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Shattered	By : TarnishedArmour Category: G through L > Labyrinth Views: 7713 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Based upon the work of Jim Henson; specifically Labyrinth, copyright 1986 by Jim Henson & associated parties. I do not own or have legal rights to Labyrinth, etc., or make any profit from them. *Individual disclaimers for other works in

Chapter List
- 11
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Downstairs, Jareth appeared in the room with the young man from Grea. He had popped into the room behind the man. Jareth watched the man as he watched the shadows on the floor. Couric's posture was painfully perfect, even as he was obviously trying not to squirm. Why he would squirm, Jareth wouldn't know. After another moment, Jareth walked over to the chair next to the boy.
Couric started as the King dropped casually into the chair next to his. Couric watched in amazement as the King turned in the chair, threw his leg over the arm, and motioned to the pot of tea between them on a small table, uttering only one word.
"Pour."
Couric did. He waited until Jareth took a sip, then tasted the tea. It was a lovely drink, one imported from his homeland. This particular blend was much more expensive than he would ever have tasted at home, but here? Here he not only drank it, he drank with a King. They finished the first cup, as was custom in Couric's home. Did the King know that? Couric chided himself for doubting-but of course he did! He was the King!
"Tell me," Jareth said breaking the silence as they returned their cups to the table. "What is your dream?"
"Sire, your recognition and this moment is sufficient-" Couric began.
"Bullshit," Jareth interrupted. "I did not ask for your idea of sufficient. I asked for the dream you wish to have fulfilled, the one you desire more than any other."
Couric blushed and stared down at the carpet. "Forgive me, Sire. I did not intend to sound ungrateful."
Jareth waved it away. "Just tell me your dream."
His blush deepening, his gaze at the carpet intensifying when his eyes weren't simply closed, Couric told him.
Jareth's eyebrows flew up in surprise.
Well, who'd have thought a boy from Grea would harbour such a dream? Smiling slowly, Jareth purred one word: "Granted."
Couric's head snapped up and he looked over at the King of the Labyrinthine Realm, his adopted homeland.
"Truly?" Couric managed to invest shock, joy, and sheer terror into that one short word.
"Truly," Jareth sat up and smiled, his eyes warm as he saw what was before him. It hadn't escaped his notice before, but Couric was quite handsome. He was slender, like Jareth, but darker of skin. His hair was black, like oil, and his eyes were a rich, dark-earth brown. His face was well-formed, not as delicate of appearance as Jareth's own, but not as sharply defined, either. Jareth's gaze ran down the young, muscled form and rested on the man's hands. Those hands had known hard work, but they were not thick or gnarled with abuse. The fingers were long, still dexterous, and lightly calloused. There were ink stains on his thumb and forefinger, the mark of one who worked long hours at a desk.
Couric ruined the King's view by dropping to his knees and leaning forward until his forehead touched the floor.
"Sire, I am honoured-" he began, only to break off, confused, when Jareth's hand slid under his chin and pulled him upright.
"Your dream was to be my lover," Jareth said, his voice gentle lest the young man beg forgiveness for his presumption and bolt for the door. "I have granted it. As my lover, I do not expect you to grovel or beg or bow to me constantly. Simply be who and what you are." Jareth paused. "I know you are from Grea, but you are in this realm now. The rigidity of your homeland's social structures is not a part of my kingdom. Here, you are free to achieve what you can, provided you are willing to pay the price for your efforts." Jareth paused, seeing he had gone too far. "You'll understand more fully in time."
"Yes, Sire," Couric breathed. The King was touching him! And, if Couric was to be his King's lover, perhaps he would even be allowed to recite poetry to him or hear the same from the King. Or sing or be sung to. Or even…even to kiss the glove on that kind hand…
"We shall discuss your…duties as my lover this night." Jareth felt the call from his secretary and sent his voice to the crystal on his secretary's desk. "Duty calls me away for now." Jareth caressed the young man's cheek and looked deep into the wide, dark eyes. He saw surprise and hope there. "Think of tonight as ours," he added, "and take this from me now." With that, Jareth leaned forward in his chair and kissed Couric full on the lips.
Couric felt the touch of his King's lips upon his own and swooned with delight. A kiss! A kiss from his King! Oh, the rapture!
Couric was still kneeling before the empty chair several minutes later. It took even longer for him to gather his scattered wits and consider that he had just become one of the King's lovers. In Grea, this position was highly sought after, an emotional bond formed between King and subject that transcended the strictures of society and permitted emotional release to both King and subject. Others were granted the same as they witnessed the various moments between busy King and chosen subject. Sighs would echo through the palace or across the fields as the king and his lovers sang to each other of passion and love. Any who heard would weep for the poetry of longing and joy they recited to one another. Should the king deign to touch his lover, a hand covering a hand for a brief moment or a gentle brush of that same hand against cheek or hair, oh, the entire nation would sigh in rapture. A kiss on the hand or cheek, much less the lips, would make onlookers swoon in repletion.
Still Grean at heart, Couric did not yet realize that the delicately formal relationship between king and lover in Grea was not what Jareth had accepted or granted. He only knew that his King, the King to whom he pledged his loyalty and obedience as a subject of the Labyrinthine Realm, had made the very air vibrate with power days before, but had touched his hand-kissed him!
Couric had pleased his King, and his heart was glad.
=-+=-+=-+
Upstairs, sleeping peacefully, Sarah rested for the next day's opening of Festival. She was untroubled now, having surrendered to Jareth in this.
She still desired to be his Queen, would endure much to become his Queen, but in this moment, body, heart, and mind were at peace.
That night Jareth ate dinner with Sarah, discussing sleeping arrangements. They were both fully clothed for the dinner and the discussion.
"I really should be in the village, Jareth," she said, still relaxed, but now able to think more as she had before. "It would be much easier for me to attend, and I wouldn't feel like I had to explain why I was showing up with you. I've seen a lot of people in town, and they think I'm a lone traveller."
"Not unusual," Jareth remarked. For the safety of travellers from the ordinary dangers of the road, the Labyrinthine Realm was without peer. Even richly-laden merchants required no guard when inside Jareth's power. Outside, a woman travelling alone would be considered easy prey, but Jareth was ruthless with those who would endanger his people--especially if those doing the endangering were his people!
"So I've gathered," Sarah smiled at him. This felt wonderful.
"It's probably best that you remain in your little garret, then." He smiled at her. "I'll place you just outside of town in the woods.
"On the ground or in a tree?" she teased, wondering how she had let this ease with him slip away over something so trivial as sex.
"Would midair do for you?" he asked, his voice light and happy. Sarah was beautiful in her passion and in her pain, but like this, she was pure joy.
"Only if you give me wings," she simpered, placing one hand on her heart and fluttering her eyelashes.
Jareth seemed to be considering it for a moment, then shook his head. "No, you'd just break them, and then I'd have to rescue you. It would be a horrid mess of feathers and tree branches. Best to just put you on the ground."
"You're too kind," she snickered. Conversation moved on from there, the light banter between them restored. After dinner, Jareth was as good as his word, sending Sarah back to the edge of the village, as if she had returned through the woods instead of on the path.
=-+=-+=-+
Jareth and Couric were standing in Jareth's bedroom. Couric was caught somewhere between open-mouthed gawking and what was a textbook case of shock. Standing, Jareth noted that they were of a height, which would make things ever so much more convenient.
"Sire, this is…your chamber!" Couric cried.
"Well, yes," Jareth said, looking at the younger man. "Is this a problem?"
"I…well…here…in…if…" Couric could not seem to hold a thought long enough to speak it through.
"You are my lover, are you not?" Jareth asked.
"Y-y-yes, Sire," Couric answered. This he knew. Yep, King had said it. Granted. Lover. Couric. King. Help?
"Call me Jareth," he instructed.
"Jareth?" Couric squeaked. Given name? King? Yikes!
"Yes. Jareth. As my lover, recognized by me to any and all as my lover, do you not want to please me?" Jareth was only asking because it would make Couric relax. Maybe. If anything could. Maybe a few shots of pixie liquor would make it easier for the man.
"Of course!" Couric's reply was quick. King, happy. Good!
"And as my lover who wants to please me, you will come with me when I so desire, stay with me when I so desire, and otherwise make yourself available to me as I desire, correct?"
"Yes, Jareth. Of course." Couric was relaxing. This was easy! But when would they start with the poetry?
"And when you are not with me, what pleases me is that you study history or philosophy, or work in your chosen trade, or learn the ways of magic and the court. That you play music or take long walks--when you are not pleasing me, I require that you please yourself. Can you do that?"
"Yes, yes I can," Couric was almost glowing now. A generous lover, this King!
"You will still be my subject, loyal and obedient." When Couric nodded, Jareth continued. "You will stand next to me tomorrow at Festival and join in when I do." Again, Couric nodded. "You will learn what I enjoy and what I do not."
"Gladly, Jareth," Couric said, now completely relaxed. He was even bold enough to ask, "What would please you now?"
In response, Jareth said nothing. He simply took Couric's hand in his and pulled him into an embrace.
"Jareth?" Couric whispered, more than a little nervous.
"Now," Jareth said into Couric's ear, "it pleases me to touch you and be touched by you." Jareth forestalled any objections Couric had with a kiss that deepened slowly. When the kiss finally ended, they were locked in a close embrace.
"This…pleases you?" Couric gasped, eyes wide and slightly dazed. He was no innocent, not after living in Gainstock with its easy ways, but this was…wicked. King's touch for a mere peasant? Forbidden pleasures loomed before the young lover, and he found he was easily seduced by them. He sighed softly as Jareth's hands rubbed along his back, massaging and caressing. The thousand Grean torments may await him, but he was utterly Jareth's now.
Jareth chuckled as Couric relaxed in his embrace and even began returning caresses tentatively. Jareth nuzzling his lover's neck as he slid between moments again. As he returned to the task at hand, namely introducing Couric to the delights of his bed, he reflected that this ability to stay in broken moments was even more useful than he had imagined it would be when he was new to his rule. If the time he had spent in broken moments were counted, he would be twice again his true age.
As it was, these broken moments had been imminently satisfying these past several days.
Couric and Jareth melted together in the stolen hours. For Couric, the time with his King was all the sweeter for its gentle intimacy.
=-+=-+=-+
Sarah rose in the morning. She was nervous now that Jareth was not right there beside her. There was no question in her mind about going through with what he had commanded, but at the moment, there was more trepidation than confidence about her.
Nonetheless, she had spoken with Helston the evening before and gotten all the information she needed. She walked down to the bathhouse in the early morning light and took her time. As she bathed, she heard Gemmie and Meg leave. The night before, she had asked Meg how to tell time here. For her own uses, Sarah still used the term hours--it was something Jareth did for her, as well. Meg pointed out the stripes on the floor and notches carved into various windows and door facings. They didn't have hours, exactly, just general times of day. The Festival would begin, Meg said, when the sun was about two inches past the second stripe or second notch.
Sarah soaked in the hot water and watched the progress of the sun across the floor. When the sun had almost reached the second stripe on the floor, she stepped out of the hot water and towelled off. She did not dress. She looked outside, where the crowd was walking quietly to the village square. Several townsmen were carrying bundles of flowers or crops. These would be placed around the dais where she would perform with Helston. The thought made her stomach flutter with anticipation. Yes, she had completely accepted her nature, her desires. She let the buzzing in her blood increase as she watched the crowd disappear down the street and the sunlight slide across the wood of the doorpost.
She waited just inside the door of the deserted inn until the sunlight was one inch above the second notch carved into the door. It was time.
Shivering a bit with thoughts of what she was about to do, Sarah took her first step out onto the porch of the inn. Lifting her chin and thinking of what she had promised Jareth, she opened her heart to that same peacefulness she had discovered inside herself and started walking to the village square.
=-+=-+=-+
Helston, whose shop and house were combined in one building of the square, had taken his place next to the dais when the sun rose. He would greet the dawn, waiting patiently for the Lady of the Season of Life to come to him. He was Lord of Earth today, and hoped that he would not embarrass himself.
The King had promised his dream come true, not his nightmare, so he tried to put his confidence into the dream. It was said that Jareth had a wicked sense of humour, but he had never been accused of making light of the rites of the realm.
Helston waited as villagers came to the square in the early light, placing their offerings around the dais. With those offerings, they placed their hopes and their fears. It was his duty to do his best to ensure the hopes were realized, not the fears.
The sun climbed higher, baking his nude body as he stood at the steps to the dais, and he watched and waited. She had said she would come from Gemmie's inn, so Helston faced in the correct direction. Was it time yet? He didn't dare look at the notches at the base of the dais. It was his place to watch and wait and hope.
Please, let her come soon.
=-+=-+=-+
Sarah saw the crowd before her. A man posted to watch for her approach saw her and tapped the man next to him. That man stepped aside, taking three others to the side with him. They parted, giving her plenty of room to pass between the press of bodies to each side. She walked toward the dais, seeing Helston there, waiting.
It was as if she were in a dream now, her body pulsing with desire, but her mind soft as with sleep. She saw the crowd, registered their existence, but didn't care. Jareth was there, standing with one arm around a young man, both watching her. She noted them in passing, the power in and around Jareth catching what passed for her attention for a moment, but the pull of the dias and Lord of Earth was stronger. She focused on the man at the dais.
Sarah reached the foot of the dais and took the hand Helston held out to her. They walked together up to the wide raised platform and stopped. Facing each other, they slid into an embrace so close that there was no light between them.
"Lady, I have waited long for you," he said, his voice raspy as he began the rites.
"Lord, did you doubt I would come to you?" she replied, her voice rich with warmth. She did not question the response she had ready, or from whence the words had come.
"Lady, I did not doubt." He denied it, his words soft with longing.
"Lord, I am here." Her words were simple, yet infused with power beyond her own.
"I praise and worship thee." His voice was filled with wonder and rapture.
"I give to thee all that I have to give." Her voice was generous and rich with promise.
With that, they joined in a deep kiss, and Sarah was swept away by a magic older than time.
=-+=-+=-+
Couric felt his lips open as the pair on the dais spoke. There was something in the words that made him tremble. He turned to Jareth, only to be met with a finger across his lips, a silent order to watch. Turning back, he felt Jareth's arm tighten at his waist, supporting him as the ancient magic of the Rites of Spring Returning washed over him.
Jareth shuddered as he supported Couric and felt the magic of his land ripple with the desire renew itself. He had attended this festival many times over his life. Once, before he was King, he had been the Lord of Earth to another Lady of the Season of Life. Every year after that, he had returned, be he man or knight, and the power of this simple ritual filled him again. After he became King, the Festival of Delights had become a sweet torment for him. The power of his realm filled him, growing and expanding as the Lady gave her gifts to the Lord upon the bare earth. Raised dais or not, the core of the dais was pure earth, reaching down to the ground and lower, to bedrock. As Sarah and Helston became Lady and Lord, the magic of life surrounded them, leeching into the soil.
Leeching into him, filling him. Empowering him.
None were immune to the enchantment. Around the square, lovers turned to one another and joined the Lord and Lady in their rites.
No one broke the silence, the sounds of the Lord and Lady echoing through the square. The rest of the world was silent, waiting. No animals sounded, no breeze ruffled the trees. The only sounds were of Lord and Lady joining the ancient dance of life to the waking earth.
Lady arched and shuddered, but, true to his dream, Lord continued to worship her.
Around the square, focus remained upon the sacred couple as bodies silently joined the dance of ages.
Jareth pressed his lips into Couric's shoulder. The magic, the power tore at him and he resisted the urge to scream. Jareth pressed harder into Couric's shoulder, then opened his mouth around the muscled flesh covered with the thin cloth and bit deep. Couric went rigid as Jareth drew blood from him. His mouth opened in a silent cry, the sound unable to leave his throat. A long moment passed, but finally the taste of life in Couric's blood was enough to calm the magic that pulsed and surged and ripped through the King. Couric felt Jareth relax, his bite loosen and the sweep of tongue cleaning the wound. In response, Couric was mortified as his body tightened in need.
Couric wanted to turn away from the vision before him. The woman was now over the man, writhing as he touched her. The sight made him ache with desire, even after the hours of "broken time" he had spent with Jareth. He wanted to run from the village, from Jareth. The bite had made him ache for more of what he had tasted the night before. It shamed him that it did not seem to matter that he touch a woman or his King, his need blind to the differences. Desire should not, his Grean heart cried, be so easily stirred by a woman and a man--one of them his former master!
Two women near Jareth and Couric pressed closer. The magic had consumed them. They were magicworkers, drawn to the power pulsing around the king. Jareth felt a slender hand slide along his thigh and looked at the two women, running hands over each other and felt the magic that pulsed between them. He pulled one woman to Couric. When Couric looked at him for confirmation, Jareth gave him a little shove and the two slid together to the ground. The second woman, the one who had stroked his thigh so boldly, was in his arms shortly after, and Jareth gave in to the magic. Neither King nor lover broke the silence as they joined the rites.
It wasn't long after Jareth joined in that his power combined with the burgeoning pulse of life returning to the realm to push Lady and Lord into a frenzied, almost violent climax. The sharp completion of the spell swept all there into it, and the sharp cries of Lord and Lady were drowned out by the echoes from the crowd.
Jareth closed his eyes and felt the tears spill from his lashes. How long had it been since a Lady had driven him to this unexpected communion? Let her succeed, he begged the land he ruled. The land could not answer. He had earned his right to rule only through his own will. Sarah must do the same to become his Queen.
Jareth felt the witch with him stir and murmur her appreciation. He returned the kind words, glad she had seen his need and responded to it. Couric would have survived such a coupling, but his spirit would have been wounded. Jareth would no sooner taint a sacred rite with the pain of another than he would slit his own throat.
Around the square partners rested, then remained together or parted, as they chose. The sounds of celebration began, and the revel, at the moment relaxed, would soon be the study in abandon it was rumoured to be. Couric, lying on the earth next to the witch he had bedded, watched his King as he recovered. The two men were close to one another, the women partially lying on them as pillows from the hard ground.
"Sire?" Couric asked, his eyes finishing the questions.
"As it should be," Jareth murmured, smiling as the witch began to nuzzle his neck. "All is as it should be," Jareth whispered again, closing his eyes and shuddering lightly with the memory.
Couric was not convinced and determined to discuss this with him at length later. Meanwhile, there was a lovely woman in his arms and his King did not seem averse to her being there.
"Go ahead, Couric," Jareth said, as if reading his thoughts. "This is the Festival of Delights," he murmured between kisses. "Delight yourself. Bask in your desires. I know I shall."
With that, all conversation ended and the magic of life and growing things fed on the indulgences of the people of Gainstock.
=-+=-+=-+
On the dais, the Lord and Lady returned to being Helston and Sarah, who were oddly shy with one another now.
Not knowing what else to say, Sarah broke their silence. "Thank you, Helston, for choosing me to be Lady to your Lord."
"You were truly a dream come true, Sarah," Helston replied, his voice soft and still reverent. "Thank you for consenting to join me." When Sarah smiled without speaking, Helston added, "A willing, open Lady makes the rite more sacred." He shook his head. "No, that's not the word. I…don't know how to explain it, but it's important to more than the rite or the village. It affects everything for the spring seasons."
Sarah put her fingers on his lips and said, "You don't have to explain. I understand. I felt it, too."
Helston sighed and relaxed. They stayed there for a while longer, not quite relaxed, but not sure how to end this strange camaraderie. Lacking words, they simply let their hands wander along skin, conveying their appreciation and enjoyment of before.
The sun was warm and gentle when they joined together again, this time, simply a man and woman who desired the touch of another.
=-+=-+=-+
The festival days passed quickly for the village, but there was joy everywhere. There was debauchery on a grand scale, but the spirit of joy and giving had swept through the crowds and cries of lovers peaking was rivaled with shouts of laughter among friends.
Sarah had found Jareth late in the first day. Most of the Festival she spent with him and Couric. They even went so far as to join her in her little room above the inn for the night. Neither Couric or Sarah knew it, but each night, when they were deeply asleep, Jareth slept in a broken moment and returned to his castle at the heart of the labyrinth to fulfill his duties as King.
During the Festival, Sarah had indulged her desires completely, going so far as to join Couric and Jareth or others for pleasures at night and in the day. Jareth had been in unusually good spirits, and even Couric, prudish as he was, had sensed something more was at work. All three knew the importance of this was more than just a grand debauch for the villagers. The strength of the season would depend upon the reactions of these men and women to the rite Sarah and Helston had performed. She hadn't noticed at the time, but it occurred to her that the offerings had disappeared sometime during the opening ceremonies, but she knew no one had touched them. She had seen and felt a difference in the dirt of the town-it was darker, richer, than the dusty clay it had been when she arrived.
It didn't seem to matter whether the partners were mixed or even limited to two--the generosity of the lovers was the key to a prosperous year for this town and, for some reason Sarah thought it would be true, for the entire realm, too.
It was strange, she mused the last night as she watched Couric and Jareth in their bed in the little garret room, to think Jareth had had to force her to accept this. She had reacted as if it were evil, disgusting, unworthy of someone to use her body in such a way. A hand reached out to her and she slid into the joint embrace. It had been she who had not been worthy when she was called. Jareth's hands, the hands that skimmed her body now as Couric took her mouth, had forged another part of her into the form he would require as his Queen.
In the night, Mab smiled. Sarah had passed the seventh wall-her willful oath and subsequent awakening and teaching by those very talented hands. She had passed the eighth wall, willingly submitting to the command of her King. She had, with the end of Festival, passed the ninth wall, accepting her desires as a part of her and being comfortable with them.
It was true that Mab could have used other desires for the Outer Lands walls, but so many of Sarah's human race had such notions about sexual desires and what was and wasn't proper that Mab couldn't resist using those against them. While Sarah had been stubborn, she had also become a devotee of passion in all its forms.
Mab watched in the moonlit pool as Jareth lifted his head from his lovers and stared back at her.
"Join in or go away," came his voice from the pool.
With a laugh, Mab vanished from her garden.
The Festival was over at midnight, but there were those who would swear they heard rich laughter, male and female, coming from the garret room at Gemmie's inn until the wee hours of morning.
=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+
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Shattered