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Shattered	By : TarnishedArmour Category: G through L > Labyrinth Views: 7714 -:- 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
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Carefully, Sarah moved into the woods. She followed the trail of whatever made the night sounds go quiet. She moved quietly, not wanting to alert whatever was in front of her of her presence. Here and there, she marked her trail on the trunk of a tree, a simple curved mark similar to the amulet Jareth always wore. Keeping to the shadows, it was in the light of a half-moon that Sarah saw the ground open up to a field dotted with the fluffy, smelly shapes of sheep at rest. At the edge of the wood, Sarah saw the shepherd, a young boy who had fallen asleep at his post.
Crouching in deep shadow as close to the boy as she could she watched the creature and focused on her hearing. Sound carried very well at night.
"Little child," came the whispering sound. The creature changed. It was too dark for her to make out details, but the shape changed from a large, furred creature on hind legs that reminded her of a wolf or dog to a figure that seemed perfectly human. As she watched, as she listened, she catalogued possibilities.
Boggle. No, too tall. Pixie. No, fur, not wings. Troll. No, not that strange greengrey of jewel green in the dark. Facts filtered through her mind again. Fur. Whisper. Shifting form.
Oh, shit, Sarah thought. Werewolf.
The child was done for. There was no way Sarah could combat a werewolf, especially one stalking in the waxing moonlight. Granted, werewolves weren't the arbitrary killers of human stories, but they did have a different view of what was theirs than she, a human-based changeling, did. Sarah knew she was changing. She felt the differences between herself now and her memories. Changeling or not, Sarah would need five of herself to take on this one werewolf, a female, from the voice. Female, and speaking gently to a child.
Not chasing sheep. Not going out of her way to scare things for the hell of it. The boy was too young to mate, which meant…what?
Damn, Sarah berated herself. Come on, what did Redok say? Werewolves hunger for three things: Food, sex, and kin. Blood is just part of life, as is death.
Since she wasn't trying to eat the sheep, Sarah knew the wolf wasn't hungry for food. Since the boy was so young, sex wasn't the goal. That left…kin.
What could have made a werewolf seek out a boy? Boy was the right word for the slender figure of the shepherd, still mostly child-definitely not a teenager yet.
The werewolf wasn't moving closer, just standing, staring at the boy.
"You look so like my boy," the whispers came clearly to Sarah, not very far away. She watched the wolf take in a long, deep breath of the boy's scent. "Brave, like my cub, filled with sleep and dreams for now. Oh, little one, I can teach you to do so much…" The wolf got closer and closer to the boy, circling slowly. The expression on the almost-human face was tender in the soft silver light of the moon. From shadow to light, the expression never deviated. "Come with me, child. Come, become my child, my sweet, lost cub. He took a jump too great for him and now he is gone. My blood, my body, gone with him. You are not my blood, my body," the soft longing in the voice made Sarah ache. "I will still love you, changechild though you may be."
Changechild. The word sent a bolt of fear through Sarah. A werewolf's bite, true to the stories, would change an ordinary creature, elf, human, or fairy-born, into a werewolf. The process, however, was agonizing, and not considered acceptable if the one bitten did not consent. There were strict laws governing the changechildren and the bite, but this wolf was still consumed by grief for her cub. She didn't seem to care about the laws, which would get her killed when, not if, the local lords found out. New changechildren were…messy. The learning curve wasn't exactly quick, either.
She couldn't let this wolf bite the boy. She couldn't let the boy stay where the wolf could track him, either. Damn. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. The word bounced in between thoughts, summing up each aborted idea for saving the wolf from herself.
The answer was within her, she knew it. She knew it like she knew she could duplicated Jareth's crystals, but not create her own from air, not yet. She knew it like she knew her eyes were slowly separating colours, one becoming more blue, the other more green. She knew it like she knew the sword in her hand was balanced slightly forward, the bastard-sword hilt fitted just for her hand. She knew it like she knew it was hours yet until dawn, and there was no one near to save her or the boy if she attacked.
The only way to get the boy clear was to create a distraction for the wolf, something to keep it busy. As intent as the circling wolf was on the boy, she doubted she could manage a decent distraction by showing herself and telling the wolf the boy was taken. Actually, that would be stupid, since the wolf would the proceed to make sure Sarah came down with a serious case of dead. Threatening someone a werewolf has tracked is a good way to commit suicide, and Sarah had other plans.
She had to be…she almost snorted when the word came to her, prudent. Not just careful, not just smart. Prudent. Hell of a time to figure out what prudence was.
Keeping a line of sight on the wolf and the still-sleeping shepherd, Sarah retreated into the woods toward the brook and her camp. She didn't go all the way back to her camp, just far enough that she could work some magic without getting the werewolf's attention. As a magical creature, the wolf was particularly sensitive to magic, although with her attention taken elsewhere, she probably wouldn't consider magic from this far away a threat.
Sarah did not want the werewolf to start sniffing after her. That would be bad.
What could she do to get the werewolf's attention? She could…no, that was stupid. And the next thought was even dumber. She didn't want to be a trophy in the werewolf's den, after all. She wanted the werewolf to go away for a while, long enough for Sarah to take the boy and hide their trail, or maybe lay some false trails, until morning. Morning would send the werewolf into a sun-driven state. She would want food and then naps in the sun and shade. Now, though, captured by the moon-state associated with the waxing moon, her dreams and pain were guiding her.
Sarah picked up a clump of earth and sifted it through her hands. Then she nearly smacked herself in the forehead, but didn't since that would make noise. Magic.
A golem of sorts, a construct that would charge the boy, getting the wolf's attention, then lead her deep into the woods in the direction opposite Sarah's. Maybe…Sarah tested her magic. She was strong enough for what she had in mind. Something small, quick, and considered dangerous.
A wicked grin crossed her face. Sir Didymus, that's what she needed.
Gathering her magic, Sarah set about creating an earthen Didymus from the forest loam, programming it like a computer, something that none of the magicians she'd met and worked with yet understood. They didn't have to. Setting in place a simple "if/then" set of instructions, Sarah slowly released the magic and let it work on the earth before her.
Almost an hour later, the Didymus-personalitied golem was completed. It didn't look like Didymus, but one of the large, poisonous lizards that could be found in some areas of the realm. A few rather odd individuals considered these as pets, but they weren't very good with children. Once they reached a certain size, anything smaller than an adult was considered a potential meal. The child was just the right size, and it was dangerous enough that the werewolf would want to avoid the bite. The venom of a real lizard wouldn't kill a werewolf, but it would hurt and fester and take a long time to heal. This false lizard wouldn't even bite, really, so it had to be convincing in every other way.
Sarah felt a flash of guilt at preying upon the werewolf s obvious maternal instinct, but it was the only way to save her from herself and the boy from a great deal of pain, both physical and emotional. Physical, from the change itself and emotional because the wolf would be hunted and killed, no matter how long it took or how close the boy became to his surrogate mother. And Sarah, as a trained fighter, would be required to hunt her. This way, at least, no one would end up dead in the end.
No one should have to die just because they loved their son and lost him.
Sarah crept closer, following her construct until its programming took over and it went crashing through the forest in another direction. The little collar around its neck with a snapped leash was a touch of genius on Sarah's part-it would keep the wolf from questioning what a lizard was doing in the woods. The lizard veered hard to the left and Sarah moved on straight. The breezes, thankfully, were coming from the flock into the woods. Sarah would not be scented. She could, however, smell the sheep, and it was not the most horrible thing she'd ever smelled. It wasn't really that nice, either.
The wolf was now curling around the child, like a mother-wolf curling around her cub. They were both in human form, and the werewolf was just staring at the boy, watching him sleep with such a look of love on her face that guilt and sorrow swept through Sarah again. It was almost as bad as it had been when she'd wished Toby away and knew that the loss of a her baby brother was going to be her fault if she failed. This time, though, the death of the adoptive mother would also be on her hands.
The lizard couldn't fail. It couldn't. But it was taking so damned long…
Sarah kept watching as the boy snuggled close to the warmth and comfort of the woman.
And this was the danger of caring, even as it was ultimately the epitome of caring. She cared so much that she wanted the wolf to be able to take the boy with her, but, at the same time, she cared too much to let the wolf destroy herself and the boy both.
While she waited, she began to see how Jareth felt when he had to refuse his subjects something they found to be reasonable, or worse, lead them into war or punish them. There was a joy here, for the danger of it, for knowing what she was doing was right. There was also pain, for these people were going to suffer and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. In fact, she had to cause the pain. For a greater good. Oh, it hurt to learn this lesson, and she ached for Jareth.
A lesson in pain, in generosity, in leadership, in ruling-all of it together came crashing into her heart. Even as she watched the werewolf spin and snarl at the lizard-construct, even as she rejoiced that the wolf was chasing the much-faster lizard, tears trickled down her cheeks. This lesson was branded on her heart and she knew she would do the same over again, in this kind of situation and as Queen.
Much as she hated it, she knew it was true.
As the wolf crashed through the woods, Sarah ran quickly and silently the boy. She woke him roughly, slapping her hand over his mouth and pinching his nose shut. He struggled, of course, being deprived of breath, but she hushed him, then explained quickly.
"Hurry, boy, no time to linger." He looked at her with terrified eyes. Sarah bit back a curse. "I'm a runner," she saw him take in the armour and sword. "A werewolf wants to replace you as her son." The eyes grew wide. "Don't yell. Don't make a sound. Get your things and follow me. Your life, and hers, depend upon it."
After they were well on the trail, the boy whispered, "You couldn't fight her?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. Kids. "No."
Several minutes later, when they were so close to her camp that Sarah could feel her spells and wards, the boy stopped. On the trail. In the woods. Knowing the werewolf was out there somewhere. Sarah didn't think her spell had lasted quite this long, and she really didn't want to face a pissed-off mama wolf while she was withholding her claimed changechild candidate.
"I have to go back," the boy said. Fear, not of the werewolf, was in his eyes.
"You can't." Her voice was flat, discouraging argument.
"I have to. If I leave the flock and anything happens to it-my papa…" Of course the boy tried to argue anyway. His voice trailed off.
Sarah put her hands on her hips, then realized she was still holding her sword, which made this pose a bit less intimidating and a lot more ridiculous.
"What of him?" When she heard the question come clipping out of her mouth, she wanted to groan. She was channelling Jareth.
"He's in trouble. He's in the jail. I have to stay with the sheep, 'cause there's nobody else. If anything happens to them, I'll get in trouble, too, and mama's not…well." The words were soft and scared.
Sarah groaned. Of course. There had to be a soap opera involved.
"We'll deal with that later, in the sunlight. Right now, if you don't come to me, you'll be responsible for my death-and I'm running the labyrinth. You'll also be bitten by a werewolf, become her changechild, and have to leave your mama and poppa permanently. Then, after a while, your new mama, the werewolf, will be hunted and killed because she didn't follow the rules. Now, are you coming with me, or are you going to get a bunch of us killed? A werewolf doesn't like being attacked or having people threaten her cub, and I figure it'd kill about ten people before they killed her."
Eyes wide, Sarah felt another wave of guilt. Okay, so she was exaggerating only a little bit, and he was just a kid, but she had to get him to her camp. Once there, she could hide under magic until long enough after sunup that the werewolf wouldn't remember the child. It would, however, most likely dine on several of said sheep.
The boy stumbled after Sarah now, not wanting any of that to happen, but also not wanting to leave his responsibility and let his poppa get into more trouble.
Back in her camp, Sarah shoved the boy into the shelter, closed it with magic that would fade into the earth-scents around them, and settled in for the night, suddenly tired.
The boy didn't sleep at all.
It was late in the morning when Sarah deemed it safe enough for them to leave the camp. The boy was silent, tears trickling down his face.
Sarah felt like a wicked witch. On the other hand, the alternatives were all worse than this. At the very least, the boy would get into some trouble, which she would clear up with her tale of rescue. If there was a question, Sarah would have the lord call for justice, and the entire episode would be replayed from the recordings being made of her actions. Much as it sucked having everything-oh, no.
Everything. Sarah closed her eyes and stifled the urge to groan. Everything, including all her time with Jareth, was recorded in that damned crystal. Would be, until the day she died. After that she had no idea what happened to it, but this was…
Never mind. She could try to convince Jareth to edit out some parts of that crystal later. On the other hand, he'd probably keep them and use them to blackmail her.
None of that would be relevant to the rescue, though, and that same damned crystal which would make her blush in ways she'd thought she forgotten about could very well end up as her salvation.
"Jareht, you are a sick fuck," she muttered under her breath in the first language of magic. "That crystal is going to be hidden from the world, if I have anything to say about it." The boy didn't have any magic, so she knew he wouldn't know what she said.
She felt, more than heard, the laughter on the breeze that caressed her face.
Shaking her head, Sarah led the boy back to his home, mentally preparing herself for a confrontation with the local lord. From what the boy said, he wasn't the most understanding kind of lord she'd met.
***
Jareth, in the broken moments, finally figured it out.
Exhibitionists like to be onstage, the focus of attention. However, they were in control in those situations. The way to humiliate Karen would be to put her onstage, then remove her control from her. Now, what could he do after that?
Absently, he pulled a crystal from the air and began spinning it in his hands. After a neat exchange, he let the crystal rest on three fingers and brought it to eye level.
A shark-smile crept over his lips, and pure, wicked delight filled his eyes. The crystal fantasy, the one he'd given her so many months ago-only this time, there would be no relief, and she would not be free to refuse it. She would be…
Oh, yes.
Jareth felt positively evil, and it was so much fun! Ironically, he was going to preserve his relationship with her, as well as her physical, mental, and magical well-being, and she would be able to recover from it quickly. All she had to do was admit she was wrong, mean it, and realize how very generous he was with her.
Twice in almost two years he had given her direct orders. Once, she obeyed. The second time, the commands were driven by his own desire that she end tormenting herself and calm down, take in nourishment and open her mind and heart to an alternate point of view, one in which she was not a monster, a failure, or otherwise deserving of the abuse Robert had been giving her. Her response had been to try to gouge out his eyes with a broken wine glass. There were limits to what he would accept before he was obeyed. Karen, in typical Karen fashion, had surpassed those with flair.
Then again, so had Sarah, and look what he'd done to her, for her own good. She was doing so very well with his labyrinth, and no small part of it had been due to her new ability to put aside her own desires, her self, and do what was required of her by others, by her king, and by the situation at hand. His own brand of teaching had been in no small part directly responsible for this ability.
Now, Karen was a mess of a different nature. Yes, he would enjoy watching Karen scream, wanting and needing and aching for touch. He would love to hear her beg for release, and he would smile as he denied her. She would writhe and plead as long as was needed to in order to get her to realize what he required of her. Still, no small part of him regretted that he would have to do such a thing to such a fascinating, effervescent person. She was so bright with joy, with life, but she was also still tangled in her own pain, in emotions that did not belong to her. She was responding to what so many others said she should feel, should think, should do. While this was true for those others, Karen was a rare exception to that ordinary life. She burned with so many other things, the fires of art and creation within her still strong and vibrant.
She would hate him for this, for a time. Until she let him break her resistance enough to accept what he said as truth. He would never tell her anything else. That was not his way. After she had bent to his will, he would make every effort to bring her back to her strength and confidence. Once he had done so, she would remember that she loved him, though she would remember that she did also fear him, and for good reason.
Sorrow crept into his eyes as he wondered how long it would take before she battled with him again, before she teased and taunted him. Before she sought him out to suck and fuck and leave with no regrets. Lovers, friends, patron-and-artist, no matter their many other relationships, she was always his subject and he was always her king. She had to remember her oath, for one day, sooner rather than later, it could save her life. She had to obey his commands, no matter how deeply ingrained in her it was to fight someone else's control. She must learn prudence, however foreign to her it had been her entire life.
Even as he prepared the audience chamber for her punishment, he knew he was going to enjoy Karen's agonies. He would enjoy this, and he would regret it. Unseen, his heart wept for the necessity of this episode.
"Cruel to be kind," Jareth muttered. "Women can be such a pain in the ass."
***
Sarah stared at the red-faced lord as he motioned to his decimated flock and demanded the boy be tied and whipped.
"No," she said softly, her anger making her get quieter. Once she would have shouted, but she'd so learned much over the past two years-well, if one counted the time in broken moments, it was close-that her once-volatile emotions were honed like a knife.
"You dare defy me, girl?" The last word sounded like a curse to Sarah. the man was still shouting. "And who are you to do so?":
"I do defy you," she replied. "I run the labyrinth, and I demand justice."
"Do you now?" the lord sneered. "Who do you look to, girl?"
"Runner," she corrected. "And I demand the justice due to any citizen of the Labyrinthine Realm, as is my right. As runner, I could demand King's Justice, but I wall accept the Lord of the Central Lands overseeing this case." She added that in to make it seem as though she was only a citizen of the realm, sworn to another lord in another section. The niceties of the lands had been learned in Destria from Redok, Tolliver, and Erpa. So had the formal phrasing and the abilty to give information while withholding more. Those lessons, from Redok specifically, had been very painful, for she had also learned to withstand common interrogation techniques from enemies of the realm. Had Jareth been doing the asking, though, she would have told him anything he wanted, whether he decided to hurt her or not. As this was just some pompous lordling, she let him think whatever he wanted while she got what she wanted.
"Fine, Runner," he sneered the title. "We go to the Court." He seemed pleased by that demand, and Sarah knew he was more than what he seemed. On the other hand, so was she. The balance should still tip in her favour.
He gestured to his men, who were just as arrogant as their lord, and with the boy and Sarah among them, they began walking to the court.
Magic surged and flowed around her, and Sarah realized that the lord had used his magic to take them to the edge of his lands. A castle was visible now, not very far down the long, winding road at their feet. They could be at the castle shortly after dark, which would give Sarah time to consider the defense of the boy and her own actions.
Dereliction of duty? For a child? It seemed a bit much to her. Then again, there was probably something more to it than she knew. If she only dared talk to the boy, Seff, to find out what his father had done. It would not, she knew, be prudent to attempt conversation while surrounded by the lord's men.
When they arrived at the gate of the castle, Sarah saw the crest of the Lord of the Central Lands. Under the ornate crest, she saw the words, "Justicia est non misericordia." She could read this text, in the fourth language of magic. She thought for a minute and came up with the translation.
Justice is not Mercy.
With a sinking heart, Sarah thought of what kind of man would have such as his motto.
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