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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
- 26
- 27
- 28
Hiroko, still teary-eyed, stood with her husband, Jareth, and their four subjects. Istran and the fishmonger seemed to have come to an agreement of sorts, most likely the one that they would have come to without a trip to the courts. None, though wanted to speak while the three monarchs were still in the room.
Danishi finally broke the silence, her emotional distress and youth making her blurt out her feelings.
"Majesty," she blurted, bowing low, "I did not wish to bring charges!" She turned to Jareth, bowed again, and tearfully said, "Majesty, I cannot repay you for-"
"Hush," Hiroko scolded gently. "What is done is done."
"Child, you did nothing wrong, not in your actions before, nor in what happened here today." Jareth gave an expectant look to his friend. "As I'm sure Tanaka will tell you."
"Indeed," the king of Grea said. "Long has there been a need to bring change to the courts. That your case, your name, will be cursed and praised as part of that change belongs to me, no other." More gently, taking her chin in one silk-gloved hand. "I used you today, child, and for your pain, I regret it. For what we," he nodded to his queen and friend, "have done here, I cannot ask forgiveness."
"Forgiveness? From me?" Danishi shook her head, or tried to. "It is not my place-"
Istran groaned. Of all that he loved about Grea, he truly hated this system of societal placement dictating what could and could not happen. It wasn't a true caste system, since one could move up or down, if extraordinary circumstances dictated, but it was a pain in the ass for someone who had made his own name after growing up the son of simple farmers.
"Place or not," Tanaka continued, "it is something I should ask of you." The king shook his head. "There is some deeper play here, and I must attend to it. Please, Jareth, Hiroko," he looked at his wife and friend, "stay with these good people. I must…discuss matters with a few of my lords."
Hiroko was expressive in her response. She took in a quick, sharp breath through her teeth. Nothing else about her changed, and her eyes were now dry. She nodded to her husband, a kind of mini-bow, and he left quickly for his office.
"It is I who must ask forgiveness," Hiroko said, lowering her head. "Jareth, you were harmed for your subject. I did not realize what it meant to carry the faith of your subjects so close to you. I fear I have not been an adequate queen."
"NO!" Danishi cried, now thoroughly shocked. "No, my queen, you mustn't say that!" At her queen's startled look, she blushed deeply, but managed to forge ahead. "You have done much, for I have seen it. I was tested for magic not long ago. My mother was not, and her gift faded with time and disuse. As with my aunts. My brother-he attends the basic school. He can read, as can my father." Her father nodded, more timid than his daughter, who had been recognized by the king and queen. "Before, no fisher could. It had been forbidden long ago. My sister did marry an art merchant." Her eyes grew wide. "A merchant, my queen! And she is not much older than I! She paints now, for the merchant, and he sells her work with that of others. It is work that could never grace such a palace, but it is enough for us. It is simple work. You brought magic to us, Queen Hiroko. Please, do not…do not deny what you have done."
"Well," Hiroko said, bemused. "Such simple things, such tiny things-and you call them much?" She was truly surprised by what was considered her great mark. True, she had battled for the people she had long believed wronged by the way of things here, but she had never challenged the underlying system and core of those beliefs. At best, she had pecked away at the edges, a seabird scavenging for tidbits among the fishermen's nets.
"It is much to us," Danishi replied, bowing her head, now mortified at how she had spoken to and before her betters. "Please forgive my poor manners," she whispered, wanting to sink into the floor.
"No, child," Hiroko said, patting her shoulder with her silk-gloved hand. "Forgive my lack of understanding." She looked at Jareth, still shirtless and bleeding. "It would seem you all have given me much to consider. Now," she said, giving the fathers a small smile, "what was the subject of such great interest to you earlier?" She had not missed the conversation hissed during and before the whipping of the king.
"Majesty," replied the fishmonger, dipping his head repeatedly in quick, birdlike bows, "my daughter has wish to go with Istran. She would become part of his house, a daughter to him."
Hiroko could not help it. Her jaw dropped. Unbelievable! "This…I cannot understand. This boy raped her, and yet she would go live in the house of his father?"
"It is a custom practiced in some parts of my realm," Jareth replied, giving the merchant a long look. "Mostly in the farming districts. According to those customs, Danishi could be considered as the boy's wife, however reluctant. As such, he and his family are responsible for, not only supporting her as required by the sentence, but also providing for her education, well-being, and the beginning of her career. Should she choose, she may remain his wife, though whether she chooses to be wife in name or in fact is her choice. Should she choose to be wife in name only, she would go her separate way and marry a second husband, should she desire, and the boy would later marry a second wife. She would have the name and prestige of being the first-chosen wife, even though she bears no children and does not associate with the household."
"Strange customs!" Hiroko wondered, shaking her head slowly. "And her career? What means this?"
"She would learn to use her magic as best she could, as well as receive the basic education required for all of my subjects-reading, writing, figuring, logic, history, and lore. Depending on her abilities, talents, and affinities, she would either further her education, live as wife and mother, or pursue a job, working and earning her own gold. Since she is a magicworker, she has any number of paths open to her, depending on her potential, affinities, and to work hard at her education and chosen career." Jareth shrugged, a tiny movement in deference to his torn and bloody back. The pain was much more manageable now, and he wasn't particularly interested in putting his shirt back on.
"So, you go with the merchant and his son," Hiroko said softly to the girl. "Do you fear?"
"No, Majesty," she replied, blushing a little. "I know everyone says I should feel deep shame. I don't." She struggled to explain when her queen raised disbelieving eyebrows. "There was pain, and fear, but…" she let her words trail off and wrung her hands.
"Speak, child." Hiroko's order was quiet.
"There was an odd feel to him, like he did not…control his own body." It was as close as she could come to the strange sensation that had made her unable to flee from him. He had raped her inside her father's shop while she was closing down for the evening. She had not been abused, just held down. She had been too stunned to try to scream, and, despite the pain and fear, some part of her had been, not glad, but content. It was difficult for her to understand, and she was deeply ashamed of her own reaction to what should have caused her to cry and scream in agonies both real and dramatized. She was unworthy of her father's house, with such a deviant reaction to a horrible crime.
"Magic?" Jareth hissed, his eyes narrowing. "What kind?" With the mention of magical compulsion, all other considerations had flown out the window. No one noticed the strange play of emotions on her face, or her confusion at her own responses to the boy and her rape.
"I…I cannot say. It is gone now. Please, forgive me for not saying something earlier. The Fisher Lord-" She stopped short of accusing him of wanting her. Such a statement was vainglorious, and she was only a shamed peasant girl. Well, a supposed-to-be-shamed-but-not peasant girl. She closed her eyes and waited for someone to tell her she was an ungrateful little nothing who deserved to be drowned in the harbor, not given a home and family in a land where she could be something. She wanted to be an honoured wife and mother, yes, but…had her heart realized she wanted even more? Before she did? Oh, she did not deserve such kindness for her wicked ambition!
"I know, child," Hiroko closed her eyes and cursed herself mentally. She knew this was wrong, yet the case was pushed forward, as were all rape cases where evidence was factual and undeniable. How many other women had been wronged through magical control of one unable to understand his actions? The thought disturbed her in more than one way. "There is much I must do, in light of this information. The Consortium must learn of this. If there is a darkness among my mages…" The words trailed off, the queen's voice hard and uncompromising. She still claimed the mages as her own, even though she was, technically, no longer in direct control of the Consortium. Her husband ruled the mages; she ruled the healers.
Before taking her place upon the Tidal Throne, she had been Lady of Magic for the female mages in the Consortium. She had controlled fully one half of the Mages Consortium, and she had begun pushing for open testing of all Grean children for magical potential then. It was only after her marriage to the then-prince Tanaka that she had been able to get an actual audience for her platform. After she had become queen, she had successfully-if underhandedly, using his passions against him so very deftly-lobbied her husband to pass this measure into law. Finally, he had done so some five years ago. She suspected he enjoyed her methods of persuasion and so had continued to drag out his acceptance of the measure.
"How strong was this magic, Danishi?" she asked, now thinking hard of what could have been done, what could have remained undetected for so long, what could have faded so quickly that none of the healers caught the traces of it. Then again, the girl received the strongest healers at her side, the boy was relegated to less-sensitive practitioners. He was not seen by a major healer until after his catatonia had not improved in one full day.
"I am new to my magic, Majesty, and I was told I was not very sensitive by the testing Lady. It would have to be strong, would it not, to move a body so injured?" Her innocent inquiry highlighted something that made Jareth and Hiroko trade a look.
"Very strong," Jareth murmured. "And so commonplace here that it would go undetected by almost everyone."
"Or so exotic no one would believe it if they sensed it," Hiroko added. Determined to follow her thought into action, should the court have seen this, there would have been a mass swoon, perhaps even a few heart-attacks in the less flexible of her subjects, Hiroko considered the boy and girl before her. She stripped off one glove and put her hand under the girl's chin. Carefully, she ran her magic over the girl, making her shiver with surprise and the feeling of power stronger and more certain than her own. No trace remained on the girl, but that was not a surprise. There was a good potential there, in two elements. The other elements were there, but weaker. She would, with time and practice, gain a fair range of skill. Her power was the question-her potential had been ignored for six years, so perhaps it had atrophied with the disuse in those first three, important years.
Turning her gaze from the dumbfounded girl, Hiroko's eyes narrowed and she knelt down beside the boy, taking his chin gently in her hand and staring into his eyes, senses extended. She was unusual in that she was perfectly balanced in her magic-no single element proved more simple or more difficult for her to work. Her power was not extraordinary, but her range was legendary. The Lady of Magic for Grea was always perfectly balanced, while the Lord of Magic was more a matter of power, not range of skills. Such was the division of the sexes in Grea.
She could feel the boy, nearly crackling with firemagic, much as Jareth did. Unlike Jareth, there was practically nothing of earth or air to temper it. She could feel the magical burns, the slow healing that would take place, hopefully leaving the boy undamaged and free to work his magic again once he had fully healed. Under the smoke and heat of his magic, there was a thread of something nasty. Something vile. Something-
Hiroko dropped the boy's chin and stepped back, hissing. She had felt this once before when she took office as Lady of Magic, hers to guard against, to know and prepare to battle, no matter that it was almost a myth.
"Bloodmagic." The revulsion in her voice made the others stare at her.
"Bloodmagic exists?" Jareth asked, surprised. He'd never encountered it, nor heard of it being practiced in his realm. There was enough magic in and around him, enough of a bond with his land, he would sense the perversion of blood spilled for power. He, like most of those who had ruled the Labyrinthine Realm, had relegated it to some mythical warning for those who would gain power at the expense of their selves. Ultimately, the bloodmages would lose their sense of self, becoming little more than a ravening, murdering, desperate fiend. Or so the legends said.
"It exists, though it has been very long since one dared to practice here in Grea." She extended her senses again, this time guarded against the lingering foulness of the spell. "Cast in Grea, but not by Grean hands." Her voice grew grim as she picked apart the remnants of the spell. "Grean blood was spilled and-"
The normally composed queen let out a shriek of pure rage and blasted an old and beautiful tapestry, hanging unsuspectingly on the opposite wall. After several minutes of cursing and blasting and otherwise pitching a royal fit, she calmed enough to grind out, "I must go."
"Not until you tell us what that was all about," Jareth said, having put on his shirt, even if he did bleed through the back of it. It was chilly in the hall, and the wind kicked up by Hiroko's tantrum was not warming the air.
She halted when Jareth's outstretched hand threatened to detain her, will she or no. "Mirror-spell," she snarled, eyes flashing black fire. "Another innocent girl was raped by the spellcaster, though that one was killed in the end to set the spell. From the feel of the spell, the power of the cloaking, the girl was little better than a small child."
Jareth nodded, eyes narrowed. "Should you desire any assistance from my land, Hiroko, my mages stand ready." He was offering more than assistance with the hunt; he was offering a unique brand of justice not seen outside the labyrinth. The queen would not understand that last, for Jareth, king though he was, could not speak of this justice outside of his own kingdom. Istran, recognizing the offer from his lore-classes as a child, paled. It was a truly exquisite, excruciating punishment. Jareth knew it well, for it had been one of his challenges to become King. When he had survived it, grown stronger for it, realized the truth of it without flinching, then had he become monarch and ultimate power in the realm. For one to be punished for a crime so vile nothing else would suffice, there would be no merciful end when the ultimate truth came to them, only suffering.
Hiroko, sensing there was something more to that offer than simple assistance, hesitated before she answered, the immediate refusal of the offer being held on her tongue. "Thank you, Jareth. I fear this is deeper and more complex than my husband could know. If this magic does threaten Grea, for the first time in 5,000 years, we may well need a closer alliance between us to prevent its spread." She gave Jareth a penetrating look. "Guard your borders well, King of the Labyrinth. It is your subject used to complete the spilling of blood."
Everyone stared at the queen, uncomprehending. She explained quickly.
"Innocent blood spilled by an innocent boy, unable to comprehend his actions, in the parody of life-giving and the blood spilled here today as recompense? I fear my demands and your blood have only given fuel to this…this…ahondara." Hiroko gave Jareth a long look. "Would you allow me to heal you? It is the least I can do for one who has given so wisely and generously to such a fool as I."
Jareth nodded, adding, "It would be a kindness I will not forget."
He closed his eyes as Hiroko placed on hand high on his neck and the other at the base of his spine. Rich, earthy magic surrounded him and he was almost giddy from the deftness of her use of magic and the sudden relief of pain. A flash of pure envy and lust ripped through him. Tanaka was a lucky, lucky man to have such a balanced woman next to him, joining her magic to his on a regular basis. They both knew that she could not heal all of the wounds, or heal any of them completely, but she could stop the bleeding and close the skin over the open wounds, making the deep healing quicker and ensuring there would be no scars. With a little twist of water-and-fire magic that gave him chills and another shot of want to add to his already unruly libido, she also laundered his shirt, leaving it a perfect, sparkling white, dry as it could be.
When he turned back to her, his lips twitched into a smile. "Show off," he accused, tugging on his coat and gloves. This was much better.
Eyes glinting with a bit of mischief, she replied, "Ah, and you are easily impressed." She had felt his response to her magic, and was pleased as only a woman is when she knows a man wants, but cannot have.
"I know a Grandmaster when I meet one, Queen Hiroko, and I am not ashamed of recognizing skill and talent." Jareth recognized that look she gave him, the cat in the cream and free of detection. Oh, yes, he envied his old friend. He would need to visit Sarah. Soon.
"Is there a difference?" she asked, almost teasing too much. She was openly flirting with a king, not her husband. Those not used to the ways of their lords watched, wide-eyed as the king and queen bantered as improperly as they could without touch.
Hiroko had been humbled by the revelations given her this day. From what she had long thought of the Labyrinthine Realm and its people, that they were at best trained pigs, dancing at circus. She had abruptly and wholeheartedly changed her direction. In these people, especially the two she had touched, both magicworkers, there had been an inherent decency to them, as there had been in her own Grean girl. The father, from her work on the boy, showed prominently in his son's actions. He actively imitated his father's ways. The selfless actions in the warehouse fire, that act which could cost him so much, had been a direct response to his father's attempt to save a small group of labourers from the licking, hungry flames. The boy was very young, still finding the edges of his potential and future strength. In gratitude for his actions and her own lessons this day, she had woven a gentle healing over his battered mind. Then she had felt that insidious little thread of darkness. She had unravelled it, learning of it, and discovered her own arrogance and carelessness. That the boy had only returned to his catatonic state had been a miracle. Anyone else would have been consumed with the need for more and more, ultimately killing the girl between repeated rapes and cruel abuse. It was testament to his injuries as much as his inherent decency that he had resisted so much of the spell.
Then there was Jareth. Oh, he had been a different taste, dark and rich and bright as ginger-chocolate, a much beloved decadence. Power filled him, surrounded him, embraced him, practically snuggled up to him in an indecent manner, though he did nothing but stand patiently, not touching this immense pool so eagerly available to him. To the eyes, to those unable to sense him, he seemed to be fire, jumping and leaping from one emotion and one thought to the next, seemingly at random. In truth, there was more of earth in him than she had felt in a very long time. He was rich with life, with the feel of the waiting soil, open and ready for rain. The very land he ruled flowed thick and slow through his power, and she had been more attracted than she should have been. The flippant air, too, filled him, giving him a lightness that was deceptive, for his power was as vast as it was potentially destructive. She had known this, from the wars he had fought-few though those were-but had dismissed it as a reputation belonging to an older time. She knew better now. He crackled with mercurial fire, danced with fickle air, but his heart beat to the very pulse of the earth.
She was not entirely upset that this man was as attractive to her as husband. His seemingly dominant element was fire, as her husband's was the tide, but within both lay the patience of earth and the lightness of air. She understood so much more now, of her husband and the man he had long insisted was friend to him and their home. It was an homage to her teachers that she had the discipline to pull her silk gloves back onto her hands and force the feel of him from her mind. She could, and did, bow to one more powerful than herself, and possibly as skilled, though they would most likely never work closely again.
The thought of never touching his magic again with hers made her ache. She rarely desired any man. The last man she had desired had become her husband and king, and she had been more than content with him. They romped together like new-discovering lovers, even after nearly a thousand years together. And yet…this man before her gave her thoughts no proper, loving wife should have. It was her shame and her joy that she could and did feel such a strong attraction to another man. She did not know that Jareth was aching as deeply.
Even though he did not bow to the Grean mandate of absolute monogamy, he knew that her magic had responded to his. He knew she wanted him. He knew he would never touch his brother-in-arms' beloved wife, no matter the aching need. A good tumble was one thing, but destroying a precious relationship was never worth the sex. Sex was easy. Such respect and love as Tanaka and Hiroko had built between them-something Tanaka had confessed to early in their letters-was more rare than a perfect rose. Instead of acting upon his flaring desire to pull her to him and show her just how well they could mesh, Jareth made a calculated and desperate bid to keep everything building on the air between them as mere words.
"You know there is," he returned, his voice low and enticing. "And if you don't believe me, a demonstration can be arranged."
"Ah, I shall ask my husband," she gave him a mysterious, triumphant smile, sure she had bested him. It was a dash of cold water, Tanaka coming between them in this play, but one he dearly needed. On the other hand, Hiroko had definite plans for her husband in the coming days.
"A good teacher, Tanaka," he replied, a knowing look in his eye. "Quite skilled, himself." Let her wonder.
She looked at him curiously, but he just gave her a wicked grin in reply. It was the look of one who knew something that perhaps he should not.
"I am not sure I wish to know," she said, shaking her head. The moment of sensual attraction and almost irresistible tension between them faded. "And now I must go. Danishi, Istran, may you and those who care for you be well in the coming times." Lifting her hand in a form of benediction, she cast a web of protections around them, centering on those who had no magic of their own-the fathers. With that, she departed to inform her husband of her disturbing discoveries.
As she walked and thought, she realized two things: The Fisher Lord's arguments had been, at best, half-prepared, and, somehow, she had been susceptible to those poorly made arguments…until Jareth had arrived. The surprise of his entry, the wild power he had projected when he entered, and the force of his logic had cleared her head.
Sobering thoughts, the both of them. These waters held more numerous and more dangerous hidden currents than she had imagined.
Jareth left the island kingdom and returned to his home, carrying Danishi and the injured boy, Jeral, to the Healing Guild at the heart of his kingdom. Once there, he placed his mark over Danishi's heart, placing her in direct line of his own authority, and introduced her to one he summoned to him, the Master Magician Danforth. The man was elderly, having practiced his craft for many, many centuries. His grandfatherly air put the poor girl at ease after the somewhat invasive oathtaking she had performed. He agreed to take both Danishi and Jeral as his personal students. Before he blinked out of the hall, Jareth could see that the girl was hovering between proper respect of a great elder and pure adoration for the kindly gentleman.
The sight of the girl leaning with him over Jeral's still-catatonic body gave him the last smile he would wear that day. Nothing had improved over the day he had been gone, and there was yet more difficulties arising with an ally of the Northern kingdoms. The desire that had threatened to torment him all day vanished under the demands of his duties, destroying the pleasant daydream of disrupting Sarah's day with his own desires.
Late that night, he appeared in Sarah's room in the inn. She was so deeply asleep, so exhausted, that she didn't even stir to feel his magic ripple into the room.
With a disappointed sigh and a look at the name of the master, written in her notebook, he resigned himself to finding other entertainments. He would, of course, make her beg him to let her follow the armsmaster's edicts, and he would, after a careful seduction that ended in her squirming away, agree. For a price.
What could he demand of her that wouldn't distract her too much from her lessons, yet keep her ever aware of his claim and her own desire? It was a matter he would have to consider.
For now, though, he wanted only his bed, for sleeping. This night, he would indulge in sleeping in real time, not the broken moments he constantly used for his rest and play. Perhaps Couric would understand the exhaustion that plagued him this night.
Thoughts of his lover and the delicate dance he must complete tonight to save the still-sensitive-but-improving sensibilities of Couric, he returned to his rooms and prepared to sleep.
Sarah rose at dawn, some deep-seated sadomasochistic urge prompting her to fall out of bed and crawl to her clothing. Literally. She ached in ways she hadn't dreamed of aching, and her abrupt reintroduction to the floor did not improve matters.
In some ways, this was worse than Jareth's whip. One of the most painful and irritating facets was that she knew what she was going to do, and that she was going to do it willingly. When Jareth had her bound in his dungeon, she'd been subject to his will, captured by her own oath to obey him. Now she was subject to her own will and desires, and it irritated the hell out of her that she was not only going back today, but that she would continue to do so until she was either deemed hopeless or had achieved some measure of skill the armsmaster would accept as competent to continue her journey.
Stretching slowly and painfully, Sarah gritted her teeth and determined that no man, armsmaster or king, was going to get her to curl up and forget herself, no matter what.
She was strong. She was vital.
She was, and that was enough for now.
At the salle, Sarah dodged with a bit more alacrity, if more general aches and pains, than the day before. Her movements were still not exactly graceful, but she was coordinated. Redok could see her potential for the motions of war, but she had far to go before she showed him what kind of student she would be.
Her insights that morning had not been particularly impressive, nor had they been dismally depressing. Perhaps within the week she would understand the dodge and parry well enough to come forward with the insights he required. This was a brutal form of teaching, but it was one that could keep her alive when nothing else was left to her but the skill imparted and her own drive to survive.
That was the one thing he had yet to learn to teach, that desire to continue living. He could teach skill, he could teach philosophy, he could teach emotional ramifications of fighting and killing. He could not teach the will to live.
Redok tossed a fist-sized rock at her and was surprised to see her parry, using her hand to capture and sling the rock in a different direction, away from her.
"Hold." Sarah stopped moving and panted, waiting for him to speak again. "Do that again." He tossed another rock at her. Again, she intercepted and redirected the rock. "Interesting." He gave her a long, considering look. "Time for a slightly different lesson."
"Yes, Weaponsmaster?" she squeaked, not certain at all where this was going.
"Form a water-shield around your hand," he instructed, demonstrating the charm with earth. "And be ready to move quickly." He waited for her to form the little shield and threw a fireball at her.
With a yelp, Sarah dodged and parried at the same time, the result more spectacular than either of them had suspected.
With a sigh, the armsmaster put out the fire licking at his walls and gave her a long look.
"Retract the shield," he growled. "We'll work on redirecting in a more profitable direction first."
Sarah replied with the appropriate affirmative and readied herself for another bruising afternoon with the armsmaster.
That evening, Sarah repeated her bedtime routine and the crawl into bed. She collapsed again, unable to do more than think, Oh. Pillow. Pretty, before she was asleep.
It would take her three weeks before she managed to stumble to bed, rather than crawl, and by then she was beginning some offensive weaponswork. In the first week, much of her dance-based coordination had returned to her, and now she was working on finding the new rhythms and movements, making them second nature.
By the end of the fifth week, she learned that her Weaponsmaster was a sadistic son-of-a-bitch who adhered to a single philosophy of training: Prepare for the worst, fighting tired, sick, injured, half-asleep, and magically exhausted, surrounded at night behind enemy lines in the rain on a muddy slope, facing uphill while hostile magics and weapons fell around her like the rain. With any sort of luck, he continuously told her, she would find herself never in that position. It would most likely be better. As always, he paused, and tacked on a grudging, "Perhaps."
By the end of the third month, Sarah had learned much of the philosophy of war, if not strategy or tactics, and was progressing at a rate that did not irritate or otherwise disappoint her taskmaster. She was also learning the magics of war, which, not easy, were definitely something different. As she worked her body and her magic, she felt herself grow stronger, faster, and better at her control over both.
By the end of the seventh month, Sarah had actually grown fond of the grouchy, exacting man. She had taken a job in the Grey Gosil, helping to sort and cut patterns for the proprietress. It was a different task from the ones she'd had so far, and she was enjoying it immensely. She had learned that month the reason the uniform from the Grey Gosil was the only one allowed for the salle.
"Today, you will learn how it feels to have armour on you while you move." With that, the Weaponsmaster waved his hand and Sarah felt the surge of magic around her. The grey uniform suddenly weighed thirty pounds more and grew stiff at the joints. Her arms, strengthened by the many exercises and constant work in the salle, felt ten pounds heavier, all at the wrist.
"Weaponsmaster, should this feel so heavy?" she asked before stepping into the wooden-floored training circle.
"Yes," he replied. "The uniform is enchanted when it is made so that a weaponsmaster may use it to simulate armor of various kinds. It can also help simulate wounds, bonds, and other things you may encounter in your journeys and quests. So far, you have learned the simple movements. Now you learn what it will take to fight while you yourself are protected or incapacitated in some way. Or both. Or more." He had shrugged, matter-of-factly. "No matter. You shall learn all you need before you return to your run."
Sarah nodded her understanding and lumbered out onto the wooden floor. It was a slaughter, and she was the willing lamb.
At the end of seventeen months, Sarah stood before the Weaponsmaster, sword at his throat, her breathing unlaboured. They had been sparring for several minutes, with various enchantments on her uniform in use, and she had finally managed a difficult move that he had been working on with her for months. She had been "injured", with faulty and broken "armour" restricting her range of motion and leaving her unprotected on one side from the shoulder to her groin. She had three nasty bruises that, to her, felt like slash wounds. As her skill had improved, so had the quality and brutality of the enchantments both guarding her from true harm and causing her to learn, quite clearly, why certain things she had seen over the years in action and adventure movies were very, very bad ideas.
"Yield," the man said, his soft growl filled with pride. She had learned well, and quickly, compared to many.
Sarah dropped her swordpoint as she stepped back, remembering another lesson of the lie of surrender. That one had ended in two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder-for real. She did not forget it.
"You are ready," he said softly to her, black eyes shining with pride.
"Thank you, Weaponsmaster," she replied, eyes glowing blue-green. Her eyes, originally hazel-green, had slowly changed during her time in the labyrinth, as had she. At the end of her lesson, she promised to write to him and tell him of her progress through the labyrinth.
Through it all, Jareth's demands haunted her, forcing her to learn to do her work and think through her own her own hunger for touch. She was terrified she would simply explode when she saw him again.
It had been so very long…
Jareth, her heart cried, her face and body carefully schooled to her surroundings, her magic waiting like an obedient dog, ready to respond to her demands.
=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+
*ahondara-roughly "dumb asshole" in Japanese. Please don't tell me you didn't see the correlations, skewed and feudal as they may be. I wasn't exactly disguising the inspiration behind the island-kingdom.
A/N: Okay, before someone has a hissy and thinks I'm downplaying what Danishi experienced when she was assaulted, there's a reason for what she feels. That she is more disturbed by her lack of shame over the entire episode and cannot understand her own mind on this point will be addressed later (much later--in the sequel). In detail. I promise.
I know I shortened a lot of time into this one chapter, but, quite frankly, I have trouble writing training scenes for fighters. Writing a good fight isn't a problem, it's the mix of explanation and action that gets me. Don't worry. You'll see the changes in Sarah and more details about what happened to her over this seventeen months in the next chapter. Just had to get moving again. No, I'm not abandoning the plotlines I've set up, just skipping the endless drudgery and heading back into the major points.
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