room was deserted but for the three men. The advisor who wore a pinched expression, holding papers upon papers in his arms. The general who stood at attention, waiting for his orders. And the king who reclined upon his throne, eyes fixed on the crystal held delicately in hand. It was as if the conversation taking place before him was as insignificant as the monthly reports from the cloud mines.

The advisor shuffled his papers quickly, scanning and skimming. His boot tapped repeatedly against the ground. “Good, good…” he said. The skin around his eyes tightened. “And the scouts, what news do they have?”

The general’s mouth spread into a thin line. “The hordes have crossed the border. Expect the first waves by tonight.”

“And the borderlands people?”

“Luckily,” the general started, glancing at the absent king for an almost indiscernible moment, “they haven’t caused any harm to the populations… yet. They are coming straight here.”

“And those of the Goblin City?”

The general nodded. “Preparing to evacuate as we speak.”

“Excellent…” Then, the advisor lowered his papers, eyes coming up to meet the general’s. Head on. “Tell me truthfully. How will we fare?”

The general gripped his staff. “The Pixie and Troll Kingdoms will regret their act of war come morning.”

They shared a grave look. And the advisor nodded. “Good. You are dismissed.”

The general bowed to the king. A perfunctory thing that the king did not acknowledge. Standing straight, turning on his heel, he strode out of the throne room with loud, reverberating footsteps. The door thundered closed behind him.

“Sire…”

Still looking at his crystal, the Goblin King said, “The general does not believe in this cause.”

“And neither, I think--” He threw the crystal in the air and just as it slowed to fall back down, it faded into the air. The king looked at his advisor, something tired about him. “-- do you.”

The man’s mouth fell open and then snapped shut. A muscle jumped in his jaw; he remained silent.

Jareth’s eyes sharpened on the man. “Speak. What do you have to say to me?”

He ground his teeth. Fists clenching at his sides. “You already know what I have to say...”

Leaning his head lazily against his throne, he observed his closest advisor. He sneered. “So say it anyway.”

The man at the base of the throne steps took a deep breath. “That you allowed it to get this far…” he started. The king watched him impassively. He hissed his final words, “It was foolish, even for you.”

“Oh?” It sounded dangerous.

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “You are the strongest king of all the Underground. You reside over the most powerful kingdom. And you’re risking that all on… what? Her pretty mortal cunt? Is that all it takes to bring the great Goblin King to his knees?”

Jareth’s gloves creaked over his knuckles. “What was I supposed to do? Leave my children without their mother?”

“You were supposed to remove her as your wife!”

“What is the point of being King?” he snapped, “If I cannot even decide my own life?”

“You always were a spoiled thing.” The advisor sighed. “Ever since you were a boy…”

When Jareth just glared, he added, “In one hundred years or ten thousand, when you lose everything, you will regret this. The lovestruck Goblin King, made half-wit by a mere slip of a girl...” He shook his head, disappointed. “And your kingdom will suffer for it.”

The Goblin King looked away. “You heard the General. By morning, everything will be fine.”

“You think this will be the end of it?” He scoffed. “It won’t. You keep that girl by your side and you kill dignitaries for her and you love her -- you think I can’t tell, boy? I’ve known you since you were small enough to ride on my shoulders. You love--” the word was spat out as if it disgusted him, “-- her and you plan to never let her go. The people see. It makes you weak. A weak king is no king at all. Did you learn nothing from your father?”

“My father was a beast.”

This seemed to enrage the advisor, flushing his face red and drawing him up to his full height. He raised a hand, an accusing finger.

“Enough,” Jareth snapped. “We don’t have time for this. A war is coming tonight, we must prepare.”

The advisor puffed out a breath, a grimace still paining his face. Tightly, he said, “very well.”

He turned and headed toward the door without another word. He took hold of the handle.

“Balfe,” The Goblin King called.

The advisor paused, turning back just a hair.

“You do not believe in this cause,” he said, “... But do you intend to fight for it?”

Hand on the door, the advisor paused. And he inclined his head. “I am loyal to the Goblin Kingdom.”

And he left.

The Goblin King remained on his throne for some time after that, scrying his crystals and thinking, thinking, thinking. If one were to look over his shoulder, peer into his crystal, see as he saw, they would find images of a beautiful young princess and a handsome young prince as they played and explored their castle, blissfully kept away and unaware of their kingdom’s worry. They would find images of the Goblin City and the townships beyond. Of the hordes of enemy soldiers advancing and the formations of his own around the Labyrinth’s borders. They would find images of the pretty mortal girl at the center of it all, humming a tune that had filled this castle many times before as she held her babes in her arms and as they grew out of them.

Eventually, he stood from his throne and, as if in a daze, walked through the corridors. It was still early in the day, but the castle was empty. The maids and the goblins and the servants all gone to the Goblin City where they would collect their things and their families and leave for the kingdom’s outskirts. Where they would be safe from this night’s war.

He removed his gloves and tossed them onto his wife’s vanity and he followed the sound of her, feet stepping so slowly, carefully. She was in the wardrobe, still. He leaned against the doorframe and a soft, surprised look crossed over his face. There she was. His beautiful bride, innocent in white.

“Sarah,” he called.

. . .

The hours had stretched out long and lonely, not easily filled with her books like they sometimes were. It was too soon that her eyes started drifting from the pages. That the words began meaning nothing, as if the spell translating the words to a language she understood was falling to pieces, no longer working.

She tried occupying herself with other things; picking at the leftover breakfast foods in the afternoon; sitting along the windowsill and thinking; laying in bed for a brief sleep; dropping to the seat in front of her vanity and painting her lips, her eyes, her cheeks and spinning her long hair up and down and into a crown; going through her wardrobe and trying on some of her less worn clothing.

There was this skirt she particularly liked. A soft, suedy brown thing that fell just above her ankles. It paired nicely with a light white blouse of which she had many. Something about it made her feel young. Girlish and sweet and hopeful. Among all the finely crafted princess-worthy dresses she had -- in pinks and purples and all other colors -- this was what made her nostalgic for those days before her children, when she was a child herself.

When she pulled it on, there was this giddiness. It was not often that she wore it. The invisible lines around her eyes told her a story in the mirror. And, in that story, the place for the young girl she had once been was no more.

Still, it was times like this that she could pretend.

She peered into the mirror, flushed face and bright eyes. She imagined she could see flower crowns and scrap-paper play-written scripts. When she really tried, it was easy. She did not look so different, you see.

“What’s in a name…” she whispered absently. The words fell out and away. She sat on the wardrobe floor, knees tucked under her and skirt draped prettily around her, and she tried to remember the lines she had so often called out in the grassy, bridgy park. Her brows knitted together. “... By any other name… Oh, what’s that line again?”

She bit her lip. “By any other name…”

She thought and she thought and she tried to recall but no matter what, she could not remember. And this is what made her lay upon the ground, a lump in her throat but no tears in her eyes. On her back and in her costume, she flung her arms and legs out angrily. It was childish, wasn’t it? But then, she always had been.

Frustration built in her so quick that laying there grew unbearable and so she snapped up to sit. Her fists clenched in her lap and she ground her teeth together and her eyes landed on a parcel half-hidden behind the mirror.

It was like a stone in her belly. She had forgotten about that parcel. She had forgotten lots of things. But this was a thing she had meant to forget. Wanted to. The hiding away of the shameful thing that couldn’t be thrown away but couldn’t be remembered. It was for her own sake.

But this afternoon, she crawled forward on her knees and snatched it up from behind the mirror and she yanked at the twine that tied it closed. The gown from her wedding spilled out on her lap, milky and silver and liquid. Sarah stared, fingers finding the edges of the dress. She touched it; she thought of her daughter.

Alice had found this thing and she had been needling for weeks after, wanting to see her mother in the dress that she’d only ever seen in the wedding portrait. It had agitated Sarah, those weeks of badgering, but she had kept firm. She wouldn’t try on that dress. Maybe another time, she would say, throwing out a laugh and a mock-shiver and a lie, I just worry that.... well, what if I don’t fit into it anymore?

Of course, Alice had been disappointed. And of course, Sarah had hated that. But all she had wanted to do was stash that dress away and never see it again. And so that was what she did.

But, now… she sighed. “What must be shall be,” she said, a little embarrassed smile tugging at her lips, to herself.

There was an itch in her fingers as she caressed this dress. An urge. The uncomfortable nostalgia fading, leaving only the soft touch of the most beautiful gown in her hand. She found it hard to remember just why she’d been so adamant about not trying it again, only that she had been. Was it Alice who she hadn’t wanted to see her in it?

It had been so long, what if she really couldn’t fit in it?

That decided it.

Sarah ambled up to stand, leaving the unravelled parcel on the ground and letting the long dress drip from her hands to the floor. It was with the help of her own magic that she pulled it on and buttoned it up. No dressmaker, no mother in sight to help.

In the mirror, she saw herself.

The fabric was like liquid on her skin, draping so delicately. White against the dark night of her hair. Like her daughter had those few years ago, she held her hands out. But it was an invisible Jareth who she imagined, not some faceless man, poised to lead her in a waltz.

There was no gaping of the fabric in her movements and neither was it stretched tight over her oft-abused middle. It fit exactly. From sixteen to thirty-eight and no change? But no, that was untrue. There had been so much change there, in the makings of her body, but it couldn’t be seen.

It made her wish she was changed; fat around the middle and saggy and beginning to wrinkle. Penance for all those babes she had failed. Why should she be alive, and alive and perfect, when they had never even gotten the chance to survive?

There was a longness to her gaze. Solemn eyebrows low and heavy over sad green eyes. She couldn’t find it in herself to smile, not even in seeing the prettiness of her. In another dress, she might have admired herself… The gorgeous girl who’d entranced a king.

There was something betraying about it, though she couldn’t quite pin it down.

She remembered her daughter. A girl the age she’d been once. The age she’d been, finding a book of fantasy, left abandoned on the bench of her park. The book full of perfect, Sarah-fied romance. Tailored to her specifically. Her happily ever after had been granted.

Her brain was muddled. Numb, in a way. Tip-toeing along the in-between place where night turned to day. Where the body shifted from sleep to awake.

“Sarah,” said a voice, then. And her mind focused, sight sharpening. There he was, standing against the open door frame of the wardrobe. She could see him in the mirror, still tired and dark and back early from being king. And he could see her and he could see this gown.

She felt his look, his eyes taking in the sight before him. It was heavy, maybe hot. But it was surely spiked with something. Feeling shy, she turned slightly, half toward him and half toward the mirror. Half into herself.

“What’s this?” he said, gently amused, pushing off the door frame.

She gave this shy little shrug. “I got… curious.”

In the mirror, he grew larger and larger, filling the space up till he was all she could see. Over her shoulder, his lips were curved. A hand wisped a touch over her shoulder, down her arm. “Oh?”

“Actually,” she said. “It was Alice who found it, you know. A couple years ago. She tried it on and everything.”

“That girl is a snoop,” he said lightly, and their eyes caught in the mirror. Green ones to strange, seeing blue ones.

Sarah smiled back. “Yes.”

A hand found her waist. It touched her firmly, warmly through the fabric of the gown she’d been married in. He was close behind her, but not touching. They were a vision together. The girl in her wedding gown. Still fitting and still perfect.

She watched as he closed his tired eyes and leaned close, pressing his lips to the side of her head. There was a moment of quiet; a tender moment between those who had made children together. He breathed her in and she watched.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something; that Alice had done more than snoop, that she had tried this gown on and that she’d daydreamed of a happily ever after while in it. But Sarah kept it to herself, this knowledge of their daughter’s daydreams and wishes and desires for some grand wedding in this beautiful garment worn by her mother before she was a mother. By the young sixteen year old girl, just turned woman by the mark of a blood, terrified out of her mind and no power to refuse. It was something she had to protect, for her fool of a daughter’s sake, for Sarah’s own sake. Jareth already knew, of course, all those things that Sarah did. She was his daughter too. But Sarah worried. He could be trusted with their children, that’s why she loved him. But then, she thought… could he be?

She was the one to break their silence. “Before that, I hadn’t seen it in so long.”

He opened back up his eyes, peering into the mirror. “No?”

She shook her head, biting her lip. “I hid it away; it scared me so much.”

His thumb stroked lines over her lower back, hand squeezing softly. “The dress?”

Lowered eyes. “Everything. You, me. The vows, the future. The dress… it was… symbolic, I think. The threads took hold of me. Like a time capsule.”

He hummed, hand releasing but not leaving. It trailed over her, almost exploring. But there was nothing more to explore for he knew her body so well.

“Have you turned sixteen again, wearing it?” There was this shadow in the gown where her navel was; his thumb made a press there.

Her own hand floated up, draping over his. She held his hold there, where it touched against her belly, against the dress. “No,” she said softly. Too much had happened. Changed. There was too much between them. She remembered even if her body didn’t. “But I feel it, everything I once did. I remember.”

His other hand brushed her hair away from her neck. Sarah shivered, seeking out his eyes. He understood, he didn’t mind. But he did not care.

“The worst part,” she said, accepting of his touch and of him, “was the sex. In front of all those people… The dress was missing… but it held onto that, too.”

His hand spanned over the side of her neck, a warm touch. Thumb at the base of her head and slender fingers a delicate caress against her throat. He was even closer now.

“I know you had to,” she said, leaning back into him, back to chest. “Tradition and all…”

“Yes.”

“But,” her eyes went heavy, in the mirror, looking at him, “I wish it happened differently.”

“Oh, a wish?” He smiled against her temple, close enough he could breathe her in. “Tell me what you wish, Sarah.”

She sighed, drifting back. Hazy eyes. “I wish… I wish you had kissed me. And that you’d taken me to our chambers, or to another place with beautiful sights. A honeymoon. And I wish… we’d been alone together and that you’d made love to me and that that was our first time, not-- Well, anyway, the wedding night,” she said quickly, “It’s meant to be more… it’s meant to be about love, not-- not like that.”

He tugged her back into him, into a tighter hold. His hand at her belly squeezed, a fleshy touch. “If only I could have made love to you alone, Sarah mine. I would have in a heartbeat.”

Her face felt heavy with emotion. Drooping eyes, almost teary, but not. “I know,” she said, and she did. He had promised her that all those years ago. He had promised her everything. Hand stroking tenderly at her middle, Sarah’s eyes fluttered shut.

Tilting her head back, lolling it against his shoulder, she turned to look at him. His hand was wide now across the base of her throat, mouth close enough to kiss.

“I love you,” she told him.

His eyes were so soft for ones that could be so... “I love you too,” he murmured, slow words that warmed her up all over.

“Grant me this wish tonight,” she said. Delicately, she turned in his arms, loosening his hold up so she could face him. She went on her tip-toes, lips brushing against his. “A true wedding night. I’m already dressed and everything.”

He smiled against her lips. “A memory for your time capsule?”

“No,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, almost cross-eyes with the closeness of him. “Just for me now. And for you.”

Hands falling to her waist, holding tight and pulling close. He kissed her, deeply. Thoroughly. Making her bare toes curl into the fine rug beneath them and her entire self shiver, thin lips worked against hers, warm and all-consuming. Sarah felt a heat in her belly building. It was the way he held her, the way he touched her, the way she knew he would grant her this.

A deep, soft caress of the tongue opened her mouth up to him. Like velvet, he burned her from the inside out and Sarah let out a soft little moan, fingers trailing up into his damp hair. As close as she could pull herself, she did. Molding her begowned body against his chest, she would never have enough of him.

She imagined they had just been wed that night. That the celebration had been so beautiful; filled with rich wine and decadent foods. Dancing and music and more dancing making her laugh and eyes tear up with the most perfect joy. Her true love, here at last. The two of them, ready to begin their life together.

And it was so nice. To be held and to be caressed and loved. She pretended it was their first time together, the man she loved finally having every part of her. As he kissed her all over, attention lavished. His words were meaningful. Murmurs. “I’ll never get enough of you,” he said, groaning in her neck, the slick, welcome slide of him within her making her shiver.

Her legs around his waist pulled him closer; keeping him. “Not even at the end of your long, long life?”

So deep in her, in that space only for him, he pulsed hot, holding her against him. “Never.”

It made her blush hot. And she said it again, her gasps and whispers full of truth and overwhelmed, thorny desperation; I love you. I love you.

What did he imagine as he made love to her, she wondered, shivering and shuddering, feeling that perhaps she was not the only one full of that desperation in this afternoon that slowly bled into evening.

. . .

And, after, when they rested together in their bed, burning and hot in one another’s arms. He gazed down at her, face strangely blank. His hand caressed the skin of her back. And she looked up at him, face pinked. She frowned a little, reaching up and pressing her thumb to the crease of his forehead.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. There was room for her worries again.

He blinked slowly. He sighed. He told her truthfully, “You.”

. . .

It was ‘round the dinner table that night, the children laughing together, all grudges forgotten, the father calm and tired but uneating, and the mother, the girl, the Sarah named pearl, sitting there, silent and worried, that the bells of the Goblin King’s castle tolled.

Notes:

helloooo! Things are heating up! What do you think is going to happen?? :P

Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought <3

Chapter 33: Come On, Feet

Summary:

She looked at the door. She took a deep, deep breath. And she rang the doorbell.

The sidewalk had a dampness to it. That wet, muddy gray gleaming under the street lamps. Sarah stared. It must have rained recently. Her foot in its fairytale slipper was splayed halfway over the crack between one sidewalk square and another. It brought something to mind. Step on a crack and you’ll break your mother’s back, she was reminded. She heard it in the tune of cocky boys and all-knowing girls. It was with a scraping noise that she quickly pulled her foot in closer to her, letting it rest on the blank swatch of bumpy wettened concrete.

Someone was shaking her arm, she realized. Saying her name.

“Mother?” said a voice, faded somewhere in the distance. She felt the grip on her arm. “Mom?”

Sarah shook herself, scrunching her eyes shut tight. “Yes?” She looked to Ewan on her right, with his worried eyes and tight, frowning Jareth-mouth. She pulled the corners of her lips up and tried to smile. “Yes. Sorry. Um…”

To her other side, Alice was clinging to her arm, shivering against her. Sarah could feel the quickness of her breath against her as she looked around them, searching with her wide, sweet blue eyes. At this strange place.

The buildings were the same, low-set against the cobblestone road and brownstoned. But the signs were different. Brighter and more colorful. One was a screen, like a television with the same words flashing in a loop of bold colors. The signs were all unfamiliar. Sarah thought she might want to gouge her eyes out. It was all wrong. Her eyes flicked away quickly and her toes curled in her shoes and she felt like she might just throw up all over herself.

A car zoomed by, tires splashing into the puddles in the road and Sarah stepped back from the sidewalk edge hurriedly, taking Alice with her. The quickness was overwhelming. It made her sick to her stomach.

What turned her stomach even more was the wide, awed, scared looks of her children. A car. They didn’t even know what a car was.

Sarah took Alice’s hand and, glancing back at Ewan, caught his arm. “Come,” she said quietly, before letting go of him and tugging Alice along with her. She swallowed heavily. So many years were lodged up in her throat. She could feel it in every bone of her, every inch. Hidden up in the crevices and in the very cells.

Did she remember how to get there? It grew into a panic inside her.

It was when the bells had tolled that she had known something was wrong. And how could it be any other way? With those great big gonging sounds from close and from far, drowning out the sound of her heart, her words, and her breath. Dinner conversations had stopped and Ewan and Alice’s laughter had petered off, confused. And she’d stared at her husband and she saw as he closed his eyes for one long moment before opening them again and looking at his wife, his son, and his daughter carefully in turn. Sarah’d heard his words but she hadn’t understood. “A war has come,” he’d said.

He’d asked her before giving her the crystal. He’d looked her right in the eye and said, “Do you remember your childhood address?”

And she blinked, uncomprehending, her children sitting just there, watching, confused. “What?” she asked, mouth all of a sudden dry. Coarse like this sidewalk she now stood on. “I- I don’t--”

But he grabbed her wrist and he stared her down and he said, words ugent and frightening over the dinging, fading bells in the distance, “Do you remember how to find your childhood home, Sarah?”

And her mouth fell open and shut, and open and shut. And she was so confused. But she stuttered out, “Y-yes. I- I think so,” under the intentness of his look, the tightness of his grip.

Tight-lined mouth, a line in his forehead seemed to release.

“W-why-- why are you asking me that?” she said, watching as his throat bobbed.

He looked at her with heavy, dark eyes. He let go of her wrist and a crystal formed in the space between them, without ever once looking away. “This crystal will take you and the children Above.”

Ewan and Alice shouted nearby, panicked or excited or angry, she didn’t know. Wasn’t sure. Because all she could hear was the thump of her own heart and all she could see was the crystal right there between them, waiting. She couldn’t find it in herself to breathe.

“Do you understand, Sarah?” It was the voice of her husband, deep and serious and evil and violently violating. And her eyes flicked up to him and she blinked and she almost began crying. He touched her cheek and she stared, watching as his mouth formed the words, “If the crystal takes you too far, find the house. Get shelter. Use magic and keep the children safe. My enemies will be unable to reach you Above.”

Her voice was all cottony, heavy. Lethargically swabbed with a gauzy something. “... Above?”

The lines around his eyes tightened, as did the ones around his mouth. “Yes,” he said, terse. And that time, his hand dropped down, just to the place where her neck met her shoulder, thumb pressing just slightly too hard into her collarbone. Her mouth fell open once again and all she could do was sway under his grasp as he warned her with his piercing eyes and his heavy hand: “When it is safe again, I will find you.”

And it was left unspoken before their children. Don’t think this is permanent, he told her with his eyes. I will never let you go, he reminded her. As if she needed to be reminded. As if it would be any other way.

And she stared at him for a long moment, bothing of them knowing more than what could meet the casual eye. And she nodded, almost imperceptible. “Yes,” she whispered.

It was only then that Alice cried, “Wait, you’re not coming with us?!”

Sarah felt herself swaying on her feet and she sat quickly on the foot of her bed. She listened to her family as they spoke in rushed tones. Father reassuring and answering, children questioning and fretting.

“No,” Jareth said, “I am king. I cannot abandon this kingdom now.”

“I’m staying too,” Ewan said, blustering and young and a little bit proud, “It’s my duty too.”

“You will not be,” the king of this land and the father of this boy said harshly, no room for gentleness now. “I will not have you harmed.”

And when Ewan argued, all indignant youth and princely confidence, Jareth silenced him and a frowning Alice with a single look. “Enough,” he said, “There is no time for arguing.”

He turned to Sarah and he must have seen the way she was sitting there, in a daze, in a crystal craze, unable to tear her eyes off this magic thing in her hand. “Sarah,” he said, snapping her out of it. “It is time.”

It had been hard to walk, she found, under the weight of the unknown, the known, the past, and the future. But she made her way the few paces to her family and she looked at each of them, a heavy something in her belly, almost like those imaginary watermelons she always feared would grow inside her from swallowing those black seeds as a girl. And she saw her flustered children, stressed from this war coming. The war that was coming because of her, she knew. Alice had asked, high-voiced and trembling as the bells tolled loud and frightening and Jareth had waved off her question, saying only it was because of silly diplomacy, nothing more. But Sarah hadn’t missed the way his eyes had strayed to her. It was because of her. It was all her fault.

Most things were.

But she came back to herself, fingers clenching ‘round the crystal in hand. Even now, it surprised her how strong the things were. Unbreakable. Almost as if made from steel. But that couldn’t be, because she had seen them shattered and thrown and she’d seen them shatter into a million little shimmering specks of magic. The remnants of her husband’s power.

“Jareth,” she said, swallowing. “The iron. What about the iron?”

His lips tightened and he followed her gaze to Alice and Ewan, their children. Fae. But all he said was, “I will be back for you soon.”

And she swallowed again, and then again, because her throat was closed up like someone had gone in there and slathered it all up in superglue. But she blinked back tears as Jareth pulled Ewan in for a long hug, and then Alice after him. She watched as he petted their hair and pressed kisses to the sides of their heads and whispered words she could not hear into their ears. And it was only when he turned to her and took her waist and brought her in for a kiss that she remembered how they had made love for the first time earlier that day, how gentle he’d been and loving and perfect. Tears pricked at her eyes and she brought her hand up to touch his face. “Will you be safe?” she asked.

His eyes and the shadows beneath them had been dark, but he’d curved his lips up into a smile and said, “Yes.”

And he’d sent them on their way.

And now… what if she didn’t remember how to find her childhood home? The crystal had brought them to the small, calm city she’d grown up in, to a place she recognized -- a place she didn’t recognize, too. It’d dropped them off, plopped right in the middle of a downtown street that she hardly remembered, and it’d vanished from her hands. But it had not brought them to her home. Was it too distant in her memory, she wondered, that not even the crystal could dig it out of her mind? It had not been a home for so long. Now…

It scared her, it called for her.

Her feet knew where to go. And two sets of younger feet followed along behind her. As they walked down the night-darkened street, she heard the clicking of three pairs of quality shoes, the swishing of fine gowns and brocaded vests. And she saw an old man smoking on the opposite street, puffing and staring at this strange sight.

It made her uneasy and she ducked her head, gripping Alice’s hand tighter and urging her feet to go faster, faster. Away from the sometimes-zooming cars and the rare mortal gawkers.

Her children were silent. As was she. All she could think of was to get to shelter, get to the house. That’s what Jareth had told her to do.

They walked for some time, almost jogging. Wasn’t there once upon a time that she’d run through these very streets, rain or shine? Walked through them to go to school and drove through them in the passenger seat of her father’s car?

Her eyes caught on something. A sign, new and shiny but as it always had been. The street lamps illuminated it. Sarah froze in her tracks, Alice colliding into her side.

“Mommy?”

Sarah slid her gaze away, swallowing thickly. She had existed in this world once, hadn’t she? Ohayon, Williams, & Arnold, Attorneys at Law, the sign said. There was this discomfort prickling at the ends of her fingers.

“What is it?” Ewan said, touching her shoulder.

She shook herself off. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

They did. And so busy she was frowning, she did not see the worried looks exchanged over her shoulder. They followed along silently.

Until, that is, the group of three turned onto a street with tall houses and perfectly mown lawns. It was night-dark outside, the sky black and voidish. But Sarah could see perfectly, just in the distance, the same as it always had been, the stately, romantic home of her childhood.

She couldn’t stop, no, her feet wouldn’t let her. Though something else within her dearly wished to. To run back, hide. Into the arms of her husband, who had been there for so long. Had held her so many times.

“Ow!”

Sarah snapped her head sideways, her pace slowed to match her daughter’s. Alice had snatched her hand back from its place in her mother’s. She clutched it to her chest, looking at Sarah with wide eyes. “Mom, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she bit out, perhaps a little too harshly. Alice’s lower lip jutted out and Sarah frowned, licking her lips. Softer this time, she said again, “I’m fine.”

She looked at Alice’s hand sadly. Dejectedly, almost. She reached out, hand hovering in the space between them. “Did I hurt you?”

Alice stared for a second, but then shook her head. “No… it’s okay. Are- are we close?”

Stiff almost, Sarah nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. She turned to look ahead, gesturing with one trembling finger. “You see that house?”

Ewan and Alice both made noises of agreement.

Her voice sounded fake even to her own ears. She tried to smile. “That’s where I grew up. That’s- that’s where we’re going.” The strength of her words had dwindled by the end.

The house grew larger and larger in front of them as they got closer, all clean white lines and arching windows. It was a few moments later that Ewan spoke, voice hesitant. “Are we… will we be meeting your… relatives?”

Her relatives? Her heart thumped too slow in her chest, as if filled up with that oozing black sludge she saw in her dreams. It was what she was made of.

“Um…” she said, voice cracking, staring at her feet as they walked. She tried for levity, but it fell flat. “Don’t you know? I guess- I guess you will…”

They arrived on the sidewalk just in front of the house too soon. Compulsively, Sarah twiddled her fingers and rubbed her lips together and reached up to pull at the strands of her hair. She stood frozen by the mailbox even as Ewan and Alice took a few steps forward. They turned back when they realized she was no longer beside them. Ewan frowned and he stepped back toward her.

In the darkness, their faces were strangely shadowed. The warm golden street lamps shading them darkly. She was ashamed to see Alice’s teary expression as she looked back at her. Sarah had been so selfish, hadn’t she, to be so wrapped up in her own worries that she hadn’t even realized how scared and how frightened Alice and Ewan must be. They had just left their father behind in a world about to face war, and here she was panicking about what? Law office signs and cars and the perfect, never abandoned flower garden on the front of this house she had once lived in?

Get a grip.

“I’m fine,” she said again, stepping bravely forward. She wasn’t sure if she was saying it more for the children or for herself. But she soldiered on, shoes clacking against the gravelly driveway and both hands reaching to grab the hands of both of her beautiful, reeling children.

She led them to the front door, single-mindedly. She could not look at the garden or the mailbox or even the car in the driveway. It was almost as if her eyes took in nothing. But soon they were ascending the small staircase, those white supporting pillars tall around them, and stepping onto the welcome mat -- new, she noted, different, she fretted.

“Okay,” she whispered, “okay.” She raised a shaking hand toward the doorbell, but then stilled.

“Wait,” she said, turning to Ewan, her sweet Goblin Prince. She ran her eyes over his outfit and she pursed her lips, thinking. She closed her eyes and she pictured something from long ago -- boys in jeans and sneakers and t-shirts and puff jackets -- and she waved her hand. When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was Ewan’s startled expression. He looked down at himself, hands running over the fabric of his soft cotton shirt and the coarse blue jeans. He peered at the strange black and white sneakers and he raised a Jareth-like eyebrow at his mother.

But she was already turning to Alice, who looked apprehensive as Sarah closed her eyes once again, waved her hand, and let her magic whoosh over the girl in her fine princess dress. It turned itself into a simple outfit, a long skirt, soft sweater, and plain shoes. Something mortal enough.

She did the same to herself, then. She closed her eyes and focused in. She put herself in a drab brown dress and leggings, the whooshing of the magic making her hair flutter in a dance around her.

Peeling her eyes back open, she almost wanted to laugh. Her prince and princess in such strange, common outfits. They looked a little miffed at her. She cracked a sad smile. “It’s important to blend in,” she reminded them, and that motherly tone of hers almost took her by surprise. Wasn’t it once that she had stood on this porch, not yet a mother, younger than Ewan and of an age with Alice, and whined at her stepmother, a princess dress over her plain, mortal jeans?

She looked at the door. She took a deep, deep breath. And she rang the doorbell.

Notes:

:DDDDDDDD

Just wanted to let you guys know that your continued support has meant so much to me. I'm so lucky 😊

Thanks for reading!!!

Chapter 34: Father

Summary:

His voice came out scratchy and shocked and so, so confused. “S-Sarah?”

Notes:

HI MY FRIENDS!! I missed you all :DDD
Please enjoy!!!! <3

There was a strange, panicky sort of blankness to her mind. A general feeling that yes, she did feel some kind of way about this, but no, she couldn’t quite figure it all out. It was all fuzzy, you see. Buried beneath a sedateness. She’d reverted to her passive self, that state of Sarah that protected her from the unknown. The things that were were too much, and too soon, and too dangerous. That state was common to her now. Of course it was. How else would she have survived? Her husband was who he was, unapologetic. Whereas she… well, she was too apologetic.

Oh, she noticed, her hands were trembling. Cold glass of water in hand rippling around and sloshing. She set it on the coffee table where it landed with a dull sort of thunk on the plain brown coaster. Cool moisture remained on her palm. She wiped it off on her skirt.

She didn’t really understand all that had happened. And she thought maybe she was dreaming. Why else was her head all doped up? Had he enchanted her food again? Set her to that docile, confused condition he liked so much?

Her eyes slid around the sitting room, almost absent. But they landed on details here and there, an out of place ultra-focus, not that she’d be able to explain why the blank, non-wallpapered wall caught her attention so. Or the framed photograph on the small table beside the couch she sat on. She’d seen that one before. Her father and her stepmother holding a newborn Toby, both too focused on the baby to notice the photograph being taken. Or the young girl sitting sullenly out of frame.

She found herself avoiding looking at Karen. Having seen her for the first time in so long, all skin and bones and dreary skin, swamped up in a fine cream-colored bathrobe, she’d been unnerved. Sarah had never been close to her stepmother, but now… now, she was a true stranger.

And yet Karen had the opposite problem, only ever looking away from Sarah to stare at her two children, the one grown and the other nearly grown. Was she imagining it or was Karen judging her, adding up math and tsking her disapproval behind that stunned stare? Her fists clenched at her sides, some defensive feeling coming on. In her head, Karen was deriding her, scoffing and spitting and looking to Robert for back-up. You ran away, didn’t you? You just hated having to watch your little brother and you made me into your wicked stepmother and you ran away with some boy and you got pregnant so young, you stupid brat! What kind of disgusting child are you! We thought you were dead! And you couldn’t at least call to let us know?

“... should I get something on the stove?” a voice said, barely there and slow like molasses. Sarah picked at a thread of the sleeve of her dress, and she noticed the fabric of the sofa that supported her. She’d never felt anything quite like it. Suede-soft, but synthetic.

“...Sarah?”

Her eyes slid toward Karen, but seeing the lines all over her face, Sarah focused her attention just on the point over her shoulder. She swallowed. “Yes?”

“Would you like something to eat? I can heat up some leftovers, if you want.”

“Oh…Thank you, but I’m fine.” Sarah looked to her right and then her left, at her two children who were watching her. They’d been quiet all this time, silently trailing after her and observing. Part of their father’s lessons, no doubt. “Do you need something to eat, either of you?”

Ewan shook his head, but Alice shrugged a single shoulder, looking a little embarrassed. Sarah patted her hand.

Turning back to Karen, she said quietly, “Actually, if you don’t mind… maybe just a little something? We walked quite a way…”

Standing up from her seat, Karen gave a strained smile, “Of course, of course… It shouldn’t take too long… let me just--” And she rushed off into the direction of the kitchen.

Sarah rubbed her hands aggressively on the fabric of her dress, but it didn’t quite help remove the clammy, gross feeling that clung to them. Like she’d touched something dusty and old and tainted. She tried to smile but it just came out shaky as she said, “Are… are you two alright?”

“How long are we going to be here?” Alice said, voice rushed and pitched high, as if finally safe from the strange woman from before.

The smile fixed itself on Sarah’s face. “You heard your father, he’ll be back for us as soon as he handles everything back home.”

“But how long?”

Her chest felt tight all of a sudden, though she couldn’t quite be sure why. “In a jiffy, baby. Knowing him, he’ll be here before tomorrow night.”

She wasn’t sure her daughter was convinced, what with how her mouth quivered and how she looked despairingly down at her lap.

Ewan frowned. “I should have stayed to help.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Sarah said a little sharply. “It’s not safe there, and you know it.”

Alice’s eyes went wide.

“No, Alice, please don’t worry, your father will be fine. He’s very old, and experienced, and he knows what he’s doing. Ewan is still learning… that’s why he’s here with us.”

Ewan scowled and looked away.

“But,” Alice’s voice wobbled, eyes going wet, “what if-- what if he… he gets hurt? Or- dies? Mom, I don’t want him to die!”

Sarah pulled her into a hug. “He won’t, okay? Hush. Everything will be alright.”

She was still petting Alice’s hair a few moments later when Karen appeared in the doorway again, angling her body so she was just barely peeking in. She cleared her throat and quietly said, “The food is ready… I’m setting it up on the kitchen table…”

Sarah pulled back from Alice and wiped the girl’s tears. “Thank you. We’ll be right there.”

She heard the soft pads of Karen’s retreat and she stood up, grabbing Alice’s hands and tugging her gently up. “Come on, Ewan. Let’s get a little food into the two of you.”

She found that her feet knew exactly where to go, though it had been so long that surely they shouldn’t have. Alice and Ewan trailed after her. Lost little ducklings. Lost mother duck.

In the soft yellow-lit kitchen, Karen puttered around nervously, setting out plates and silverware and napkins and a casserole dish.

“Oh,” Sarah said, “We forgot the waters.”

Ewan was already turning on his heel. “I’ll get them.”

By the time he returned to the kitchen with three glasses of water artfully balanced in only two hands, Sarah had already urged Alice to sit and had begun filling her plate. He set the glasses down and pulled out the chair to Sarah’s other side, though he hesitated.

“Go on,” she said with a touch to his shoulder, “you’ll like it. Lots of cheese. Your favorite.”

Sarah drank nervously from her water, feeling distinctly Karen’s stare from where she sat at her own, un-set place at the table. The water sloshed again when she sat it down too quickly. The light clinking of forks against plates came from either side of her. She just stared at her empty plate.

“Sarah? Would you… like something else to eat?”

“Oh,” Sarah said. “Oh. No, thank you. I’m not very hungry. I ate not too long ago, you see.”

They locked eyes. Sarah licked her lips; looked away again. “But thank you. Really.”

She grabbed the cloth napkin in front of her and began twisting it in her hands. Then she set it down and refilled Ewan’s close-to-empty cup with the water pitcher in the middle of the table. Then she gripped the arms of her chair and tried to breathe.

“Your father…” Karen started.

Sarah looked up quickly. The woman was glancing at the clock on the wall. Twelve hours. How strange. Then Karen looked out the dark kitchen window, uncovered by curtains. “He shouldn’t be too much longer...”

Swallowing dryly, Sarah glanced in the direction of the front door. She swallowed again, and again. “Oh. That’s- that’s good.”

Ewan was watching her out of the corner of his eye, taking slow, careful bites of his food. Sarah patted his knee under the table. And then she stood abruptly. All attention fell on her. “I- I need the toilet. If that’s alright…”

Karen appeared startled, but nodded ever so slightly. Sarah wiped her sweaty upper lip and clasped hands over Alice and Ewan’s shoulder. “Will you two be okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, mother,” her son said, peering up at her. When she lingered there for too long, fingers twitching in the fabric of their contrived, falsified mortal clothes, Alice patted her hand and gave her a worried look. Sarah shook herself, rubbed the girl’s shoulder and smiled nervously. She turned on her heel and sped out of the room, feet carrying her where she needed to go.

Once in the small hallway, alone, she felt she could no longer take it and she crouched down in the center of the walkway and hugged her arms around her knees and she squeezed so hard and so tight that her bones seemed to creak. And just as soon as she had done that, she stood back up, light-headed, and rushed the rest of the way to the small powder room on the first floor.

In a hurry, she shoved the squeaking door shut behind her and turned on the small , dim overhead light. She scrunched her eyes shut before she could look into the mirror and she clenched her hands over the biting edge of the counter. Then, before she could lose the courage, she peeked open her eyes.

She rubbed her face, fingers expanding, clawing, covering up her eyes so that she didn’t have to see herself anymore. Consort to the King. Halfway there to Fae, halfway gone from mortal. Who was she?

A strained, chalky sob tore its way out of her, leaving her choking on it, trying to hold it in. The kitchen was close, her children were near. She had to remain strong for them.

Splashing cold water on her face didn’t help much, and neither did the long moments she sat on the toilet, her stomach cramping from something far from physical. But by the time she was washing her hands under the scalding tap water, the heat blistering her hands red and sore, she felt a little calmer. A little better. Like it was all locked away somewhere. Or she had done her due. Paid her price.

She returned to the hallway in a sort of daze. The sounds of quiet murmuring knocked her out of it, and she hurried back to the kitchen as fast as she could. Her red hands still stung nicely. The stale, interior night air pricking at the flush of them.

When she stepped back in the room, the conversation halted. The three of them peered to look at her immediately. She bit her lip, before smiling reassuringly to her sad, lonely, bewildered children. She found her seat once again.

Alice was finished with her plate now, but Sarah noticed her eyes flickering toward the casserole dish every now and again. “Have some more,” she said quietly, “If you want.”

Her daughter shrugged, twirling her fork and looking away. Sarah reached for the dish and filled her plate once again, glad for something to busy herself with.

“Thanks, mommy,” Alice whispered, leaning into her just a little.

“You’re welcome, my love.” She turned to Ewan. “Would you like some more too?”

“No, I’m full,” he said simply, but politely. He turned to Karen. “Though I thank you for such a gracious meal.”

Karen was taken aback. “Oh, don’t even mention it,” she said, voice pitched just a little too high. “I made too much the other night anyway.”

They sat like that for a few more awkward minutes, barely saying anything, the only sounds were the quiet tinks of Alice’s fork and the creaking of Sarah’s chair. This was the chair her father used to sit in every morning for breakfast. And every afternoon on the weekends for lunch. But there was nothing special about it. Just a plain old chair that made Sarah’s eyes prick with fast tears.

It was only when Karen got quickly up from her chair and walked over to the window that Sarah focused back in. She watched confusedly as her stepmother (could she call her that still? It had been so long) squinted out of the kitchen window, tucked her robe tighter around her, and then hurried off out of the room.

Then Sarah heard the thumping sound of a car door and she understood. She closed her eyes; she stood up again. The front door squelched open and slammed shut, leaving a muted echo to bounce around in her heartless, lifeless, black-souled chest.

“What is it?” Alice asked Ewan since Sarah walked to the same window Karen had been at just before. The driveway was dark, barely illuminated by the golden streetlamps, but enough that she could see a man’s silhouette. A woman’s joined, slight and nervous, hands flapping in front of her. Warning. Sarah’s own hands began to tremble again, and she clutched them over her beating heart and then over her quivering mouth. And finally over her terrified eyes.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” her daughter said from somewhere behind her, alarmed.

“What?” she muttered, voice all cottony. She wanted to slump against the window but the front door squelched open once again and a man could be heard slurring loudly, angrily, and, Sarah thought, a little bit drunkenly.

“I don’t c-care who it is, Karen! It’s fuck- fucking two in the morning. If it’s so imp- important, they can just… they can wait for fucking tomorrow--”

He rounded the corner into the kitchen unsteadily, batting away Karen’s frantic hands. Sarah stood rooted in the spot, mouth fallen open. Wide and gaping and dark. Robert Williams froze in the doorframe, violently going from movement to utter, deathly stillness. No one said anything, but Sarah stared, not quite able to understand.

The sound of Sarah’s father’s thick swallow was what broke the silence. His voice came out scratchy and shocked and so, so confused. “S-Sarah?”

Sarah blinked rapidly. The lump in her throat was suddenly so thick it felt like it would bruise, as if Jareth, her husband, had just strangled her or beat her or held open her jaw as he made her take him in her mouth and suck and suck even if she didn’t want to.

“Daddy…” she whispered, and she wasn’t sure if it was a question or not, but she was sure that it came out sounding like she was a child still, and scared of the world. The world only a father could protect from. But her father hadn’t. He hadn’t protected her. She’d been taken to another world and there was nothing he ever could have done, and nothing he ever did do.

He dropped his briefcase, and it was a flurry of movement, hands out, crossing the room in rushed, disbelieving steps. “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah--” he whispered as if the name was new to him, as if he hadn’t said it in years and years. He said it like a prayer, and he arrived at her frozen still body and collapsed to his knees before her, cheeks streaming with tears, and worn, wrinkled face ruddy and sad, and breath smelling of bitter alcohol and despair, and he hugged her around the middle. “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Is it you? Are you really here? Sarah, Sarah. My baby. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Sarah. Sarah--” He wept, he bawled. His whole body shook.

And Sarah fell to her knees too, and she let him hold her. And she could smell, even past the drunk, staleness of his tired suit, that her father was there, and he was real, and he had not forgotten her, though maybe she wished she had. For he was a sad, sad old man, and she thought maybe she’d ruined him.

Notes:

IM SORRYYYYY!!! The wait was so long and it's not even a long chapter to make up for it, but this chapter was so freaking hard. :')

Apparently my muse is Jareth being an evil bastard, and he's not in this chapter at all so... xD

Hope you all enjoyed!!

Chapter 35: Home

Summary:

“How come you never told us you had a brother?”

That night, laying stiff as a corpse on the bed she used to love, Sarah could not sleep. There would be no wink of it, just as it had been her first night in the Goblin King’s clutches. But, this time, it was a depressed confusion, a shock, not a full-bodied terror that kept her awake.

The mattress was hard as rock, smaller than she remembered, and had the feeling of dust and decay. Ghostly-feeling. Her body yearned for that large, luxuriously soft mattress of her king, set into its gilded wooden frame and covered with its silks and furs. And in this room that was once her own, stripped of its toys and posters and everything else she could hardly remember, her heart yearned for him to come back and sweep her away from this horrible, confusing place. For it to be a dream, and for her to really be sleeping in that familiar bed, cocooned there and wrapped up in his arms, content and yielding and unthinking.

She stared up at the small canopy above the bed, unblinking. The room was dark, the curtains closed against the moon-lit sky, but the blankness all around her was all too evident. An echo of her former self. Someone she had not been for so, so long.

Her eyes were all puffy, thick-feeling. And there was an ache to her neck. A dull throb about her, from the way her teeth clenched together, tense. The emotional discomfort had gone physical. She shivered in the bed and blindly groped for the blanket. She pulled it up over her neck. Even this was wrong. The smell. Overly clean, sanitized.

She dug her nails into the skin of her arms. Hard and full of hate. She was horrible. A wretched girl, spoiled. How could she miss her husband, when not two hours before she had been crying into the arms of her father, as he held her and stroked her hair and whispered over and over reassurances that she was there and that he was so, so sorry.

Sarah’s face had been buried in his soaked suit shoulder, and she had been so young at that moment that it had been almost inconceivable that she had two children, real and alive and standing just there, watching. Robert had pulled her back with soft, gentle, fatherly hands, and he’d gazed at her face like he couldn’t believe his child was right there before him, and he’d given her such a smile. Grateful, sad, and tragic all at once. “You’re home,” he’d said.

And Sarah’s eyes had squeezed shut, for the sight of him, wrinkled and grayed, was too much. And that idea of home… it had made her heart seize up like an attack. She did not know where her home was, but somehow, even then, in the rush of seeing her father, her dad, her daddy for the first time in so long, after believing she would never see him again and resigning herself to that long ago, she had known that home was no longer here with him.

Guilt, an emotion she knew well, burrowed its way deeper into her heart and soul. To unearth it, now, would be impossible.

Karen had spoken up then, quietly and kindly, but halting. “It was late,” she reminded them. “We should all get some sleep and… catch up tomorrow.”

Sarah and Robert still held onto each other, but there was a silent beat of agreement.

But before they could go to bed, there was someone she had to introduce her children to. Two someones she had to introduce her father to.

“Daddy…” she said, taking him by the hand, and thinking how strange and how easy it was to say this word again when she hadn’t needed to in so long. Daddy. Her eyes were cast down, her knees bruising against the kitchen’s tile floor. She stood up slowly, and Robert joined her, breathing heavily still.

She turned to where her son and daughter stood nervously by the kitchen table. She offered a small smile. “Ewan,” she said quietly, “Alice, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

When she looked back to her father (her father, she couldn’t believe it, he was there, she was there), his face had gone stark white, drained of life, for his gaze had followed her own. Sarah squeezed his hand with her own shaking one, and she beckoned with her other for her children to come closer.

“Daddy,” she said again, shyly and almost ashamed, but not quite. She was ashamed about a lot of things, but she would never be of those two beings who came from her. She reached out for Ewan’s hand with her free one. Squeezed it like she had her father’s. Swallowed past the dry lump in her throat. Her eyes flicked between the three of them, knowing Karen was somewhere in the background, watching, listening. Hadn’t she dreamed of this obsessively, once? That her children would know their grandfather, and their grandmother.

“I-” she started. She clenched her eyes shut quickly. She didn’t know how to say it. She’d never had to introduce her children before, not to anyone, let alone someone who should have always known of them. Who should have been there to meet them the days they were born.

“Sarah,” her father said, voice scratchy with their shared despair. “Sarah, don’t tell me--”

She pulled her hand away, suddenly clammy. She wiped it on her skirt. Ewan inched closer to her, and Alice followed, hovering at his other shoulder. Sarah turned back to her father, sad, sad, guilty but not ashamed eyes. “Dad... these are my children. This is Ewan, and that’s Alice. And you two, this… well, this is your grandfather.”

Robert let out a sob. “Grandfather?” He hid his face away in his hands. “Oh, Sarah… Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry.”

After that, it had been a quiet affair. Solemn as Karen had pulled out fresh linens from the hallway closet and set to making up the rooms. As Sarah’s father had hovered nearby, not so drunk anymore, but still just as shocked, as elated, and as distressed. And as Ewan and Alice stood off to the side, uneasy and confused and scared. Had Sarah gained a father just as they had lost one?

Toby’s bed was made up with clean sheets and blankets for Ewan and Karen tried to set Alice up in Sarah’s old room, but Sarah insisted she go in the nice guest bedroom instead. There was a wrongness about letting her young daughter sleep in the room she had lived in long ago, before she’d been taken. Sarah would occupy her old room. It was only right. Karen agreed easily enough, heading off to the master bedroom once the three beds were made, once she’d exchanged an awkward hug with her step-daughter, and once she’d given a wish goodnight to her step-daughter’s strange children.

Robert lingered in the hallway as Sarah tucked in her children. They were too old for such things at home (at home? She meant in the castle! Jareth’s home, not hers!), but here, even her brave young man appeared relieved to have her close, even if just for a few minutes as he crawled into that strange, earthbound mortal bed in borrowed sleeping clothes and as she stroked his wild flaxen hair and as she pressed a melancholy kiss to his forehead. Alice, too, had appreciated it. The young girl had put on a brave face downstairs, but now, in this bland guest room, she’d clung to her mother and cried. Short bursts of stifled sobs that had Sarah’s eyes filled with tears once again. They cried for different things. Or maybe they didn’t. They cried for their fathers.

And when Ewan’s and Alice’s borrowed doors had been closed, Sarah found her father waiting for her in the hallway, hovering, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and frown lines grooving up his face. His face had been grave, his eyes not quite clear. From the leftover liquor or the tears, she couldn’t tell.

And the way he stared at her… a look full of pain, and of years and years of grief. “My turn,” he said.

She swallowed. “Your turn?”

His eyebrows scrunched up, and he looked so vulnerable. Vulnerable and emotional in a way she’d never ever seen before this night. It felt wrong. He was a strong man, stern, always had been. What was this sad creature before her, with his wrinkled lawyer suit and his scuffed attorney shoes?

“To tuck you in. Sarah… it’s been so long since I got a chance to tuck you in...”

“Oh,” she whispered.

And he had. Taking her gently by the hand, he led her to the place that had once been her room, but no longer. Karen had already been in there to set the bed. And he waited there, sitting at the foot of the small, twin bed as she used the adjoining bathroom to clean up quickly and change into some of Karen’s borrowed pajamas.

“I’m sorry it’s so empty in here,” he said nervously as she crawled under the covers. He forced a chuckle. “Believe it or not, it was only this month that we started clearing it out.”

He fidgeted at her silence, as she looked around the place. “We were going to donate it. But, but now that you’re back--!”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I understand…”

He blinked back tears. “I knew you would. I knew it, I told Karen, I told her, my Sarah would give her things away for those children who have nothing, she’s a good girl like that!”

Sarah looked away, fisted the starched blanket in hand. She didn’t know what to say.

“But you can look through the stuff now that you’re here,” he said hurriedly. “Of course you can! Maybe even your- your… maybe your daughter would like some of them. She looks about that age…” He trailed off.

“How- how old are they?” he said then, almost stammering. Like he didn’t want to know but he did.

She continued staring at her blanket-covered lap; arms wrapping around herself. “... Alice is fifteen. Ewan… he’s twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one,” her father whispered. “Wow.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tight. She heard him stand up, and then his footsteps as he walked over to the door. The light switched off, and the insides of her eyelids were suddenly darker than before. She opened her eyes again. Only the light from the moon shone through the window. His footsteps padded back, and he kneeled to the side of the bed.

“Sarah,” he whispered, voice wobbling. He pulled the blanket higher up over her, fussed with it. Actually tucked it in around her body. In the moonlight, she could see the glinting streams of tears down his cheeks, dripping silently. Labored breathing.

Her night vision became blurry with tears as she lay back, head falling against a pillow that felt not quite right. There were little rainy thuds as tears trickled off her face, fell sideways past her ears, and hit the pillow. There were so many things she wanted to say, but none of them she understood, and none of them were brave enough to come on out.

He took one of her hands in both of his. And he bowed his head over her. “Thank you, God,” he breathed out. “You brought her to me like an angel from heaven.”

Sarah covered her face with her other hand; covered her eyes, hid herself away. She wiped away her tears, and with the tear-stained hand, she reached out, and she touched his cheek. He looked up. She’d never noticed before -- how could she have, she’d never had anything to remember him by -- but the shape of Ewan’s ears… they were his grandfather’s. She touched one, fingers skating across just the shell of it, and in that moment, it wasn’t a strange thing to do. Her father smiled at her, a big watery smile.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said quietly, like an admission. “I worried… I… I was scared you wouldn’t be.”

When he stumbled out of the room some minutes later, clingy, not wanting to lose sight of her, he left the window curtains open. When he was gone, footsteps receding into the hallway, and the thud of the master bedroom door, Sarah swung her legs out of bed and yanked the curtains shut. Hide away that strange moon. It was different from the one at home, but she wouldn’t be able to explain to you why.

It was the feeling of it…

How vague.

. . .

Dawn came in what felt an eternity, but was truly only a few hours. She passed her eternity in her head, and periodically in the hallway, peeking into the rooms of her kids. Ewan mumbled in his sleep, and Alice tossed and turned and kicked and spun. But they’d always done that.

She wrapped Karen’s spare robe around her, and crawled out of the bed she hadn’t slept in. The whole house was still silent, but she heard the birds outside chirping away. It was too beautiful a sound for how she felt. The rising sun cast a soft glow through the thin curtains in the bedrooms and through the hallways. She left notes for Ewan and Alice, placed on the carpet by their beds, where they would be sure to see them, in case they woke up and couldn’t find her in her borrowed room.

Worry not, my loves, she wrote, I’m just downstairs. If you need me up here, I’m always just a wish away.

Love, Mom.

(She still had that crystal Jareth had gifted her when Ewan was only a baby. It let her know when he, or when Alice, needed her. This was one crystal she knew how to summon. Jareth had shown her. A reward of sorts, for being such a good mother, he’d told her).

Her steps were careful, so, so delicate as she tip-toed out of the room and down the creaky stairs. She didn’t want to wake anyone up. Once downstairs, she could let out a breath of relief. The early morning emptiness filled up her lungs and did something to soothe her aching heart. In the soft, glowing morning light, the house was different. A little less daunting. But only a little.

This had been her home, once.

She looked around. In the living room, at all the framed photographs and the sleek television and shelf full of VHS tapes and other, thinner cases she didn’t recognize . In the kitchen, at the microscopically cleaned counters and the well-ordered fridge with tupperwares and drinks. In her father’s office. Stately leather chair. Mahogany desk that Karen had bought him for their first wedding anniversary. Papers were strewn about carelessly. She rounded the desk. A picture of herself stared back. Seven or eight and grinning with a missing front tooth. She turned away and tightened her hands into her well-worn pajama pants.

She looked in the dining room and the small bathroom, and she peered into the garage, and she stared out of each of the windows, and peeked into the hallway closet. When she looked out the window panes of the back door, she decided after a moment that she wanted to go outside, so she turned the lock and then the knob and pulled it open with that dry rubbery squelch.

She jumped.

Hands flying up to her ears, her eyes went wide. A deafening squeal over head sounded. A siren.

She gasped out loud and hurriedly slammed the door shut again, but the screech kept on going, more alarming even than the war bells of her husband’s kingdom she had heard for the first time not thirteen hours before. Her face went beet red and her heart froze still in her chest. What was that? She didn’t know what to do!

Quick, thumping footsteps and creaking stairs could barely be heard over the deafening, digital scream. She was relieved but embarrassed as she hurried to the stairwell, wringing her hands out in front of her. Her father came barrelling down, shotgun in hand, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. When he saw her, he froze. “Sarah?”

The alarm still blared overhead. He shook himself off, bleary-eyed, and stumbled over to the front door. He stopped in front of a strange little beige protrusion from the wall, and set the gun down against the floor. He flicked open the covering of the beige box that hid away a keypad, like at a phone booth or an ATM, and Sarah watched, still red in the face and stunned like a little child who knocked over a vase and was frightened by the clamor, as he pressed four of the buttons, each letting out a little chirp.

The blaring stopped. Sarah’s ears rang in the silence. Her face scrunched up, a little mortified.

Robert frowned, eyes now alert and shining. “Sarah? Is everything okay? What happened?”

“‘m sorry,” she said, shifting from foot to foot. She stared at the ground. Her shoulders were about up to her ears. “I didn’t know… I was just going to step out back.”

“Oh,” he said, closing the beige cover again. He was sad again. “I guess… I guess we never had an alarm system before… We got it when…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

She looked away. “I’m sorry for waking you. Did it disturb Karen too?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay, Sare. We usually get up around now anyway.”

“Still…”

“Don’t sweat it. Hey, if you still want to go outside, go ahead… I have to make some calls.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek nervously. “Okay, thank you. I think I will.”

So she did. Awkwardly stepping around the sleep-rumpled man, she walked to the backdoor once again. She squeezed her eyes shut tight when she turned the knob and opened it. Imagine that noise had been made the times she’d tried to escape her castle... She wondered if she would have been caught sooner, in that case. Perhaps, even, she would have three children right now instead of two, if only Jareth could have saved her sooner.

The backyard was plain. A simple fence and a tall tree. The baby plastic yellow and blue jungle gym was gone, as was her ten-year-old swing set. The grass had dry, brown patches with orange-brown leaves strewn about, uncared for. On the back porch, lived a bright pink pair of rainboots, a shoe mat, and a swinging chair.

With the clenched teeth of an old woman, she lowered herself to sit. And she rocked herself like she had so often in the nursery rocking chair of her young babes, when they had still been small enough to fit snugly and perfectly in her arms. She closed her eyes; she caught a small shiver. Her socked toes curled into the rotting wood planks underfoot.

It was there that she started to doze.

She jolted back to awareness when her father stepped out. She blinked her tired eyes in his direction. He had pulled on a sweater, pajama pants, and a robe as well. He held a steaming mug that smelled of coffee in one hand, and a clear glass cup of apple juice in the other.

He smiled and she made room for him to sit on the swinging chair. “Here,” he said, passing her the juice. “Your favorite.”

“Oh! Thank you.” The glass was cold to the touch, and even more so in the chilly morning, so she shimmied her sleeves over her palms and held it like that.

They rocked the bench in unison, and he sipped at his drink. Then he froze, looked a little blue. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t ask if you wanted coffee. I just assumed… would you like some?”

She smiled sadly. Shrugged. “To be truthful, I never quite developed the taste for it. But this is perfect.” She lifted her cup. “Thank you.”

When she drank, it tasted of her childhood and of artifice. A mixed bag of chemical taste. Jareth had spoiled her with freshly squeezed fruit juices sourced from every end of his world and her own, childhood one. A gift to her, she knew.

Sarah gulped down more of it now in a guilty sort of way.

They sat in silence for a while until a clanging started up in the kitchen. When she glanced at him curiously, he explained. “Karen’s starting on breakfast.”

“That’s nice of her.” She gulped her drink again. Swallowed. “It’s nice of the both of you, really. Um. I’m really sorry we barged in like that last night. No warning and all. We won’t be in your hair long, I promise. It was really sudden, you see. I had no idea, and there was nowhere else--”

“Sarah!”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“Sare,” he said gruffly, thickly. “You know you can stay here for as long as you need, don’t you?”

“But my kids--”

“Them too. Forever, if that’s what you need.”

She swallowed thickly. Heavily. Like a crystal was lodged up in her throat and would never come out again. An enchanted fruit.

“Sarah,” he murmured. “Are you okay?”

She answered automatically. “Yes.”

He turned bodily to face her. Her eyes fixed themselves to her lap. He reached out, squeezed her knee. “No. Are you okay?”

But right then, she felt a call. Her son. She stared at the chipped white paint porch rail, and she said, “I’m fine.”

Then, she stood. Set her glass down on the rail. “I’m sorry. I should check on my kids. This has been a big shock for them too.”

And she hurried back inside, leaving behind a stricken Robert.

Deftly, she avoided a cooking Karen and made a beeline for the stairs. By the time she arrived upstairs, she had begun panting for breath, tired from the long, long night of too many thoughts.

She found Toby’s room, and she knocked on the door. “Ewan? It’s me.”

“Come in,” he said, voice muffled by the door.

She stepped inside. Ewan sat propped up against the bed’s headboard and Alice lay on her stomach across the foot of it. “Good morning,” Alice said, more subdued than she normally was in the morning.

“Morning, you two.” Sarah crossed the room and sat on an empty part of the bed. “How did you sleep?” She brushed back some of Alice’s hair and smiled. Then she squeezed Ewan’s knee. They both shrugged.

She frowned a little. “Well, is everything alright? I heard your call.”

Ewan looked at her bashfully. He shrugged again. Red ears. “We weren’t sure what to wear downstairs.”

“Oh.” Sarah bit her lip. They were both still in their borrowed pajamas. “You can just wear those, if you want. Have the clothes from last night reverted back to normal?”

They nodded. He pointed to the dresser, where she could see his breeches and ruffly lace shirt folded up. His boots were tucked against the lowest drawer.

“Well, I can spell those again too.”

Alice looked a little eager. “We can really go down in our sleeping clothes?”

Sarah furrowed her brow. “Yes, of course.”

Ewan seemed surprised also. “But isn’t it improper?”

She looked down at herself, smiled wryly. “Not at all. You’ll fit right in downstairs. Besides... it’s too early to be dressed.”

“Good,” Alice said, slumping face first into the bed. “I’m so tired. I don’t want to do anything.”

“Me neither,” Sarah said softly. She grimaced. “Karen’s making breakfast, though. I expect it will be done soon.”

Alice turned over, and Sarah noticed how pale she looked. The young girl clutched her belly. “I don’t feel so good…”

Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. She reached out and touched her forehead and then frowned. “What are your symptoms?”

“My belly hurts…” she grumbled, blinking with upside-down eyes at her mother.

“Is it...?” Sarah removed her hand.

Alice scowled. “No.”

Sarah looked at her apologetically and then bit her lip. “For how long?”

“I don’t know… Since the night. I woke up a few times with it.”

Sarah glanced at Ewan. “Are you feeling ill, too?”

He shook his head, brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Sarah said softly, stroking the girl’s hair. “Do you want to go back to sleep for a while?”

“What?” Alice said, “And miss out on everything? As if.”

Sarah quirked an eyebrow and Alice gave her a little look of contrition. “But I might not be able to eat…”

“That’s okay.” Sarah let out a sigh, clapped her hands on her knees. “We should probably head down, then.” She smiled at Ewan. “Would you like me to fix your clothes?”

He looked a little unsure. “These… are fine. I suppose.”

“Alright. But let me know if you change your mind.”

As they all got up from the bed, and prepared to head downstairs, Sarah noticed the room in a way she hadn’t the night before, with her being too stressed and very confused, and the new world dark and dangerous. It was strange. Long ago, this room had been a young Sarah’s playroom, full of toys and trinkets and random assortments of things. And then came along Toby, her little baby half-brother. And though he’d still been in the crib in the master bedroom last she was here, she remembered having to pack away so many of her things for when it was time for him to have his own room.

Sarah hadn’t liked that. Not one bit. And especially not in the least because there hadn’t been enough space in her room for all of her playroom things. Reluctantly, and with much fighting between her and her father and her stepmother, Sarah packed up her stuff. And Karen had taken boxes and boxes to the donation center just like that, leaving Sarah with only a scant few.

Now, it was far from the playroom or the burgeoning nursery she had only had glimpses of. Posters were tacked up on walls, of bands she didn’t recognize and of movies she’d never heard of. There was a crumpled photograph pinned to the wall beside the bed. With closer inspection, she could make out a stocky blond young man with his arm slung over the shoulders of a dark-skinned girl. Both beamed out at the photograph, and Sarah thought that was her father’s son. Other things of personality littered the room. A skateboard tacked all over with large logo-ish stickers leaned against one wall, and books were stacked on the windowsill ledge. The rolling closet door was open, and she caught a glimpse inside. Tons and tons of hangers, but most were unused, with only one or two sweaters and three or four shirts hanging inside. A pair of cowboy boots sat crookedly in the corner of the closet.

As she and Ewan waited for Alice to return from the bathroom, she looked around at this evidence of Toby. He’d had a life. She wondered where he was now, if he was happy. She had fought for him, once. Though now, so many years later, she wondered if it had ever been real.

Ewan was watching her, she realized. Her mouth twitched as she tried to give him a reassuring sort of smile.

“How come you never told us you had a brother?”

She looked away, over to the crumpled young man in the photograph on the wall. She swallowed. “I barely even knew him, Ewan,” she said quietly. “He’s not much older than you are, you know. By the time I left… he was still just a baby.”

He stared at her.

She forced herself to smile and she took his hand in hers. Squeezing it, she said, “It doesn’t matter, does it? Your father will be back for us before nightfall, and this will all be just a memory. I’m sure of it.”

Alice returned from the bathroom looking clammy, and then they headed to go on downstairs, and that was the end of that.

But at the landing at the top of the stairs, Sarah couldn’t help but turn back once. Gazing down the corridor of her once-home. In the dappled morning light, she thought she could almost see innocent fourteen year old Sarah skipping down the hall and humming in her beautiful pale princess dress and flower crown. And that scarlet book clutched close to her heart like a best friend. A lover. A confidant. To the park she went!

Ewan tugged on her hand, and she shook herself out of it. It was the hurt, wretched, sad thirty-nine year old Sarah who walked down these stairs today.

Notes:

So originally this was the first half of a whole chapter, but it really was really a bit too long so I decided to split it up. Hopefully this was a good decision lol. But either way, I think it will be fine!

But guess what!! that means the second half is written and I just have to edit it! So it shouldn't be long for that one!! :D

Thank you all for the amazing comments and support. It is so fun to share this story with such an amazing community! How did I get so lucky?! <3

xoxo

Chapter 36: The Lies We Tell

Summary:

“How did my life turn out this way?” she asked, facing the sky, asking the universe.

Breakfast was awkward. With her father smiling at her goofily all the way through, with Alice and Ewan sitting silently to either side of her, and with Karen’s quiet stress.

“Dig in!” Robert exclaimed when they had all found their places around the informal kitchen table. There were pancakes and bacon and orange juice and apple juice and sausages, and Karen was finishing up on the eggs, the pan still sizzling on the stove.

Sarah filled her plate sparingly. She still wasn’t terribly hungry. Her cup of juice from before had been set caringly in front of her plate by her father. Alice also held back, but wasn’t quite able to resist grabbing some toast and dipping into the jar of jam. That girl and her sweet tooth. Not even a stomach ache could stop her.

“Thank you,” Sarah said when Karen served her scrambled eggs (her childhood favorite) straight from the pan, and then also Ewan’s with the same. When she’d stepped away to serve some to Robert, Ewan hesitated over his plate. So Sarah picked up a slice of bacon and took a bite.

A moment later he did the same.

Karen finally shuffled into her seat and they all ate in silence for a few minutes, none of them quite sure what to say.

“Um,” Sarah started. “Is there a store around here with… herbs and- and things like that? Tinctures.”

Robert raised his eyebrows. Karen squinted a little. “Maybe at the health food store? I’m not really sure… Robert, by your work isn’t there that shop?”

He frowned. “Yes, but I don’t know… it’s all just a scam isn’t it? That witchy stuff. Why do you ask, sweetheart?”

Sarah avoided his gaze. “I need a few ingredients. Home remedy, you know.”

He raised a single eyebrow. “Is everything alright?”

Alice chimed in. “It’s for me, Grandfather. I feel a bit unwell.”

Sarah’s fingers twitched and she winced a little.

“Grandfather? Heh-” Robert coughed, then shook his head. It was Sarah he addressed. “We have all the over-the-counter stuff, Sare.”

“Ah,” she said carefully. “Thank you… but this remedy always works and she’s never tried any of those… so…”

“Okay..” he said, tone a bit unsure. “I can take you in a bit.”

She sat back in her seat, slumping a little. “Thank you,” she said, feeling small.

It was a few moments later that Robert filled the awkward silence. “I should let you know, Sare. I called Toby. He’s so happy to hear the news! He’s just started a new job so he’s a bit busy lately, but he’ll be coming back up as soon as he can.”

“Oh.”

“And I tried calling your mother, but I can never tell the time differences. She’s in L.A. right now. Or maybe she’s in New York? Anyway, it’s hard to know. So it could be the middle of the night for her. But I left her a voicemail to call me back urgently.”

“... Oh.”

Her stomach rolled unpleasantly. Her mother. Her mother. And her little brother, too. “The thing is…” she said carefully, “I really don’t think we’ll be here for very long. And- and well, I don’t want you to drag everyone out, only to find us gone…”

Robert was stunned. “What do you mean you won’t be here very long? Sarah...”

She fidgeted with her wedding ring. Her throat felt tight all of a sudden. She didn’t know what to say.

“But where will you go?” he said desperately. He shook his head erratically, scrubbed at his face. Then, he scowled. “No one’s seen you for twenty-four years, Sarah! Twenty-four--!” Sarah flinched. “--And you just show up one night after twenty-four years with no explanation with two grown children and you tell me that you’re leaving? What? To go back to the fucker who did this to you? There’s no goddamn way I’m letting that happen.” He ended in a furious red-flushed rush, slamming a fist on the table for emphasis, rattling all the plates and utensils and making Karen gasp.

Sarah’s face burned. Everyone’s eyes were on her. Her mouth was all dry. Distinctly aware of her children beside her, she said, “No one… did this… to me… ”

Robert let out some sort of animalistic noise. Sarah flinched again. “What are you saying?” he demanded. His eyes landed on her hands, where she had not stopped twisting and twisting the ring around and around. He stared for a moment and Sarah yanked her hands into her and then shoved them away under the table. Twist, twist, twist.

“What are you saying?” he said again, snappish.

She swallowed back her tears, and stared fixedly at the scuffed edge of the table. “I’m saying that… I’m not in any danger, okay? And we’ll need to be going home soon…”

“Bullshit.” Robert pounded his fist on the table again. Ewan tensed up beside her. Alice stared, wide-eyed and tense. Appetites had been lost.

She wanted to cry. Really and truly, and unreservedly. Like a child, a baby.

Karen cleared her throat. In a whisper, she pierced the air. “We thought you were dead, and for so long, Sarah… surely you can understand why leaving again so soon is… difficult for us to understand.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and after a moment of hesitation, she nodded jerkily. She had gotten used to Jareth’s particular brand of castigation over the years, but it had been so long since she’d heard it from those parent figures from so long ago.

The doorbell rang.

Robert let out a harsh exhale, threw his napkin on the table, and stood up. He strode off toward the front door. Sarah kept on staring at the table, though she could feel the burning eyes of her daughter and son upon her like a judging, all-seeing, all-knowing God.

Vaguely, she heard speaking by the front door, and then a group of footsteps. How many, she couldn’t tell. But then her father rounded the corner into the kitchen again, and unlike last night in his shocked, elated sorrow, he was now stern, resolute, and angry. Behind him lingered two other men. One in a brown suit, and the other in an officer’s uniform. They stared at her.

“Sarah,” her father called out. “The police are here to speak with you. Finish your breakfast and then come to my office, please.”

. . .

She had committed perjury. She had lied. To her family, and to the law. But it wasn’t really her law, anymore, was it? Her husband’s word was law. Twenty-three years ago she had sworn her fealty to her king. Nothing had changed. Really. Really!

The policemen, one patrolman and one aging detective, were gentle with her, but when it became clear that she had no names or no information to tell, they grew frustrated. As did her father, hands fisting over his knees where he sat in the kitchen chair he’d dragged into his office.

“Ms. Williams, you don’t have to lie to protect anyone,” the detective told her. “Whoever took--apologies, miss, I know you don’t agree with the term-- whoever… was… involved with your disappearance… he did something wrong, and we can bring him to justice. If you just tell us something--”

“No one did anything,” she said for perhaps the hundredth time. She had said it so much, the words had turned robotic, monotone, unfeeling, despite the fact that, inside of herself, she felt so, so many things.

“For fuck’s sake--!” her father exploded. “Then, what? Are you saying you ran away?”

At that, she didn’t say anything at all. The detective watched her with piercing eyes. He seemed to see through her. “Did you?” he repeated. The uniformed officer shifted by the door.

She smoothed out the fabric of her skirt -- she’d gone upstairs after eating and thrown on those transfigured clothes once again, to be presentable in front of these strangers -- over and over and over. She didn’t answer for a long moment, but she thought of her husband, who would be here soon, by nightfall surely, to bring them back home, and of her children who she never wanted to know the truth, and of her father and her mother and her half-brother, who she had hurt so terribly. Ashamed, but not for the reason the men around her would believe, she whispered, “Yes.”

And she couldn’t bear to see the stunned, betrayed look on her father’s face. Her dad. Daddy. Who had once been a king to her, even during her fits of anger and petulant teenage tantrums that had for a long time characterized their relationship. Her king all until he had been ripped out of her life so thoroughly. Replaced. Sorry, the world of Sarah has been occupied. Make way for the Goblin King.

The policemen left a few minutes later, finalizing up some business with a dazed Robert as Sarah sat sadly, silently in the leather-backed chair. The younger officer looked at her with a thinly veiled disdain, not that she blamed him. She had disliked herself for what was probably longer than he’d been alive. He was just a young man, she realized. Hardly older than her son.

But the detective… the detective glanced at her every now and again as he spoke with Robert, and still as he gathered up his briefcase and papers, with kind, understanding eyes. Had she ever been looked at so kindly, so gently? Staring at her lap, she figured he didn’t quite believe her story.

She followed the policemen out of the room in a different kind of daze than her father’s, and she watched from the hallway, like some sort of waif, some sort of wraith, as Robert showed them out the door. When they were gone, and he turned around and saw her, he rubbed his face with his hand. There was something terribly sad about this. It became odorous in its misery.

He held out his hand. A keychain dangling from where he held between two fingers a car key. “Here,” he said. “Take the Honda to the store. I’ll write down the address to put into the GPS.”

“I-” she swallowed. GPS? She made no move to reach the key. Ashamed, she said, “I don’t know how to drive.”

He was quiet. There was an awkward space between them now. Arm stuttering in confusion, he lowered his hand. “Oh.”

He pressed his lips together tightly. Then, tiredly, he said, “... Karen can take you. Then.” And without another word he walked up the stairs. Guilt had filled up her heart so many times over the years, but no matter how old she got, the sharpness never seemed to dull. It was a fist seizing round her heart, squeezing, telling her, no, you don’t deserve anything, you disgusting girl.

. . .

Alice’s belly ache had gotten worse since breakfast, and Sarah found her again upstairs in her borrowed bed, glowering at the ceiling. Ewan kept her company, leaning against the bed frame on the floor, thumbing through some magazine he must have found and periodically reading out interesting blurbs.

“Hey,” she said, approaching the bed. “I’m going to the store to get the ingredients in a few minutes. Would you like to come?”

Ewan didn’t answer but glanced at his sister, who moaned, “No.”

Sarah frowned a little. “Okay. I’ll be quick, I promise. Ewan, take care of her while I’m gone, and don’t leave the property, please.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“I know, honey,” she soothed, bending over to give Alice a quick kiss on the nose. “But you’ll have to forgive me. It’s my job to make sure you’re okay. Didn’t you know?”

Alice huffed a little, but leaned up to give her a kiss on the cheek anyway. Sarah smiled. She looked at Ewan. “If you need anything, my father is in the bedroom across from mine. And don’t be shy, either of you, to use the kitchen, okay? And if it’s an emergency, you know how to call me. I’ll be here in a jiffy. And- and… I don’t know… if something really goes wrong and you can’t get ahold of me, find a phone--” she gestured to the bedside table, where a phone was docked. She picked it up. “--put this part up to your ear, and press 9-1-1, and then this button on the keypad. It shouldn’t be necessary, but just in case--”

Ewan interrupted. “It will be okay, Mother. Nothing will happen.”

Sarah smiled tightly. “I know, I know. But… you never know.”

She bent over to peck the crown of his head too, then stood and headed for the door. “Be safe,” she called. “Call me if you need, and don’t forget, the number is 9-1-1. Remember?”

Ewan and Alice both nodded bemusedly. And Sarah gave them one last anxious wave, before stepping out of the room and letting out a great big sigh. She started down the hall to the stairs when she heard her name.

“Mom, wait!” It was Ewan. He’d come bounding after her in the hall and caught up to her. “What was all that about, downstairs? The police?” He said the word in a strange way, as if he’d never formed it before with his tongue. Her child spoke the same language as the mortals, but his world was so different. The words of these worlds did not quite match up.

“Oh. Nothing to worry about,” she waved him off.

“They are the law enforcement here, aren’t they?” he persisted.

She scratched her upper lip. “Yes.”

“Why do they think you were kidnapped?” he demanded. His eyes were intent, almost hard. “Robert believes it was father who took you, I can tell by the way he looks at us. He doesn’t like us.”

Sarah’s lungs suddenly felt tight. Her shoulders hunched. “He doesn’t know what to think, Ewan… And he’s just confused, right now. I know I’d be shocked if Alice turned up with kids after so long.”

Her son frowned. “I don’t understand… how could you leave your family thinking you were dead?”

She swallowed thickly. The heavy, heavy, leaden heart in her chest thumped.

“Sarah!” Karen’s voice chimed gently from downstairs. “Ready to go?”

“Yes!” she called back. “Just one second!”

She reached up and pulled Ewan in for a hug, resting her head on his shoulder and rubbing his back. “I know this has all been so confusing… but it was so long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore. Alright?”

When she pulled back, he was suspicious, confused. Eyebrows furrowed and mouth pursed. But he nodded anyway, and offered a small, thin smile. “Go, before she leaves without you.”

Sarah exhaled a laugh, turning on her heel. She glanced back and pointed. “Be safe!” she said sternly.

He raised his hands in surrender. Then crossed an X over his heart. In this hallway, in this world, it struck her as strange. Significant. She’d taught him that. How many mortal things did her children unknowingly know?

Downstairs, Karen waited for her at the door, purse in hand. She smiled tightly at Sarah. “All set? Let’s go.”

Being alone with Karen was strange. There had always been a strain between them, for as long as Sarah could remember. And now… now so much had changed. Neither knew where they really stood.

But she endeared herself to Sarah. At one point on the short car trip, she said, “Your children are lovely people, Sarah. You did well with them.”

It made Sarah beam, eyes dampening. “Thank you,” she whispered, clutching her hands together in front of her heart. “That- that means a lot. Thank you.”

Karen cleared her throat nervously. She kept her eyes on the road. It was a few belated seconds later that she said, “You’re welcome.”

When they arrived at the shop, Karen hesitated in the car as Sarah unbuckled herself and opened the door. Sarah bit her lip, and ducked her head back inside. “Are you- do you want to come inside?”

“Is that alright?” Karen said with a pinched sort of expression.

Sarah hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”

It had been ages since Sarah had been in a shop. Everything she’d ever needed was always stocked full in her husband’s castle, or delivered to her with immediacy upon the king’s request. A few times, in the earlier years, Jareth had taken her to the Goblin City market, where there had been stalls upon stalls of goods and things. No stores, though. A date of sorts, between her husband and her. There had been so few of those in her life. But the memories were bittersweet. They didn’t go to the market anymore. On the high of giving birth to Ewan, and then later to Alice, the goblins and the Fae of the market city had almost loved her. But later on, when it was clear she’d done all she was going to do… oh, the looks she would get. The mortal consort on the king’s arm, daring to show her face before all she had failed. And, as Jareth had explained after much begging on her part, the besotted, foolish king, who couldn’t tell left from right in the company of his simpering, two-babed trollop. Those looks had been a prophecy of war.

This shop was, indeed, witchy, as her father had said. Or at least what she assumed was witchy. It was dark inside, with wooden shelves stacked full of little jars and packages and trinkets. She saw cards and crystal balls and velvety fabrics abound. It almost brought her right back to the castle.

The girl at the register had hair cut short and died pitch-black and she wore a long robe-ish flowing dress. She was younger than Sarah but looked older. She waved when they walked in, but otherwise left them to their own devices. It was only the three of them. Some dark, melodious song played vaguely in the background.

If it was awkward for Sarah being there, it was even more so for Karen, who trailed after Sarah the whole time, apprehensively poking and prodding at all the items on the shelves. The woman was out of place in that dark, grimy, magical place, with her baby blue sweater and pressed chino pants.

Sarah wondered if she was out of place too. Though she felt, in a way, at home there.

Luckily, the shop had all of the things she needed. And all quick to find. At the end of the Great Wars, all those millenia ago, the Fae had fled to their new home with carefully chosen Aboveground seeds and crops to cultivate once again. The Underground had a unique and exotic set of flora and fauna, but the Fae had never forgotten their earthly roots. Her books had told her that. She was not powerless here. She could still make remedies for her children.

But when she began approaching the register, she stopped suddenly, and flushed hot.

Karen noticed. “Sarah?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think- um,” she flushed deeper, to the tips of her ears, “-I don’t have any money...”

“Oh,” Karen said, eyebrows raising. “That’s okay…”

Sarah looked at her basket of things. There wasn’t too much, but all added together… She’d been spoiled all her life, by her father and then by her husband. Had she ever had to buy anything with her own money before? Had she ever even spared a thought to the cost of something? No. Like a child with all the confidence in the world, she’d just grabbed the things she wanted (needed: it was for her daughter!) without looking at the price tag and deposited them mindlessly in her basket. Surely her parents, or her husband, would pay for her! How could it be any other way?

Her hands clenched tight over the wicker-basket handle. If it was anything else, she would go put it back, but…

She stared at the floor, abashed and her true age. “I promise to pay you back,” she said, hushed. “I completely forgot--”

“That’s fine,” Karen said. She pulled her wallet out of her purse. “Please don’t worry about it.”

So Karen, her stepmother, paid for her. And it was only with a little bit of shame that Sarah watched it happen, standing to the side and watching the process she didn’t really understand. The only thing that kept her from wilting was the knowledge that it was for her daughter, to make her comfortable again.

They returned to the car in a tense sort of silence, though Sarah wondered if it was only her imagination. The little jars tinked together in the plastic bag she held from the crooks of her fingers.

“Should we stop to get the three of you some clothes?” Karen asked as they settled into their seats.

“No,” Sarah said automatically. “Thanks, but my husband is going to be here--” She snapped her mouth shut tight.

Karen watched her with small, heavy, knowing sorts of eyes.

Sarah clenched her fists over her knees. “No,” she said. “It’s not necessary. But thank you.”

Her eyes flickered over Sarah for a few moments more. “Alright, then.”

The car went into reverse, and they returned to that house in silence, only the tinctures ever tinkling

. . .

Without the song, it was just a potful of soupy smells. Another thing she’d learned from her husband, the magic behind music. It had just as much power as the wave of a kingly hand or the bursting of a crystalline bubble, if only there was intent behind the singer’s words. Sarah stirred her concoction three times clockwise, and then twelve times counter. And all the while, she sang under her breath, full of intent and care and affection. She was all too aware of Karen who had been kind enough to allow her to use her kitchen for her remedy-making, but was evidently wary of her skills or of the strange concoction, if the way she kept meandering in every few minutes or so said anything about it.

“What are ya singin’?” the woman asked casually, as she rifled through the mail on the table for the second time in half an hour.

Sarah paused all movement, answered, “Just a song I like,” and then continued where she left off. She tried to ignore her discomfort with her audience, but it was not easy. Vaguely, she heard Karen’s retreating footsteps, and she was able to finish her song.

It was the first potion she’d ever learned, from one of the castle healers. As a young boy, Ewan had been prone to belly aches, and she had badgered and badgered and badgered the healer, who would typically have a goblin deliver the drink to her whenever her son needed, to show her how to make it. Jareth, for all his great knowledge, did not know how to make common remedies, and so he could not teach her like he did with the less tangible magic forms (dreams and spells and wishes and things like that). He’d never had to learn, not with a whole set of healers in his employ.

There was no need for her to learn these things, everyone told her. But… she’d read that a piece of medicinal magic made by a loved one, with love, was near impossible to beat. And well, it was something to learn, wasn’t it? To fill up the hours, and the months, and the years.

And so the healer, after her third insistent visit to the infirmary, had begrudgingly agreed. “First,” he said, “there is a book in the library you need. It’s brown with golden letters. Find it. Read it. And once you have, return here where I’ll demonstrate. For now, here.” He handed her a vial of the muddy-purple liquid. “In case the little prince has an ache while you learn.”

The theory of it had been simple enough, though the mixing and dicing and slicing could be tricky. But that was one thing she knew of herself, that when she really wanted something, and it was within the realm of possibility, then nothing could stop her.

After that, she’d known enough to teach herself all kinds of medicinal potions as well as potions of a non-medicinal nature. The same healer, at times, would entertain her various pestering questions. He could not exactly dismiss her, not when she was fulfilling her purpose as mother to the prince, and later, mother to the princess, now could he?

Now, even as Karen returned to the kitchen, and hovered nearby, obviously snooping, Sarah could not be made to mess up. She was well-practiced by now, even in this strange environment of tile backsplash, swirly orange-hot stove tops, and flower-patterned oven mitts.

“Does that really work?” Karen asked, a little doubtfully. Luckily, Sarah had finished the song, and now only had to let it boil. (At home, no, in the castle, she would heat the pot over the goblin-stoked fire in her and Jareth’s rooms, but here she would have to make do). She turned down the oven setting.

“Like a charm,” she said distractedly, dipping her finger in the bubbling pot without thinking. Karen gasped, but Sarah barely felt it. Nothing but a pleasant sting as she swirled her finger around in the liquid and then brought it back up to pop into her mouth.

Ewan had been three when she’d learned how to make this potion, and with certainty he’d told her, his big, chubby cheeks bouncy with his toothy grin and smacking, purple-painted lips, “It tastes better!”

“It does?” she’d smiled, taking from him the cup that had held the potion.

He nodded vigorously, large toddler head seeming too big for his little body. He lost his balance and fell to his bottom. He patted his cute little pot belly. “Gone!” And then he crawled back up to stand and hugged her. “Thanks, Mama!”

Sarah smiled at the memory. The taste was faintly of dandelions and banana, though neither were used in the preparation.

“Sarah!” Karen hissed, hands shooting out. “Why would you do that? Are you ok? Let me see your hand!”

“I’m fine,” she sighed. “It was just for a second. See?” Her finger was shiny with saliva, but perfectly skin colored. Not a flush or a blister in sight. She wiped it on her skirt.

Karen frowned, perplexed. “That was a foolish thing to do.”

Sarah’s brows knitted together. “Well, it turned out fine, didn’t it?” she said a little tightly.

Her step-mother squinted at her from where she leaned her hip into the counter by the stove, but fell silent, watching as Sarah turned off the stove and swirled the pot once, twice, four times. She poured it into the waiting cup.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed Karen grimacing as the clotty mud texture dripped its way from pot to glass. Her lips tilted in amusement and she shrugged a single shoulder. “It doesn’t taste too bad, actually.”

Karen raised a disbelieving eyebrow. She let out a sort of laugh. “Don’t tell me this is how you look so young...”

Sarah tensed. Stared steadfastly at the cup which she now held in her hand. It was a little warm against her palm, and she watched as her fingers flexed around it, turning white where they should be red-hot. She felt Karen’s eyes boring into the side of her head. The comment had been a joke, but it also hadn’t been, Sarah knew.

Swallowing, she made a jerky sort of shrugging motion with her shoulders and turned around. “I should bring this up to Alice… Thank you for letting me use your kitchen.”

A pause. “... Of course. Anytime.”

She started off toward the stairs.

“Sarah…”

She stilled, turned halfway around. Put a blankly inquisitive expression on her face.

“... I’ll be whipping up some sandwiches for lunch in a few, if you and your kids are hungry…” she said across the room. It sounded like an apology. “Is there anything in particular you three like?”

Sarah thought for a moment, and then she smiled a soft little smile. “If you’ve got it…green onion. It’s their favorite.”

. . .

The potion’s effect was instantaneous and as expected. Alice beamed at her in thanks.

“Sorry it took so long,” Sarah said. “Usually everything I need is in our garden.”

Alice stood from the bed and stretched out. Then, she frowned, her sudden excitement from being healed dampened. With downcast eyes, she said. “I miss home. When is he going to be here? It’s been so long already!”

“I know,” Sarah said. “I do too. But it won’t be long. We just need to have some patience, okay?”

Her daughter sighed, and slumped to sit on the edge of the bed. “What if something happened, and he can’t get back to us?”

“When has your father ever been held back by anything, hmm?”

“Never.”

“Right,” Sarah bumped shoulders with her. “So have some faith. You know he won’t leave us here long. Like I said, he’ll probably be here by the end of the day. And look,” she pointed to the clock hanging over the door frame. “We’re already half-way there.”

Alice sighed, again. Morosely, she said, “okay.”

“I love you, honey.” Sarah said softly, reaching out and brushing some of her daughter’s hair behind her ear.

Alice smiled a little. “Love you, too.”

“Where’s Ewan, by the way?”

“To find something else to read from your brother’s room. Mom! I can’t believe you have a brother! We have an uncle! We’ve never had an uncle before! We’ve never had grandparents before! Why didn’t you ever tell us?!”

It was Sarah’s turn to sigh. She rubbed her face tiredly. “It just never came up, I suppose.”

Alice scoffed, and said in that sometimes-superior tone of voice of a teenager who just knows better, “If I had children, they would definitely know about my brother.”

Sarah’s lips tightened in a thin line. She felt herself bristling. But she stood up and turned away instead of saying anything. It would just come out defensive. He’s so much younger than me, you don’t understand, she wanted to shout. I was stolen, and taken, and I never had a choice, you don’t understand, she wanted to scream. That was what her heart wanted to say. But her daughter didn’t understand. And she wanted it to stay that way.

“I know,” is all she said in response. “I know.”

. . .

The rest of the day stretched out long, long, long ahead of them. It was tense on two fronts. A storm was a-coming.

Her father had come stumbling downstairs for lunch with red-rimmed and tired eyes, but he had been silent and out of it for the most part. It seemed he could barely look at her, and he certainly couldn’t look at his day-old grandchildren. Karen picked up on brittleness in the air, though Sarah wasn’t sure she understood the exact reason -- that Sarah had lied to her father and told him she’d run away, that she had left them all like this. Karen frowned throughout lunch, observing each person at the table one by one, as if this would answer her questions. And Ewan and Alice, though they’d only just met this man and this woman, also could tell something was off. And, taking their cue from Sarah, they remained silent all through the meal.

The second thing that set Sarah’s heart to ache was the clock. The waiting and the waiting. She wasn’t sure how she’d come to the idea that Jareth would be there by that night, only that she was certain of it. He would not leave her in her childhood world for long, and he would not leave his children in this iron world of the mortals either. She knew that for a fact. There was too much at stake. No, he would be quick at work destroying the enemies who dared to question the Goblin King and his particularly troublesome choice of Consort.

But the question was: when? When would he finally arrive and whisk them away, back to the cozy, eerie castle of her children’s childhood and back to the world there was no need to think? Where she could just be.

She found herself watching the clock. Seeing the painstaking twitches of the three strange twelve-hour hands. And she felt herself jittering. As each minute wore on, the stress and the wait and the anticipation seemed to take stronger hold of her. Like a king husband who keeps you in his arms, loving and tight, or a king stranger who makes use of your shaking, terrified body, planning to never, ever let go.

And there was nothing really to distract her from it. She couldn’t bear to go upstairs to what was once her bedroom, to take a nap or to go through all those boxes. And there was no one to distract her from it, not really. Not when Robert retreated back upstairs immediately after lunch -- Sarah watched his sad, loping gait all the way up, lump in her throat tightening and feeling like she had all those years ago when he’d introduced the jealous girl to his new girlfriend -- and was followed by a concerned Karen. And not when both Alice and Ewan became consumed with the television -- “this is the box with the moving pictures from your stories!” Ewan exploded out when Sarah finally managed to get the fancy, sleek, thin thing working, “I want one of these!” Alice exclaimed -- for hours until they drifted off to doze on one another’s shoulders on the couch. Luckily, her children had found their distraction. She knew they, too, were on edge. Worried for their father and in such an unfamiliar place.

Sarah sat curled up in one of the living room armchairs, just watching her sleeping son whose mouth had fallen open, and her sleeping daughter who snored ever so faintly. Her attention would turn every once and a while to the television. It was some science fiction rerun that was familiar, but not.

She must have dozed off for a while, because then she jolted, confused, as if she’d been somewhere else even though she must have been in this chair the whole time. And there had been a dream that lingered in her mind’s eye, melancholy but red-colored, not blue. The T.V. chattered in the background, and colors and lights flashed and and the clock tick-tocked overhead, and Sarah felt her breath come quicker and quicker and quicker and she felt her heart go thump, thump, and then she couldn’t breathe, not at all, and tears beaded at her eyes, and she clawed at her chest, and she gasped--!

It was a rush so fast as she tore up from the chair and ran from the living room. She swayed, her vision in strange, blotchy, vivid colors and she somehow managed to find the back door and she burst out and she heard the bird songs and the breeze, and she collapsed to her knees on the rotting wood porch and she cried, for real this time, and all alone. There was a wind chime in the distance, and a barking dog, and the swooshing of cars on the distant road. She bent over as if she was in a prayer and she pressed her forehead to the wood and though her lungs came back to her, the tears and the sorrow would stay forevermore.

It was a few minutes later that she sat up, slumped atop her knees, shoulders rounded. She wiped madly at her face and she blinked dolorously. A low-singing bird hooted, and it sounded like an owl even though it was daytime. Sarah tensed and, klutzy, she stumbled to her feet and brought herself over to the porch railing. She leaned over it, letting the soft, squishy part of her belly cave in against the wood. She let her arms droop, and she could almost brush the tips of her fingers against the bushes below.

Her hands flew back into herself, and she covered her face. A fit of hate came over her then; her teeth ground together so hard she thought they might go to dust, and her head throbbed with the force of it, and her lungs ached because it was impossible to breathe when she despised herself so much.

“Stupid… girl…” she whispered. A sob. “Stupid!”

The porch wood creaked. “Sarah?”

She gasped. In a blink, she whirled around. Her father stood cautiously in the doorway. Embarrassed now, and red-faced, she wiped at her cheeks with her sleeves, looking away.

Hesitantly, he started, “Are you…doing alright?”

She nodded. Could he, too, hear the decrepit rattling of her lungs? And the thunderous, guilty beating of her heart?

He frowned.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice came out wobbly. Like a child’s voice. A little girl trying to stay strong in front of all those who would judge her and all her considerable, uncontrollable, treacherous feelings. Sarah sniffled.

Robert closed the door behind him, but remained rooted in his spot. He crossed his arms, and then uncrossed them. His mouth narrowed into a thin line. He looked down at the ground between them. Then, his mouth opened, then shut. Opened again. He let out a harsh exhale and clutched his forehead.

“Daddy?”

His face crumpled. “Forgive me, Sarah.”

“For what?”

He swallowed loudly. Painful sounding, she thought vaguely, though her mind was focused on the swollen feeling of her eyes and cheeks and heart.

“For… everything,” he said. “Sarah. It’s been so long since I’ve said your name. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Sarah Bea. You know what that means, right? My princess who brings happiness. I can’t believe you’re really here, and all I’ve done today is run from you.” He sobbed. “Will you forgive an old man for being so foolish, Sarah Bea?”

Her breath caught again, but this time it was more from shock than it was from survival. It had been so long since he’d said her name, but how long had it been since she’d heard it?

“Of course--”

“No,” he cut her off. “Don’t. I’ve been horrible, and you know it.”

Sarah quieted.

He crossed the porch, seized her hands. He urged her to look him in the eyes, and she did, with much difficulty. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he dropped her hands and grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her right on into his chest, and he hugged her tight, like a father, with his chin gently placed on the top of her head and his hands a warm expanse over her shoulder blades. Overwhelmed, she clutched at the back of his sweater. She tried to take calming, measured breaths. All she could smell was an old, long-forgotten scent. Leather and wood, and something like family.

His voice came gentle but grave. “Sarah Bea, I shouldn’t ever have believed you earlier. Not for one second, I shouldn’t have. I don’t care how difficult things might have been between us before, with everything with Karen and with Toby and your mother, but you never would have run away. Even with all our fights, I know that about you, and- and I don’t know why you lied to the cops today, why you said what you said, but I don’t believe a damn word. Understand me? You’re lying about something, I know it. You think I’d forget, even after all these years, what my princess looks like when she lies? Hush, it’s okay, Sarah Bea. You’re safe here with me. Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you again. Tell me you understand.”

His hands never stopped their soothing caresses over her back. She slumped into him, suddenly so exhausted. Her eyes drooped almost, in the wake of all these feelings. She couldn’t find any words.

“Tell me you understand,” he demanded, squeezing her ever so slightly tighter, and for a second there Sarah thought she was back in the Goblin King’s arms, and she flinched, and she shoved the man away, and she stumbled back, gulping for breath.

“Sarah?” her father said, voice gentle and worried under the waves of sound rushing at her ears. She dropped to sit on the swinging bench. Folding bodily over her knees, she scrunched her eyes up tight. Stupid girl.

She heard him, her father, hover near the bench, not sitting.

“Sorry,” she muttered after a moment. She hid her face. “‘m sorry. I think I just got a… a little confused…”

Sarah held herself so strung tight as the bench bounced and jostled. He sat beside her, just a presence, nothing more. After a moment, she found it in herself to sit up straight. She slumped against the back of the bench. Her father’s eyes burned into the side of her head.

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she settled on this: “I didn’t lie to the police.” A lie about a lie. Which was true? One of them alwaaaays tells the truth and the other one alwaaays lies. The memory hit strong enough that she felt bowled over. She didn’t like to think of these things.

“You’re lying again,” her father said quietly. Almost disappointed. “I just don’t understand it! Why are you protecting him?”

Her heart seized. “How do you know there’s anyone to protect? You don’t know that.”

“Sarah…” he sighed. He spoke as if she was a child. She hadn’t been a child in a long, long time, and she had been a child for all of her life. Two opposing things could sometimes be true. “Sarah… I know you didn’t run away, and I know you did lie to the cops. We thought you were dead for twenty-four years. No word from you, no nothing. You have two children and you wear a wedding ring. Whoever your… husband--” he spat the word out with great disgust, “--is did this, I know it.”

She kept on looking away. “Did what?”

“Goddamn it, Sarah!” he snapped. She flinched again. He breathed heavily. “Sorry,” he said shortly. “Kidnapped you, took you! Hurt you! That’s what!”

She blinked rapidly. Swallowed. “Maybe I met my husband after I was… taken. Maybe he saved me from...”

Robert rubbed his face, and sighed heavily. Sadly, he said, “So why would you never call? I refuse to believe you would have left us thinking the worst. Left me with this hole in my heart. It’s been twenty-four years and- and six months and four days and I’ve lived every single second of it without you. You’re- you’re a mother now, you understand when I say there is no greater pain than losing a child. I know you wouldn’t have done that to me.”

Sarah closed her eyes, then. “You’ve always believed I was better than I am. It’s no different now.”

He stared at her for a few long moments. Like he was taking apart every detail and putting it all back together again. His jaw clenched. “I don’t believe you.”

She tensed.

“I don’t believe you,” he said again. Gruff and emotional, like he wanted something from her.

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped. “I don’t know what to tell you!”

“I want the truth! I’ve already told you--”

“But you won’t like it!” It came out a wail, a sob, and a lament all at once. “You won’t like the truth. You won’t, not one bit. I know you won’t, and you’ll hate me forever because you won’t be able to protect me from it and there’ll be nothing you can do!”

His brows furrowed, but he leaned forward, grasped her hand. “Tell me anyway.”

A sob left her. “I don’t want to.”

“Sarah Bea, please…” He squeezed her hand.

She thought of her husband and their two perfect children, and of all the ones that had been lost in between. All because of her. There was something wrong with her, that every step she took across the earth left blooms of despair sprouting up and clouding all the air.

“You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Try me.”

She shook her head, and it shocked her when a laugh bubbled out of her. Tugging her clammy hand out of her father’s, she chuckled. “How did my life turn out this way?” she asked, facing the sky, asking the universe.

Then, abruptly, she turned to look at her father. She brought both of her hands up and held either side of his face. She stared deep into his sad, scarred, startled soul. “Just trust me, alright? Everything will be fine. He’ll be here for us soon and it’s better if you don’t know. He’s going to come get us tonight and I’m going to leave. Okay? It’s how it has to be.”

He yanked his face from her hands and stood up angrily. “How can you expect me to accept that?”

“You have to.”

He glared at her. “How can you accept that?”

She remained sitting. “There’s no other option.”

He scoffed, and this time, it was his turn to abandon their conversation on the swinging bench.

He left her there, cold and guilty and ashamed. She looked out at the sky. Evening had begun to roll in. Gray tinted blue and a pink line of clouds. She could just make out those earthly stars, little pinpricks.

Like most things here, she found them different. Wrong or right, she couldn’t tell.

. . .

Dinner came, a nice warm pasta dish prepared by Karen, and as they were all gathering to eat, Robert made a show of carrying down his shotgun and keeping it close within reach. When Sarah looked at him uneasily, he just glared right back, mulish and determined.

Alice and Ewan glanced curiously at the machine, though the tension they sensed could hardly diminish their anticipation. Even her gentle, patient son was jittering in his seat like Alice. Soon, soon. Soon Jareth would be back for them. He would not leave them for longer than a day, they were all certain of it.

As for Sarah… well, she stared at her plate most of the way through dinner. She had eaten so little today, but still she could not gather up much of an appetite. She took bites here and there, to satisfy Karen as well as the concerned looks of her children. But mostly, her eyes remained stuck to the clock and her hands busy; she twisted her wedding ring, that sweet, kindly gift of her husband, endlessly round her finger. She waited.

Her stomach bubbled and gnawed. It was a horrible feeling. When? When? When? She couldn’t stand it anymore! Jareth, come take me back! Why do you make me wait like this?

But dinner passed, and he still wasn’t there. And he still wasn’t there when Robert marched to the living room with his shotgun and sat himself down into an armchair like a soldier on duty. And he still wasn’t there when Sarah and her two little ducklings sat themselves on the couch and played the television. And he still wasn’t there hours and hours and hours later, deep in the night, when Robert had begun to doze off and so had Alice and Ewan even though they’d begged her to keep them awake.

Sarah sat, unsleeping and uneating and feeling barely alive, into the small hours of the morning. Jareth never came.

Notes:

:D

Chapter 37: Stranded

Summary:

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and glanced at her, sideways sort of knowing smile. “You ran off for a guy.”

“It’s iron poisoning, isn’t it?” Ewan murmured.

Sarah’s frown deepened. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she leaned forward and placed a hand on the sleeping girl’s sweat-dampened forehead. Underhand, Alice’s brow furrowed in sleep and she snuffled into her pillow, beset by discomfort. Sarah’s son stood behind her, peering worriedly over her shoulder in the faintly-lit room.

“Mmm,” she agreed, removing her hand and then fidgeting in place. “I suspect it is.”

She stood then, carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping Alice, and touched Ewan’s shoulder. “Come along, let’s let her rest in peace.”

Sarah flicked off the lamplight and followed Ewan out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Light from downstairs dappled the banisters of the staircase and the walls. Voices could be heard murmuring – the sun had only just begun to set, her father and step-mother were still awake, those aged, saddened people. And her daughter, a youthful, active fifteen, was in bed, ill and fatigued.

Ewan turned to her, face more brightly lit in the hall. “It hasn’t affected me though,” he said frustratedly.

Sarah rubbed her face and considered this.

“You’re not a child anymore,” she said a moment later. “Alice is still growing, but… if we’re here for much longer…”

He looked troubled.

“Don’t worry,” Sarah tried, “Your father will be back before it becomes a real problem.”

He crossed his arms, a soft, mortal-blue sweater wrinkling under the bends of his elbows. He wore a pair of black trousers– immediately, he’d disliked the feel of jeans– and plain gray socks. He looked strange to her. As strange, she was sure, as she looked to him. She didn’t think he’d ever seen her in pants before.

Having gone to the shops with Karen the second day to get clothes for her and the kids – their Aboveground stay stretching out long before them, indefinite and terrifying – she’d immediately jumped toward the jean rack. The style was different these days, but she’d found a few that she liked, thick, blue, and reminiscent. In the dressing room, with her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and with her face flushed and sweaty from shopping, she’d tugged the pair on, zipped them up, and buttoned them closed. They’d felt perfect and they’d felt horrendous, all at once. A scratchy, rough, inflexible fabric pulled unyieldingly over her waist and her thighs. For twenty or so some years she’d worn dresses or skirts– those soft, royal, flowing fabrics, freeing to the legs – almost exclusively.

And yet… the cover of them, the hug, the blue, the large, patterned back pockets, and the little coin-catcher one... Karen had been sitting just outside the dressing room, waiting for her, but Sarah had been absorbed, staring at herself in the tall mirror under fluorescent lighting, turning this way and that. In this mirror, she saw a different girl, one scarred and changed and new and old at once, but one still she hadn’t seen for so incredibly long.

In the following days of their strandedness, she found herself reaching for her jeans each day, wearing and re-wearing and re-re-wearing them. There was something grounding about them, but she wasn’t quite sure what. The image she struck recalled her girlhood self. Imperfect, but true.

Ewan lowered his eyes in front of her, looking young and vulnerable like he hated to be. “There’s nothing we can do?” He looked at her imploringly.

Sarah bit down on the inside of her cheek, hard. She looked away, down the stairs. Glass clinked. The sink was running; a hissing sound of faucet and the splash of water against metal.

It was hard for her to say, but she said it anyway, her son peering at her so worried, and confused, and stranded. “Just wait.”

She closed her eyes. “We just have to wait. That’s all.”

And it was true: all they could do was wait. Wait, wait, wait. It was maddening.

They returned downstairs, to the beaming smile of her father. Sarah’s heart cracked inside her chest, caged away by her ribs and her skin, and muscle. Somewhere inside her, too, was her soul, which fluttered in confusion, and in chaos.

. . .

Chilled wind chewed at her face and yanked at her clothes. The air was moist, from having rained earlier. It felt overly cold for the October month. She stared down at the grave, and the only tears that came were from the stinging of the cold. The headstone read:

R.I.P.

Kent Steven Williams.

Father, grandfather, friend.

Sgt. U.S. Air Force. Germany.

1919-1988

There was a little cross engraved at the top that bothered Sarah. Grandpa had confessed to her once, when she was thirteen, that he didn’t really believe any of that. He went to church every Sunday for Grandma, god rest her soul.

“He wasn’t religious,” she said. She couldn’t help herself. Know-it-all.

It was just her and her dad there. A small local cemetery that looked gray and damp and haunted with the sodden fall weather. She stared at the browned grass under her feet and paled. Long-rotted bones lay six feet beneath her.

She stepped back hastily, wiping the cold sweat off her brow.

Robert looked back at her, his scarf wound around the lower half of his face. All she could see was the shock of white-gray hair on his head. He sighed, shook his head. “We all knew it,” he said. He gestured sadly to the grave next to it, his own mother’s. “He wanted to be with Mom. Said he felt silly about it, but that maybe it would give him a better chance into Heaven, if there ever was such a thing.”

Sarah huddled into herself, in her soft, borrowed coat. During her shopping trip with Karen, they’d forgotten to grab fall-winter gear. “It’s okay,” Sarah had reassured her step-mother, the certainty of her tone becoming a lie right through her teeth, “We’ll probably be out of your hair before then, anyway.”

Now, there was a point of contention. Any reference to her life away from here was met with awkward silences from Karen, sadness from her kids, and grinding aggression from her father.

Her dad sighed again. He put his hat back on, turned to her. “Ready to go home?”

Home.

Sarah thinned out her lips. Her throat closed up. Anaphylaxis. “Yes,” she said quietly.

. . .

Her mother called back. It had been early morning and her father had come to find her.

She’d brought the phone up to her ear with a trembling hand. Vaguely, she heard her dad leave the room and pause just outside to listen.

“Hello?” she said. Her voice was all cottony, now.

“Sarah?” a woman whispered over the line. “Your father said- oh, is it really you?”

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut tight. A throbbing headache was coming after her. “Mom.”

The line crackled, Sarah was pained when her mother dissolved into muffled cries. She remembered being young and her mother crying sometimes, after arguments with her dad or when she was tired of her sad, boring life in suburbia with a husband, dog, and kid. She’d always cried spectacularly, wanting people to hear. Loud, bursting, lusty sobs; she never tried to hide them from her young daughter. Not when she would collapse lengthwise along the couch or get her daughter to waddle close and try to comfort her. Sarah remembered feeling guilty a lot as a kid. Her mother was sad about her life, all because of her.

Now, though… now, Linda Williams –still Williams, she’d never changed her name back after the divorce, it was more commercial than her maiden name, she’d told Sarah once, after all, no one wants to go see Linda Appenzeller in the theaters, it’s just too much of a mouthful – covers up her cries. Muted, stifled, choked, gasping sobs, like she couldn’t believe it. Like she was trying to fight them.

It was enough to make Sarah want to drop everything, run to her mommy, hug her, and make her better. She’d made her mom sad again and, this time, it was serious enough that it couldn’t be exaggerated.

These were the real, heart-wrenching tears. Sarah was found guilty on all counts before the jury. She knew those terms-- she was an attorney’s daughter.

It took a long time for the cries to stop, and all Sarah had done was sit there and listen, head bowed.

A wood-plank from the hallway creaked.

At the end, her mother had sounded young when she sniffled. “I’m coming as soon as I can,” she promised, heavy-voiced. “I’m coming, I promise. Don’t go anywhere.”

How could she?

They’d been stranded there. Her and her kids. Days passed. No Jareth. Her father’s gun got stowed away. She didn’t know what to make of it… At times, she thought she might be relieved. Lucky. More time with her once-family. It was all she’d ever wanted. But then, she’d be sad and guilty and yearning and out of place. Jareth had molded her to him. He was a cause of her terror and her comfort. She missed him, terribly.

It was all so confusing and… A depression took hold of her.

She wasn’t surprised. For a lot of the years of her life, depression has lingered around in some form or another like a wheedling, bad-for-you friend that just wouldn’t go away. Sometimes bone-deep and consuming, other times a faint background noise that would catch her unawares when the fugue of contentment faded every-so-often. Sarah figured that, if a study was done, she’d be a record breaker. Look at all this stress in her blood, a scientist would exclaim in his scholarly excitement. She’s about to pop!

This time, the depression was a muted thing. Like an itch of wrongness. Sarah was subdued where her daughter was weepy, and quiet where her son was aggravated. They worried for their father, they wanted him back. And it worried her, the thought that they would catch on to her thoughts, guilty as they were. She ought to be ashamed… the way her mind would stray to the future, imagining for split-seconds what it would be like to live out the rest of her life here.

Deep in her soul she knew that would never happen.

Sarah, when it became clear that the Goblin King was indefinitely detained, had been the devoted wife and loving mother her kids had always known. Of course she had been. She’d put all her effort into contacting him. She’d tried everything. A service to her children. She’d lost her father, once, too young. She would die before she let the same happen to them. She owed them everything. Babes of salvation… without them, she surely would have gone insane, long, long ago.

But with each attempt at summoning a crystal, there was a summoning of dread in her gut. She hated herself. She didn’t want him to answer.

“What if he’s dead?” Alice whispered one late night when they were all huddled up together on the guest bed. It was the biggest one of the three they were given. Sarah rolled the crystal in her hand. It was to no avail. Jareth had never taught her crystal magic beyond what she needed to be able to check in with her children. And neither Ewan nor Alice were advanced enough in their studies to know much about it either.

They tried everything.

A Fae’s name held power but when Sarah called out, trembling voice, “Jareth,” into the dark mortal night, nothing happened. Only a great stillness. Alice and Ewan had tried, too. The name was strange on their tongue. He was Father, Dad, Daddy to them, always had been.

And they wished for him, though the words had dropped like boulders in her stomach. Under the earnest, desperate, hopeful looks of her son and her daughter, she’d tried. I wish… I wish the Goblin King would come take us away. Right now.

How wrenching those words had been! With them came such a cold, bitter chill, to remember what such turns of the tongue were capable of doing. What she was capable of bringing about. She’d said similar ones once, a long time ago. And so much had happened. So much had changed. All because of a sentence and a desire.

Their wishes brought nothing about.

She half expected when she said it that he’d appear, swirling and shimmering in the waves of his own incredible magic, and yank her to his kingdom, taunt her for hours and hours and hours, a dashing, confusing king-character figure, and then finally, just when she’d thought she’d won, that she’d beaten him, he’d laugh and grin and bring her to his bed for the rest of his eternity.

Maybe wishes coming from family didn’t work. She wasn’t a wayward little mortal girl any more. Near-Fae Sarah, that’s what she was. She was the wife, the consort, the mother. She’d wished before, in his hold, to be free, and nothing had ever happened. Why should it be different, now?

Nothing worked.

Alice had burst and bubbled with excitement when she remembered the old trick her father had taught her when she was tiny and sobby about him having to leave the castle for diplomatic trips. A spell that let her scrawl out messages on the palm of her hand. Daddy will see, she’d proclaimed proudly, hopefully, as she grabbed one of those odd blue human ballpoint pens and scribbled a message into her hand.

And yet… nothing. They waited for hours and hours and nothing. The ink became smudged with Alice’s tears, blotchy blue staining her skin and her fingers, her face and the bed covers.

“But what if he’s dead?” she sobbed. She cried about this a lot. As the days passed, Sarah no longer knew how to comfort her over it.

Ewan was stressed too. To this thousandth question, he snapped back. It set Sarah on edge. She hated when they argued. He rubbed his face and cast Alice an annoyed, impatient look. “He’s not dead, alright! If he was, Mom would be too.”

“Ewan!” Sarah hissed, eyes going wide. She looked between the two of them, hands fidgeting endlessly in the bedspread. Alice blinked, quieted from this turn.

He got defensive, shoulders hunching. “What? She should know this by now!”

Alice sniffled, out of the loop. “Know what?”

Sarah covered her face. Everything was muted, underwater, as Ewan said, almost cruel with his honesty, “Her life was tied to Father’s when they got married. It lets her live as long as him.”

It didn’t help, just as she’d feared. Alice sobbed again, falling to her side on the bed and curling up. “So they’ll both die if something happens!”

That was the rub.

He was still out there, somewhere, alive. He would die before he let her go, she knew, and then she would be dead too. Here comes the bogey-man. Tick-tock-tick-tock.

. . .

Sarah huffed and clicked the remote aggressively in the direction of the television. The screen went black, minimizing into a fine point at the very center. She dropped to a seat on the couch, tossed the remote to the side, and threw her head back over the couch cushion to stare at the ceiling.

At fifteen and under, still innocent to the ways of the world, Sarah had hardly paid attention to the news. Radio and television channels of droning adults and boring headlines that her dad always liked to drink coffee and smoke to. The chatty sounds of it, intermixed with the occasional catchy musical segue to another section, were the background noises of her childhood. Running on in the background of the living room as she played with her toys or did her homework, or muffled on the radio of her dad’s car as he drove her to school. Blah blah Soviet this blah President Reagan that blah MTV is ruining our children blah.

Now, though, perhaps a cause of her great age, she could never escape it. On the television, on the kitchen radio, the car radio, her dad’s morning newspaper. In the words of her family. Word of her return had graced the local, state, and national news not even twenty-six hours after the fact. 80s Actress Linda Williams’ Daughter Back from the Grave, those big outlets had proclaimed. Or, as the local papers would put bit more compassionately, Sarah Williams Returned to her Family at Last.

Fortunately, the national outlets quickly lost interest, the lack of new information as the days went by putting a pin in it. To all eyes and ears, it was just a foolish girl who had run away from her family and then come back much too many years later with a couple of no-named kids. No pictures had surfaced–for that, she was thankful. And, apparently, Linda Williams was old news to the world, just a passing interest nowadays. Sarah was vaguely surprised, but also not, when her father informed her that, for a few years after her “disappearance,” her mother had shot up to movie stardom. A brief glorious affair among the A-listers of Hollywood. But it was 2010, now, and her mother was just another washed-up, aged actress. Though very well off, her father was quick to add.

The local news, however, still hadn’t let up, not even a whole week later. She was the source of much speculation. Sarah came from a small-ish town, though a lot of it had changed since she was young. The people were kind, she found, if nosier than she remembered.

For the first few days, there’d been a camp of news reporters on their lawn, badgering and shouting at all times until Robert had finally threatened litigation. They quickly dispersed after that. Casserole upon casserole, of course, filled up the fridge, and neighbors and strangers poked on by the Williams house. To gawk at her and at her grown children who Sarah tried, with much difficulty, to keep as far from view as possible.

The doorbell rang. Sarah’s eyes fell open and she turned her head in the direction of the front door. She rubbed her eyes, itchy and aggravated from a lack of sleep and, she suspected, the change in environment, listening out to see if anyone was going to get it. The doorbell rang again a few moments later. There was Karen’s distinctive, rushed pattering of feet. Sarah slumped further into the couch.

The door was opened and there came the sounds of muffled speaking. It was a man at the door, she could tell by the voice. It was a tad unusual. It was more often older women who came by, alibi’d by their good intentions and homemade meals. (With each casserole, Karen became more and more irate. What, she would snip, do they think I can’t cook for my own family?). And it was quite early in the morning. Not even her father had left for work yet.

What was strange, really, was that the voice was not shooed away and that when the door was shut again, and locked, there were now two footsteps in the foyer. Karen’s softer, padding ones, and a heavy, booted pair.

“Come along,” Karen was saying. “It’s just this way.”

Sarah sat up straight and yanked her head back in the direction of the door. The footsteps grew louder, coming in her direction. Karen rounded into the living room, followed by a stocky-shaped man with dark eyes and hair. Sarah must have looked foolish, sitting so ram-rod straight, with her pinched expression, since they both paused at the sight of her.

“Oh, Sarah,” Karen said. “Good morning. I thought you were still in bed.”

The man’s eyes were on her and Sarah didn’t really know what to do, but settled on shrugging, and then standing up. It gave her more power, standing did. “Couldn’t sleep,” she said.

Karen’s brow furrowed in concern before glancing over her shoulder to the man. “Mike here is going to get the fireplace up and running before winter. It’s funny, your father and I talk about it every year and then never actually do it. I guess this year there’s a real reason to… ” She trailed off, wringing her hands.

Sarah smiled thinly, not really sure what to say.

Karen continued on. “You know what? I think you two might have gone to school together.”

Curiously, she peered at Mike and said, “You’re about that age. And you and your father have worked in this town as long as I’ve been here…”

Sarah glanced sharply at the man, who had crept further in the living room, toolbox in hand. He wore overalls, thick boots, and had not looked away from her once. Her mouth fell open as she saw his face in a new light. “Oh,” she said dumbly. “I didn’t recognize you there for a second. Sorry.”

“Sarah,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

She looked down. “Yes…”

Karen clapped her hands once and held them up to her chest. She beamed. “So you two do know each other, then! How wonderful! Mike, why don’t you get started on the fireplace and the two of you can catch up. I’ll bring drinks. Coffee?”

“Please,” Mike nodded and Karen made her swift departure. Sarah, stunned from this development, watched as he crossed the room toward the fireplace and set down his toolbox. Then, he knelt in front of it and opened up the grate.

When Karen returned with two mugs of coffee, she set them down on the table and batted her hands in Sarah’s direction. Sit, sit, don’t be rude, she whispered and then left again with an order to Mike to call for her if he needed anything.

Sarah sat, picked up her coffee but didn’t drink it. It was pleasantly burning in her hand. She stared down at the steaming cup with a grimace. Then, awkwardly, she said, “It’s nice of you to fix the fireplace…”

He glanced at her and shrugged. “It’s my job.”

There was an awkward pause.

He fiddled with something inside the fireplace before pulling back. He grabbed his coffee off the table and took a sip, sitting back on his heels. After a moment, he said, “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said automatically. “How are you?”

He shrugged. “Can’t complain. I have a good job, a wife. A son.”

She set her coffee down, smoothed out her pajama pants once, and then again. “Good,” she said. “That’s good. Congratulations. How old?”

“He’s three. His name is Peter.” Mike sounded proud.

Sarah smiled. “And how long have you been married?”

“Around sixteen years now.” He glanced at her. “... you should know… my wife… it’s Emily. Em. I know you two were friends.”

“Oh,” Sarah said. “How… how is she?”

The truth was, in all the hectic everything, she had forgotten about Em. They’d grown up together, had all the same classes and gone to all the same schools. But they had never been close. Never best friends forever, they were to each other a kind of safety-net friend. Some weeks they would do everything together, and others they would hardly speak. It was just the way of things.

He wiped his forehead. “She’s good. She’s in Maine with Peter for a few weeks visiting family. She’s asked about you.”

“She has?”

He rifled around his toolbox for something and said, “You’re all anyone can talk about in the town, you know.”

She slumped into herself, face pinching. “I know…”

“Did you really run away?” he said.

She looked away uncomfortably. “Mm-hmm.”

“Why?”

Her face flushed. She couldn’t find an answer to that.

“It was a really big deal when you went missing,” he said, rattling around in the fireplace. “Big news.”

“I know…”

“Everyone thought you were dead,” he said.

She ground her teeth together.

“And your dad never stopped looking for you. There were search parties and everything, for years.”

“I know that,” she snapped.

He raised his hands in surrender. “It just seems weird to me.”

“Who even asked you?” she said coldly.

He raised his eyebrows. “Wow, you’re as approachable as ever.”

Sarah’s face burned and she stood up quickly. “If you’re just going to insult me–”

He frowned. “Relax. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Well,” she said, “You’re not very good at it.”

He rolled his eyes and returned to his work.

Sarah glared at the back of his head and crossed her arms, standing still. She felt a little hefty in breath, a little attacked. It was hardly the worst conversation she’d been a part of, but…

“Huh,” he said, sitting back up on his heels and reaching out for the movie cabinet. He tapped a finger against the glass and said, “Look. Alice in Wonderland. Remember that one year you wore that blue Alice dress, like, every single day to school? Second grade, right?”

Her eyes followed his finger and slowly, she sat back down. The television stand doubled as a shelving unit for rows of movies and some pieces of music. It was a mix of the VHS tapes she remembered and the new shiny silver discs that were now apparently the norm. Her eyes cast down again and she faintly smiled. “I remember,” she murmured. “She was my favorite character ever. I was always upset that my hair wasn’t the right color.”

He chuckled. “Everyone laughed at you for it, but it never bothered you. You were always in your own world. I thought that was kinda cool.”

She felt a little warmer, then. The flush to her cheeks a little more nostalgic than aggrieved. Still, Sarah spun her tongue ‘round seven times before she spoke. “My… my daughter… you might find it funny to know that her name is Alice.”

He grinned back at her. “I’m not really surprised. How old is she?”

“Fifteen,” she said, sitting up straighter and beaming. Her chest puffed out proudly. “And my son, Ewan, he’s twenty-one.”

His eyebrows raised.

Sarah knew that look, but she tried to ignore it, blustering on, “Do you have any kids, then?”

He shook his head. “Not yet, at least.”

He fiddled with something silently for a few moments. Then, he said, as if in great understanding, “So it was a guy.”

“Sorry?”

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and glanced at her, sideways sort of knowing smile. “You ran off for a guy.”

Sarah’s faint smile froze. She stared at him for a long second, lips pursed. Then she looked away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“No?”

“No,” she hissed. “And you would do well to remember not to make assumptions about people and situations you have no clue about.”

She stood up again, sharply, to leave, but then Karen walked in. There was a tense silence in the room, with Sarah standing, her face twisted up, defensive, and Mike kneeling with a pursed, annoying sort of expression. Karen looked between them. “Everything alright, you two?”

“Fine,” Sarah ground out. She crossed her arms and gave sideways glances towards the living room entrance which Karen was currently blocking.

Mike nodded to agree and stood up, wiping sooty hands on his overall pants. “Actually, Karen, I’m about finished. It was a quick fix. Where do you keep the gas?”

“Wonderful,” Karen clapped once. “It’s in the shed. Do you mind getting it? My back isn’t what it once was. Sarah can show you the way.”

It was this that had Sarah rolling her eyes, Karen being meddling and bothersome once again. Trying to get her to be social. In that moment, she felt more like her old self than ever, despite everything.

“Fine,” she said again and gestured for him to follow her to the backdoor. She shoved her feet into Karen’s bright pink galoshes and stomped outside. His heavy-booted steps followed along right behind. Outside, the gusty autumn air stroked her skin and pulled at her hair.

Halfway across the barren backyard toward the shed and he sidled up beside her and said, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Yes, you did,” she bit out. “I don’t know why you dislike me–”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t dislike you, I hardly know you.”

She pulled open the shed door with a yank and narrowed her eyes at him. “Exactly. You don’t know me. So why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself?”

It felt as if it had been ages since she was last able to stand up for herself, without repercussions. The liberating feeling of verbal protection. In the world of her husband and children, there was a steep, dangerous line to be drawn. How much Jareth would tolerate and at what times. Who she could argue with and who she must remain a placid, doting consort in front of. It was, often, better to be safe than sorry. Especially when so much of that world hated her, these last years, that any aggression from her, she who ought to be so grateful she was still around, was taken as provocation, as insult. As a reason for war, even.

But now, her words were just biting enough, aggressive and yet stern, that he frowned at her and grumbled his acquiescence, “Alright, alright. My bad.”

He lugged up the propane tank and carried it back inside the house, leaving Sarah standing there. She shut the shed door and stared up at the house, grand as it was, still tiny compared to the home-castle of most of her years. She shook her head and trudged back through the soggy, rained-upon ground and toward the back door. Kicking the shoes off, Sarah shivered as the warmth of the house hit her.

Mike was nowhere to be seen, likely in the living room with Karen, finishing up with the fireplace. Sarah brushed her hair out of her face and turned into the kitchen. A smile broke out on her face.

“Good morning,” she beamed.

Alice smiled faintly back, wrapped in her new, mortal robe, and with hair all a-strewn. Dark circles under the eyes as she sipped from a cup of juice. “Morning,” she yawned.

“It’s early for you to be up,” Sarah said, stepping close and rubbing her shoulders. “Are you alright? Did you sleep alright?”

Alice just shrugged, lips downturned and eyes too.

Sarah’s heart fluttered up in her throat, lumpy-like and heavy. She knew why Alice looked this way, why Ewan did too. More and more, as the days passed, the worry did not recede. It only grew stronger and bigger. Their father had not contacted them. Radio silence, as the mortals would say. It had them all on edge, Sarah most of all. For everything about the situation had her confused, disoriented, and conflicted.

She busied herself with poking about in the fridge. “Want me to make you anything for breakfast?” she asked as lightly as she could. Not that she had many great skills in the kitchen. The goblins and the Fae-servants had fed her and her children for all of their life and a large part of hers. Breakfast, though, was easy enough. She’d been watching Karen, too, absorbing her actions. There wasn’t much else to do here, in this world.

“Not really,” Alice mumbled.

Sarah frowned, pulling out a small tub of yogurt. “Not feeling any better?”

“No.”

She meandered through the kitchen to grab a spoon and then sat down beside her daughter at the table. She peeled open the yogurt and ate.

Alice’s brow furrowed. “Hey?”

“Hmm?”

“Who was that man? Walking through with that gray thing?”

Sarah glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen doorway. “He’s a… handyman. He’s setting up the fireplace for the winter.”

“Oh,” was all Alice said, perhaps disappointed that he wasn’t anything more exciting than a simple repair-man. After all, as much as Sarah had attempted to correct it, Alice had grown up on lessons about mortals and their primitive, brutal ways. And here these mortals were, with fireplaces and kitchens and bathrooms just like the ones at home, if much more modest.

“I actually knew him when I was young. We went to school together, but we were never really friends,” she continued.

“That’s nice,” Alice said absently. They sat there a few moments, in silence. Sarah scraping at the bottom of her yogurt, and Alice periodically sipping her drink.

“Is Ewan still sleeping?”

Alice nodded. “He stayed up late reading that book Grandfather gave him.”

Sarah hummed a little distractedly. Then, with a sly smile, she added, “I bet he liked having something to study.”

Her daughter snorted.

Just then, voices sounded in the foyer, heading closer. “--you so much. Robert will be so happy when he sees. You made that look so easy!”

“Anytime, ma’am. It’s all set for the winter, but make sure to call me if there are any problems with it. And you should have it checked about once a year or more often, if you can afford it.”

“Perfect. We will,” Karen said. “Now, would you like something to eat before you leave? I was about to get some eggs cooking for everyone.”

There was a pause and then. “Sure, if you don’t mind. Thank you.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Karen said. And the voices rounded into the kitchen. Sarah and Alice both looked up at the same time. Karen swanned in with a smile and got to pulling out the egg carton from the fridge as well as the packet of bacon. Mike stood in the kitchen doorway for a moment, silently, catching eyes with Sarah and then sliding his gaze toward Alice.

“Sit, sit!” Karen said. A sizzle of butter on the pan filled the room, and Mike thumped over to sit down, right across from Sarah.

“Hi,” he said, glancing at them both. Sarah watched him carefully. He smiled crookedly, snapped his fingers, and said genially, “And you must be Alice.”

Alice blushed and glanced at her mother for a split second. “Yes, hello. How do you do?”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Just fine, thank you. Your mother was telling me about you just now. She’s very proud of you.”

Alice beamed, but of course she already knew this. Sarah’s heart warmed up toward Mike for this. She glanced at him and he caught her eyes once again. He nodded at her, in apology or in recognition, she wasn’t sure, but Sarah felt her eyes prick for one dangerous moment, before she inclined her head back. To stand up for herself…

Later, once Mike had left, Robert had gone to work, and Ewan had surfaced from his bedroom, pillow imprints on his cheek and puffy-eyed, Sarah wandered back into the living room and dropped to her knees before the television stand. Opening the glass cabinet door, she reached out for the film. Alice in Wonderland. Brightly colored, laminated boxing, a sweet blonde girl in a blue dress and white pinafore, beamed out at Sarah, surrounded by all her Wonderland friends and sat upon a great big, ginormous, curious red chair. Sarah stroked the cover, like it was an old friend, or lover, and then stood back up.

The case still in hand, she meandered absently to find her children, staring all the while at the cover, with its faded corners and bitten-by-Merlin edges. She found them sitting together on the back porch, talking. Absorbed as she was, she did not notice the agitation in the line of her son’s shoulders, nor the teary sadness of her daughter’s.

She beamed at them and waved the film around in the air in front of her. “You’ll never believe what I just found. You’re gonna love it!”

They shared a look she didn’t quite see.

Notes:

Heh, sorry for the wait everyone! I gotta be honest, I feel kinda... meh... about this chapter. As we are approaching the end of the story, I find myself panicking about making sure everything I want included is included, but I think that sort of thinking is keeping me from moving forward. I'm already planning on editing this all when it's all said and done to fix all the plot holes and everything, but I guess I worry that those of you following the story currently will be disappointed. But that frame of mind is affecting my writing, soo I can't think like that lol.

Anyway, this is just a long way for me say that I'm going to keep moving forward and that, until I get a chance to edit it, there are probably going to be plot holes and the story won't be perfect. Soooo I guess that's my disclaimer for you :P And sort of a way to give permission to myself to not be perfect. :D

ALSO: obligatory shameless self-promotion. I wrote two fics since the last update. One is a Christmas story focusing on Sarah and Toby's relationship and the other is an emotional, smutty one-shot of a reunion between a 48 year old Sarah and a Jareth she hasn't seen since she was 15. Maybe those might intrigue you ;)

With that said, thank you so much for reading and for sticking with me through all this <3 Stay tuned for more!

Chapter 38: Reunions

Summary:

“I- I don’t need a shrink,” she said. “I’m fine.”

He looked at her so seriously. “Are you?”

Notes:

Happy New Year everyone!! I wish you all have a happy, healthy year ahead of you! <3

Remain where you are. Be patient. Do not contact. With love. J.

The message came on the tenth day, on a lonely morning. It appeared on Sarah’s palm, black as a tattoo, scrawled in her husband’s intent, fluid handwriting. It threw her for a loop. The days of nothing had lulled her into a false sense of… she didn’t know what. A sense, maybe, that she could fool herself into thinking that things could remain like this. That time would stop, and let her breathe.

But Sarah always had been such a foolish girl. Hadn’t he always told her that? When she, long ago, would get grand schemes of escape or resolve in her head. Or otherwise, when she would trip over herself to revolt in his clutches, only to end up hurting herself alone.

One moment Sarah was sitting, stretched-out and comfortable jeans stained with dirt creased around the ankles, on the browning grassy earth of the barren backyard. She was leaning against the great, tall, bare tree and stroking a small, chilled hand over the patchy bit of ground beside her where a foot or so below the bones of Merlin rested, and then the next moment, there was a flash of dark on her palm.

At first, it sent a sudden, startled spasm through her heart, thinking it was a critter, with how dark and unusual the mark was. But when she yanked her hand up and stared at her palm, her heart began racing for another reason altogether.

For a long time she stared at the message, blinking rapidly, as if to refresh her vision, as if the message was a glitch of life, and that if only she closed her eyes and opened them again, it would be gone. It remained. And instead, all she could do was read each part of his message, understand it all.

Remain where you are.

Be patient. He would be a while yet. How long? How long? How long? She needed to know, she needed to know.

Do not contact. Was he in danger? Why had it taken so long for him to send word?

With love. This had her heart clenching. At night, in her childhood bed, she often had recollections of his tenderness, of which he had incisively spoiled her.

J. She stroked over his initial with the pad of her pinky, the lines of it simple and yet characteristic. Him.

Then, as the sun rose higher to her east, bathing the ground in soft gold and warming the air ever so slightly, Sarah slumped back against the tree and scrunched her eyes shut tight. Her hand fell limply in her lap.

She took herself a moment to gather strength, a big, puffing inhale of fresh, earthy air, and then stood up from her spot. Brushing dirt off her jeans, she sighed and she made her way inside. The children would be elated, relieved. Though she knew not the situation, she understood, at least, that her husband had things under control. He was powerful. A mage-king unmatched. Isn’t that what rat Ralph had to say; and heavened Hoggle, too. It was only a matter of time until he returned for them, safe and sound.

Her children could rest easier and for that, Sarah was thankful. But still, she wondered: how long, how long, how long, how long.

. . .

Her mother swanned in and out of her world all before Halloween could pass. She came with three luggages and a Jeremy in tow, glamorously old, frighteningly frail. Sarah jittered, half in pain with the waiting, in the little sitting area of the local airport – you could no longer wait at the gates themselves, apparently, and when she asked why, she was looked at with a sort of bewildered dismay – her dad’s heavy hand on her shoulder an ineffectual comfort. There were other people waiting for friends and family, and their straying eyes had Sarah tense, ready to get out of there already.

When Linda walked through to the sitting area, Sarah almost didn’t recognize her, not until her father shook her by the shoulder and nudged her forward. Her mother still hadn’t seen her, so she stood, but when she attempted to speak, her voice froze over. She choked, paralyzed in place.

Robert, a frantic moment later, called out for his ex-wife. “Linda! Over here.”

When her father had seen Sarah for the first time after all those years, and when Karen had, there had been outbursts of emotion, tears, cries, gasps of disbelief. Now, her mother seeing her in person after so long– longer even than her father for Linda had lived in the Big Apple, far enough away, and generally uninterested in playing nanny to her young, impressionable daughter who she visited only every year or two or so–the reaction was muted, muffled.

It was as if all the life had been seeped out of Linda’s bones, for the way she stood there, still as a mouse, and then hugged her with trembling, sad limbs at Robert’s abrupt throat-clearing cough. Sarah felt as though everyone in the world was watching her. And her skin prickled hot. Linda Williams and Wayward Daughter, that’s what the newspapers would say.

Her mother had a new perfume, but underneath she smelled the same as Sarah remembered. Mom.

They hugged for one approximate minute, birdish arms wrapped around Sarah’s back, bold statement necklace catching in her hair, and Jeremy peering over at her. Sarah looked back, as well as she could but her mother was still taller than her and she couldn’t quite get her chin over her shoulder. It jarred her. As a child, she always thought she’d grow to be taller than her mom. She was, after all, a mix of Linda’s genes and Robert’s, her tall, bigger-than-life parents. Maybe she still would grow taller, sometime down the line of the endless life she had been gifted.

It was Linda who pulled back. “Sarah,” she said, dabbing under her wide sunglasses with a black and white handkerchief, patterned in rows with four-pointed stars among the logo of superimposed L’s and V’s. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Sarah tried to smile, but couldn’t.

Her mother brushed back some of her hair, affectionate in a way she only used to be at certain times, under certain circumstances. Sarah wondered what she was hoping for, now, as she observed her daughter for the first time in how many years.

“You’ve hardly aged,” she then said. Her face twitched strangely. And she tried to make a joke, though it fell flat. “You have to tell me your secret.”

Sarah swallowed. She puffed a breath, feeling the eyes of Jeremy–her step-father, that was new– and her actual father and all the billions of eyes in the world that were somehow getting a show right then.

“It’s the kids,” she said, feeling strange, “They keep me young.”

Linda’s eyes shuttered at that. Her lips tightened up, lines around them suggesting long-time use of cigarettes. Her neck, too, was delicate-skinned. Easily torn. What a horrible thought. There was a pregnant pause, during which Sarah felt a wave of queasiness crash through her.

“Hello, Sarah,” Jeremy said. Her eyes slid toward him.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said, voice rolling off the tongue in his strange accent. He made a jerky move, arms raising up, as if to hug her, but then he stilled and dropped them. Sarah remembered being enamored with him, thin blondness, and older, odd, eccentric foreignness. She gave him a strained smile and stepped back.

Her mom and Jeremy would be staying at the nice hotel in midtown, not far from the house. With Sarah and her daughter and son occupying all of the beds of the home, there wasn’t any room for the two extra. Though historically, her mother had always opted for hotels when she came to visit, avoiding the Williams home and her ex-husband as much as she could, instead luring Sarah away from the suburbs with her sleek rental car, sneaky suggestions for underage sips of champagne, and the sparkling crystal taps and luxurious-scented soaps of her hotel tubs.

The car ride was loaded, no one quite knowing how to behave, what to think. Sarah ended up in the backseat next to her mom, peering compulsively at her every few seconds. In the shaded car, Linda removed her large sunglasses for the first time, displaying to her daughter sunken, tired eyes. Sarah stared. Is this what she would look like, if she had led a normal life? Left to her own devices… wrinkled and hair a not-quite-natural black.

Linda alternated between looking at her lap, at her clasped hands, out the window at the swiftly passing highway scenery, and at her daughter who couldn’t look away. In a moment of blinding affection, as the men spoke unimportantly in the front seats, Linda reached over and grabbed Sarah’s hand with both of hers, a firm handish hug. She brought it up and, with closed, scrunched eyes, kissed her knuckles, once, twice, three times, and dropped their three hands back to her lap where she fixed her eyes resolutely.

Sarah’s eyes were wide on her mother. Teary-like and surprised. Linda’s jaw was tight, wrinkles around the mouth more pronounced, but she appeared to Sarah true. It emboldened her, and, feeling warmed, wanted, she unclicked her seatbelt and scooted closer.

Sideways as it was, she hugged her mom, dropping her head on her shoulder, and seeking affection. Linda hesitated, stiffened, birdy arms coming up clumsily, but hugging her back all the same.

Sarah buried her nose into the fabric of Linda’s silk shirt, breathing in her new perfume and her. The smell of cigarettes lingered. “I missed you,” she whispered. Her eyes welled with tears, nothing new, but they came with a smile. Feeling blabby, she loosened her hold and up close, giddily said, “Just wait till you meet the kids. They’ve been asking all about you… they’ve never had grandparents before, you know? Meeting daddy was a shock– Oh, you’ll love them, they’re so great–”

But slowly, as Sarah divulged proudly about her kids. Their name, age, quirky little characteristics, and a funny, fatherless story or two, Linda grew more and more pinched, stiff. She pulled back all the way and looked out the window, leaving the back of her head for Sarah to view.

Sarah bit her lip, but marched onward, the sounds of the road beneath the tires and the radio softly in the background. “We’re having a roast for lunch. Karen’s a great cook. She made a feast.” Then she gasped, hands flying up to her mouth. A lump formed in her throat. “I forgot– you don’t like meat, do you? Dammit– but I can make you something else! Or we can stop to pick some food up! Daddy, can we–?”

Linda pursed her lips and patted her hand. Sarah’s frantic, worried words trailed off. “Jeremy and I need to check into the hotel anyway, dear. We’re coming by for dinner.”

“Oh,” Sarah said, looking down. Vaguely, she was aware of her father and Jeremy listening in to their conversation. A note of childlike petulance crept in. “But that’s hours away…”

Stiffly, Linda said, “There’s some things we need to get in order first.”

The corners of Sarah’s mouth drooped. “But don’t you want to meet Alice and Ewan? They’re waiting for us…”

Linda kept looking out the window, hesitating. Sarah didn’t look away from her until her dad piped up. “I’m sure your mom and Jeremy are tired, Sarah. It’s a long flight from L.A.”

Sarah clenched her hands in her lap, gulped down the kiddish tears that threatened to fall. She was embarrassed. Gullible. She caught the look of Jeremy in the rearview mirror and looked quickly away, out of her own escapist car window. “Right,” she said thickly. “Right. Of course. I understand.”

And yet, when they arrived at the hotel, and Robert helped his ex-wife and his ex-wife’s husband carry their luggage from the parking lot into the lobby, Sarah gazed after them with a dark, betrayed longing. Cruelly, she pinched her skin through her jeans and thought mean, true things.

Robert returned to the car with a tight expression. Climbing into the driver seat and glancing back over his shoulder, he said, “Aren’t ya gonna come sit up front?”

Sarah shrugged her shoulders, listless, staring toward the revolving glass doors of the hotel. It was a new hotel. It was surely much nicer than any of the ones she could recall, in this advanced, futuristic year of twenty-ten. As her father pulled out of the parking lot, the door grew smaller and smaller in the distance until, with a turn at a light, eventually it was out of sight. Sarah imagined that her mother was behind the dark glass lobby windows, staring after the retreating car containing the daughter she hadn’t seen since she was fourteen, guilty with her indifference, wishing she’d been different.

“Don’t take it bad,” her dad advised as they pulled into the neighborhood. “She’s in shock, she doesn’t know how to act.”

A single tear dripped down her cheek and she wiped it furiously away. “She’s scared of me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true–”

“It is,” Sarah muttered. “I know it is.”

And, you see, she was right. Linda Williams left three days later. Dragging her husband and three luggages back to L.A. with a stiff, unsure goodbye. A new job was just offered to her, a chance of the lifetime, Sarah, you understand, don’t you? And then she was gone.

The abandoned girl. She hid from her kids. They could never see her so unwanted. They’d see it was possible… and they’d hate her too.

. . .

Halloween came and went, with it a vivid batch of childhood nostalgia. Squat pumpkins appeared all around, little families of orange and yellow shaded squashes on neighborhood doorsteps. Styrofoam headstones scrawled with exaggerated R.I.P.s were stuck into frigid soils and plastic bones were strung up against garage doors. The Williams house remained bare as it never had before, her father having always entertained Sarah’s fancies of Halloween decorations as a child. Karen had let slip that he had only stopped decorating six years after her disappearance, hope beginning to trickle out. Apparently, the boxes were shoved away in the attic, dust-covered and sad. Untouched by time, as was she, in a way.

As October crept on by, Sarah enjoyed sitting out on the large front porch, sipping tea or juice or water, and peering out along the long, hilly, suburban street at the purple-and-orange string lights, and the neon green spiderwebs stretched over bushes and trees.

Her children were curious about it. A tradition they were unfamiliar with. After over two decades of living in the Underground, Sarah had a bit of a new perspective on it. She had observed many a Samhain celebrations on the grounds of the castle and she’d heard them too, loud and raucous dancing and chanting, in the distant city of which she scarcely visited.

Sitting out on the porch with them at either side of her, she mused, “The humans of the time must have continued the tradition of Samhain after the Fae fled to the Underground, only then they called it Halloween. Interesting, huh? I wonder what other Fae touched things linger here…”

Ewan appeared intrigued, and frustrated. “We never learned any of that.”

Sarah smiled thinly. “There is quite a lack of mortal literature Underground, or at least in the library. I’m not really surprised the Fae… dislike… humans as much as they do– I mean, they hardly know anything about them.”

“Enough dislike to start a war over?” Ewan said quietly.

Alice frowned, pulling her legs up to her chest.

Sarah sighed, turned to look at him. “Are you surprised?”

He looked away. “Not really. But- it’s stupid. The people here are normal, just like us, they’ve just got shorter lives. And it’s not like every Fae can cast like Father.”

She tapped her fingers on her cup, rocking the front deck. It was evening, dusky sky darkening. The lights across the street twinkled. An inflatable ghost smiled over at her. “Your people are old, they hold grudges. It’s been over twenty years since I’ve been back Above, but things here have changed so much. Imagine thousands of years ago– the humans might have truly been barbarians like the books say. But I don’t know enough mortal history to–”

“Did you miss it?” Alice said suddenly.

“Hm?”

“The human world?” she said with wide, curious, seeing eyes, “Did you miss it?”

Sarah stillled. She looked carefully down at her lap. “Of course I did.”

Alice’s brow scrunched up. “But why would you never come back?”

Sarah’s heart squeezed painfully. She tried to smile but it came wooden. “It just never came up…”

Ewan looked at her dubiously, she could see it in her periphery. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head turned her way. He watched. He was like his father in that way.

Alice sucked her teeth and pointed out, “You never told us about your family, but you obviously love them. I just don’t understand–”

Sarah felt wooden. “You’re not meant to understand, it’s none of your business,” she said tightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me–”

She got up without another word and went inside. Guilt crawled like bugs inside her. She’d abandoned her children, alone on that mortal swinging chair, that mortal porch. She’d brought them here and left them without answers. She was no better than her mother.

On Halloween night, the trick or treaters avoided the Williams house. Some superstition remained, and old and young alike warned one another of the strange disappearance of that Williams girl. Out of thin air, some said, snatched out of her bed, never to be seen again, until–

It turned out that she was a ghost story in this town.

. . .

She could hardly hold onto all her secrets. All the lies. Her kids knew one thing, her parents another. The news, which had slowly let up over the weeks, even another. At this point, she felt like she was grasping at straws for the truth. Her truth…

Her mother could hardly stand to be around her, and had left quickly, without ceremony. The grandchildren had obviously been too much, a shock her old heart couldn’t handle. Jeremy, Sarah thought, was just an extension of her mother. Her long-ago crush had abandoned the space between them, and now all she could see was an old man from another country, loosely related to her. As a child, she’d wanted to be her mother. And it followed that she wanted to be with her mother’s lover. None of it mattered anymore.

They hadn’t asked many questions, Jeremy relatively quiet at his wife’s side, and his wife quiet with whatever emotion of hers. They seemed out of place among those named Williams, though Jeremy took a shine to Alice and Ewan. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “Fellow countrymen! Finally! I love you, Lind, but a man misses the sound of his home after so long.”

Alice and Ewan had turned to Sarah, at that, confusedly. Sarah tensed, having to make some vague muttered agreement.

“It must have rubbed off on you, Sarah,” Karen had added. “You speak differently.”

“I do?”

There was an awkward silence at the table. The parents and the step-parents and the daughter and the grandchildren. What an odd group.

And Karen didn’t know how to deal with her, she never had. The agitation between them from the evil stepmother days was gone, but while they hadn’t known each other then, they especially didn’t know each other now. Karen sometimes ventured to ask her questions– a spy for Robert, perhaps, Sarah bemusedly understood– about her life, about the kids. Mostly things that would be innocuous if she’d asked anyone else and things that Sarah had to skirt the truth of. Questions about her wedding, her pregnancies, her hobbies, her life, where she’d lived. And, oh, did you have a job in England?

She never quite attempted to ask about the elusive husband, of whom there was ample proof, the imperishable band on Sarah’s finger and the two blond, out of the loop children. And she remained silent on the strange behavior exhibited by Alice and Ewan– and Sarah too– their wide-eyed wonder at planes which passed overhead every few days, the odd obsession with the television, the uncomfortable way Alice stood in pants and the overly polite manner unusual among twenty-one year old young men.

One evening, though, after dinner, Karen seemed to grow looser. Robert was still off at work, late-night attorneying, and the television was being flicked through at the speed of light in the next room over. Sarah was helping her stepmother clean up the kitchen when the older woman said, “Alice reminds me a lot of you. She looks just like you at that age, it’s incredible.”

In the midst of drying off a plate, Sarah laughed lightly, “She doesn’t look anything like me.”

Karen passed her a sudsed up mug and Sarah got to rinsing it. “Well, no, not the hair and eye color, that’s true. But her face, and- and the way she speaks, and her mannerisms- it’s all you.”

Sarah paused. She turned her head slightly, looking over her shoulder at the kitchen doorway which led to the living room. She couldn’t see her daughter, but just then a loud, tinkling laugh made its way over the television volume, through the walls, and floated into the kitchen.

“See,” Karen smiled, “You.”

For some odd reason, this revelation made Sarah vulnerable. She gazed down at the sink and she thickly swallowed. But why should she be surprised- they were her children too, not just Jareth’s. She’d carried them each, nine months, and she’d given birth to them, and she’d held them and fed them and cared for them and loved them. And she still did, and she always would. They were hers. Of course she knew that, but…

“I never really noticed,” Sarah ended up saying, a little wobbly sounding, but masking it well.

“They’re so blond though,” Karen mused. “I assume that’s their father’s half…?”

Sarah hummed in agreement.

“Normally dark hair is a dominant gene,” her step-mother continued, peering over at Sarah’s long, dark-brown hair which hung loosely down her back in a single braid. “It’s surprising that they’re so fair, considering…”

“Strong genes, I guess,” Sarah said.

Though not impossible among the Fae, dark hair was a rarity. Exotic among all the golden, pale, fair ones. It was a quality which stood out among the crowd. It was one of the things that Jareth favored about her. Dark brown hair which, depending on the hour of light, could appear black as night or, at other times, rusty, wine-stained, and soft-auburn. He would always play with her hair, stroke it. Sometimes, even, when he was feeling particularly affectionate or fascinated, he would brush it for her, gently. Adoring. If Sarah’s children had been of a mortal man, their hair would surely be dark, or at least a blend between hers and his. A caremely brown, with a blond husband, or otherwise, chocolate toned strands, the middle ground between the inky brown on her head and the mousy brown of his fictitious one. As it was, however, her children were not of a mortal man, but of a Fae one. A King, at that. The Fae genes were strong, inordinately so. At every turn, she was beaten back, and the streams of the blood were no different. Jareth had her under control, even in their children. But… to hear that Alice did look like her, despite such superficial things as hair color or eye color… it warmed her heart.

“I’m sure it happens sometimes,” Sarah added, another cast in the dark.

Karen shook her head with a soft laugh. “I wouldn’t know. You’ll have to ask Toby whenever he manages to visit- he went through a phase in high school, genealogy and genetics and all that. Apparently, one of my great-great-great-whatever ancestors was an officer in the French Revolution!”

Sarah laughed.

Her stepmother grew emboldened. “And Ewan…” she started, wringing out her dish towel. “I see you in him, too, but…”

Sarah smiled a little wryly. Maybe a tad wistfully. “He’s his father’s son,” she agreed and maybe it came out sadder than she meant it to because Karen gave her a pitying sort of look.

“Hmm,” she said, awkwardness returned. And that was that.

Robert, on the other side of the ranch, a phrase which here means now to be looking at his attitude toward Sarah in contrast to Karen’s and Linda’s, was nowhere near as hesitant about questioning his daughter. He was ruthless in a way, and though Sarah knew he was only concerned, she found herself exhausted by it. He did not believe any of her lies, not really, she knew. A sort of understanding was formed between them. She knew he knew that her run-away story was false and he knew she knew he knew. She kept her lips sealed as to the specifics, but their conversations were underlain by the knowledge of something more.

But he had no fear about asking about the husband. Or about her life, or about the kids, anything. He asked, but she never answered. When would he snap, she wondered.

And… well, he was a drunk. He never had been before, only the occasional cuppa once in a while with the more upscale dinners, and she’d thought perhaps that her first night returned to the mortal world had been a fluke, with him drenched in the stench of scotch and sorrow. He abstained the first few days and night, but after that she was hard pressed to see him without a clear, stoutly cylindrical glass, amber liquid and ice rocks swirling around, in his belligerent grip.

It pained her to see him this way. Dinners would be stunted, conversation tense. One night, Robert knocked over a plate or two in his clumsy drunkenness, stumbling and attempting to recover his mistake, only to clunkily, slurrily, clatter even more things around. His face was flushed, and he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, quite look at the rest of them. Karen, with a pinched face, picked up after him.

“Here,” she said, pouring him a glass. “Have some water.”

“No,” he grumbled, in a slumped sort of position. He picked up his tumbler and waved it in the air with a wobbly arm. “Gimme some more.”

Sarah stared at her plate, a tense line to her shoulder. Karen could be heard bending close to her husband and hissing that his daughter was here for Christ’s sake, and your grandkids too! Sober up, or so help me god. Is this really how you want them to see you?

Robert’s grumbles fell silent at that and the scotch glass containing only the remaining watered down, amber-stained ice clunked onto the table. Karen whipped it up without a word and no one spoke. Alice scraped at her plate slowly, not eating. She didn’t like the green beans, but was too polite to say anything. She was a princess– her manners were of course impeccable.

When Sarah peeked up at her father he was slouched over the table, head in his hands. He glanced up, watery eyes and red face, and saw her looking. He turned ashamedly away and gulped from the new glass of water.

Getting caught out by his wife, daughter, and himself, for his drunken behavior made him bluster over it. “Hmph,” he said, a little listlessly. “Sarah, what are ya plannin’ to do about Alice, huh?”

“Sorry?” She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. Alice sent her a bewildered look.

“School,” Robert grumbled. “She’d be, what, a sophomore? I dunno how school works in Europe, or wherever the hell you all came from, but she’s gotta go to school. I’ll bring you tomorrow to your old high school to register.”

Sarah blinked. Her mouth tightened up. “Oh, well, there’s no need,” she said. “Alice graduated already.” That was a lie, but it wouldn’t do to have her daughter, the princess, stuck in the drudgery of mortal high school, shuffling to and from classes, biology and history and whatnot, among all that she wouldn’t understand. Sarah was almost certain the royal education her children were raised on was much more involved that what she herself had been given. Not that she ever finished her education…

Robert squinted. “Already? But she’s fifteen, isn’t she–”

Alice herself was glancing between the two of them, eyes bouncing back and forth. Ewan, too, intently listened in.

“Well,” Sarah said, “She was privately tutored, so it was much quicker.”

Her father, of course, found this fishy. But he muttered an acceptance, peering over his plain ol’ glass of water, looking as if he dearly wanted that scotch again. Sarah crossed her fingers that he wasn’t going to question any further. Not that such silly attempts of superstition had ever worked for her, not even when she desperately needed them to.

What was worse was the suspicion with which her father looked at her son. Robert was polite in general, even when he was drunk, but he had a preference for his granddaughter. It angered Sarah, though she understood why. It was easier for Robert to pretend with the young girl, one who apparently looked just like his long lost daughter, that things were okay. It was harder with the young man of distinctive eyes, hair, and stature. The spitting image of his father. The spy, Karen, had surely relayed this little bit of information.

Ewan came rushing out onto the back porch one early evening, breathing heavy, and high cheekbones flushed in agitation. He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, not realizing for a moment that Sarah was sitting upright on the swinging chair, looking at him, alarmed.

When he saw her, he looked just as quickly away. “I didn’t realize you were out here,” he muttered.

She frowned deeply. His shoulders were practically up to his ears and a line was formed in his forehead, just as it always had in times of stress ever since he was just a baby. “Ewan,” she said worriedly, standing up. “What happened?”

He discreetly rubbed at his eyes and pushed off the door. “Grandfather, he–”

“What?” she said quickly.

Ewan crossed the porch and collapsed onto the chair beside her. He crossed his arms, didn’t quite look at her. “It wasn’t much–”

“What did he say?” she snapped.

He sighed. Clenched his jaw. “Just questions about you and… father.”

Sarah’s fists tightened at her sides. “What kinds of questions?”

“You know… Father’s name, where we live, what I know about your… situation.”

She ground her jaw tight. “And what did you say?”

“Nothing,” he protested. “What could I say? He wouldn’t believe me. And–”

He glanced at her oddly and then looked quickly away.

“And?” she prodded.

He was agitated again. “And it’s not like I actually know anything! This whole thing is–” He gripped his hair in his hands and scoffed. “I don’t know what to make of it!”

“Ewan–”

Her sweet young man turned to face her, head on. Quietly, he said, “He still believes you were taken. Stolen away.” It was almost a question, but not quite.

Sarah stared at him for a moment too long, she fidgeted now. She was agitated too.

Ewan had a desperate sort of look about him. “But that’s ridiculous!” he burst out.

She looked quickly at her lap and then again, away. He noticed this, her clever little boy. He was too shrewd for his own good. Hadn’t Jareth said once- children pick up on cues easier than one would expect. Well, Ewan wasn’t a child anymore, and surely he could pick up on things even easier than ever before.

“It is ridiculous, isn’t it?” he whispered.

Sarah swallowed. “Of course,” she said, but it came out strained.

Ewan wouldn’t look away from her, even though she looked over across at the large grand Merlin tree, nervous eyes flicking this way and that. “Gods,” he murmured, standing up sharply. Without his abrupt move, the swinging chair jolted. Sarah’s stomach jumped up to her throat. Ewan rubbed his face and then walked away, off the porch and over the sodden mid-November grass of the backyard. He headed toward the side of the house.

She stood up and frantically called after him. “Where are you going?”

“A walk,” he said shortly, and then disappeared round the bend before she could say another thing.

Sarah slumped back into her chair and dropped her face into her hands. Her face was hot with anger and embarrassment. She felt caught, seen. She stood up again, madly, and stomped back inside. It was the weekend and so her father was home at this time, and it was before dinner so, if anything, he was only a little bit tipsy.

Ignoring Alice’s and Karen’s wide-eyed looks as she ran through the house like a loud, angered giant, and crashed into her father’s office. He looked up when she came in, startled. A scotch glass sat on a desk coaster, one-third empty, but his face was a normal shade of skin, neither flushed nor pallid. And his eyes betrayed no fuzziness. She slammed the door shut behind her.

“What are you doing?” she said.

His brow furrowed.

“Why are you interrogating my son?” she cried. “He doesn’t know anything, so leave him out of it!”

He stood up and held out his hands. “Now, listen here–”

“No,” she snapped. “You listen. My kids have nothing to do with this–”

“They have everything to do with it,” he roared. He slammed his hands hard onto his desk and she flinched.

She stood still for a moment, breathing carefully. Her eyes rested on the rumpled bit of the shoulder of his white button-up shirt. He seemed to crumple a little. “Sarah…”

“You’re wrong,” she said finally, feeling as though her words were dangerous, provoking, but that they had to be said. “They don’t know anything. They’ve never known anything. Please, please don’t– just, listen, they love their father, so, so much. He’s a good father. He would do anything for them. And- I love him for that, okay? Please, I’m asking you- don’t put anything into their heads.”

“The truth, you mean?”

She tensed, coming around the chair and pressing her own hands into the wood-top of the desk. A grain from the downed tree imprinted itself into the cushiony part of her palmy thumb bone. “You don’t know the truth,” she reminded him.

He pursed his lips, a look she recognized from herself, and his eyes darted down to the desk, flicking this way and that. He seemed to be wrestling within himself. Finally, he exhaled. He raked a hand through his grayed-up hair and slowly sat back into his creaky leather chair. He looked fragile to her, truly, for the first time. She’d vaguely noticed, of course, the obvious signs of aging- the faded hair, the lined skin, the wincing pain with which he sat down and stood up. But now she saw the bony way his arms fell, the hunched curve of his shoulders and back, the deep-sunken eyes. He was an old man. A grandfather. She thought herself self-involved when she wondered how much all of that had to do with her.

He reached out for the scotch glass and lifted it up an inch but then, he paused, and set it back down, off center from the water-condensed ring already present on the coaster. He wiped off his damp palm. Sadly, quietly, he sat. “I wish you would talk to me, Sarah…” he murmured finally.

The skin around her eyes tightened at the corners. She, carefully, sat down in the seat across from him. She wondered why he had it- it was a new addition, one of the million things she’d noticed to be changed. He never even had clients over.

He looked at her with wide, helpless eyes. “Why won’t you?” he implored.

She pressed her hands to her face, full-palmed. Then the heels of her hands into the squishy sockets of her eyes. Her eyelid vision went black, a deep void of no return, and she could feel her pulse there. When she dropped her hands, her face felt heavy, as did her eyes. “I can’t…”

He frowned at his desk, still. It was a sedate moment between them, a lethargic aftermath of their shouty fight. He sighed.

“I spoke to the detective the other day…” he said, and his low voice was tinged with vulnerability.

He continued. “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me about it, but- he suggested that maybe there’s someone else you wanted to talk to? He gave me the name of a- well, a therapist. Wait, listen, please hear me out. She has an office about forty minutes out and she comes highly recommended- I did some research on her on the internet and I called her. We talked, she’s very kind. She specializes in long-term trauma and- I know I don’t know what you’ve gone through, Sarah, but I can take a guess. And- well, she’s been known to help women who’ve gone through abuse and… sexual assault and–”

As he spoke, his explanation almost rehearsed in the way it covered all his bases, Sarah reeled, his words turning watery, muffled, harsh, and judging to her ears. “A shrink?” she said, almost numbly.

He paused. “A therapist, yes.”

“I- I don’t need a shrink,” she said. “I’m fine.”

He looked at her so seriously. “Are you?”

She turned away. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally said. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you–” it was partly that, maybe even mostly, as she had lived so long with the knowledge of it all that speaking the truth, the real truth, and nothing but the truth, sounded painful and revealing and like something she never ever wanted to do, “–it’s- just there’s no way to explain–”

“Sure there is,” he said, paternally optimistic, “You just have to find the right words, that’s all.”

The right words… A hysterical not-a-laugh almost came bursting out of her. Instead, she shook her head, vehemently. All that would happen was she’d be sent to the loony bin or wherever they sent people who believed in fairies and goblins and other worlds. Maybe she was crazy, but she wasn’t crazy in that way. No one would believe her, but she knew it to be true. There was a world beyond this one of terrible beauty and unspeakable horrors.

He looked disappointed, downtrodden, almost. “At least think about it,” he said quietly. “Please?”

She hesitated. Then, she agreed with a slight, jerky nod of the head. She would think about it. “Okay,” she said.

“Good,” he sounded a little pleased, a little relieved. She hadn’t made any promises, though.

“But… Dad?” she whispered. He looked up. “Please- keep the kids out of it. For me. Please.”

He frowned. It was now that he picked up his scotch glass. He took a sip and then nodded. They remained silent together for a minute or so, the clock on the wall ticking away. He sipped faster and faster.

“I just want you to be happy,” he said eventually, sounding tired. Weak. His voice seemed to shake. “Healthy.”

That fucking lump in her throat- it grew, came back. A cancerous growth, surely, for how persistent it was.

“I just want my baby girl back,” he sobbed.

Impossible, Sarah thought, she was gone.

. . .

Winter descended and still they remained stranded. Her son couldn’t quite look at her. Alice spent a lot of time in her borrowed bed, perpetually and vaguely iron-ill. Sarah’s potions worked, aiding with the symptoms, but they could not cure the disease. Even Ewan began to show signs of it. Sarah, too, lay in bed or on the couch or, when it wasn’t too cold, on one of the porch chairs, usually the one in the back.

It was a lethargic afternoon, the heater on high despite the fireplace in working order, spreading the house full of a musty, faintly singed smell of winter-warmth, and the Christmas tree stood stately and dull by the fireplace, stringed lights not yet turned on for the evening. She flicked through the television, lingering on the music channel, now that she was old enough to. The kids were somewhere in the house, sleeping maybe, or eating. Karen and Robert were out, grocery shopping and working, respectively.

The doorbell rang. A moment passed and then it rang again.

Almost as a zombie, Sarah stood, grumbling. She shuffled to the door, wrapped in her lazified mortal robe, and unlocked the deadbolt. With the chain connected, she cracked open the door and peered out. Cold wind bit at her face and her eyes flinched shut before she blinked them open once again.

The man on the porch threw her for a loop. Discombobulation abound. He stood there, stocky and odd in his bright red jacket, with a puffy winter hat shoved down over damp blond hair. They caught eyes through the careful crack of the door. The chain obscured her vision and so she shoved the door shut and undid it, feeling her heart pounding and pounding, all of a sudden.

She opened the door again, wider. She swallowed, blinked. Her eyes were watery with cold and with strange disbelief. An upset of sorts, of recognition and of unrecognition.

“T-Toby?”

The stocky young man on the porch, a well-used luggage behind him she now noticed, smiled a little crookedly, faintly– he, too, recognized the lack of humor of this situation.

“Hey, big sis.” He looked past her into the home he was more familiar with than she, with his blue eyes that she was surprised with. “Aren’t ya gonna let me in?”

Notes:

:D As always, thank you for reading and for all the lovely support. <3

Chapter 39: Half-Brother, Step-Mother

Summary:

“I- Toby, I don’t think that play was real.”

The appearance of a grown Toby provoked a dream in her.

In it, she was stumbling and skidding endlessly around, some weight on her chest. Severed stone walls enclosed the space around her, the swirling, damp air above burned in orange, with sooty clouds abound. Haze-like, she coughed, though it didn’t feel like a cough–it was a dream, after all. It was the burst of sound, the puff puff past lips she couldn’t feel. The cough turned into a squalling, and dream-she looked down. A swaddled baby, blond haired, blue eyed was clutched tight to her chest. Wrapped in fine, rich as wine, silk-trimmed fabric, she was shaken to realize that the baby boy was not her princely son, but her plump-cheeked, teary-eyed brother. His face reddened with infantile fury, mouth stretched wide and wet with his screeching cries and she offered him her finger to suck so he would calm but it only made him angrier. She stumbled again and the crying grew louder and the pace of her walking- and stumbling- quickened.

In the distance, down the long lane of stone and creeping eyes and crouching shrubs, was a tall, spiraling castle which she knew. Toby screeched and screeched and she sped to the castle, needing to get there, to the center, where everything would be okay again. She burst into a run, holding tight the babe who was jostled in her arms, though somewhere a larger sense of unease about bringing her brother to that castle, from where really she needed to retrieve him from–

It didn’t matter to her legs, nor to the overwhelming pumping of her heart, which told her to get to the castle, time was running out. Then, she was there, pushing open the imposing, chained doors with hands that also, in the dream world, impossibly held onto the baby. She shoved her way in and the door squealed and Toby screeched. And she was in a room with the chair-throne. The Goblin King sat in it, and swaddled comfortably in either of his elbows, her son and her daughter, both of a similar small age, dozed with peaceful, baby smiles. The squalling of her brother did nothing to disturb them.

“Give them to me,” she said.

“I will,” the Goblin King said. He looked odd to her dream vision, like she didn’t really know him. “But first, give me the baby.”

Without question, she did. He juggled three babes at once and then hers were in her arms. They kept sleeping and Sarah smiled. Distantly, the guilty baby cries fell away. She looked up at the Goblin King whose arms were now empty. He grinned gleamingly, like a crystal, and the scene faded from mind.

This was when Sarah either woke up, immediately, hands coming to clutch up at her chest, or the dream morphed into another, frenetic one she would forget by the time morning rolled around.

. . .

The twenty-five year old Toby had a keen eye and an even cleverer tongue. He knew some things, she was sure of it. Where his parents were oblivious, and ineffectual in their interrogations, he was aware. Sarah felt wrong-footed around him. Logically, she knew he was her brother –her half-brother, the remnants of a juvenile jealousy piped up– the one she had held and gambled away and won back, just barely. But realistically… the sight of him, of an equal height with Ewan, if more broad, with his short blond hair and bright eyes, set her all to sorts. She had seen her son grow every step of the way, but last she had seen Toby, he was just a screaming, squalling baby.

Karen, upon returning from the grocery store, laden with paper bags, had burst into tears at the sight of her son. He had been gone for a long while, apparently, off busy with his job of concept illustration or something or other– Sarah didn’t quite catch the title, but it felt like something she ought to know, so she resisted asking.

Toby had helped her with the bags and then hugged his frail, blubbering mother. “We were just catching up, Sarah and me,” he added when Karen asked. He’d only been there a few minutes before she had returned. They hadn’t spoken much, just stared at each other, with the occasional awkward comment. The weather is something else, isn’t it.

“Good good,” Karen said, dabbing away at her face. Then, she swatted him gently on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you warn me you were coming, young man? I’ll need to figure out sleeping arrangements–”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he reassured, “I only found out yesterday. I’ll set up my room and everything, don’t worry. You won’t have to do a thing.”

“Oh… well,” Karen said, hesitating. She glanced at Sarah.

When Toby followed the look, curious eyebrow pinned upward, Sarah fidgeted in place but offered an understanding smile. “He can have his room,” she said, “We’ll figure something out- I can stay with Alice and Ewan can move into mine…”

Karen seemed to relax, then, to realize that no one would have to sleep on the couch after all. “Thank you,” she said, face relaxing.

There was a moment of silence in which they all looked at each other, in turn. Toby broke it. “I forgot,” he said, “I’m apparently an uncle.”

The word came out strange on his tongue, and to Sarah’s ear. “Yes,” she said. “Did Dad tell you?”

He scratched his cheek. “Mom mentioned it, actually. So where are they?”

“I’m not sure…” Sarah said. She glanced in the direction of the front door. “They went on a walk, I believe.”

“In this weather?” he said.

She shrugged. His gaze seemed to pin her in place. And they seemed familiar, ones she had looked into in love and in terror, except these ones were normal, with identical pupils of pitch dark in the center of the thick circle of glassy blue.

The three of them settled into the kitchen, Karen standing and Toby grabbing a seat at the table. And Sarah, in waiting for the return of her children, sat aside, mostly silent, not really sure how she fit in there. An undercurrent of awkwardness permeated between her and the brother, even though Karen attempted to include her in conversation. What could be said? Really? To him, too, she might as well have been a carnival attraction. The lady with the beard or the man ten feet tall. As Karen turned her back to begin working on dinner, the two half-siblings sat at the kitchen table, nearby but so far apart, and Sarah could feel him looking at her, dissecting. What did he see? She was sure it must be strange, to see who you knew to be your sister, but had never really known. To meet your sister, twenty-some years too late.

Alice and Ewan had indeed gone out on a walk. They returned some time later, door creaking open and slamming again. Sarah met them in the foyer, feeling agitated and jittery, finding them with slushy flurries of snow frosting the tops of their hair and melting away off their boots. Faces flushed, they removed their coats, and their boots, but Sarah was certain they had heated themselves with more familiar means. They glanced at her curiously.

She offered an awkward smile. “Everything’s fine,” she reassured. “But there’s someone here I want you to meet.”

With intrigued little ducklings following behind, Sarah trepidatiously led them to the kitchen. Karen saw them first.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, beaming, waving about a spatula, “Good, you two are back.”

Sarah ushered her children to come further in. She glanced at Toby, who stared.

“Alice. Ewan,” she said, touching each of their arms. She gestured to the table. “This is my… younger brother, Toby. Toby, my son and daughter.”

For a long moment Toby looked stunned, completely taken aback. All before his expression closed off again. He looked quickly at Alice, before his eyes found Ewan. A cloud of bewildered suspicion formed upon his brow.

“Tobias Williams, don’t be rude,” Karen scolded when he didn’t say anything for another moment more. Toby coughed and stood up, then, looking off-guard. He greeted them both with a sort of stilted, awkward, handshake. Silence fell.

“You’re older than I thought,” Toby muttered to the both of them.

Ewan clasped his hands behind his back. “And you’re younger than we thought. Funny that.”

. . .

For the week-ish that Toby would be visiting–long enough to stay for Christmas but nothing more–Sarah moved into the guest room to share with Alice and Ewan took up in her old bedroom, with all its boxes and empty, plain walls, and memories she hadn’t yet had the courage to go through. The waiting cardboard boxes drooped from the sad feeling she infused the room with. Ewan, not for the first time, looked at the boxes and then at her with something like curiosity, or suspicion, or confusion. Sarah didn’t know. But he knew better than to go through her things without permission. He didn’t ask.

Staying with Alice let her keep a closer eye on her daughter. The wilting flower. Energy levels waxed and waned throughout the day, the iron bearings of the house and of the world around them seeping into her bones. Sarah worried about her. But she tried to reassure herself. Jareth wouldn’t stay away for long enough for anything to happen.

Her children took a particular interest in Toby. The strange, slightly aloof, mortal young man, not that much older than them. While Alice braved through her ill-feeling to pepper the visitor with questions or to chat about this and that, more verbose with him than she was with her other newly-found relatives, Ewan was more cautious. Sitting off to the side while Toby entertained Alice’s fancies of playing this board game or that video game or watching some movie or other, Sarah often caught him watching Toby, and her, too.

Her son hadn’t brought up their discussion in the fall, not once. He appeared constantly troubled and any well-meaning interfering on her part was met with a shrug or a reticent answer. She got the message. She felt adrift that he, her baby boy all grown up, didn’t feel like he could come to her with his concerns. She was a failure of a mother, wasn’t she, useless without the power of her husband somewhere in the background. She wondered if they had not begun to resent her for their indeterminate exile. She couldn’t bear it if they did. Though it was funny… it was her fault, wasn’t it? All because of a wish that had snowballed to such great proportions.

Seeing Toby as a grown man, it was difficult for her to reconcile that image of him with that of the detested, resented, screaming, crying baby who had, unknowingly, been the catalyst for the entire course of her life.

She could recognize him in his eyes and in the shape of his nose, but that was it. He had a peculiar way of speaking. The assumed dialect of a particular region that she was unfamiliar with. It wasn’t hard to put together the pieces. He’d moved away from here, this house and his family, as soon as he could, settling down roots in a new place, far away from this ghost town.

He was polite to her, but tight-lipped. He didn’t have much to say. He’d pass her the salad at dinner time but wouldn’t engage her in conversation. And Sarah, for all her maturity-in-years, couldn’t find anything in herself to speak to him about. She felt like a bumbling teenager, socially inept, a loser loner. Exactly as she had been, like nothing had changed.

Sometimes, sitting in the living room with him and Karen after dinner, she thought up something to say and would muse on it for a long, long while. By the time she had the courage, the confidence that it was a good thing to say, that he would appreciate that she had started conversation that way, he was already standing up with a stretch and kissing his mother goodnight. Damn.

Other times, something cruel would come to the tip of her tongue so easily, ready to just burst past her lips. A muscle memory from long ago. Logic had no place in the heart and her heart was a sore, smarting, blackened thing. It whispered to her in the night that it was he who was at fault. He was the reason, he made this happen, he, her brother, had ruined–

No. The guilt consumed her. What a horrid person she was, to blame a baby. Her brother who’d had no fault in the matter.

Her awkward-footedness around him changed after one night.

She was resting in bed beside a slumbering Alice, eyes closed though she was still awake, and hands clasped over her belly under the covers. It was often these moments of late night when everyone else was asleep that her mind raced and raced and her heart croaked awful things at her. It was hard to sleep nowadays and she recalled the long and periodic stretches of luxurious time in the arms of Jareth where slumber was easy to come by.

Too much was on her mind, now. That dream of the three babes, and others of vague recollections, kept her awake. But it was during a restless waking moment such as this, her anxious musings on the state of her father’s clumsy drunkenness and her guilt on the matter, that a series of deep, masculine shouts startled her out of her discomforting doze.

For a moment she thought it was Ewan, and she slid quickly from under the covers and raced to the door. The muffled noises continued and her mind tail-spinned into an even deeper whirl. She pulled open the door in a haste, but in the dim lighting of the hallway, she became aware that it was Toby’s room where the noise came from, not Ewan’s.

She felt relief for a moment, before guilt clobbered her again. She stood there, half behind the door-frame, not sure what to do.

“Nooooooo!” she heard. There was a thump or two inside and then a harried Karen was racing through the hall, rumpled in her pajamas and bare footed, and rushing herself into her son’s room. She left it open in her haste, disappearing into the room. A few moments later, the weak moanings from Toby never-ending, the soft glow of a lamp light filled up what she could see of the room through the crack. Sarah stood there, in the chilly doorway of the guest room, nervously. Clutching the door frame, she bit her thumbnail, and then pressed her feet together in the cold.

The noises died down inside. Sarah could hear Karen shushing, soothing.

Next door, Ewan peeked his head out from his (Sarah’s) room. He took in the lit hallway, his mother. His brow crumpled in confusion. She waved him off. “Go back to sleep,” she mouthed. “It’s okay.”

When he hesitated, she mouthed again, “Please.”

He did as he was told, and Sarah was halfway about to turn back into her own room, and lay back, so as to give Toby and Karen some privacy in the situation, but a snatch of hushed conversation caught her attention.

“--taking your medication?”

There wasn’t an answer. A guilty silence. Karen spoke again, louder, more higher-pitched, in that worried way of a mother which Sarah recognized in herself. “Toby, you have to. Your psychiatrist was clear. It’s very important you–”

“Mom,” Toby said tightly. “I don’t want to talk about this. Especially not right now. I’m tired. Please.”

“... I- alright.” Karen spoke hushedly again, guilty sounding. Sarah felt suddenly acutely sorry for eavesdropping. The stern, soft whisper came then. “But we are going to talk about this. Before you leave.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t be mad. I just want what’s best for you. Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Oh, Toby…” Sarah could imagine her wringing her hands in worry.

“I’m fine, Mom. Go back to bed. I love you.”

“All right, then. I love you, too. Sweet dreams.”

Sarah wasn’t quite quick enough to hide, Karen having been closer to the door than she realized. She stepped out and shut the door behind her before she noticed Sarah with a guilty expression and her hands on the door knob like it was the coveted cookie jar. A tight set of lines had carved up her forehead, but upon seeing Sarah, she looked exhausted, suddenly too tired. She didn’t look mad. For this reason, Sarah stayed where she was instead of fleeing into the depths of her room and back to the warm bed beside the deep-sleeping Alice.

“Is he okay?” Sarah murmured.

Karen crossed her arms for more warmth and stepped away from Toby’s door. That pinched expression returned. Then she shook her head, not in answer, but in expression of that exhausted feeling. “What time is it?”

“Around three, I think.”

Karen blew out a breath. “I don’t suppose I’ll be getting any more sleep tonight. What a fright.”

Sarah bit her lip. Truthfully, she said, “Me neither.”

Her step-mother shivered and turned toward the direction of the master bedroom. She seemed to think for a moment. “Join me downstairs? I’ll make a pot of tea.”

“I’d like that,” Sarah said. “Give me a few?”

“Just as well. I need my robe, I bet it’s freezing down there.”

They both returned to their respective rooms–Sarah to slip on socks and a sweater and to check that Alice was still sound asleep and to leave her a note, just in case–before meeting downstairs. The darkness of morning had a different feeling to the darkness of night. It reminded her of travel, as a young girl, the excited anticipation that allowed her to wake up so early in order to get to the airport in time, or to leave off on a road trip with her father when she was little and they were extra close in the wake of Linda’s leaving.

And the dark morning felt like the wide-awake feeling of Christmas, which was soon. Downstairs, the tree twinkled in the shadowed, gloomy living room but gave off a heroic sort of warmth which Sarah appreciated as she stepped down onto the cold wood floor at the bottom of the steps. A black sky, with the promise of light, darkened windows. Karen was already down there, the soft light of the kitchen trickling through the hallway, the foyer, and barely, into the living room.

Sarah followed the light and the burgeoning scent– a coffee pot’s beginning drips and the metallic odorous taste of a tea kettle on heat. Karen was puttering about, hair still in rumpled rollers and face unusually bare. She nodded to Sarah when she came in, bundled up against the cold morning, and got to pulling out two mugs from the cabinet. Sarah sat at the table and yawned.

“Did we wake you?” Karen asked.

“Not at all,” Sarah yawned again. “I was awake, trying to fall back asleep. But it would’ve been useless, to be honest.”

Karen nodded again and with arms wrapped around herself, she sat in the chair catty-corner to Sarah. “I know what you mean. If I wake up after a certain point in the night, there’s no going back. Your father though… he sleeps like a rock on the worst of days.”

“God, I wish,” Sarah said, and then she frowned down at the table.

Not long after that, the tea kettle began to whistle, and then to scream. A comfortable silence filled the room as Karen got up at the noise, waving her off when she tried to do so first, and poured out the boiling water into a mug. Only the sounds of kitchen-life remained, little clanks and thuds of pots and spoons and kettles and of course the ever constant drip of coffee.

“I need to go to the store soon. We only have the one,” Karen said, lifting up a box of tea bags.

Sarah smiled a small smile, suddenly feeling fond. “That’s fine. I like that one.”

Karen smiled back and then brought her the tea, setting it on the table before her. The coffee machine continued to drip, the scent growing stronger and stronger every moment. Soon her nose would become used to it and would no longer be able to smell it at all.

“Thank you.” Sarah let out a warm sigh. After swirling and dipping the tea bag in the mug once or twice, watching as the tea stained the water in browned liquid clouds, spreading out like a storm on the clear blue sky, she wrapped her hands round the hot ceramic mug and enjoyed the feeling of it.

“You’re welcome,” said Karen. She was busy pouring with deft hands the coffee of the half-filled pot into the other mug. It was a practiced move, for the pot was back under the drip before even two drops of coffee could splash where it shouldn’t. Then, she opened the fridge and dosed her coffee with a little bit of milk. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before she said, “Do you have a lot of bad dreams, Sarah?”

Sarah frowned, hands still fully wrapped over the stinging cup. Her palms would surely be red by now. She lifted the cup to take her first, scalding sip. Karen returned back to her seat, settling comfortably, with robe wrapped cozily around her, coffee in hand, gazing at her with curious eyes.

“Yes,” she said finally. “But I used to have more.”

Karen worried her free hand over the table’s surface. “May I ask… what about?”

Sarah hesitated. “... I–”

But seeing this, Karen spoke in a rush, “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I don’t mean to pry.”

“Maybe some other time?” Sarah offered.

Karen returned her a soft, understanding smile. Though her eyes still beheld that worried look of hers. “Of course, dear.”

The only sounds were the roar of the central heater and the occasional sips of the two women, strangely companionable. Sarah almost laughed. If someone had told her fifteen-year-old self that she’d one day be friends of sorts with the evil stepmother, she’d have scoffed and laughed, thinking furiously and spitefully: when hell freezes over.

“Karen,” Sarah started. She cleared her throat. “Toby… is he alright? I- I didn’t mean to snoop but…”

Her step-mother pursed her lips, her coffee finally cool enough to begin to drink. Her sip left her lips with a shine of liquid and the pink tinge of warmth. “How much did you hear?”

Sarah pushed back some of her hair, messy from her tossing and turning, though roped into a careful braid for safekeeping. “Not much. Something about… medication? And a … psychiatrist…?”

Karen sighed. “Yes.”

“Is there… something the matter with him?” Sarah asked, brow furrowed.

Rubbing at her eyes, Karen admitted, “Truthfully, Sarah, I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. He says he’s fine, that it’s nothing. And I want to believe him. I mean, for goodness sake, he’s been in a long-term, healthy relationship with a lovely young woman since high school, and he has a great job. And he seems happy and other than the nightmares, which I’d thought had stopped, he seems perfectly normal, and healthy. But… I don’t see him as much as I’d like to, so I can’t know for sure anymore.”

Sarah picked at her thumbnail. “I don’t understand.”

Karen’s eyes shuttered a moment, as if she were looking at something else, and then she frowned. “You have to promise not to speak to anyone about this. Toby would never forgive me. He’s very private, my son. And… I know you’re his sister, but…”

“I know,” Sarah murmured. “I haven’t been around. I understand. And… I promise.”

A line of tension escaped Karen, her shoulders slumping in a way. “Ever since he was a toddler he’s had these terrible night terrors, of things like monsters and fairies and kings. And- what was it? Goblins- that’s how he described the monsters. And he said he… saw… things. In the corners of rooms and in his closet–”

Through this description, a horror began mounting within Sarah, a horrible fear.

“-- I was so stupid. I thought at first it was just, you know, a little boy with an overactive imagination. That he must have gotten into your old story books or something and gotten frightened of the pictures. But then he started refusing to go to sleep, and it was like this for weeks until I finally got him in with a psychiatrist.”

The woman paused here, pale-faced. Sarah swallowed. “It’s extremely rare for children that young to have schizophrenia so the psychiatrist said that it was him having a delayed post-traumatic reaction to either your disappearance… or… well–” She looked a little embarrassed.

In a hush sort of voice, she said, “You wouldn’t know this, but I- your father and I, we- well, there’s no easy way to say this. We hadn’t planned on getting pregnant, after you…”

She clenched her hands around her mug, white, frail skin pulled taut over it, “But it happened, and… I… had a miscarriage. A pretty late term one, and, well, even though Toby was so little, we thought that it was either one of those two things causing his… troubles.”

Sarah’s voice was caught in her throat. Her pulse went on lethargically, dully. A never forgotten pain pricked her all over. “I’m sorry you… had to go through that.”

Karen reached out and patted her hand in an absent way. “Thank you, dearie. But it’s been a long time now, I’ve made my peace with it. Toby on the other hand…”

If only Sarah could make peace with everything in her past, too. All those things so long ago. She drank a gulp of hot tea to jolt her out of it. Then she asked, “... Was it?”

Karen looked at her inquisitively.

“Was it… one of those two things? That caused the… troubles?”

Karen’s mouth tilted downward. “That’s the thing. Dr. Bromard said if that was the case, then they would ease up within a few years. But…my poor baby, even while his hallucinations slowly stopped, or so it seemed, his night terrors never ended. As you saw tonight. I have half a mind that the… visions, as he called them, never quite went away. Sometimes I catch him looking at something that isn’t there. The doctor didn’t know what any of it meant, and neither did a second opinion. But Toby was- is- functional, so he was deemed safe.”

She looked so worried. “He has to take a few pills. Anti-anxiety, antidepressants, stuff like that nowadays. For the nightmares. When he was younger he was on anti-psychotics.” She shook her head, appeared so pained. “He hated me for that.”

Sarah swallowed, hard. This was all her fault. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Karen glanced at her. “You do that sometimes. You’ve got to stop apologizing for stuff that isn’t your fault,” she chided gently. “People will walk all over you that way. That’s something my mother taught me. It’s a lesson every woman should learn.”

But it was her fault. And either way, it didn’t matter, people did walk all over her. “You’re right.” Sarah offered a smile, but her heart wasn’t in it at all.

Her mind raced with what Karen had just told her. Could it be true? She fidgeted with her mug, her hair, the table. Worried, glassy green eyes caught on this and that as she worried and worried. Looking out the window, the sky was turning a pale gray. It appeared to her like a bleaching of the night sky, the slow fading away to morning. The sun would soon peek up over the horizon.

“Thank you for telling me,” Sarah said finally. She didn’t know what else to say.

Karen smiled gently. They sat in silence for a little while, Karen meanwhile getting up to refill her coffee and to brew her another cup of tea. Eventually, barrelling through the dread in her gut on the subject of Toby, Sarah gathered up the courage to say something. “My dreams…” she started in a whisper, “You wanted to know...”

Under the curious, but kind eyes of her step-mother, Sarah blinked back the sudden prick of tears. “The miscarriage… I… I understand.” The way she stressed her words made her meaning clear.

She took a deep breath. “I’ve never actually talked about this with anyone, not except with my… husband.”

Karen reached out and took her hand. “Oh Sarah. When?”

Sarah stared at the wood grain of the table. A stain of something dark spread out near the edge of the table. “There were many.” A guilty thought came to her. “But I’m not trying to compare with you or anything–”

Karen shook her head furiously. She had a determined look in her eye. “Don’t you dare. Your pain and my pain are both real. If you want to tell me, I’m right here listening.”

Sarah almost started crying right there, really crying. She struggled with her words. “It’s hard to talk about it.”

“I know.” Karen squeezed her hand.

After a moment, she managed to say, in her wavering, choked voice, “There were two of them before Ewan. They were my fault. I was stupid about them, and those were the consequences.”

“Sarah,” Karen said softly. “They weren’t your fault.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“No, I don’t,” she said. “But I know that these things happen. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Sarah’s lips wobbled. “That’s what my husband said, but not for the first one. That really was my fault. He was so mad.”

Karen tightened her hold on her hand. Carefully, she ventured, “... Sarah, how old were you?”

She looked away. “...Sixteen.”

“Sarah…” Karen breathed.

Sarah pulled her hand back and wiped at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “The second one wasn’t long after. I- I- Can I tell you something?”

Her tongue felt loose like it never had before. For the first time, she had someone to talk to, a woman-friend like she had wished for for so many years in that castle. Her life until now had been her and Jareth and their children. She remembered the help of Bug, the girl goblin, years and years ago, but they hadn’t dared speaking to one another again. Around fifteen or sixteen years ago, anyway, Bug had suddenly vanished from the rotation of the King’s quarters. To where, Sarah had no clue. And her other friends were dead and locked up forevermore, all because of her. There had never been anyone to talk to, not except Jareth, and she refused to put that pain or that knowledge on the shoulders of her son and daughter.

“Yes,” Karen said. “Of course.”

Sarah breathed in once, shakily. She clenched her eyes shut and then spoke after a moment. “... I don’t know what I could have done, that second one. It just came suddenly. I was in the bath, and then, blood was everywhere. By the time the… doctors got to me, it was too late. He was away for the week for some business trip, and I was alone. And–” she let out a gasping breath, half a sob, “I was so guilty over it, and I still am. But I don’t know why it happened. I just wanted it all to end, and I didn’t have any kids who depended on me, not yet, so I- I thought the easiest thing would be to end it all, you know?”

She fumbled her hand over her left wrist, half-glazed eyes in her frantic memory. Karen followed the look, eyes wide and horrified. Sarah gripped her wrist. “I was halfway there before he stopped me. He saved me. Sometimes I wish he hadn’t, but then I never would have had the two children I do have. I feel guilty for thinking like that.”

She shuddered in feeling. A small half-smile crept up just then. “Ewan came next, and he was perfect. He was the only thing that kept me sane those next few years. He had to see more than he should have for such a little boy. I’m guilty over that too. It confused him. Why one day I would be–” she made a circle gesture over her abdomen, “-- and the next I wouldn’t be.”

Sarah looked sad, then. “He’s so serious. Sometimes I worry that it’s more to do with those losses than his own personality.”

“And Alice?” Karen said gently.

Sarah smiled sadly. “Alice never saw any of that. I’m grateful for that, at least. My pregnancy with her was incredibly dangerous. I… nearly died. So did she. But then she was alive and in my arms. Perfect, just like Ewan. And I had strength from that even when they told me I would never have children again.” That old shame of hers came edging at her consciousness but she squeezed her eyes shut and forced it away as best she could. It didn’t work.

Karen drew her into a hug. And it was this kindness that made her burst into tears. She stroked her hair and whispered hushing, soothing noises, like a mother.

Sarah hiccuped. “I can’t believe… You’re good, Karen. You’re so good. I can’t believe I was so awful to you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Karen said. “It’s in the past, isn’t it.”

Sarah drew back, wiping miserably, and comforted, at her face. “Still.”

“Hush, you.” Karen said. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy having a step-mother coming into your life at that age.”

Shrugging, Sarah looked away, embarrassed.

“Sarah…” Karen said, after a moment. “Your father talked to you about seeing… someone to talk to, yes?”

“... Yes.”

Carefully, the woman broached the subject. “You know, after my miscarriage, it wasn’t fashionable at the time, going to a therapist and whatnot, but I did go, and it was an incredible help. And I’m wondering… well, do you think that maybe talking to someone about… this and anything else… might help you come to terms with everything?”

Sarah sniffed. “I told Dad I’d think about it, and I did. But… I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Karen looked like she wanted to press, but she didn’t. “Maybe one day,” she said kindly.

“Maybe.” Sarah wiped her nose. “Hey, Karen?”

“Mmm?”

“It’s okay if you tell dad. About this, I mean.” Sarah frowned. “Can I be honest? I kinda feel guilty for telling you and not him.”

“Would you like me to tell him?”

Sarah thought about this for a moment, grave expression. “Yes. But- can you ask him, I don’t know. If you can get him to ease up a little, I’d- I’d like that. If you could.”

Karen gave her a sympathetic look. “I understand.” She squeezed Sarah’s hand once again and the teary-eyed girl offered her step-mother back a watery, trembling, but truly genuine smile.

. . .

Later that day, Sarah cornered him. The house was awake, Robert gone to work, Karen doing something or other in town, and Alice and Ewan exploring the neighborhood as they liked to do. Sarah had confidence in her children to protect themselves from the mundane dangers of the mortal world. Besides, they never went too far, they were sure of that.

Her conversation with Karen had sent her into a tail-spin of thought. Waiting for the right moment to strike had her on edge all morning. She watched Toby, her brother who wasn’t really her brother, not in anything more than half of their blood, as he came downstairs for breakfast, bleary-eyed and tired and solemn like he so often was. Sitting across from him at the table, her sharp eyes lingered over him, today noticing when his own gaze would stray, going blurry when he looked at empty corners of the room. When this happened, Sarah would look sharply in the same direction, to find nothing. Eventually, he caught on. And he stared back at her with a suspicious sort of look.

The house was empty except for them, just like when she had made her wish. The front door had just shut behind Karen when Sarah stopped him in the downstairs hallway.

“Toby,” she said.

He stilled. Glancing at her in a shadowed way. “Yes?”

“You remember,” she said, “Don’t you?”

He appeared to her guarded. “What?”

Sarah took a deep breath. “You remember. That night. I was babysitting you. How could you remember? You were so little.”

An expression of something crept over his face.

She stared at him for a long few moments, and he at her, but a heavy burden of shame filled her up and she looked away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was wrong of me.”

He shifted on foot, in socks and a rumpled shirt. His adam’s apple bobbed, a swallow. He was affected by this. For some reason it surprised her. “I’m not crazy,” he said. It sounded like a question. “It really happened?”

She blinked quickly. “Yes, it really happened.”

He swallowed again, and again, near obsessively. Sarah hunched in her place and he just kept on staring. “I don’t understand.” Then he turned on his heel and walked away, head bowed low. After a moment, Sarah followed with trepidation. She found him slouched on their dad’s favorite armchair in the living room, head held heavily in his hands.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, hands wringing into the fabric of her sweater, before she tip-toed inside and took a careful perching seat on the edge of the sofa. “What don’t you understand?” It came out barely more than a whisper.

He shook his head in his hands. Sarah sat there, somehow contradictorily impatient and patient all at the same time. He shook his head in his hands, making his arms go all wobbly, left and right, with the movement. “I read the play,” he said roughly. Sarah flinched. “If it was real, then you won. But–”

Her chest felt tight. “But..?”

He lifted his head, looked her right in the eye. “You have no power over me, isn’t that what it was? I wasn’t there for that, I know that. That’s what was in the book. But, you won. And I was saved. Then we were back at home, it’s clear in my mind. But after that is where my memory gets blurry.”

She looked down. “You were.”

“What?”

Tightly, she whispered, “You were returned back. I never was.”

“So that’s it, then?” he said, sounding shaken. “That’s where you’ve been all these years. It’s true. And Alice, Ewan, they’re… his, aren’t they? That’s why they’re so strange. And why you don’t look your age. And that’s why Ewan… I thought he looked familiar. I-I thought I was crazy.”

“You’re not,” she murmured.

His face tightened up. “But why weren’t you returned? You won. I read that play a million times. I was obsessed with it. You won. You said the right words, that’s all that mattered. You got me back. Did you choose to stay? Or- or?” He already knew the answer but he was asking anyway. They both realized this.

Sarah licked her lips. “I- Toby, I don’t think that play was real.”

“Not real?” Confused tilts to the eyebrows, mouth. “I know it’s real. It’s in this house somewhere, somewhere in your boxes. I’m sure of it.”

She shook her head. Her voice sounded muffled to her own ears. “You weren’t what he wanted. The Goblin King–” he tensed when she said this, “-- he doesn’t accept wished-away children. That’s what I thought- that it was his job… to grant wishes, to turn children into goblins. But…” Her stomach churned. “As far as I know that’s never happened before… us. And it’s never happened since either.”

She clenched her eyes shut. “It was all made up,” she whispered, throat suddenly dry, though this knowledge was nothing new to her. She swallowed. “It was all so he could get me. He used my… frustration… with you and your mother. I was weak and jealous and he knew it- he gave me the magic words. To be… saved… by him.”

His face had slackened during this. Gone pale. “But why you?”

Sarah flinched.

Toby looked sorry then. “I- didn’t mean it that way–”

“I know what you meant.” Her hand crept up to her neck, protective in a way, curling around it. The smooth backside of her ring, a permanent fixture, touched her pulse. The beat of her heart fluttered, weakly. She’d had a long time to come to terms with it all, but she had never thought of it so plainly, and never had she spoken of it. Her hand squeezed reflexively before she forced herself to relax. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, not anymore.

She swallowed harshly, it was like a fixation. It didn’t help. “I don’t know,” she said, “I ask myself that same question every day.”

Notes:

Hey! Looks like I'm not going to make my self-appointed deadline for feb 11, but that's alright. I feel like I'm making good progress anyhow.
Thanks so much for reading! Hope you all are well <3

P.s. I made an alteration in chapter 37, the section with Mike, the fireplace guy. Previously in that chapter he explained that he had a wife of 16 years, but that was the end of that. It has been changed to reflect that he has a 3 year old son, Peter, and a wife, also of 16 years, named Emily "Em", who Sarah had actually been "once-in-a-while" friends with throughout her childhood, but had kind of forgotten about. Mike explains that Em is currently in Maine visiting family with Peter and that she has asked about Sarah. This will be relevant coming up in coming chapters. :D

Chapter 40: Understanding

Summary:

Baby mine, don't you cry

 

Baby mine, dry your eyes

 

Rest your head close to my heart

 

Never to part, baby of mine. . .

She woke up frightened. It was that dream again, running through the Labyrinth. To give away her brother to get her children. Blinking awake, the Goblin King, not yet her husband, grinned at her in the warpy, vague, residue of the dream-mind.

The guest room, only a few days familiar, looked fuzzy and dangerous. Goblins creeped in the corners, on the ceiling. Or at least she thought. She blinked and sat up quickly, tight chested. The faces she had seen were gone, and now, she sat against the headboard, nerves caught. She rubbed her face tiredly but she didn’t want to close her eyes just yet.

“Momma?” a yawning voice said.

Sarah glanced sideways, and down, at the pillowed-flattened girl beside her. Alice blinked dozedly at her, cheek puffy with sleep and hair coming out of her braid. She gave off the impression of sleepy, comforting warmth. Sarah scooted to lay back down, facing Alice. “Go back to sleep, love.”

Alice yawned again, and snuggled into her floral-patterned pillow, but her eyes were more clear when she opened them again. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Only a little one,” Sarah said. “But I’m okay now.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Sarah reached out to touch her cheek, feeling touched. “No, honey, but thank you.”

“Mmm.” Alice shifted onto her back and tucked the heavy blanket under her chin. She yawned again. “I’m tired,” she mumbled.

“It’s late,” Sarah whispered. “Shh, go to sleep.”

Sarah became aware of the wind outside. Its caresses against the house were so soft that it almost sounded as if it were the gust of someone inside, just there. A walking-something in the room. The bed creaked when Alice turned again to her other side, facing away from her mother. “Will you hold me?” she murmured, burrowing into the covers.

Without answering, Sarah shifted closer. Her head rested on the very edge of Alice’s pillow and she looped her arm around her waist. She kissed the back of her sweet, blond head and closed her eyes. That sleepy warmth.

Sarah lay there like that, silently, her mind black with the dark of her eyelids, but lethargically moving with words and things. Unsure if she would be able to fall back asleep, at least not quite yet, she contented herself with the closeness and tenderness she felt for her daughter. Alice’s breathing slowed, and Sarah thought she had fallen back asleep, but then her cold toes were making contact with Sarah’s feet and she was tangling them up for warmth. Sarah made some soothing sound, and the only other noise in the place was the windy creaking of the old house and the soft, barely-there ticking of the rosewood clock over the door.

“Mom?” Alice said after a moment.

“Hmm?”

There was a beat of silence, as if Alice was rolling over the words in her mind, considering. She let out a breath and whispered, “When Daddy gets here… you’re going to come back home with us, right?”

Sarah’s eyes opened just as quick as they had after the dream. “What do you mean?”

Alice sniffed and kind of awkwardly shrugged. Sarah held her closer, her heart twinging.

“Alice…” Sarah murmured. “I’ll never leave you. Ever.”

“But you like it here,” Alice said quietly. “I know you do. You’re still sad here, but… I don’t know… it’s different. You’re different. You have a family. You love them.”

Sarah’s throat tightened up. “You’re my family. You and your brother. I will always be there for you. I will always–” choose you over them. It was the first time she had ever said such a thing, ever even thought it. But she knew it was true. Quietly, she said, “You don’t have to worry about this.”

“... not Daddy?”

Sarah tensed. “What?”

“You said Ewan and I are your family but you didn’t mention… well…”

Pressing her forehead into the braid-covered nape of Alice’s neck, Sarah’s eyes squeezed shut. “He’s my husband,” she said finally, for a lack of anything else to say. “He’s your father.”

Alice sounded confused when she said, “But not your family?”

Sarah felt a little tremor in her bones, she clenched her teeth to stave it off. “Your father and I… we have a complicated relationship. It’s– it’s complicated.”

“Because you’re mortal?”

“At least partly… yes.”

“...Why else?”

Sarah rolled away, laying on her back. After a moment, she said, “Don’t ask me that.”

Alice turned too, also on her back. Mother and daughter stared up at the shadowed popcorn ceiling. A stain flooded the corner of it, the edge by the door. Water damage. “You won’t tell me?” she said, sounding a little hurt.

“Baby,” Sarah sighed. “It’s not important. It’s between me and your father. It’s not bad, I promise.”

“Ewan knows something.” All indignant teenager, all of a sudden. “But he won’t tell me.”

Sarah’s nose felt stuffy, so she sniffed, and when the stuffiness didn’t go away, she brought up her sleep-shirt sleeve to wipe away at it.

“He thinks he knows something,” Sarah said tiredly. “But he doesn’t.”

Alice crossed her arms under the covers, Sarah could tell, feeling the accidental nudge of an elbow and seeing the shifting of the blankets atop them. “What does he think he knows?”

Sarah didn’t answer. She wasn’t really sure. He’d avoided the topic ever since it had first come up. He looked at her strangely now, or he didn’t look at her at all. Alternating seemingly between unavoidable curiosity and the dark, desperate desire for ignorance. But she stood by what she had said to Alice only moments before: Ewan didn’t know anything. He only had his guesses. But it scared her, terribly, that the cracks had begun to deepen, and to lengthen. That he was beginning to see through it all, and that Alice would soon follow.

A small, soft hand snaked into her own, fingers lacing between hers. Alice’s head fell sideways on the pillow to face her. Sarah did the same, squeezing her hand.

In a small, uncertain sort of voice, Alice said, “You do love him, don’t you?”

Sarah couldn’t help the twitch that came over her face, the quick, instinctual way her eyes flicked away and back, surprised by this conversation. Alice’s face was frozen in a grimace of worry, like her whole life had been upended in two seconds.

“Yes,” Sarah said. It wasn’t a lie. “I do love him.”

Alice frowned at her.

Sarah squeezed her hand again, reassuring, though her palm was beginning to sweat. “You know I do. He gave me you, and Ewan. I’ll always love him for that.”

Blonde eyebrows knitted worriedly together, mouth pursed. A crumple formed in her chin. “But… is that the only reason? I don’t understand…”

Sarah felt trapped by this conversation, unsure how to get out of it. She pulled back her hand, wiped the damp fear of her palm onto her pajama pants. “It isn’t… the only reason. Like I said, it’s complicated. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Now, that felt like a lie. Sarah didn’t half understand any of it herself, and it was her life, her world, her husband. If she could have had it her way, her daughter and son never would have gotten even a glimpse. Their worlds, so far, had been of loving parents – sweet, doting mother, and powerful, heroic father – and lavish castles and majestic, fairytale lives. They would never have to live through anything such as Sarah had to. They would marry who they wanted– she had made sure of that– and they would be loved, forever, by their parents, and they would be able to do anything they wanted in their lives. To have whatever they wanted. To be free to choose.

Alice went quiet for a few moments. Thickly, she said, “If… if you wanted to stay, I- I guess I’d understand. Me and Ewan aren’t little kids anymore, and… we could visit? If you’re happier here. I saw you laughing with Karen, earlier, you–”

“I’m not,” Sarah cut her off. “I’m not happier here. I missed them all, yes, but it’s been a long time. I’m not the same as I was when I lived here. It’s not the same, it won’t ever be. My life is in the Goblin Kingdom. Besides… that doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving you.”

And she wouldn’t. It wasn’t even a question. What she didn’t bother to say was that even if she did have a desire to remain, the Goblin King would never, ever allow it.

“... I’d miss you so much,” Alice said. “Is it bad of me to say that? I’d hate it if you weren’t there with us. I want you.”

Sarah blinked back tears. “It isn’t bad of you. You’re my daughter, Alice, I would do anything for you. I would brave anything. You’ll understand if you ever have children.”

Alice quieted and scooted closer, curling up into her side, thin arm over Sarah’s middle. Sarah blinked lethargically at the ceiling, and petted Alice’s arm, feeling heavy now, with a tiredness that wasn’t physical.

“Momma?” Alice said again.

“Yes, honey?” she whispered.

“... How old are you?”

Sarah paused, rubbed her lips together. They were chapped, dried, it bothered her. She needed some lip balm, oh, where was it again? “You don’t know?”

Alice sounded embarrassed. “I never really thought about it. I guess… I just assumed you– I thought your family had been dead a long time, and that’s why you never mentioned them, but they are alive, so you actually can’t be very old…”

Sarah cleared her throat, hand moving back and forth, rhythmically, over the peach-fuzz of Alice’s arm. “I’m thirty-eight.”

An uneasy silence filled the air. Alice seemed to digest this. Her thin arm tightened for a second around Sarah’s waist, and her head, which rested on Sarah’s shoulder, bent at a strange angle upward. Alice stared wide-eyed up at her. “But that’s hardly older than me.”

Sarah laughed a breathless, uncomfortable sort of laugh, and found herself musing. “From your perspective, I guess not. You likely won’t have children for a long, long time. But it’s different for humans. I was twenty-three when I had you. My parents were even younger than that when they had me. Twenty-two, I think? I don’t remember exactly. They’re about sixty now, then. It’s weird. Last I remember them, they were my age now…”

“Wow,” said Alice. “But why didn’t you wait to have us? You’ll live as long as us, so there wasn’t any rush. You must have just been married.”

Sarah hesitated. “The war that’s going on, keeping your father away… do you understand what that’s about?”

Reluctantly, Alice said, “Ewan said it was because the other kingdoms were questioning Daddy’s power as king. And he mentioned… well…” She didn’t want to finish that, Sarah could tell.

“It’s okay,” Sarah said. “I don’t know everything, of course, and there’s probably a lot going on that we aren’t aware of, but…”

She sighed. “They question Jareth because of me. A king like him doesn’t marry a mortal girl for love, but for children. At least that’s what they think. And I’ve only had two children, and so they think your father is weak for- for not divorcing me.”

“Oh,” Alice said. Then, “What… is divorcing?”

Sarah blinked, and then smiled a little widely. A small giggle burst out of her. Alice frowned up at her. Sarah reached out again. “I’m sorry, honey, I don’t mean to laugh. There’s no reason you should know what that means, but…” she coughed, “It’s very common here. Divorce is to legally absolve a marriage. But marriage plays by different rules in the Underground, so it wasn’t the right word to choose.”

“Oh,” Alice said again. She scooted back. “So you couldn’t wait to have us, because of the… way things are?”

“Mmm-hm,” Sarah said. “And your father, also. He was ready to have children. He’d waited a long time to have a wife, I think.”

“... Were you ready?” She didn’t sound so concerned as she did curious. Little kid questionings of the parent. Alice’s sudden interest didn’t shock her, but it did feel strange.

Sarah shifted. “I don’t think anyone is ever ready to have children.” Jareth had told her that once. “It’s life changing.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“What brought this on?” Sarah asked. “You’ve never wondered over these things before.”

Alice breathed in. She hugged her sideways tight. “Things feel different here. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Sarah glanced down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. In the dark, Alice’s face was shadowed, her eyes gray-looking instead of blue. Her pale hair glinted, however, from the faint golden light sneaking under the crack of the shut door. The hallway had been left on at night lately.

“I understand,” Sarah said. She hugged her back. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said automatically, stifled through a yawn.

Sarah chuckled. “Now, go back to sleep. You need as much rest as you can get. The iron worries me, let’s not give it a chance to take a real hold on you, hmm?”

Alice smiled faintly, tiredly, and snuggled her head on the softer part of Sarah’s shoulder, closing her eyes. “Will you sing to me?”

Sarah felt her heart rate slowing, resting. “What song?”

“Anything.”

In her sleepy and sleepier state, her mind landed on an old, familiar choice. The only song she ever remembered which came from her home world, the one she would sing to her babies, with a greedy, possessive feeling, holding them close and loving them in the way only she could.

Baby mine, don't you cry

Baby mine, dry your eyes

Rest your head close to my heart

Never to part, baby of mine. . .

When she reached the end of the song, a slight tremor to the trailing end of her voice, Sarah shivered with feeling and continued her soft caresses of Alice’s hair. The clock ticked on on the wall, sounding slower than seconds.

Alice’s voice wafted up, soft and heavy with night. “Daddy loves you,” she murmured, and it was half between a question and the most certain statement to ever be said. “And you love him.”

“Yes,” Sarah reassured her. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“You’re so precious to me,” Sarah whispered, so quietly.

Alice smiled, in her half-asleep state.

. . .

It was the first Christmas for her children, and the first for her since she was very young. This holiday, they decided, also had roots in their own, Fae culture. But Yule, at home, in the castle, was so much more glorious than Christmas in this quiet, traumatized house. The tree twinkled a little bit sadly as Alice and Ewan pretended to know what was going on and as they all opened a few presents each. The presents this year were less lovely than they were used to, as they were no longer under the lavish conditions of life their father had given them, but now dependent on the dime of Sarah’s parents. But she was pleased to see that they took it with grace.

Alice received some cute costume jewelry from Karen, a set of gel pens and stickers from Robert, and a book of something from Toby. Ewan offered her a trinket he had found in a shop nearby, a lantern-shaped thing with a fairy silhouette sparkling out of it. She loved it. And Sarah gave her a collector’s edition copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland that Karen had helped her find and a crystal prism from the same shop. For Ewan, Sarah had stumbled across a funky (for the Aboveground) sort of leather coat she knew he would like as well as a book on the history of religion. In return her children offered her hand-written notes, as was their tradition, and lovely, delicate necklace.

Robert’s gift for Ewan had Sarah beaming, nearly crying. It was a peace offering. Karen must have spoken with him.

He looked nervous as Ewan looked into the small box, wrappings and ribbon left in his lap. Robert explained, “It’s tradition, all Williams men get them when they’re eighteen. It’s a few years late for you, of course, but–” he shrugged awkwardly. But he lifted his wrist to show off his own watch. Toby did the same.

Sarah looked over Ewan’s shoulder. A bronze and leather watch, finely crafted and traditionally masculine, sat against a plush cushion. Ewan was touched, and Sarah was too. As her son made his thanks and put it on with Alice’s help, Sarah caught her father’s eye. Her face softened, near a pout of gratitude. A watery smile took over and she mouthed, “Thank you.”

Her father nodded back, clear-eyed and kind and sorry.

Later that day he found her in the kitchen. “I’ve been a tool,” he said. “Karen made me realize– it’s no excuse. I’m so sorry, Sarah. I don’t want to push you away. That’s the last thing I want. And if that means not knowing, then that’s what it means.”

At that, Sarah flung herself into his arms, bursting into tears. He hugged her back, rocking her as she cried into his chest, shushing noises. It was different than with Karen, better, because he was hers, actually hers. For a moment, there was a fierce feeling in her of missing this, the time between her mother and Karen when it was just her and her dad against the world. “Thank you,” she said, “Thank you.”

“There, there.” He patted her back, pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Come with me. I have something else for you.”

She followed him into his office, wiping at her eyes and smiling tremulously. Earlier, in front of everyone, he had gifted her a stack of CDs from a musician she had obsessed over when she was young, and a disc player. Now, she watched as he went round his desk and opened up a drawer. He pulled out a thin envelope and handed it to her.

Smiling still, and over the moon, she peeked inside. She pulled out the papers and read the top with disbelieving eyes. “Daddy–”

He raised a gentle hand. “Please,” he said, shaking his head. “You won’t be able to talk me out of it. I’ve set it up so you can access the amount at your discretion. You can do whatever you want with it. Go to college, get a house, start a business, I don’t care. This money is rightfully yours. What I would have spent on you if... Well, anyway. I want to help you get started in life. This is what a parent is supposed to do.” He said it firmly, he would accept no argument.

“This is too much,” she murmured. “I don’t deserve this.”

He looked pained. “You deserve everything, Sarah.”

She didn’t know how to take this. She cried again, the second time that morning. And they were happy tears. How odd.

. . .

Toby left the day after Christmas, which had been a pretty but relatively simple affair. He had plans with his fiancee, visiting the in-laws, going out of town, and Sarah suspected, fleeing from the dark shadow of his sister and their new understanding. After their conversation, he seemed shaken, permanently. He was the only one who knew the truth, she had burdened him so. A dark part of herself thought he deserved it, for the reason that all of it happened because of him. Bad thought, bad thought. She dug her nails into her arm to chase it away.

He left her with a parting question. “Will I see you again?”

They stood in the foyer, his luggage resting on the floor by his feet as they waited for everyone to come say their goodbyes. His head was ducked, tilted, blond bangs drooping over his forehead. Sarah crossed her arms over her middle. “I don’t know,” she said. It was the truth. He knew what she meant.

“I would ask if there was anything I could do…” he said. “But I know better. Just… good luck, alright?”

She hugged him. It was the first time she had touched him since he was just a little baby. He was taller than her, not by much, but even so... He was stocky, large. An adult man. He had outpaced her in growth, she who was still not yet a woman. His arms were heavy around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Toby.” She squeezed him tight before pulling back and kissing his cheek.

Then, the goodbyes were all around, Karen with teary eyes and Robert with a gruff, genuine hug. Alice told Toby, “I’m glad you’re our uncle. We’ve never had an uncle before,” and he suddenly looked bashful, an unusual look on his usually calm, impassive, careful expression. Ewan shook his hand and Sarah smiled softly from the corner, leaning against the door of the coat closet.

Then he left. The tree came down just as quickly as he had gone.

Sarah wandered upstairs later that day, feeling strange. Not quite sad and not quite not. She entered her old bedroom, the bare prison which she avoided as much as she could, and shut the door behind her. The wallpaper from her childhood remained, and the furniture, but nothing else. She approached the boxes, lingered there. A tower of them leaned sideways like the defying turrets of her home castle. Mind oddly blank, she reached out for the top box. She set it down on the floor. Then, the next. Then the next, until all the boxes were unstacked and now resting on the rugged floor. She followed them there, folding down on her knees with the ease of a young girl, but emotions the mix of pain of an aged, elderly, bitterly woeful old woman.

She heard the creak of wood stairs and stilled, arm halfway reached out to the nearest box. Then the noise faded away so she uncoiled.

Methodically, she went through the first box, then the second. Then each and every one of them. One box contained clothes, old school jeans and shirts and skirts. One had her fancy dresses and costumes. Her hands lingered over the thin fabric of that minty princess gown she had once loved. A flower crown was squashed at the bottom of the box, but it was salvageable. She perched it atop her head. Boxes with shoes and boxes with books. With a tender, adoring hand, she stroked the old dusty covers of her old storybooks, filled with tales of brave, daring princesses and their dashing, heroic princes and kings. Dragons and puzzles and things of those sorts.

A stack began to form behind her, of things she wanted to keep. Books that she remembered more fondly than others. Old posters and photographs. A few costume-accessories. A necklace to match the garnet bracelet she had once given Hoggle was stuffed in an old jewelry box. She was halfway in the process of putting it on before her heart clenched. She placed it in the stack instead.

Then came the boxes with toys and games, so many of them, she hadn’t realized she’d had so many toys at fifteen. She sorted through them near sedately, musing on the state of maturity of her daughter at this same age. Alice was silly, and giggly, and a young girl. But besides the carefully coveted stuffed toys and dolls from when she was little which still held a special place in her heart, she had moved on from those things long ago.

A green wooden maze game rattled when she pulled it out of the box. Little white balls ricocheting down into the holes that dotted the board, the object of the game. Send those crystals into their oubliettes, she thought. She took the balls out and placed them once again on the game board. A few moments of frustrated amusement passed as she tilted the top this way and that. When only one of the balls remained among the maze corridors, she used her finger to push it ruthlessly into the nearest hold. Then she put the game away, feeling peculiar.

The large stuffed russet-colored toy, a beast with tusks she’d had since she was a baby, with the name of Beast, had his own box, for he was so large. She took it immediately in hand, pulled it to her chest, and hugged it. It smelled old, of dust, and of something long-forgotten. Another plush, a fox-looking thing, with a sword and an eyepatch. She tucked it snuggly between her chin and her chest,

She started to cry, silently, when she came across an old statue. Gnome-shaped, a squat, angry looking, red-shorts-wearing dwarf glared out from beady eyes situated deeply in a wrinkly face. He looked so much like Hoggle that it hurt. She was confused, and hurt. The pain was just as strong as it had always been. She held the statue in the hand of the same arm that looped around the Ludo-looking toy. She was scared of abandonment, still.

Now, one-armed, and shuddering with feeling, she, with bleary eyes, worked relentlessly through the toys. There were so many of them. Lancelot, ratty and torn, had her staring at it, mind all fuzzy, for what felt like a long time before she also put it back in her stack.

She fished blindly in the last box, grabbing whatever, like one of those metal arms in the arcade games. She was unlucky, or she was terribly lucky, depending on how one looked at it, that the toys in this box were not generally noteworthy. They sparked a memory or two, making her smile sadly, tears having dried crystal wet streaks on her face.

Her hand closed in on something hard. A plastic toy. She lifted it with a nostalgic curiosity, but what she saw in her hand had her tensing. She had forgotten. The carefully hoarded toys she held in her arms tumbled from her lap in her surprise. The Hoggle rolled down the valley of her thighs and clunked dully against the carpeted floor, but she hardly noticed. Her eyes were stuck on the doll in her hand.

Icy gray colored, cloaked in black, wild hair, with a crown, a staff, and a crystal ball in hand. Her hand tightened over it until it creaked. Her heart thundered in her throat, in her hands, and in her very teeth. She stared and stared and then she let out a screech, red-faced, and flung it hard behind her.

Where it went, she didn’t know. She just heard the clatter and bang of it as it hit something or other, the thud and the ringing in her heart as she leaned forward, bent over herself, grabbed Beast and buried her face in it. The world around her didn’t exist and so she screamed, a hoarse, scary scream, muffled and suffocating into the stuffed belly of her friend. She stayed like that for a long time, it felt like, panting wretchedly in the wake of the scream. Breathing so heavy that her whole body heaved with the labor of her lungs. She let herself get light-headed without air.

There was a thump and a creak. She jerked, jumping up, guilty-faced. Ewan stood half in the door and half out, holding the edge of it, white-knuckled. His expression reminded her of his concerned, worried looks like a little toddler. “Mom?”

She shuffled quickly up to stand, dropping the stuffed toy, and wiping hastily at her face. “Hey,” she said. Her voice betrayed her, she was horrified to find. “Sorry.”

Ewan looked even more concerned, eyebrows crumpling together so much. He stepped inside. “Did something… happen?”

“No,” she shook her head determinedly, wiping at her snotty nose. “It was nothing. Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”

His eyes were skating over the place, over the open boxes and the toys and things all scattered about. “You didn’t,” he said. “Alice is outside with Karen.”

Sarah shuffled nervously. She accidentally stepped on Lancelot, and then quickly jumped back. “Good,” she said, suddenly exhausted. And it showed. She slumped, rubbing her face. “Good.”

Ewan’s face remained pinched as he observed the room. His eyes caught on something and Sarah’s followed just behind. The plastic doll lay, limbs askew and bent, cape broken in two, against the baseboard of the opposite wall. Sarah’s mouth fell open as if to speak, but no words came. She watched, lump of the throat, her constant companion, as her son crossed the room and picked it up. He looked at it for a long moment and then at her.

Her stomach fizzed in anxiety and she looked away. “I dropped it,” she said.

Ewan frowned.

“All these old toys,” she said in a rush, shifting foot to foot, “there’s so many. But I can’t seem to get rid of all of them.” She gestured to the stack near her ankles that was tall and teetering. A memory came, unbidden. The drugged garbage heaps of the Labyrinth, and her room filled with things and things and things.

He didn’t say anything.

Sarah wrapped her arms around herself. “You should keep it.” She nodded to the toy in his hand. “I’m obviously not so good at taking care of it.”

“Okay,” he said. He pressed it into his middle. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Of course.” Sarah smiled weakly. “Just some old nostalgia, you know.”

He nodded, in a sort of understanding, but Sarah thought that he didn’t know. She watched, a strange look on her face, as he left the room, obviously hesitating to leave her alone. When he was gone, and the door was shut behind him, she hunched into herself. Her hands covered her face. And her nails scratched hard against her skin, forehead, cheeks.

Moments later, skin stinging, her arms dropped. She got to work packing her stack away into an empty box. And then she shoved it under the bed furiously. Hiding them away from sight once more.

. . .

Mike called the next day.

“Sarah,” Robert got her attention that Saturday. She was flicking through the television channels. She had a lack of attention lately. Unable to focus on anything that was not her own, confusing life. She was so internal.

Her dad was in the living room doorway. “There’s a call for you.”

“There is?” But even as she asked, she was up to go find out who it was. Curious despite herself.

She picked up the phone receiver in the foyer. “Hello?”

“Hey Sarah,” a man said. “It’s Mike.”

“...Mike?” Sarah said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Remember me?”

“Of course,” she said. “Did you … have a nice Christmas?”

He hummed in assent. “You?”

“Yes,” she said. “My younger brother came to visit.”

“That’s nice,” he said. “Listen…”

“Yes?”

After a moment, he spoke, “Em’s back in town. She wanted to see if she could come visit you.”

“Oh.” Sarah twisted a piece of hair between her fingers. Her brows furrowed in her surprise. After a beat, she said, “I’d like that.”

“Perfect.” Mike cleared his throat. “She’ll be glad to hear it.”

She bit her lip. “When do you think…? Is she– will she come here?”

“Yeah, I was thinking I could bring her along with me on Wednesday to your house. Mrs. Williams called the other day about the electricity box. Something is funky, apparently. You two – and Peter probably – can catch up while I work.”

“That works,” Sarah said. She smiled softly. “It’ll be nice to see her.”

It would be.

. . .

Another note from Jareth came around this time. Safe, was all it said. A black little splotch on the very center of the thin, pale skin of her left palm. She felt it arrive this time, a zing and a tingle. It came as she was getting ready to crawl into bed, pajamas on, hair brushed, teeth too. Standing at the side of her bed, she stared down at her hand for a long moment, expressionless as she read it. She sat down, got half under the covers, turned the lamp off. She curled up onto her side.

She lay there a few minutes, wide awake, with only the sounds of her breathing and the occasional groan and twang of the metal heating ducts of the house coming through to the dark room.

Under the covers, she stroked the skin where the word was scrawled. Then, in an instant, the lamp-light was flicked on again and she was flinging off the covers and then pattering across the room to the desk in search of a pen. She opened each drawer of the desk, the scratchy sounds of sliding wood making her skin prick up, but they were empty. The desk had been abandoned, useless. She stood up with a sigh and moved across the room to the door. She opened it quietly and tiptoed carefully across the hall, for Alice was already sound asleep in her room. Light trickled up from downstairs, Karen and Robert were chatting tonight. Vague murmurings of words could be heard floating up the stairs. Ewan was in his room, too, but she could see the light coming from the crack of the door frame.

She approached it and knocked quietly. “Ewan?”

“Come in,” he called.

She stepped inside and shut the door behind herself. He was half-laying half-sitting in the bed, in his own pajamas. A book was resting on his stomach and his hair was unusually rumpled from the way he was resting. Sarah smiled a little. “I got a message from your father,” she said, holding out her hand so he could see. “I was looking for a pen. I thought I’d try to respond this time.”

His eyes lingered on the message before he set the book down and turned half off the bed toward the night stand. He pulled open the drawer and this drawer too had the scratchy wood sound, but it also had the sound of shuffling, sliding stuff moving inside. His hand descended inside for a moment, his expression focused, before it emerged once again, a black ball-point pen in hand.

He held it out for her and she took it, sitting down with a sigh on the side of the mattress. He scooted up to watch, looking over her shoulder.

“I don’t know this magic,” she said, uncapping the pen and setting the tip to her palm. “It might not work.”

He shrugged, but she could see he was a little nervous. He wanted it to work. “I don’t know it either,” he said.

Sarah licked her bottom lip and, without letting herself hesitate, she wrote her own message. Safe too, she scrawled. It sat right beneath his, in smudgy black ink. When it was done, Sarah and Ewan stared down at her hand as if waiting for something magical to happen, as it very well could. But nothing did. It was just ink above ink.

Her fingers twitched, and she couldn’t help but compare her own handwriting to Jareth’s. Where his was a messy, elegant, practiced scrawling cursive, hers was a blocky, scratchy kind of print. It looked young, the letters not quite cohesive as they should be. She had never had much reason to write anything most of her life. As Consort, there were no essays to write or to-do lists to make. Nothing to practice with. She’d tried writing in diary once, when Ewan was around two, writing her thoughts out. But it had made her hand cramp up and it had made her confused, with all her thoughts clamoring for space on the page, and she had been paranoid that her husband would find it, read it, and use it against her. He would if he could. He’d always been able to know exactly-exactly-exactly what she thought. Giving him direct thoughts was too dangerous. So she’d stopped promptly, and burned the little bound book she’d made, her musings to disintegrate into ashes forever.

When still nothing seemed to happen, Sarah dropped her hand to her lap and sighed. She looked at Ewan and shrugged a little shrug. He gave a sort of sad, disappointed smile.

“Sorry, my love,” she said. She squeezed his hand before putting the pen back into the drawer.

She had kissed his forehead goodnight and was halfway to the door again when that tingle returned. She froze, lifted her hand, and looked down at it.

Good, it said.

She let out a breath and approached Ewan again.

“Mom?” he said.

“It worked.”

“It did?” He perked up. She showed him her hand. His eyes lit up. He smiled.

Chapter 41: Changes

Summary:

“Just practice,” she said with a little laugh. “Kids are like little adults, you know, just without the same control over their emotions.”

Notes:

Alternatively titled: Ch-ch-ch-changes :D

How long? - Ewan, her son scrawled on her hand. His penmanship was clean and clear. Befitting the crown prince. The N of his name curled onto the bottom pad of her pinky finger, which twitched at the feeling. They both stared down in anticipation. Ewan clutched her hand in his excitement, but Sarah’s heart beat hard… the wait seemed to hurt.

Not long, was all the return message said. It appeared like a tattoo along the rest of her pinky. Sarah’s mouth went dry, her lips too.

We miss you, Ewan wrote. It became cramped in his rush, bunched up at the knife edge of her hand.

When the, I miss you too, came, Sarah didn’t know what she felt. There was the lump in her throat. She swallowed tightly. Something fond took her aback. How was he such a good father, and such a cruel man, at once?

She shook her head, took the pen, and wrote something else. Alice is iron-ill. Life threatening?

Sarah and her son waited for a long, long moment. Her pulse beat quick, worried for the response. But then the smooth, easy cursive of her husband was curling and looping cleanly, letter by letter, on her palm.

Two lines across her palm, from wrist to knuckle. Not life-threatening, he wrote. Not yet. Give her sassafras & avoid big cities. Sing your intention. I will return before it becomes dangerous.

Sarah let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying.

Her hand twitched again, nearly curling into a fist. She had to force herself to keep it open. Another message came from Jareth. I must go. Stay safe.

And so that was the end of that. Sarah left Ewan’s room after hugging him goodnight in a sort of daze. A shuffling sedated walk. Alice would be excited when she heard. Sarah felt confused, out of sorts.

She reached the open door to her bedroom and paused at the threshold. She clutched the pen in her hand. The shadowed room scared her, and so she went downstairs instead. The stairs creaked under her steps. Light filtered up and she could hear Karen and her dad still chatting. The noise came from the living room.

When she hit the bottom of the stairs, the talking paused. “Sarah?” her dad called.

Sarah peeked into the living room. The standing lamp was turned on but the television was dark. Her father sat in his armchair, a scotch in hand, and Karen had her legs kicked up on the couch. Her hair was in her rollers already. They looked at her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Robert frowned.

“Bad dreams?” Karen said.

Sarah shrugged.

“Why don’t you join us?” Her step-mother put her feet on the ground and patted the spot beside her on the couch. “We were just talking.”

With a small, embarrassed sort of smile, Sarah tip-toed over to the couch and sat down. She curled her legs up to her chest and lay her head sideways on her knees. “What were you talking about?” she asked.

They hesitated. Finally, her dad answered. “Well… you.”

“Me?” Sarah said. She bit her lip. The curiosity got the cat. “What about me?”

They both looked a little nervous, avoiding her gaze.

“Oh.” Sarah looked down. “I… see.”

There was an awkward silence for a long moment. Karen broke it. “What’s that on your hand?”

“What?”

Karen pointed at her and then reached out toward her. Sarah flinched and remembered. She clutched her hand up, palm facing inward. The scrawling ink remained, littered about her hand. Karen looked at her oddly, having frozen in place.

Sarah forced a chuckle. “Sorry. It’s nothing. Just some scribbles. Notes for later. You know.”

Her step-mother nodded, with a stiff sort of smile, and slowly eased back against the sofa. Robert watched them from his armchair. “What kind of notes?” he asked a moment later.

Sarah tensed. She looked down at her hand, before burying it under her thigh, stuck between that and the couch cushion. “I don’t know…” she said, “The usual stuff. Ideas. Whatever.”

Her father made a humming noise. “Have you thought of what you’re going to do with that money?”

Sarah bit her lip. “I- I’m not too sure, to be honest.”

“Well,” he said, setting his scotch glass down on the little table by his chair. “You must have some options so far. We can talk about them, try to figure it out together.”

Sarah hesitated. “Um…”

“Go on,” her father urged. He was in a gentle mood that night. Though from the flush of his face she could tell that he was at least a little tipsy. Karen leaned her head on her hand on the arm of the sofa and also seemed curious about the direction of Sarah’s future, impossible Aboveground life.

Her jaw worked for a moment. “... I don’t know how many … options… I have to explore at this point.”

Her father squinted. “Meaning?”

Sarah let out a puff of a breath. She hesitated for a long moment. “I’m so grateful for it. You know that, right? It’s incredibly generous and I still really don’t think I deserve it. It’s just that… honestly, I don’t know if giving me that money is the best use of it. You could use it to fix up the house, I’ve noticed it’s gotten quite old, or- I don’t know- give it to charity. Or even to Toby.”

“Toby doesn’t need that sort of money,” Karen said. “He knows he can ask us for help if he needs it, but his job pays well. And we did already pay for his college.”

“Exactly,” Robert said. His voice sounded slightly terse now. “I never got to pay for you to go to college. This money is yours, I told you that already.”

Sarah winced. “... Yes.”

“Don’t you want to use it?” he said. “A house for you and Alice. You could even send your boy to college if he was interested. Or send yourself, for that matter.” A thought struck him. “Unless you already went to college, that is.”

She looked away. “I didn’t.”

Robert chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I just… I don’t need it for any of those reasons. And- I wouldn’t know what else to do with it.”

Karen cleared her throat. “Don’t get me wrong, Sarah, it’s nice to have you and the children here, and you’re welcome for as long as you want or- need to stay. But I imagine that you’d want your own place eventually…”

Sarah looked uncomfortable.

“What is it?” Robert said.

“Daddy– we have a place to live already. I–it’s not going to be long before we go back. And as for college for the kids, there’s really no use. My– well, their father takes care of that sort of thing, you know. And it’s a little late for college for me. I– I occupy myself. Really.”

Robert seemed to grind his teeth, work his jaw. Karen said his name in a warning sort of fashion. “Robert.”

Sarah stared down at her lap and listened as her father took a deep breath, attempting to soothe himself.

“Sarah,” he said finally, a little tightly, “Where is this man? He has abandoned you here, without money, without clothes, with nothing. You keep saying that you’re waiting for him so you can return, but it’s been months. Have you even heard from him?”

“Dad–”

But he wasn’t finished. He was shaking his head, gazing at her intently. “If you’ve run away, it’s okay. It’s okay, and we’re here for you. You’re safe now. Sarah, this is why I wanted you to see a therapist. You can’t keep deluding yourself about this man, pretending that he was a good- good husband to you!” It ended in a sort of boom. “He kidnapped you! When you were fifteen!”

Sarah flinched.

Karen hissed, “Robert–”

“It’s fine, Karen,” Sarah said. But her voice came out small, a little tiny. A little nervous. She took a breath. “I… I know I’ve been very… secretive. But… I’m not deluded, and I didn’t run away. Not like you’re thinking.”

“Then–?”

“I- I won’t deny that- that me and my… husband had a… rough beginning–”

Her father’s eyes looked glossy with tears.

“-- But I’ve grown used to him, and– I love him, in a way, and– we are waiting for him. Where we live… there were some sudden political issues and… it wasn’t safe for me and the kids. He’s- he’s kind of… important. So he’s stayed behind to deal with it.”

“Have you even spoken to him?” Karen murmured. “Since you’ve been here?”

Sarah tugged her hand out from under her thigh and glanced at her. The ink from her and Ewan’s messages was smearing. The ones from Jareth had vanished, gone, like they had never been there. It left strange striping gaps on her palm.

“We’ve… messaged,” Sarah said, lips pressing tight together.

Robert let out a heavy breath. He rubbed his face tiredly, slumped back into his chair. “And what’s this fellow’s name, anyway? You haven’t said.”

Speak his name…

“Umm…” she said, a wavering thing, “It’s… James.”

“James what?”

Sarah’s eyes flitted around, searching for something. Finally, she landed on, “King.”

“James King?” her father said, sounding skeptical. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“No–”

He raised his hand to cut her off. “I know you are. Something is not right about this whole situation. You think I’m too dumb to realize?”

Karen looked between them uncomfortably.

“I don’t think that!” Sarah said in a shrill voice.

Robert set his scotch back down and stood up. He approached Sarah, who stared up at him wide-eyed, slowly. She watched, befuddled, when he dropped to his knees before her and took her hand. “Tell me,” he said, “Tell us.”

“But you won’t believe–”

He squeezed her hands. “I will.”

Sarah looked in his eyes for a long moment. Her fingers twitched. Then she looked down again, at her hands. Her father’s larger fingers obscured most of the ink from view. “Okay,” she whispered.

Her father’s eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said numbly.

She told them the abridged version, the non-magic version, the suitable-for-parents version. Her father cried, and so did Karen. Sarah didn’t, dredging up these things numbed her now, where they used to cave her out and leave her screaming up from the inside out.

. . .

“Oh Sarah,” Karen said quietly the next breakfast. Alice leaned heavily on one arm, manners seemingly forgotten, as she picked at her food. Ewan ate quickly. He had loosened up as of late.

Sarah looked up from her plate. It was a silent morning, the energy subdued. The children didn’t know why, but Sarah felt the sad looks that her step-mother had been shooting her since she came downstairs. “Yes?”

“I found something for you,” Karen said, looking tired and gray. “That red book you used to read all the time. It was right in front of me, funny enough – in my bedside drawer. I nearly forgot, but I was planning on reading it but then you three arrived.”

Sarah’s lips parted. She had asked Karen about it a few days ago, after her traumatic search through her old things and before the dulled recounting of her fraught relationship with her fearsome king. The Labyrinth, that small red bound book, had been missing from all the boxes of her previous life.

“You did?” Her mouth was dry all of a sudden. Ewan looked at her funnily, but she could hardly notice. All her focus had narrowed in on her step-mother. “Where is it now?”

Karen busied herself with wiping the counter. “I set it in on the coffee table when I came down this morning.”

Sarah offered a small smile which wasn’t seen. “Thank you, Karen.”

“Anytime,” her step-mother said, absently. “I remember you were obsessed with that book when you were young. Always dressing up as the princess in it. What was it about again? Some adventure through a labyrinth? That was right before you went missing, wasn’t it…” She rubbed her forehead tiredly, looking down.

Ewan’s head snapped up at this. From the corner of Sarah’s eye, she felt his gaze. She pressed her lips together in nerves. “Something like that,” she said. But now all she could think of was the book only a few paces away, on the other side of the wall, on the coffee table, in the living room.

Karen began speaking soberly of something or other, but Sarah barely heard. Her spoon spun circles in her yogurt, her eyes stared at nothing. Eventually, she could no longer avoid it. “Excuse me,” she said, standing up. “I’m not feeling well.” It wasn’t truly a lie.

Before anyone could say anything, she was out of the room and into the living room, the curious eyes of Ewan, and Alice too, on her retreating back. She barely noticed.

Immediately, her eyes caught on the red book, which she hadn’t seen for so long. It was the same. A deep crimson, gold lettering which glinted in the morning light. Sarah walked to it as if in a trance. Control of her body had completely gone, and she picked it up. She trembled, the weight of it in her hand enormous.

She spent the rest of the day in a state. Thumbing at the pages constantly, never brave enough to put it down, or to part with it, and yet she was neither brave enough to open it fully, nor to read it. It had her stuck, terrified and yearning all at once.

She kept it close, clutched to her middle, or held in the crook of her arm. Her family, old and new, noticed her odd behavior. She could see the questions swimming in the eyes of her children, and the concern from Karen. At least her father was away for work – having run away from the sadness she had dumped upon his shoulders, angry at his helplessness, for she had made him understand, harshly perhaps, that he couldn’t call the police about it because the police could do nothing, no one could do anything, that James King was too powerful– for he would surely be brave enough to say something, to ask.

It was only that night, secreted away in her room, under the covers, the book in her lap, having stared at the cover for what felt like years, her mind strangely blank, that she dared to open it. And once she had, there was no stopping her.

It was single-minded, word after careful word. From the first word to the last, false word, she did not put it down once. Not even when her bladder twinged at her, nor when her mouth went dry, parched with all her feelings. No, she did not even notice. It was all-consuming, the book, which pulled her in, in, in. There was no physical body in this state.

And when she had reached the end, the final few words lingering heavy, knocking, in her head, The princess had won, The princess had won, the princess… had…. won… she just turned once again to the first page and began it all over again.

It was only after this second turn through the book, more careful, more calculating a process, that she was able to think again. To relate it to her own, real – or unreal – life. She closed it and set it on her belly and stared up at the ceiling, faintly shadowed from the direction of the lamp light on the bedside table. She blinked dolorously.

There was hindsight, now. Something adult about the way she understood the story today. She picked up the book again, as if to make sure, and scoured the cover for the billionth time to find, as she always had, no author. The Labyrinth, the Labyrinth.

There was no publishing information inside, nothing to tell where it had come from, who it had come from. As a child, back before everything, she had always simply assumed that someone had made their own copy of an obscure play they liked, a hobbyist book-binder. Sarah was smarter now, more experienced, and she knew for certain where it came from. She could hear her husband in the turns of the words and sentences in the play. She recognized it, the story which word for word had played out in her own life. Had it been a dream? No, because Toby remembered. Toby, who had been just an infant, remembered. The Goblin King remembered, Sarah remembered.

What she had told Toby was true, or she believed it to be. But she believed it with all her might. The play had been manufactured – for her – and her own, matching experience had been manufactured for her. Created, controlled. She had never had any power at all. Her now-husband, the lurking, dark, cruel King, the godly-powered master of the Labyrinth, in the castle of his Kingdom, the strongest, most powerful mage-king of all the land, with the most pulsing, mighty seat of maze-ish power. She had never had a chance. All she’d had to do was call his name, make her wish. And then she was his, forever.

She clutched the book tight in her hands, knuckles going white. Her throat was dry and she noticed it now. Aware of herself and her situation.

And now the only question that remained in her head, all-consuming like nothing had ever been, was why, why, why, why, WHY?

From that night forward, the book became an obsession. She carried it around all the time. She read it once, twice, four times every night. She coveted it, close to her heart.

It was also around this time that she became aware of something else about her. An achy, dull twinge of something in the background of her body. Something which throbbed at her, but confused her. The play was on her mind, the troubling thing, but suddenly her body was speaking back to her.

She was watching a movie with Karen one evening, some romance flick or other, and there was a kiss scene. Sarah recalled the moony way she’d been as a teenager, gazing wide-eyed at the chaste little kisses between princes and their maidens in the movies, or the rich boys and their pauper girls, or, or, or. But then, in the film, the kiss turned hot and fast, and explicit. Clothes came off and Sarah stared at the screen, a little stunned, acutely aware of Karen beside her.

Bare breasts bounced and the man’s butt thrust about. Moans filled up the room, breathy pants. Sarah flushed hot. She fidgeted in embarrassment, side-eyeing her step-mother.

“Oh dear,” Karen said, sounding a little stunned herself. “It’s quite a lot, isn’t it?”

Sarah breathed out a laugh, but she was burning. She shifted in her place.

“I know it’s a different time, and all, you youngsters are more open and all that,” Karen continued. Her own face was a little flushed. “But I’ll never be used to this.”

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed. Her father hadn’t allowed her to watch rated R movies as a kid, and even though her mother had been less strict, a few more violent, more sexual movies under her belt, Sarah had never quite seen anything like this.

“Oh… does it bother you?” Karen then said, glancing at her, eyes pinched at the sides. “I can turn it off if it does.”

Sarah knew that look, that pitying look. The concern from her step-mother and her father, their well-meaning worry, was beginning to chafe. It was odd though. Through the years, and particularly in the beginning, Sarah had yearned with all her heart for her father or her mother or even, yes, her step-mother, to find her and to save her and to protect her from all that would harm her. The pity, then, had seemed lovely, something she wanted, something she desired. But now… guilty curdled in her belly for how ungrateful she was being.

She shook her head and turned back the movie, without a word.

Then the scene changed, and it was the man and the woman laying in one another’s arms, within rumpled sheets, sweaty and flushed and smiling dopily. Sarah felt an altogether different sort of discomfort now, or was it yearning, to see the lovey-dovey looks and touches of these two fictional characters. And something else…

It came from her belly, a physical feeling. It made her jittery and anxious but she wasn’t sure why. Sarah sat through the rest of the movie in a sort of dazy, confused state. When it was over, Karen and her hugged goodnight and then went their own ways.

That night, laying in bed, her mind wouldn’t leave that scene. It replayed over and over in her head. And when she picked up the red book, hoping to distract herself, it only made the feeling worse. She squirmed under the covers.

When she finally fell asleep that night, her dreams were bizarre, quick-feeling, and sensory. They had her waking up sweating and hot. That achy-belly feeling remained and the contexts of the dreams evaded her. In the waking moments her mind turned to Jareth. His hands on her, all over. His body, his desire. His breath and his mouth.

She felt lonelier than ever and she hated that. She hated it.

. . .

“I love your hair.”

A grown-up Em sat across from Sarah. She was cozy looking, in a patterned sweater and loose pants, but her hair was cut into a sharp bob. Sarah remembered when they were young and Em, still with the same copper-red colored hair, had maintained with all her might and to the pain of death that she would never ever ever ever ever cut her hair. It had been a source of contention between her and her mother, as Em had wanted to keep her hair just the way it was, but she didn’t want to do anything to care for it. For as long as Sarah could remember, at sleepovers, Em’s mom would yell at her to brush her hair, goddamnit. Em would always roll her eyes, pick up the brush, pull it through her hair once or twice, before getting distracted and setting it back down again, to be forgotten that night.

A shy smile crept up over Em’s face. She brushed a piece out of her face. “It’s a change, isn’t it? From what you remember?”

Sarah spun the mug of tea in her hand, fingers every once in a while dipping in and out of the handle-bar hole. “It suits you,” she said honestly.

“Thanks, Sarah.” Em smiled, and even though there was a nervous note to it, it came across genuine. Sarah offered one back. Her fingers flickered over her mug.

Em was still Em, Sarah saw, but she was older. Her face was thinner, less chubbed up with baby fat. Her eyebrows were carefully groomed, unlike the wild ones of their youth. She sat straighter and, of course, a little boy was clinging to her leg. Em, a mother. Sarah, a mother. What had happened? A flash of the days of them in grade school musicals together and nervously presenting a project on the state of the union to the class had Sarah reeling. Em had grown into herself.

Had Sarah?

The little boy, Peter, with bright red hair and honey brown eyes, a perfect mix of his mom and dad, smiled shyly at Sarah from where he attempted to hide himself into the folds of his mother’s pants. Em played absently with his soft-looking spiky-curled hair. He bit at his fingernail and, blushing, lifted his head and said, “You’re pretty.”

Sarah’s heart burst with fondness. She smiled, probably the most genuine smile that had come across her lips in who knew how long. “Thank you.” She leaned in a little, dropping her head sideways, nearly conspiratorially. “And I must say, you’re quite handsome yourself.”

This time he really, really blushed, turning his face away into his mother’s pants, tips of the ears red. Sarah smiled down at him. A shot of nostalgia came, to remember the shy adorations of her own son, and then later, of her daughter. They were so grown up. Was she terrible to miss them at that age, when she had them just as lovely as they were now?

“He’s so sweet,” Sarah said softly.

Em appeared more relaxed now, cheeks pink with amusement. She kept on petting Peter’s hair until he decided to climb up onto the couch beside her and plop down to sit. He crawled into the crook of her arm and she squeezed him, looking down adoringly at him. “Yes, you are sweet, aren’t you?”

Peter smiled through his saliva-sticky fingers still in his mouth.

Em took a sip from her glass of water and adjusted her glasses. Another new development, or at least to Sarah it was. These also suited her, the large, wiry rims in a shape half-between circle and square. “We’re thinking of having another if we can.” Em shrugged here, nearly casual, but with just a hint of something serious. “It might be too late for me, but… we’re hoping.” She sounded positive enough about it. Like anything could happen and she would be just fine. Sarah wondered at the amount of self-confidence, and confidence at the world that this revealed. Sarah wished, oh, she wished…

“I hope it works out for you,” Sarah said genuinely. “It would be nice for him- to have a little sibling.”

“You have some of your own, don’t you?” Em looked at her curiously, but easily. Sarah wanted this ease for herself.

“Two,” she beamed. “They’re pretty much grown-up though. It goes by faster than you think… I still remember the days they were as small as little Peter here.”

Peter perked up at the sound of his name, looking curiously from woman to woman. A clank rang out from the kitchen, Mike had got to work a few minutes ago, after somewhat nervous introductions and beverage distributions.

“Where are they?”

“Oh,” Sarah said. “Dad took them to his office today, to show them around. Maybe soon you’ll be able to meet them.”

“Mike said there was an Alice?” Em had a twinkle of the eye, a sly sort of smile. “Why am I not surprised?”

Sarah laughed. “Yes, my daughter.”

“And your other?”

“My son,” Sarah said. “His name is Ewan.”

“Ewan,” Em said, slowly, trying it out for size. “Like that actor, yeah? How did you decide on that one?”

Sarah brushed some of her hair back from her face. Her eyes flicked away for half a betraying second before they were back. “My husband named him, actually. But I quite liked it.”

Em smiled and nodded. Here was the unknown, uncharted territory. Everyone suspected something, but no one knew anything, anything at all. All guesses. The elusive husband.

Sarah cleared her throat. “How did you come up with Peter? Not from Peter Pan, I wonder?” As much as Em had entertained Sarah’s love for fairytales and old children’s stories, she had never been much for them.

Em grinned again. “Maybe a little. But it’s a family name, on Mike’s side. It seemed fitting. Plus all that red hair.” She gestured to her own head then Peter’s. “Peter Pan had red hair in that old movie, didn’t he? ”

Sarah pursed her lips. “I can’t remember.”

They fell into a silence.

Em broke it. “That’s a lovely ring,” she said after a moment. Sarah was startled by this turn of conversation. She followed Em’s eyes to her left hand, with the ring from Jareth, which had become a part of her. She touched it.

“Thank you,” said Sarah. “Yours too.”

On Em’s marrying finger was a perfectly nice diamond ring, silver and white-glinting and clean. It sparkled, obviously well taken care of, but it was simple. Mike was a handyman, of course, it was nothing terribly glamorous. Em didn’t seem bothered. For it was obvious that she and Mike were still fully in love, after what was it– sixteen years of marriage.

Sarah looked down at her ring. She didn’t think of it so much anymore, it was just there, as it felt like it always had been. He had given it to her as a gift, a peace offering, of sorts. A tradition from her world, as wedding rings did not exist among the Fae. No outward symbol was needed for them, for marriage permeated from the very soul. Sarah had been touched upon receiving it, that scary wedding day. It was beautiful and he had gotten it specially for her. But then there was a contamination to it. Newly married and newly banded and branded. It was irremovable, Jareth had made sure of that. Her husband, she had come to realize, had a pettiness about him.

The first few months after, she had chafed at it. She used to have a ritual about it, every morning and every night, whenever away from the eyes of her husband, she would test it. Tugging at it and trying to remove it. It never budged. Eventually, she stopped. What was the point?

Still holding the mug in hand, she sort of awkwardly shifted her hand positioning. She touched it. It was an impulse she was surprised by. She tried to pull it off. She did not know why she was surprised when it remained where it was.

She looked back up at Em to find her watching. Sarah offered a wooden-ish smile. Embarrassed perhaps to have been caught out, seen doing something she wasn’t meant to.

“What kind of stone is it?” Em asked.

“I… don’t know actually.” She frowned at herself.

Em nodded in understanding, but it was an awkward moment all around. A moment passed. Sarah breathed out uncomfortably and the apology fell from her mouth without her permission. “Sorry. I- it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it has.” Em smiled a thin smile, and to Sarah it appeared pitying and not as assured.

The rest of their conversation was slightly awkward small-talk. Something about the ring conversation had soured what Sarah had thought would be an easy-going meeting. Em didn’t seem to know what to say, despite her confidence, and Sarah’s attempts at conversation sounded juvenile at best.

Sarah felt guilty about it, but she was a little bit relieved when Peter started to get restless and then began to cry when his mother told him they had to wait to get home before he could have his snack. Something special for little kids that the Williams’ household did not have.

But he burst into tears, strong gasping ones. He was a hungry little thing, Sarah knew, and sad, but she was relieved when Em began making her excuses, picking him up and trying to shush him. He wouldn’t quiet.

“I never know how to handle these tantrums,” she said, standing up and raking her hand through her hair in a troubled manner. “He’s so sensitive. Peter, come on, honey. There’s nothing I can do right now. It’s only fifteen minutes till we’re back home, okay?”

Sarah stood with her, and offered her a sympathetic smile. Peter continued sobbing, covering his red face and stamping his little feet.

“Say goodbye to Sarah, Pete,” Em said, taking his hand even as he continued crying.

“B-b-bye,” he hiccuped harshly. He gasped through the tears.

Sarah felt her face wilting in sympathy. She dropped carefully to her knees in front of him. “Bye, Peter, it was nice to meet you.” She touched his shoulder gently. “I’ve got a magic trick, do you want to see it?”

He continued hiccuping but his eyes seemed to catch on her. “M-magic?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, smiling. Em hovered behind him, observing.

“Watch closely,” Sarah said. And he did, his tears slowly drying, and his eyes brightening as she performed her trick. Aided with just a bit of real magic, of course.

Sarah smiled slyly at him as he oohed and aahed over the ribbon she’d produced out of thin air. Em watched in amusement, but when Sarah stood up again, she said, a little envious sounding, “You’re a kid whisperer, Sare, I never would have imagined it when we were young. I can never distract him from those tantrums.”

Sarah shrugged and reached out to ruffle Peter’s hair. He hugged her below the knees. “Just practice,” she said with a little laugh. “Kids are like little adults, you know, just without the same control over their emotions.” Then she tilted her head and smiled something small. “Not that adults are so great at it either, I’ve noticed.”

Em looked grateful and Peter was still wowed over the ribbon. But he went to hand it back to her, sweetly. Sarah smiled, “Keep it.”

Em picked him up, then. “How nice of you, Sarah,” she said in a child-exaggerated manner. “What do we say, Pete?”

He gave Sarah a shy smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Sarah grinned.

The three of them went to go find Mike – did I hear my little man upset? – who was wrapping up his handy-man duties. They said their goodbyes, and the little family left. It had the note of a forever goodbye, at least between Sarah and Em. Too much life had got in the way of them. Sarah watched from the window as Mike buckled Peter up in the back seat of his truck, and then climbed into the front seat. He slammed the door and they were off.

She sat on the couch, pensive-feeling. She thought of Em, then and now, and then she found herself in the little downstairs bathroom.

The gold-yellow lights shining strongly overhead, she looked pale and wan in the reflection of the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes, which were smooth and clear and bright green, if not innocent in their gaze. She leaned in close, scrunched up her face, making the skin around her eyes crinkle and wrinkle. She squinted at herself before letting her face relax once more. Where were the lines? Gone, having never arrived, not even a shadow of them.

Her hand reached up to her face and she touched the skin there. She pulled the sides of her eyes out like the playground jokes on china-people, and then up, and then down. Droopy, like the look of her grandmother near the end of the painful, cancered life.

She thought this abuse should surely leave some reminder of her age. She was nearly forty, wasn’t she.

Her hands dropped heavily from her face, stone-like weights at either side of her. She stared into her eyes for a long time, until it became odd, and scary, to look into her own soul. She blinked, and her gaze diverted. First to her mouth, then her neck, shoulders. Her hair was pulled into a loose tail over her shoulder, a strikingly black stripe against her pale green sweater under the artificial light of the bathroom. It draped over her breast, down to brush at the mid-area of her belly. Her hand raised again, absently, and she undid the tie.

The hair spread across her sweater, strong and healthy, though she was neither. She pushed it back over her shoulder, to drape across her back. She turned to the side, then to the other, to catch it swinging. She twitched, face freezing for one split-second, when the memory of the Goblin King, for he had not yet been her husband then, pulling her hair gently over her shoulder to expose her bare backside, weapon at the ready to punish her with pain. Her first attempted escape. She’d told him she’d learned her lesson, after, but she hadn’t, not really. It would take a pain much more profound than that for her to truly learn her lesson.

An impulse caught hold of her, a strong one, not unlike that which made her recklessly and unthinkingly have her hair cut to her chin some time ago. Her fingers twitched, half-way raised to her hair, half-way held away. She wanted to look older. She wanted to look like a woman, like a mother who had two children, nearly grown, just like she had wanted this years ago in that dark, gloomy castle which had housed her for most of her life. Jareth had appeared ambivalent to that haircut, but he had said one thing which she knew to be true. It had made her look older. And there wasn’t any Jareth to stop her now, or to insinuate his distaste. He could just deal with it, she thought, anger rushing through her in a wave, whenever he deigned to come for them again, if he ever did!

The look on her face became one of grim determination. And without another moment of hesitation, she descended upon the bathroom drawers, looking for scissors. If she had to use a goddamn knife, she would. What did a messy haircut matter, in the large of things? She had a spell or two in her disposal, after all.

She rustled through the two side drawers of the wood and porcelain sink-stand. Nothing but toothpaste, hair-ties, and lotion. She bent over and yanked open the doors to look under the sink, but then, with barely a glance, she shut it again. Why would there be scissors under the sink? How foolish.

Near in manic sort of frenzy, she exited the bathroom, leaving the lights on and the drawers half-open, and she tore into the kitchen with single-minded purpose.

She couldn’t remember where Karen kept the scissors, so she went through each and every drawer and cupboard methodically until she found some. Thick handled and black, with heavy blades, she clutched it into her belly, heart thundering, and she returned to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and locked it. Karen was outside, she thought, working in the yard. She wouldn’t be bothered, but even so…

She slammed the scissors onto the sink-counter and then, without even a doubt, pulled her hair into a loose, low tail which dangled down the center of her back. She grabbed the scissors and reached back behind her and just like that, she gnawed the thick blades through her hair right above her shoulder line, right below the ponytail tie.

It was difficult, her hair was thick, but then it had happened, and the long, long pile of it slid down her back and right to the floor. Like a waterfall, the strands crashed around her feet and ankles, bubbling up.

She yanked out the hair-tie ruthlessly and shook out what remained of her hair.

With a hard sort of glint in the eye, she observed herself in the mirror. Slightly choppy, blunt, the ends of her hair brushed just barely against her shoulder, over the base of her neck.

A smile formed on her face, wide. It was a strange smile, not quite of joy. There were too many teeth and her skin was stretched unpleasantly. She smiled like this as she brought the scissors back up and systematically went through the ends to even out the cut.

And then she was there, and the manic smile was fading into something more real. Softer. Her eyes crinkled up, tears beaded the corners of them. She turned her head this way and that, the short strands swinging with her movements, bouncy. She imagined herself on the dance floor, being swung in hoppy, energetic dances, by men in button-up shirts and trousers, hair bouncing about, short and curled and for her.

She looked down at the pile of hair at her feet. She vanished it, that stubborn set to her jaw remaining. And she looked back up at her new self. She loved it.

Notes:

Sorry everyone for the long wait!! The past few months I've bene avoiding this story like a plague- having been frightened of messing up the ending. But the good news is that I had a huge burst of inspiration today and finished writing out the draft!! I just have to edit them up and post, so it should be relatively quick now till the end. You'll notice that I updated the chapter count - I'm pretty sure that that's how it's going to end up. Chapter 44 will most likely be a short epilogue, so after this chapter there will be 2 more regular chapters :o crazy huh?

Anyway, thank you all for the patience, and for sticking with me!! I hope you enjoyed <3

P.s. thank you YuuriQueen for letting me complain to you about writer's block the other day! It really helped :D

Chapter 42: Release

Summary:

And yet it was even more than that, as this time she was not at the mercy of his touch and his pace. She needed not to contend with his own dangerous desire.

In the wake of the haircut, once she had exhausted herself with her preening in the mirror, reality crept up again. An old, odd embarrassment rushed through her. Now, she had to brave the judgment of the world. That of her two families. It built up in her mind, quick, a twitchy and youthful self-consciousness. What would they think, what would they say. She had half a mind to go hide in her room, to never come out. But then, she realized… the nerves would only grow the longer she avoided it. So, in front of the mirror, she steeled herself. She made herself confident. And then, with sure steps, she left the bathroom.

She found Karen out in the yard, doing some pre-spring gardening work. Sarah walked carefully out onto the back porch, closing the door quietly behind her. She was neither seen nor heard, not with Karen facing the garden beds.

“Hey,” Sarah called. “Need any help?”

“Hello dear,” Karen said, without facing her. “No, thank you. I’m about finished.”

Sarah, still on the porch, holding onto one of the pillars, watched as Karen stood up straight, wiped her brow, and turned around. It took her a minute to notice the change, but when she did, her eyes lit up. They were so often sad upon looking at her, these days.

“Oh, Sarah!” she said with a beaming smile. “Look at you– how lovely! Did you do it yourself? You know I would have taken you to the salon if you wanted…”

Sarah blushed a little, and shrugged. Bashful babe. “I wanted to do it myself.”

Karen took off her sun hat as she came closer. “Come, come, let me see!”

Sarah did, feeling warm at this attention. When Karen bid her so, she spun around to oohs and aahs. She couldn’t stop her smile as Karen reached out to brush a strand of the new, chopped-short hair behind her ear. “It really suits you,” her step-mother said.

“Thank you,” Sarah said, and found herself rambling, “I’ve had long hair so long, you know. I think I needed a real change after all this time. I got the idea when I saw Em– she has it even shorter than this, but it looks so good, so…”

Laughing a shy little laugh, Sarah shrugged.

Karen looked at her kindly, with bright eyes. She twiddled her hat in her hands as she said, “I was about to make some lunch. Join me? I’d love to hear about your visit.”

Nearly beaming now, so happy, Sarah nodded. “I’d like that.”

It was sometime during their shared meal and conversation, Sarah all floaty from her step-mother’s approval, that she realized that, secretly, what she was really scared of was not Karen or her dad’s reaction to such a change, but her son and her daughter and most of all, her king’s.

But as evening inched closed, her dad and the kids soon to return from the office, she firmed herself. She touched her hair often and though, yes, she did feel exposed in the neck, the weightlessness it offered was a relief unmatched. She was lighter, less burdened. Nothing anyone could say, not even the absent, abandoning husband whenever he returned, if he ever did, could make her change it.

But then, like many things, it turned out to not be such a big deal. It turned out easier, and simpler, than her expectations, her worst case scenarios. Robert was the first through the door and he, followed by the little lost ducklings, came in through the living room where Sarah and Karen sat together, chatting with tea and coffee in respective hands, hours later.

“Lookin’ good, Sare,” her dad said upon seeing her. He reached out to ruffle the top of her head as if she really was still a little child and then he went to sit, with a large puff of exhausted, aged breath, in his cushy arm-chair. Sarah smiled at him. He was no longer tip-toeing so much around her, which she was grateful for.

“Mom!” Alice exclaimed, rushing to her side. “Woah!”

Sarah bemusedly sat there as her daughter touched her hair with eyes large with wonder. “You look so different!”

“You like it?” Sarah asked, biting her lip.

“You’re kidding!” Alice said with exuberance, “You look gorgeous! Boy, do I wish I had hair like yours!”

“Don’t be silly,” Sarah chided, making space for Alice to sit beside her. “You have perfect hair. It’s so fair, and soft.”

Alice made a muffled sound of vague, distracted disagreement, a“whatever” sort of noise, as she plopped down on the couch and continued to play with the short, blunt strands. Robert, in his armchair, had clicked on the television and now the low, ambient sounds of the news channel filled the room.

Karen spoke next, addressing Ewan where he stood quietly under the arched entry into the living room, waving him over. “Don’t be shy, hon. There’s room for you too.”

Sarah seconded this with a nod and a beckon. As he walked over and took a seat in the open space on the couch between her and Karen, his eyes tracked over the change in her.

Karen nudged him with her shoulder in a playful manner. “What do you think of your mom’s new do? Isn’t she lovely?”

All the attention on Sarah, just then, had her blushing. Nervously happy, she looked with shy, hopeful eyes at her soon. He smiled softly. “Of course she does,” he said, a note of the sweet young boy of three and four. “The most beautiful woman in the world.” He kissed her on the cheek.

Sarah pressed a hand to her heart and then to his cheek. “Thank you, my love.”

She then looked at Alice and Ewan and Robert in turn. With a little smirk, she said, “So! How was Bring Your Grandkids to Work Day?”

Robert barked out a laugh, but it was her children who excitedly explained. Her father indulgently sat back and listened as they did.

“It was incredibly interesting,” Ewan said, eagerly. “I didn’t know there were so many… types of law.”

He and Sarah shared a secret look of understanding, half conspiratorial. In the Underground, his and Alice’s homeworld, there was one kind of law and that was the law of the King, or the Queen, in rarer cases. She smiled to herself to recall eighth grade civics class, blurry as the memories were, and all the moving parts of the U.S. government.

Alice, meanwhile, nodded excitedly along as Ewan continued his description of the day, with the occasional interjection or two, or three.

“Oh!” she perked up. “Grandfather said that a lawyer is kind of like an advisor. Right, Grandfather?”

Robert smiled at her, and nodded, “Yes, sweet pea, that’s right.”

Alice turned to Sarah, smiling, “So that makes your father kind of like Balfe is to our father!”

“Something like that, yeah,” Sarah said, a little slowly. Like everytime the elusive, unknown husband was mentioned in front of her father and step-mother, the easiness of the atmosphere was quick to snuff out. The lack of it could be felt in the air, a vacuum left behind. Robert’s hand clenched over the remote and a silence fell among them. Alice grimaced, realizing her mistake. Luckily, however, the tension was broken when Karen cleared her throat to excuse herself to the lady’s room.

Alice whispered a contrite apology but Sarah waved her off with an expression that said, “oh, it’s no matter.”

Almost as one, those remaining in the living room turned to face the droning news channel. She had the feeling not a one of them, not her or her children, and certainly not her father, were actually taking in what the woman on the screen with the perfectly done hair and makeup was saying.

. . .

Where the haircut had refreshed her, removing dead and dreadful weight from her drooped shoulders, the return of her sexuality, or rather the incessant, prodding reminder of it, became a burden too much to bear.

In the first stretch of their stranding in the mortal world, a numbness had been all she had known. All her body had known. A sluggish sadness. The presence of her sexual husband, which she knew so well, the feelings all warm and flushed and hot and scary, had deserted her soundly, deserting her when she was alone in her parents’ home. As if such feelings had only ever existed in the first place for him. A survival method among those other f-worded ones: fight, flight, fawn… and then, fuck.

But now, without him, months later, the feelings had returned. A distant achy throb accompanied her always, each and every day in the dull and stressful Aboveground life. She woke up twitchy with need and she fell asleep cold without touch. She was uncomfortable with it. Like a child, really, who, having relied on the gracious and protective parent for far too long, was now frightened to be all on her own. While, yes, she’d had endless time and resources to explore topics and ideas and knowledge related to sexuality and while, yes, she was no blushing virgin, without a clue of the sexual life, it was also true that all of her experience in that forbidden, adult realm, had been with Jareth only and for Jareth only.

He had been her brutal first, and second, and hundredth. He would be her last, so help him God. It was a rare day in the Goblin King’s castle that he and she did not enjoy the bodies of one another. She had learned, long ago, to enjoy it. And she did enjoy it, she really did. Though some days were harder than others, the aching pains of memory causing a bother, most days she fell into his love, easily, and warmly, and pretendingly.

It was for these reasons that she had never felt the need to explore her own self, her own body, not really. Her husband had done that for her– so why should she? But now, at thirty-nine years old, with grown and growing children, stuck in the Aboveground, on her own for the first time, she realized that this was so indescribably sad. It was this image of herself… laying in her tiny childhood bed at night, thighs pressed tight together, and yet her arms held sternly, fearfully, rigidly at her sides. How could she be so afraid, so unknowledgeable about her own body, at this great age?

There was a prudishness about her, she knew. Jareth had commented on it enough, after all. Her human upbringing causing shame where there ought not to be any. Sarah thought it was more than just her childhood which made her, at times, shy from lustful things. She thought it probably had some relation to her slow development, too. She had come into her maturity late, if her children were anything to compare to, or the other kids she had gone to school with, long ago. At fifteen years old, while exotic and lovely romance had rosied up her brain, sex had been far, far from her mind. And as it was, she thought her cruel and violent introduction, at fifteen, to that which she had hardly ever considered before, also contributed to this prudish quality about her.

She remembered the discomfort she had known at the innocent and curious questionings of her children. First at the origins of babies, and then later, about sex. For the first, because they had been so young with these questions, Sarah had given vague enough comparisons to the seeds in a garden, which was easy enough. But then they were older and they asked after the second.

Fae culture was open and hedonistic and sexual, it always had been. Sarah disapproved. She rebelled from it, she didn’t like it, not one bit. It was her children’s world, and her husband’s world, but she wanted no part in such things. So, when Ewan, at seven, asked her seriously about sex as she fed a little toddler Alice, Sarah was understandably tight-lipped.

The question – “what’s sex?”-- from her sweet and young little boy had startled her very much. She froze in place, arm extended halfway to urge Alice to eat the food she squallingly resisted. She stammered a little, taken aback under his small, curious, green gaze. Finally, she settled on this: “Well… it’s when there’s a… man and a woman, and… they are in love with each other, and… they might … enjoy being…” She searched for the right word, “... together. Yes. That’s it.”

His little eyebrows furrowed. “But how together?”

Sarah grimaced, scratched her nose, and tried to remember how her parents had explained it to her, if they even had. She thought her mom might have spoken to her about it, when she was thirteen or fourteen, but Ewan was much too young for that. She shook her head and said, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

At that, he had pouted and whined, but Sarah held firm, ending up distracting him and herself, by taking him out to the gardens. Later, when Ewan was gone to lessons and she was left alone with Alice, she had a thought to tell Jareth, to ask him what she should have said, but another, larger part of herself rebelled. He would be angry at her, she knew. And it didn’t matter anyhow– she didn’t want her son to learn about sex from her husband, to grow up viewing it as he did. As the rest of his world did. So she let the topic die, keeping it to herself.

Or, at least she thought she did. Jareth brought it to her attention the next night, when the kids had already been tucked into bed and it was just them in their chambers.

“Did Ewan ask about sex recently?” he said, settling with her in front of the fireplace, though on separate chairs.

Sarah hesitated a moment. “... Yes.”

He looked at her but she busied herself in the book she had open in her lap.

But he wasn’t finished. “Did you answer him?”

She stared at one of the sentences of her book for a long moment, not taking it in. Then, feeling his eyes lingering heavily upon her, she shrugged.

“Hmm.”

She burrowed further into her chair, pulling a blanket over her knees. The fire crackled in the hearth. There was barely a moment that passed before he spoke again. “He asked me about it today,” he said, conversationally.

“Oh?”

“Yes. He said you wouldn’t answer.”

She glanced at him over the edge of her book, which she had raised up to hide herself a little better. He caught her gaze, arched a single brow. She looked down again. “So?” she muttered. “Did you answer him?”

“Yes.”

She frowned down at her book. Shortly, she said, “Fine.”

“Sarah,” he said. She tensed, but didn’t look at him. “Do not pass your silly mortal shame onto my children.”

“Our children,” she said, bristling. “And I’m not ashamed. He’s seven. He has no business knowing about that yet. He’s too young.”

“And yet,” he said, “old enough to question.”

She shut her book with a loud thud, and looked up at him with a glare. “He’s too young. He’s going to get all these ideas into his head if you just tell him whatever.”

Jareth raised an eyebrow, mouth pursed. “As opposed to ideas of how shameful and unspeakable this natural part of life is?”

“No,” she hissed. “When he’s old enough, he can be as– as– whorish as the rest of you, if that’s what he wants– see if I care! But until it’s something that is actually relevant to his life, he doesn’t need to hear about it.”

At that she stood up, throwing off her blanket, and stomped to the bed. She flung back the covers, huffing, and then crawled angrily in. She lay there, the room lit with fire and candles, and stared up at the canopy with a deep frown. It was only for her children that she could brave such danger, could brave taking a stand against her husband. She had long ago given up ever trying to stand up for herself. There was no use.

She kept her eyes resolutely fixed above her when she heard his footsteps around the bed, and still then as she felt the shifting of the mattress as he joined her beneath the covers. He propped himself up on an elbow beside her. Hi free hand rose to caress fingertips over her hands and arms which she held stiffly clasped over her belly. The hairs on her arms raised.

“Do you know…” he started, “how most of my people… choose to raise their children?”

He didn’t wait for a response, and continued his path upon her skin. “Especially among the poorer folk, who live in small, cramped homes, it’s exceedingly common for the mother and father to make love whenever and wherever, in front of their children. It teaches them about love and life. Or so they say–”

“That’s horrid!” She jerked herself up to sit. “Kids aren’t supposed to see that!”

“It’s considered a blessing,” he said. “That’s how my mother and father raised me, despite all the space in this castle.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

“But,” he said, reaching over to pinch gently at her chin, directing her gaze to his. “You’ll notice that this is not how I chose to raise our children.”

“But when they were–”

“When they were only babes, yes. I didn’t care if they were in the room with us. But have either of them seen anything since they were old enough to begin understanding it?”

“No, but–”

“Exactly,” he said. “Call me untraditional, but I don’t think a child should see his or her parents, or anyone else for that matter, having sex. And so ours have not, and will not. I also do not enjoy sharing my lovers, or my wife, with others, as is common among my people. I’m too jealous for that. Really, it makes me a bit of a black sheep–”

“Jareth–”

“But what I also do not think is good for a child, is for them to be held in ignorance. Ewan already doesn’t know nearly as much as other children his age. Do you understand my point, precious?”

She frowned deeply, jaw working. With cast-down eyes, she mumbled a vague acquiescence. He released her, pleased. “Very good.”

As he grew ardent, the topic now laid to rest, Sarah dodged a kiss and said under her breath, “No wonder you’re so…” She stopped herself.

But he had laughed at this, breath puffing against her neck. “So … what, my dear? Pervers, whorish? Your mortal condemnations mean nothing to me.” His hand crept up between her legs.

“Mmph,” she melted, then, into his touch. “Fine.”

She didn’t have to like it.

By the time Alice began asking the same questions, Sarah was better prepared to answer, albeit still uncomfortably. And when her daughter was old enough, she pressed a book into her hands. “If you have questions…” she said, with as much certainty as she could muster, which wasn’t much, “you can ask me.”

“Okay, thanks,” Alice had chirped, already thumbing through the small book, somehow not at all mortified by the topic, like Sarah remembered being at that age, and older, and still now. Sarah had stared after her, bemused and a little bit concerned, as she skipped out of the room and away. She hadn’t ever ended up having any questions, which Sarah had always been guiltily relieved by.

All of this was to say that she was not very comfortable at all with these matters. Her independent sexual feeling, in this strange mortal world, had her wrong-footed and uneasy. It left her nervous. Skittish really. Spooked by her own body, which should be known to her, wholly, but wasn’t.

It was her in the shower before bed, not allowing her hands to stray or to linger. Her turning the water cold as ice and going to bed shivering, hoping to stave it all away. Her watching more movies with Karen, surprised by the inundation of breasts and butts and even, once, a dangling flash of penis, on regular television. She felt her home world had betrayed her, gone Fae in her lengthy absence.

And the achy feeling made her sad, kept her up in the night, all alone and awake.

It was one of these such nights, the whole house already asleep, that she succumbed to this dark physical feeling of her body. Tightly tucked under covers and wrapped up in her thick pajamas, her hands journeyed nervously across the sheets, coming closer, closer. Fingers finally rested on hip bones and then twitched in place. In this time that passed with no movement, her eyes had clenched shut and her face had gone red and warm.

Dipping thumbs into the waistband of her flannel pants, her hands were shockingly cold against the warmed skin of her hips. She imagined her hands were someone else’s, she didn’t care who. The hands then pulled her pants down slowly, so slowly, and she helped the someone along by raising her hips so they could be taken down over her knees to wad around her lower legs. Her panties were the next to contend with. The hands played with the little trim edges for a while, shy. They ghosted over the gusset, boldly, having snuck between the legs.

Sarah held her breath, feeling the pulse in her neck, a drum beat of the exotic civilizations, which could be felt also in the extremities of her toes, and the warm juncture of her thighs. The panties came off, though she remained covered by her shirt and the blankets.

Bashful fingers, now warm like the rest of her, wavered against the insides of the thighs. A back and forth motion arose. Then, after some time, the gentle fingers of the right hand began their shy, careful explorations.

She came back into her body, then, her hands becoming her own again. It was a taking stock, the way her index and ring fingers trailed up and down, parting herself between the legs and then letting herself close again. A wetness dampened the pads of them and it was by nature that she gravitated first to the top part of her, hidden, but sticking out a little, attention-seeking and warm and easily-pleased, and then, next, to the soft opening, lower down.

Eyes still closed tight, needing to be in her body and not in the world, she caressed herself there slowly. Her mind, usually occupied by the overwhelmed feeling of another body with hers, was free now, and open. But she descended into a dark place.

A tremor began, originating out from her belly and coursing down, fully. She pet at the slippery opening of herself, over and over, trance-like. She was brave enough to dip one finger inside, the long, slender ring finger, only barely, but she was not brave enough to go any further. The shakes came stronger, heavy-feeling. Her vulva, her vagina, an earthquake of something. Romantic language had deserted her.

Her free hand, meanwhile, traveled up, to rest warmly over her belly. A lump came into her throat, as she thought suddenly of her children and how little they had been coming into life out of her, from her, there, having rested and grown and been made inside her, there.

Between her legs, her thumb drifted up, back up to the emotional, pleasurable, working part of her. The nub of feeling. She rested it there, just as a pressure.

Under her other hand, her belly jumped, as if a babe was there just beneath, kicking to make his or her presence known. A single tear trickled past her eyelashes, but she didn’t allow herself to stop. She switched her thumb out for the heel of her hand. Now, her whole hand covered herself. She was held firm.

Gentle fingers at the hollow, bowing, openable part of her and a bony, heavy, wide pressure at the sensitive clitoris. She began to pursue the pleasure of her body, then. Her legs closed around her hand, instinctual, as a rhythmic pattern was rubbed against her. An unbidden gasp, wet-sounding and powerful, ripped through her and out into the world.

The feeling emboldened her, loosened her, though the darkness remained, and so one of the fingers dared enter again. It slipped easily inside, all the way this time, and though it was such a small thing, her finger, smaller certainly than Jareth, his fingers or his cock, and much, much smaller than a baby, it was monumental. More tears came, and her throat convulsed thickly around all the feeling.

The small finger rested inside her, not moving. She clenched around it, and her lower half alit in something she was unsure of. The pleasure was there but what affected her the most was the sense she got… the emotion of it. She felt it all inside her. And as she began to wiggle and move her finger inside herself, exploring the soft, wet, inner world which her husband, till this point, had known better than her, and as she slipped inside a second finger, she thought of her life, all in flashes.

In pressing against the anterior wall, she experienced the spread-out and diffused, distant pleasure which Jareth had introduced her to with his body. In widening her two fingers apart, sideways, she recalled the pain and the terror she’d known so much in the beginning. When she, hesitantly, pulled her fingers back and out only to press them in once again, deeper, she felt against her fingertips a spongy something at the very inside.

At this, she burst into tears, fully. The strength of them, and her emotions, frightened her. In a flash, she yanked her hands away from that laden part of herself, and held them clenched at her sides, one sodden with sadness, the other not.

Eyes still tightly shut, she cried, though silently, extremely. She gasped through it, careful, shaky breaths to calm the nerves. But the physical ache remained. It came to the forefront again when the feeling in her head, some minutes later, eased.

She reached back for herself, carefully, yes, but more sure than ever before. She touched herself gently, exploring inside once again. As her small fingers moved and gentled here and there and everywhere, she opened to it. Relaxed and loosened to it. The darkness stayed, but it became bearable. Deja vu feelings and senses warped through her, like the drugged feeling of her wedding, or the discomforted shame of her first time laying young eyes on the unyielding nudity of the body of the man who would one day be her husband. So foreign was that appendage, hanging furiously down, a weapon meant to destroy and to love and to create. Or the nervous shudder of the jaw which beset her sometimes, even twenty years later, when she would take him into her mouth. But though these feelings were there, her senses caught between past and present, she didn’t shove them away to hide like she would have only moments before.

Instead, she continued to caress herself, a loving pleasure building, with the full weight of all of it rushing right through her, inside and out. The feeling that grew and grew was different, now. So unlike the heated sensation of pure physical feeling. This, it was more. It recalled the first time, which she still remembered clearly, that Jareth had made love to her, truly, having forgiven her the transgression of the first babe who had been lost. And yet it was even more than that, as this time she was not at the mercy of his touch and his pace. She needed not to contend with his own dangerous desire.

Her fingers now, inside and out, moved in a frenzy brought about by nature. Her body reacted, clenching and circling, hips jumping, and panting, but it was her mind which sought release. Her head and her whole being, her entire sad soul… she yearned so deeply for it.

When it came, a weight lifted.

“Thank you,” she whispered after. It rang throughout the room. With tears in reddened relieved eyes, she brought up sodden-pruned and sex-fragranced to her lips. She lay a kiss upon the tips. “Thank you.”

The urge to cry left and was replaced by a calm. For the first time in so long, she slept all through the night.

She woke to a message on her palm, soon, and a missing red book.

Notes:

betcha you were surprised to see this so soon, eh? xDDD

I hope you enjoyed, as always <3 Thank you for reading

Love,
K

Chapter 43: The Return

Summary:

“What are you waiting for, precious? Come along, now.”

Notes:

Ahhhhhhhhhh

okay real talk, I was scared as heck to post this. This is the last chapter and I honestly can't believe we're finally here. I'm posting the epilogue right after this one, but it is VERY short so be prepared for the end here. :o I'm a little nervous, but here we go!

Hope you enjoy <3

She couldn’t explain why exactly the book was so important to her, only that it was. It was only recently that she’d gotten it back into her hands, and now it was gone. It was like an amputated limb. She searched everywhere, relentlessly, but she couldn’t find it. She exhausted herself looking for it. The orgasm had freed her, yes, but now she was exposed to too much. The book was necessary for life, for some reason or other. Some integral part of her being. And it was gone. But it was only a symptom to the rest of her imminent problems.

The honey-moon of her body began to fade. The release had shocked her system awake so much that all she wanted to do was sleep, to retreat back into the unthinking mind.

And the mark on her palm frightened her. She was so tired. Soon, soon, soon. She was weary from it all. The truth, she thought, disturbed her.

Her two families thought they understood, but they didn’t. Not as she retreated back to the safety of her bedroom and her bed. She lay in it most of the following days, like a zombie. She would, at times, come out at meal times to eat. And then, barely clocking the worried looks of everyone around her, she would retreat back to her cave.

Dust motes floated dolorously, like her, in the sun beams which streamed through her childhood window at noontime.

“Is this because of the missing book?” Alice asked her quietly, worriedly, the day after it had gone. She sat at the edge of Sarah’s bed, twisting her hands and peering down at her tired and prone mother.

Sarah shifted sedately, sheets scratching around her. “No, honey.” She closed her eyes. “I’m fine. Go play with your brother.”

Alice hesitated for a long moment.

“Please,” Sarah said. “Just go.”

And Alice did. The guilt she felt was dim, and weak. She didn’t have the energy. She covered her eyes with her hand and burrowed into the bed further, away from the light in the window, breath barely there. When she pulled her hand back again, she traced the spot where the message had been, soon, but was now gone.

How soon, was all she could think.

Karen tried to help her, too. When her father’s efforts at rousing her brought about nothing.

“Sarah,” she said gently, bringing her a cup of tea. “What’s the matter, dear?”

Sarah kept her eyes closed, but felt the bed shifting as Karen, like Alice had, took a seat at the edge of the bed. Time clicked on. After a long moment, her step-mother broached the subject, carefully. “Your children… they’re worried about you.”

Sarah grit her teeth. She said nothing.

Karen continued. “We’re all worried about you. After what you told us…”

When Sarah turned away, her stepmother sighed defeatedly. “Sit up now, dear. Have some tea. It will help.” She reached out to touch Sarah’s shoulder, but she shrugged away immediately, the touch overwhelming her.

Karen quieted, and then the bed was shifting again. “Well, it’s right here. We all are hoping you feel better soon, okay?”

She left too.

The warm tea-scent wafted throughout the room. It was a floridly floral, herbal smell, which reminded her of the castle, and the fine teas she would drink there. It combined with the lingering, ghostly must of her old room, of her childhood self, which was still seeped into the floorboards and the mattress, and she breathed through her mouth to avoid it. It turned out she was much too tired to get up and remove it. And too disgusted by everything to drink it.

In her doleful blueness, sleep came and went. The state of her head, half awake and half asleep, was muddled. Her limbs heavy. She woke up two nights after the disappearance of the book to find a night-darkened room. No moon shone that night, and it took a while for her fuzzy eyes to adjust.

When they did, she became aware of a figure in the corner, dark, face obscured by the night and her sleepiness. It was the wild, shining hair that made her belly drop and her breath stop. She sat up so fast, yanking instinctively at the covers to drag them up to her chin for protection. With wide white eyes, she stared at the figure.

The figure spoke. “Mom?”

Sarah blinked once, twice. Her lips, chapped and dry from no care, parted. It was her son who approached out of the darkness.

“Ewan,” she choked out, her cottony, scratchy voice surprised. He inched closer, close enough that she could see his face, which wore a chagrined expression.

She rubbed her eyes, cleared her throat. Her heart beat a little too fast now, remnants from her fright. “I thought you were…” She shook her head. “You scared me. What time is it?”

“Eleven,” he said, coming even closer. In the gray-darkness, the silhouette of her husband remained. It was only the sweet face of her son which soothed her, barely. He sat at the edge of the bed. His eyes were wide and glistening as he looked upon her. She found herself tensing.

“Oh,” she said. “What is it? I was sleeping. Are you okay?

He looked down at his lap for a moment. And then he reached out to turn on the lamp. Her eyes flinched shut at the sudden brightness. When she opened them again, she saw something red.

Clutched in her son’s hands was the small bound book. The golden lettering glinted under the warm lamplight.

“You found it,” she breathed. She reached for it. “Thank you.”

But when her fingertips brushed the edge, he pulled it away and set it on his other side, hidden from her view. Sarah looked at him. She knew that look. Eyes pinched at the corned, mouth twisted. He caught her eyes guiltily.

Sarah brought a hand up to her forehead. She rubbed harshly at the space between her brows. “You took it?” The words sounded like they came from someone else entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I needed to know.”

She looked away, knees coming further up into her chest. She didn’t speak for a long time, but when she did, the words came from her numbly. “It’s just a play.”

His eyes implored her, so intent was his gaze that she thought she might quail. “I overheard you and your brother,” he confessed. “And– I heard you when you spoke with your parents…”

His face crumpled up. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

Sarah had a shiver in her lungs. “You’ve been spying on me?”

He looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “But–” He reached up to fist his hands in his hair. “Is it really true?”

A throbbing began in her head, the pressure of her blood rising. An awakening. “If you didn’t want to hear the truth, you shouldn’t have snooped.” She threw the blanket off her lap and stood up in a rush. Before he could stop her, she leaned over and grabbed the book. “You had no right, Ewan. No right.”

He stared up at her, from his seat on her bad, lost little boy with tears in the green Jareth-eyes. She turned sharply away, hunching over into herself and into her book. She couldn’t look at him

He lashed out at her, frustrated from behind her. “How could you lie about this? How– don’t you think we deserve to know about this? That– our father, he’s a- a–”

“NO!” It roared out of her so loud, so violent. She couldn’t contain herself any longer. “YOU DON’T! It’s not for you. It’s my life. I never ever wanted you to know.” She ended in a whisper, “Not ever.”

He stood up behind her and she had never felt angrier in her life. Shame that it was directed at her firstborn arose. But she shoved it away.

“Mom–”

With gritted teeth, she asked, “Does Alice know?”

“Only– about the play, not…”

Sarah turned around again. She looked up at him, who was taller than her and taller, she realized then, than his father. Those were her genes at play, from her sturdy and giant American parents. He looked at her sadly, with pity and confusion and angry-mad fear. Contrite, too, and chastised.

She let out a breath, nearly a scoff. She began rubbing her forehead again, so hard that surely a red mark would bloom easily there like a bud of a rose. “Please keep it that way,” she said.

“But–”

“JUST–” she raised her voice again, as uncharacteristic as it was, “-- do as I say. Please.”

He looked down at his feet, flushing.

Her attention returned to the book, which she still held in hand. All of a sudden, it was the weight of a thousand boulders. She thought of Ludo and her face crumpled up.

“Here.” She shoved the book at him. “You want it so bad. Keep it.”

She turned on her heel and made for the door.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“Out,” she said. That caught-up feeling coursed through her.

She slammed out of the room, leaving her son alone in her old, distant bedroom, and pounded down the stairs. Vaguely, she recognized that the lights were on downstairs, from both the living room and the kitchen. But it wasn’t until her name was called that she realized her parents were still up.

She froze in her tracks, halfway to the door, her one-minded destination, and looked into the living room, where Karen half-stood from the couch. Her father was there too. The three of them stared at each other for a beat.

“Is everything alright?” Karen said, standing up all the way now. “We heard shouting.”

Sarah flushed but managed to stammer, “Yes, we’re fine. Sorry– I’m just going to–”

And she pointed to the door and before her step-mother could say another word, she was off. After shoving on her running shoes and her father’s warm fleece jacket, she rushed out into the chilly night air, slamming the door behind her. She took a deep, gulping breath, the cold seeping into her lungs, and then she strode off. Frentetically, and furiously, she walked.

She walked through the neighborhood without a destination in mind. Eventually, as she circled and circled the nearests blocks, the energy of her pace, fueled by anger and discomfort, calmed. She went sedated again. Her feet dragged along with her, the soles of her shoes scratching against the gravel and the sidewalk and the cobblestone. The wet and dimly lit outside world chilled her to the bones. She didn’t know how long she walked for, no moon in sight to tell the time. She only knew that when she returned to her street, by instinct of her feet, her legs and her back and her ankles ached terribly. Her head throbbed. Her cheeks seemed frozen over. Her anger had evaporated to something else, something more physical.

She walked inside silent as a mouse, the door still unlocked, and no alarm triggered. Exhaustedly, in the lit foyer, she leaned against the closet door and covered her face with her chilled hands for a moment before letting them swing back down at her sides. It was then that she became aware of her surroundings. The unnatural silence of the house. The brightly lit downstairs, and the blinking red digital clock in the kitchen which said, 1:00.

There was a noise, then, a shuffle. It came from the living room.

Sarah stilled. Her voice wavering, she called out, “Hello?”

The voice that responded brought the ice from outside back into her heart. “Just in here, love.”

She tensed. She felt a shake in the knees, a wobble, and her hands clenched tightly at her sides. She was stuck in place.

The voice spoke again, “What are you waiting for, precious? Come along, now.”

Her face, stony and long and not like her own. Her footsteps, heavy and slow, causing creaks in the floorboards. Sarah, in slow motion, entered the living room, with its lit lamps and the muted, flashing, colorful television.

First, she saw Karen and her father. They sat ramrod straight, nervous, angry expressions of the face, together on the large armchair. Karen’s hands twitched minutely in her lap, her shoulders strung up high near her ears. She looked at Sarah with wide, red-rimmed eyes. Beside her, Robert breathed heavily through his nose, his face a splotchy red. He glared ragefully across the room.

Sarah’s fists clenched again, too hard, nails biting into her skin, as she followed his line of sight. First landing on the lonely shotgun laying abandoned and bent on the center carpet, and then on the couch.

There he was, there he sat, Alice tucked happily under his arm, and Ewan to his other side. The son looked between his parents, one at a time, a conflicted feeling visible deep in his eyes.

“We were beginning to worry about you,” the Goblin King said. He patted Alice’s arm and she shifted so he could rise. He never took his eyes off Sarah.

She stared across the room, stunned, feeling small under his gaze, in her baggy, drab mortal clothes and her shorn hair. He rounded the coffee table and came to a stop. “My beautiful wife,” he said. “It has been far too long since I last lay my eyes upon you.”

Sarah looked upon him. He was different, she thought. He had always been thin and slender and delicate in places, but now he was so much more. His cheekbones stuck out too far. It gave the impression of a skull. In the gap of his long flowing shirt, his collarbone was sharp and frail and like a woman’s. The smudged darkness under his eyes made him tired. He was just as exhausted as she, and as starved.

Still, the darkness in his gaze, those eyes just the same, spoke of danger. Tread lightly, my dear.

“You- you’re here,” she said. There was something confusing about her tone.

“Yes,” he said, smiling with too many teeth. “I’m here.” He opened his arms out to her.

Sarah looked at him and then, nervously, like a tic, back to her parents, who still sat stock-still. When she turned back to him, that hard look she knew so well had returned to his glinting eyes.

She crossed the room in a tip-toe, like a mouse, and when she was close enough, he pulled her into his arms, which were thin around her, but all-encompassing. He pulled her close into him, his hands pressing to her back and hers gripping into his shirt. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes tight. A stray tear leaked from her right eye, the one which was squished against him, her husband, who was there. His scent folded around her, among that of the mortal world.

Docile and heavily-lumped in the throat, she moved at his urging, allowing him to pull her away and bring her in again, this time for a kiss. Her eyes fluttered open again and then shut. Thin, warm lips against her own. Her mouth parted open instinctively at the touch of his tongue. A small noise left her. His hands had come up to her head, warm and slender and strong. He held her by the cheeks.

When he pulled back, barely any distance left between them, he murmured, “Thank you for protecting our children. You’ve done so well.”

Sarah pulled back a little, breath caught up. She looked at him under her eyelashes. Pink-lipped, his hands fell from the sides of her face to her waist. Then, “Time to go home now.”

At this she stepped away, out of his reach, before he could stop her.

“Sarah.”

Her eyes flinched shut. Her fingertips came absently up to her lips, a tremor to them. She glanced sideways at her father, purple with rage and fear, eyes bulging out, and her step-mother, mouth quivering. They were so still, it wasn’t natural. Her heart dropped.

The Goblin King made a move closer, and Sarah fixed her eyes carefully on the edge of the coffee table, stepping hastily back.

He let out a harsh breath. “Don’t be foolish, wife. You knew this wasn’t to be permanent.”

Sarah cringed into herself. But then her fists hardened into Ludo-boulders at her sides. She looked up, then, but past Jareth. She caught the gazes of her wide-eyed children. She licked her lips. “Go upstairs, you two. I need to speak with your father.”

Ewan and Alice glanced at each other once, quickly, before standing up almost as one. But Jareth raised a single hand. They stilled. He looked at Sarah, not the children. His mouth twisted in that ugly expression.

“Enough of this,” he said, reaching for her, “We’re going home.”

“No!” she said in a rush, stepping once again out of reach. His eyes flashed. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm. “Not yet,” she tried. “I need to speak with you first. Please.”

“So you will go freely,” he said. It wasn’t a question. A satisfied glint shone in his eye.

“Yes,” she swallowed. “But– I have… conditions.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, dangerously. Under such a look, Sarah felt brave and scared and like a shivering leaf in the wind.

She turned to their children. “Go upstairs. Now.”

As they made to move, Jareth stopped them once again. “I think not,” he said, staring her down, “Why shouldn’t they stay? You’ve already seen fit to share with them our personal business, hmm?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I never wanted them to know.”

“Know what?” Alice piped up. “Is this about the play?”

This must have caught him by surprise, for he glanced sideways at his daughter, lips tightened into a thin line. Sarah realized then, at this moment, that he didn’t want his children to know either. Didn’t want them to know the kind of man he was behind closed doors, toward his wife. Didn’t want them to know how the two of them had come together. But why should he care what they thought? Why should it matter how he treated his mortal wife consort, when the rest of his people, those evil, mean Fae beings, would treat her worse, even? But… he wasn’t like his people, was he, not fully. Her belly quivered in something like excitement, understanding, and caution. Her lips parted as she looked at him.

There was a long moment of heavy, loud silence. Finally, he jerked his chin at the children. They left.

“Thank you,” she said, by rote.

When her parents caught her eyes again, she frowned. “What about them?”

Jareth glared at her and then, as easy as he pleased, waved his hand. Robert and Karen both burst into sudden movement and noise. Sarah flinched when her father let out a bellow of rage, shaking his fists, and advancing on them as much as he could on wobbly legs.

“Daddy,” she said, rushing to him. “Karen. Please, go upstairs. We need to be alone to talk–”

“Sarah, there is no way in HELL–”

“PLEASE,” she shouted. It came out louder and more desperate than she ever intended. “Please, just go.”

Karen, with nervous eyes, cut in. “Come on, Bob,” she said in a hushed whisper. “She’ll be fine, right?”

Sarah nodded.

And so they, too, left. And Sarah was left alone once again, but this time it was with him, her lover, her villain. She was now at the tender mercy of her king husband. She brought her quivering hands up to her frozen cheeks, pressing them against the soft plush skin, as if it would warm her. She covered her eyes next.

“Charming fellow,” Jareth remarked. “I see where you get your spark.”

Then he came close, too close, stepping right up in her space, around her, leaning in to murmur into her ear. “I have returned for you, my love, after a long and dangerous conflict.” He clucked his tongue and she tensed. “Why should I even entertain these… conditions… of yours, when I could just as easily drag you back to my bed, kicking and screaming, where you belong?”

A jitter came to her jaw and teeth. She tried to get it under control. With downcast eyes, she said, “You could, but–” She swallowed. “You want me to come willingly, and…”

“And?”

“And…well, the children love you and you love them. But… they’re like me. Haven’t you noticed?”

“... Your point being?”

“My point being that– that– they love me, too. And they are good, like me. But they won’t love you the same ever again if I tell them. And I mean really tell them. All the gritty little details. Ewan has an idea, sure, but– but not really. And Alice doesn’t know anything. And, Jareth… if you don’t hear me out right now, no matter how I feel about them knowing, I will tell them. I just will.”

The declaration rang heavy in the air. Monumental. For once, she felt strong. She gathered the courage and she looked up again, catching his eyes. She held firm under the moment between them. He stared her down, but she did not wilt.

He didn’t speak for a long time, but when he did, it was quieter than before, more subdued. Considering, calculating. He took in the sight of her determination. “You would threaten me with such a thing?” he said, tilting his head. “What makes you even think that I care what they believe about me?”

Sarah shook her head, letting out a puff of air. “I know you do,” she said. “I know it, with all my heart. You can’t fool me, not about this.”

His mouth pressed into a tight line. He looked away quickly and then back. “Very well,” he said finally. Sarah watched him as he stepped around her and took a seat in the nearest armchair. He was odd and out of place in her father’s chair and in her father’s home. But he leaned back into it as if it were his throne, spread his legs, and dropped a throw pillow cushion to the floor by his feet. “Come sit, love, and tell me your conditions.”

He waited for her and it was a long, loaded moment of locked eyes. Sarah looked at the cushion on the floor and then at him, and again and again. A flush rose to her cheeks, remembering the first time she had ever knelt at his feet, frightened and fifteen, but she couldn’t remember the last, because all the years had blurred together.

She stepped forward. Standing before him, under his observing, cruel glance, she licked her lips. But she did not lower to the ground. Instead, she slid into his lap, thick penguin pajama-panted legs parting over his hips, knees pressing into his sides. His hands came up to her waist as he considered her and her boldness, and hers went round the back of his neck. She touched the overgrown, straggly hair. It was lank and tired from war and battle.

A shiver of something went through her, to feel his warmth all over her, to smell him once again. Her eyes pricked with feeling but she was quick to blink it all away.

“We’ve missed you,” she said. She touched his cheek with her fingertips. He was so pale, unusually so. “Is it really safe again?”

His face darkened. “Yes.”

“For good?”

His gaze went distant for a moment, but then he said, “No one will ever dare to challenge me again.”

“Good.” Her throat tightened. “... Thank you, for defending me.”

His hands tightened on her waist. He didn’t answer to that. Instead, he said, “Don’t keep me waiting, precious thing. It’s been long enough that you have been away from my side.”

Sarah swallowed, and whispered, “...Well, um… for one– I would like it, very much if… if you would release Ludo, and Sir Didymus. They’ve been down there long enough.”

He looked at her for a moment before slanting his eyes away. “As you wish.”

A warmth bloomed in her. “And– I want to be able to visit here, whenever I want, with the kids.”

When he made a tsking noise, Sarah rushed to her defense. “Please,” she said, “They love their grandparents, they love having a family aside from us.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “You may visit here once every three years.”

“Six months,” she argued.

“Every thirteen months, and that’s final.”

“Okay,” she agreed hastily. “Thank you.”

A satisfied tilt to his lips, he patted her hips and said, “You’re welcome. Good, then, now we can go–”

“Actually,” she said, hands tightening over his shoulders. “There’s something else.”

His eyes flashed, and his hands tightened ‘round her waist. “Careful, Sarah. Too many demands and I’ll begin to wonder if you no longer love me.”

She jerked backward a little, a nervous jump of fright, and shivered. But she calmed herself with a shaky breath. She looked down where their bodies met. “Finally,” she whispered. “I want to see an Aboveground doctor, about my infertility. No, listen– I want another child and I don’t think your healers understand mortal biology.”

He scoffed at her, this old wound dredged up. But Sarah softened her gaze, touched his cheek, and murmured, “Please.”

He breathed out heavily after a beat. “Fine,” he said. “You’ll see your doctor. But I make no promises if it still proves to be too dangerous for you.”

A beaming smile spread over her lips. “Thank you,” she murmured, eyes shining with tears, “Thank you.”

“Mmm,” he said. “Is that everything, then?”

Sarah hesitated. But then she nodded.

“Perfect,” he said. “Now give me a kiss, precious, and reassure me of your love. I’ve missed you so.”

So she did. And when she pulled back some moments later, their breath intermingling and their lips flushed from one another, his hand slid up to the side of her neck. He made her look at him. “Never threaten me again,” he murmured.

“O-okay.” She bit her lip, feeling the intensity of the situation. It was all too real all of a sudden. She let out a heavy, laden breath. Then she stood up from his lap, wobbly in the knees.

He stood up after her and cupped her cheek. “Go say your goodbyes and get your things. We’re leaving–” he said, pointing to the clock above the mantle, twirling his finger and causing magic to alter the face of it, “when those hands meet.”

She nodded, watching as the hands returned to their correct positions. She recalled the first time he had ever moved a clock for her. “Thank you,” she said again, and she rushed off.

. . .

In the following days, having returned back to the war-torn castle, she was left reeling from it all. From one place to another, so quick. The castle was strange again, for more than its new dismal, battle-torn emptiness. She tried to wrap her mind around everything.

After saying sad and rushed goodbyes to her angry and tearful dad and step-mother – “Sarah, what–” and “I have to go- I- I’m sorry, but I promise I’ll be back. I’m sorry- I have to go” – and after tearing through her old, empty childhood bedroom, grabbing new clothes and old toys, and after noticing the red-bound book left carefully atop her pillow, she left it without a backward glance and returned downstairs to join her husband and children before her time ran out.

She’d grabbed his hand with a somehow heavy and light feeling on her chest and she’d looked back over her shoulder at her parents who stood, stunned, in the foyer. They watched as Sarah and her new family disappeared from view. And Sarah watched as her old world blinked away.

Back to the room where it all began. Despite Jareth’s implications, he had been too tired that night to take her to his bed and, besides, the children, especially Alice, were much too clingy to let him go from sight for too long, after everything.

Sarah was grateful for it, for it meant she could retreat by her lonesome to the bed. It meant she could kick off her muddy sneakers by the nightstand and crawl under the covers and curl up, fully dressed in her pajamas and her fathers old and musty-smelling jacket. It meant she could be alone while he went to comfort the children to sleep. It was his turn, she thought.

As she lay there, however, for what seemed like hours upon hours, another endless night, she couldn’t sleep. It was her body, waiting for his return.

When he did, hours later, return to their bed, she remained silent and still in the darkness as he curled around her, arm over her hip, tired, asleep. And she fell asleep too.

She woke up the next morning, stiff with lack of sleep, for they had only returned to the castle in the small hours of the morning, and still she had not slept for a long while after that. His fingers were drawing patterns on her hip where her clothing had bunched up in her turning. “Good morning, my love.”

Her brain focused to a sharp point as he pressed his warm mouth to her neck and held it there. He breathed in, ardently. “How I’ve missed you.”

“Good morning,” she said back in a curious tone of voice. She felt limp and lazy as pulled her back against him, warmly. His hips nudged her bottom and his feet interlaced with her own. He kissed her neck, her jaw…

But Sarah pulled away, breaking his hold, and moving onto her back. She stared up at the canopy, now seeable in the morning light. She frowned up at it, feeling his eyes on her and his hands lingering over her skin. “Jareth,” she said. “Do you love me?

He brought his hand to rest atop her belly, among her own. She was like a person in a coffin, head propped on her puffed pillow and hands clasped over her belly for eternity. The image disturbed her, so she broke it by holding onto his hand with both of hers.

“What kind of question is that?” he asked.

“A serious one.”

He sighed. “Of course I do,” he said, squeezing her hand. He touched her skin delicately.

“But–” she said, almost curiously, like it was a mystery to be solved, “You like to hurt me. How can you love me if you like to hurt me?”

“We’re two sides of the same coin, you know,” he said. “You love me, even though I’ve hurt you.”

Sarah closed her eyes.

“Tell me,” he said, very lowly. He bent down close overhead. The length of his hair tickled her collarbone.

“Yes,” she admitted. Her throat convulsed around the words. “Yes… but it's… strange.”

“Yes,” he murmured, thumb circling over the back of her hand, “It is strange. That I can love at all. Most of my people do not.”

She let her head fall sideways so she could see him. “But why do you love me?”

He touched her cheek. “You’re a dreamer, unlike most humans, and certainly unlike most Fae.”

“You haven’t met most humans, then.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Hmm.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the end of her nose. “Aren’t you happy to be back, my love? With all of your numerous demands intact?”

“I… don’t know.”

He sighed, “oh?”, and his hand strayed back downward. It stroked her belly, her hip. By the time it had reached her breast, she had begun to feel that stirring within her. In a flash, she sat up, pushed him onto his back, and climbed atop him. She pressed her hands into his, holding them down. He watched her with a small, amused little smile while she, in turn, watched him with wiser eyes.

“It’s strange,” she repeated. “I can’t imagine my life any other way. But… I know this…” She meant him and her and everything, “.. is wrong.”

“You mortals and your need to be right and good all the time. It’s exhausting,” he tutted.

She looked at him for long enough that he raised an eyebrow, quirked his mouth. She tilted her head, smiled an odd little smile, and leaned down to kiss him. It would have to do. They made love that morning. To Sarah, it was lovelier than ever before, but stranger, too. She thought she understood, finally.

. . .

She found Ewan in the gardens later that day, angrily pulling overgrown weeds from the ground. She watched for a while, half-hidden by the shrubs. When he threw his shovel down with a frustrated grunt, face flushed red and upset, she came out.

“Sweetheart,” she said, to get his attention.

Startled, he turned sharply in her direction. His face tightened up, shame-faced, and then he turned back to his garden beds.

Sarah’s mouth tilted downward at the corners. She watched his back. “I’m sorry for last night,” she said, “I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”

He shrugged half-heartedly, still facing away. “I get it.”

She bit her lip. “Listen, Ewan…”

“What?” he snapped, facing her again. “What can you ever say to make this better? My father, a– a–” His face twisted.

Her eyes closed sadly. That morning, they had all gathered for breakfast, all except for Ewan. When Sarah had asked quietly after him, feeling like a stranger back at that table, Alice had shrugged, glancing nervously at her father. Jareth had seethed silently throughout the meal, and Sarah could only guess what had transpired between the two men.

“Ewan?” she said quietly, coming closer.

“What?” His face was crumpled up, young, something despairing. She touched his shoulder, looked up at him. “Honey, he’s your father. It’s okay to love him. Leave all that other stuff to me, please.”

“He’s making you say that, isn’t he?” he bit. “I heard your conversation last night at the house.”

Sarah let out a breath and shook her head, a funny little smile coming across her mouth. “And I thought Alice was the snoop among us… no, he’s not making me say this. He doesn’t have to. I– I’m not trying to uphold my end of the bargain either. I really… I really never wanted you to know anything. I want you to love him, and I want things to go back to the way they were. Can you put it out of your mind, hmm?”

“How can you say that?” he demanded. “How can you be okay with this?”

“Don’t you worry about me,” she said. “That’s my job.”

Ewan looked at her, wet-eyed, conflicted. He wiped his forehead.

Sarah smiled again, gentler. “It’s okay,” she said. “Really. Forgive him whatever you think he’s done. I’m happy, alright? This is what I want. Please.”

His shoulders slumped a little. “Are you… are you sure?”

“Yes.” She brought him into a hug. “I promise.”

He cried into her shoulder, all bent awkwardly down to reach her shorter stature. Sarah stroked his hair, her own eyes stinging just a little. She blinked them away.

“I’m sorry,” her son sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

But he was relieved, she could tell, to be able to admire his father once again. To look up to him and see the heroic kind and gentle father he had always known. Anything else made not one lick of sense. He would put it out of his mind, and Sarah was okay with that, really, for there were a lot of things to look up to in Jareth, even among the dark, seething cruelty that stirred only for her.

“Just promise me, baby,” she murmured into his hair. “That you’ll be kind and gentle to the girl you’ll one day love, no matter what.”

. . .

Sarah returned to their chambers by nightfall, having had time to think as she walked among the lifeless halls of the castle. The place reeled from the conflict. Sarah saw evidence everywhere, the grimy uncleanliness, the lack of people, the no guards, the no nothing. It was odd and silent. Sarah thought she might just prefer it that way.

She found her husband sitting before the fire, staring deeply into it, his chin propped up on his hand. His eyes flicked in her direction as she approached her vanity, the same as it ever was.

After a moment, he said, “I spoke with Ewan earlier.”

“Oh?”

“... Thank you.”

Sarah glanced at him from her vanity seat and offered a small little smile. She grabbed her brush and brought it up to her short hair instead of long. She looked at herself for a moment before turning to him fully, brushing all the while. “Thank you,” she said, “for being a good father. I think… It would have been much harder if you weren’t.”

He gazed upon her across the room, dark smudged eyes. “It’s no difficulty,” he said, a little stiffly, “I love them.”

She stood up, setting the brush down, and went closer. She found a seat on the chaise, some distance between them. “But you would never hurt them.”

He looked into the fire, the flame flickering in his eye. He glanced sideways at her, a slanted thing. “No,” he said, “I wouldn’t.”

The rest of it was left unsaid. Which Sarah, for once, was content with. And though, yes, she missed her Aboveground family, and yes, she still sometimes wondered what life would have been like if she had never made that wish, what was said was said and what was done was done. She was home once again, in that room filled with the echoes of terror and sadness and love.

Chapter 44: Epilogue

Summary:

Alice & Jareth

“Daddy?”

“Yes, love?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too. Are you glad to be back home?”

“Yes. But it was interesting there…”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Fire crackled in the hearth, pages of a book scratched together.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Alice?”

“... Mommy wants to be Queen, you know.”

“... Oh?”

“Yeah…” and then, quietly, “She deserves it, don’t you think?”

And one day she would be.

The End.

Notes:

What a journey!! We're finally here at the end <3 This end note may be a little long, so brace yourselves :)

While I still have a lot I want to do with this story, it feels monumental that I've completed this much, that I've created this whole thing. The longest thing I've ever written, it took over a year and many bumps in the road to get to this point, and I'm really proud of myself, if that's not too egotistical to admit. This story was what really got me into writing, and I have no intention of ever stopping now that I've started.

I want to thank every one of you for taking the time to read and bookmark, and kudos, and comment. It means a whole lot to me that this story may have touched some other lives, in some way. Thank you so, so much. This whole experience has been great, and lovely.

My plans for this story are to take a little break from it (maybe a few months, maybe closer to a year) before coming back to it with new eyes. Then I'm going to do some edits. I may add scenes, I may remove scenes, I may change scenes all together. However, I will most likely post this finalized version as a new work and keep this one as is. This is because the chapters might change and I don't want to lose any of the lovely comments. Plus I think it'll be neat, to be able to go back and compare the update-by-update version to the completed, tied-together story. It's more for my own peace of mind that I'm doing this, and I don't expect anyone to feel like they *have* to read the finished one once it's posted. Only if you want to <3 But if you are interested, please do subscribe.

In the meantime, I have some other Labyrinth fics I'm gonna see about working on.

So I'm going to close off for now, but first I wanted to share some of the other fanfics which inspired this one. Some of you more Labyrinth-heavy readers may recognize these first four titles. The last is a Yuri on Ice fic.

In no particular order:

Eulogy & Elegy by JRGodwin
Chrysalis in Reverse by Mesopotamia1
Blue Bananas in the Moonlight - and Selections from the Goblin Kingdom by Shadow13
Pieces of Glitter by Jetredgirl
Footprints by Kashoku

There were many others of course. Often, my perceptions of characters from a particular movie/book/show are built in large part from the culmination of all the different fanfics out there, all the different characterizations. So thanks to all the lovely stories out there, for adding to such a beautiful world.

Please let me know what you thought <3