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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
- 31
- 32
- 33
At the Castle of the Central Lands, not a very imaginative place, these lands, Sarah and the boy were separated from the accusing lord and housed in a separate section of the visitor's wings. On the other hand, as she was not accused of anything, she was also separated from Seff. The whole attorney-client system was lacking in this place, and she wasn't sure if that was good or bad. True, she could call anything into evidence that she wanted, including the fact that the lord in question was a jackass, but then again, so could he.
Ultimately, she had to depend upon the Central Lord and whatever he came up with. She hoped he wasn't as cold and distant as the castle was, all oppressive grey stone and bland halls. If all else failed, she could try to use her position as Runner to get Jareth's attention and access to the recording crystal. On the other hand, he was busy and tired lately, and she was sure the daily grind had gotten back to where it was before they'd spent those last nights together in the broken moments. He'd relaxed then, seemed his normal, energetic self.
She'd gotten to the castle, where she'd wanted to be for the trial. Now all she had to do was not screw up.
Right. Piece of flippin' cake.
After dropping her packs in her room and grabbing her bathkit, she went in search of the bathing rooms to wash the dust off.
***
Karen screamed, she called Jareth any number of names, most of which had her audience taking notes. They had never heard anything so inventive before. The way she spewed the invective at the king didn't really give them pause, for they had no intentions of following her choice of targets. One particularly vile curse made several men wince and the women keep from laughing.
Jareth showed nothing. He sat in his throne, his eyes roving over Karen and, wherever his gaze went, the crystal followed. It was the same glowing crystal that he had used to bring her to almost instantaneous climax in her bath at her studio, so long ago. She had recognized it, then had grown very wary.
Splayed out on a cushion of air, unable to move her arms or legs from the provocative, sexual position they were in, Karen was, in all ways, open to view. She didn't want to be. She was all for having an audience-not something new to her-but this was not the way she wanted, with the person she wanted, and it was meant to humiliate her. Underneath the rage, it was succeeding.
As soon as the crystal passed over part of her body, an intense arousal followed it, almost to the point of climax. Unlike before, as soon as the crystal had moved on, so did the point of arousal. It was maddening. It was vicious. It was degrading. It was utterly, utterly humiliating.
And still she cursed her king.
It had been hours, now, and the rage was ebbing in favour of the constant need, the unrelenting tease.
When she finally fell silent except for weeping, Jareth dismissed the audience, courtiers carefully chosen for their discretion, and called the crystal back to his hand. He waited for her to calm, then spoke.
"Karen, do you know why I am doing this?" He was utterly calm, the question devoid of emotion.
"Because you're a twisted, sadistic sonofabitch who gets his jollies like this?" she rasped.
Jareth sighed. He recalled the audience and the crystal flew back to her, well in her line of sight.
"No," she moaned. "No, no, NOOOO!" The denial quickly turned into frustrated moans and shrieks of need. Jareth wouldn't stop this time until she had whimpered something close to the right words.
It would take hours.
***
The next morning, Court was held. Sarah ate with the rest of those who had come to open court for some sort of justice or other petition. Trestle tables were filled with simple, but good, fare. Seff, she noticed, barely picked at his food. She noticed him, but she was barred from speaking to him. All petitioners were barred from speaking until after their time in court. She wanted to tell him to eat up, that he would need his strength. She didn't dare.
She knew how he felt. She was more than a bit nervous, but she knew if she didn't eat, she'd make mistakes from lack of nourishment. Prudence dictated she calm her stomach and forcefeed it.
It wasn't long after breakfast that her case was called before the Lord of the Central Lands.
Sarah, behind the lord and his men and Seff, closely observed her surroundings. She looked to the dais at the end of the long hall. A man and woman were seated in matching wooden thrones. Above them was the dais belonging to Jareth. It was empty, which wasn't a relief to her. On the other hand, he would easily learn of her actions, should something go wrong.
On either side of the hall were long tables. In carefully spaced spots marked by heraldic designs, the lords and ladies sat at the table, with men and women standing behind them, all carefully showing the colours or heraldry of the men and women seated at the tables.
It looked like a tournament setting, where all those allied with a particular knight or noble would stay close to that noble. Now, was she appealing to all of these people, or just the man and woman seated on the dais?
The man and woman traded a quick glance as they sensed Sarah's mark. She was the runner they'd been warned would come before them, eventually. This was sooner than expected.
Silently, the woman caressed the carnelian focus stone on her ring, sending a summons to her king.
Now, all they had to do was put off this case until after lunch and do as required by the way of the labyrinth. They were not required to enjoy it.
"Lord Wassail, with a grievance for the Lord and Lady of the Central Lands," called the chamberlain. "Wilt thou hear this grievance?"
"We shall," the lord stated. "Though there seems to be complications about this case," he added, glancing down at the small scroll the chamberlain had handed him. The facts of the case had been taken the night before by a clerk. He finished with the scroll and handed it to the lady.
The lord, Sarah, and Seff had given their stories to the clerk, who had created a little scroll, then numbered it. The number reflected that it was an early-given grievance request, and that he thought it would be quick to take care of. He had been very wrong.
The lady read over the scroll and added her thoughts, her entire purpose to give her king plenty of time to respond to her request for his presence. "This hearing shall be postponed until after the noonday meal, at which time we shall hear all, and so, hearing all, we shall so judge."
"Lord Wassail, do you hear the words of your Lord and Lady?" The chamberlain had noticed the words that indicated a full court hearing. He had agreed with the number the clerk had put on the scroll, and this snap judgement by his employers was a surprise to him. The rest of the courtiers had sharpened their attention as well. A full court hearing? That meant that they had summoned the King. Speculative glances ran over the unlikely trio before them. Lunch would prove an interesting meal.
"I do," replied the pompous lord, not as well-pleased as he had been earlier in the morning. "I abide by their edict." He did not like hearing his cut-and-dried case was complicated, not at all. It meant the girl might not be lying. She might even be a runner.
"Then take thou thy places by thy liege lords." Wassail and Seff went to a table covered in green, gold, and dandelion yellow. They stood beside the table, not behind it, because they were petitioners of the court ordered to stand with the lord of their fief. Sarah, thinking quickly, went and stood at the end of the tables near the doors, not claming any as her liege lord while continuing to conceal her direct fealty to Jareth.
The court noticed where she stood, and more speculation gleamed among knowing eyes. Something here was not as it appeared. Was it Wassail, the boy, or the girl who claimed no liege?
***
For the third time, Jareth had brought his punishment court back into real time and left Karen alone in her cell in the King's Dungeons to contemplate her actions. The summons he received was almost instantaneous. He scrubbed his face with one hand and muttered something about timing under his breath. He was tired from the attention Karen required, and his courtiers were getting irritable, too. She should have broken by now. Stubborn woman.
Then again, he wouldn't like her half so well if she weren't.
Opening his hand to the little crystal, he grimaced when he saw the face of the summoner in the heart.
Lord Ukodus and Lady Phillya. His hands in the Central Lands. He'd just finished hours upon hours in the broken moments, attending to a punishment court, and now he had to attend the Central Lands. Between the two, he'd spent several hours in his offices, a short court session to hear from emissaries and diplomats, and now…now he had to deal with the Central Lands. He could sleep later, he supposed.
"For my sins," he murmured darkly, his thoughts heavy with his duties as king.
With a sigh, Jareth sent a message to his secretary to hold all but the most imperative communications and rubbed his eyes. He took himself to his office, gathered his riding crop scepter, and considered what to wear. It wouldn't be the same relaxed style as Mab's court. This would actually require…colours. And alliance-heraldry. And, he shuddered, formality. Goblins were so much easier, so much freer in their ways.
Jareth considered his closet as he walked out of the King's Dungeon into the regular dungeon. He gave orders about feeding Karen, and kept walking. He had his motley, which wouldn't be appropriate for a formal court. He had his breastplate and shield, a bit much in the way of a martial tone. With a groan and flashed up to his rooms.
"Couric!" he called. As he suspected, Couric was lounging in breeches and a simple shirt, reading a book assigned to him by his tutors. The boy had come up here to study for a while, preferring to stretch out on their bed, soaking up the sun that flooded in through the skylight. That skylight was one of Jareth's favourite parts of his chambers. Not that he got much of a chance to enjoy the view lately.
"Yes?" replied Couric, peeling himself away from his book and stretching before he walked over to Jareth. It wasn't often that Jareth interrupted his studies, so it had to be something important.
"Help me search for something to wear," Jareth ordered. He was not happy about this situation. He rarely went to his subordinate courts, and he hated that this was the second full court he would attend in less than two years. He was sure Sarah had something to do with it. He wasn't exactly pleased with her involvement, either.
"Okay, like what?" Couric was well-aware of Jareth's unique style. This was more than a bit strange. Jareth was often telling him to loosen up, wear whatever he liked, and now that same man was demanding help with clothing?
"Full court in the Central Lands. Heraldic colours, height of fashion, all that crap." Jareth dug into his closet and pulled out a possible baldric. "Arms and coat of arms mandatory; armour inappropriate." He threw the baldric back. Wrong season. He needed something lighter, not the heavy velvets of winter.
"Ah," Couric pursed his lips, gazing at the contents of the vast closet. It was nearly the size of the king's chamber. It was also a bit of a wreck, since the Jareth hated having anyone in his closet-unless it was Couric and the entire idea was delaying dressing, not choosing outfits. "If I remember correctly, the current fashion at court is doublet and hose, slashed sleeves showing the heraldic accent colours. Shirt of fine lawn underneath to keep the brocades from making you itch too much. On the feet, slippers-"
Jareth moaned. He hated slippers. They chafed his heels. "There has to be something else," he groused.
"-Or thigh-high boots, heeled with spurs and cuffed at the knee. For the head and hair, a queue in the appropriate colour ribbon or loose hair, curled slightly to fall just below the shoulder, floppy hat in house colours with the appropriate large, bouncy feather." He was actually enjoying this. Couric couldn't resist the next little dig. "No codpiece necessary." He gave the still searching Jareth an amused look. "In short, nothing that is currently in your closet, and the stored pieces that might pass probably have moth holes the size of an oubliette."
Jareth cursed and stomped around. He waved his hands and was well on his way to a fine fit of temper when Couric finally spoke up again.
"On the other hand," Couric added dryly, perversely enjoying Jareth's pique, "I happen to have an acceptable outfit in simple colours." Studying his nails, he felt more than saw the glare of mismatched eyes. "And, if you would be so kind as to tell me your colours, I can easily alter them to what is required of you."
"Fine," Jareth snapped. Then something occurred to him. Couric had been helpful, quick to obey, but not self-effacing and apologetic for being present when Jareth needed him to be. Was the boy sick?
Couric grinned and summoned his fashionable Central Lands court attire from his own rooms. The black floppy hat with a white plume was rejected out of hand, but the rest was acceptable.
Jareth started stripping out of his normal clothes, without magic, while Couric listened to his description of colours. Couric finished the magic before Jareth had finished peeling out of his boots. The shirt, coat, vest, and gloves were just recently gone. With another bit of magic, Couric drew a bath at just the right temperature. Jareth wasn't paying one bit of attention to his own state of mind, or his appearance other than the kind of clothing needed. Summoning up nerves he wasn't sure would stay where summoned, Couric gave an order.
"Jareth, stop time." Couric's voice was quiet, his face calm.
Jareth stared at his shy and self-effacing lover. What had happened to him? On the other hand, he had stopped muttering curses and throwing articles of clothing around long enough to find out what had changed Couric so much today. Curious now, Jareth listened.
"Something is obviously wrong, you're tired, you need to bathe before you dress, and you're so tense that whatever's calling you to the Central Lands is not going to get the attention it deserves." The quiet, measured tones were utterly reasonable. "Relax a bit before you go."
Closing his eyes, and admitting to himself that his lover was right, Jareth took himself and Couric out of time. Without another word, Jareth took himself into the bathroom and peeled off the rest of his clothes before stepping into the large tub. Forcing himself to relax, Jareth let the heat soak into his muscles. It was not the reaction Couric had wanted, exactly, but Jareth was ever and always Jareth. In the bath, Jareth wondered what Couric was up to, and if he would dare to follow through with what he had started. He was ambivalent about the outcome for today, but it boded well for the future.
Back in the room, Couric took a deep breath. This was a strange feeling, what he was doing, and he needed to make sure he wasn't going to go back to asking what Jareth wanted every five seconds before he took the next step. He felt out of place, talking to his king as a lover would, but that was precisely his title. His place. It had taken Karen almost every day since he had started working magic with her and taking dance lessons from her before he started to believe her. Just a few days ago, he decided he had to do more than just offer to be Jareth's convenience, even if it was only today with Jareth being a complete curmudgeon that he managed to do it.
But still, being aggressive with the king, however deferentially, grated against all of those Grean sensibilities.
Screwing his courage to the sticking point, Couric walked into the bathroom, preparing to seduce his lover into a less irritable mood before he went to a formal hearing in a lesser court. He magicked his clothes into his closet to hang neatly, as clothing should hang in a closet. Couric knelt down behind Jareth and slid his hands over tense shoulders, thumbs and fingers finding the knots and starting to work them loose.
Jareth jumped a bit when warm hands slid onto his shoulders and began kneading out the tension. Automatically, Jareth began to relax. Centuries of giving and receiving massages did tend to create body-memory, and that was what relaxed him, not his conscious thoughts. Maybe Couric had come 'round after all.
"Couric?" he asked, a wealth of questions in the word. Jareth leaned forward and moved from the edge of the large tub. It was not exactly an invitation, but it could be taken as such. Couric slipped down in the water behind him, conveniently naked. So that's what the little surge of magic had been.
"You're tense. You're grouchy. You've been busy with something unpleasant," he paused, "and I heard that it was punishing Karen for something." Jareth nodded, not wanting to go into it. "Which means you're also enjoying it."
"While all of what you say is true, it is not what I asked," Jareth replied, a bit irritated at the lack of answer. His voice reflected that he saw the dodge, and he wasn't going to accept it. Behind him, Couric sighed. Several moments later, as Jareth began to relax again under Couric's hands, he fnally got what he wanted.
"Let's just say that it's time I started acting to suit my title," Couric said wryly. "It's taken me a while, but I think I've finally adjusted to the fact we're not the poetry-spouting lovers found on Grea."
Jareth laughed. Couric sounded almost disappointed, and almost happy.
"I could quote goblin poetry to you," he offered, turning to face Couric.
"I'll pass," Couric replied, shuddering. "How they manage to write poetry about…never mind."
"How can you resist a line like 'We come, you scream, you come--'" Jareth's words were cut off with a kiss from Couric, even as busy hands travelled below the waterline. Couric really hated goblin poetry. He likened it to dead skunks rotting in the Bog of Eternal Stench.
Jareth didn't give up, having fun teasing his lover.
"-In-" he managed to get out the next word before Couric did something that sent a jolt through him and poetry was once again the last thing on his mind. Couric was very much the thought of the moment, all else forgotten as the stresses, irritations, and disappointments of the day melted into the water.
The sounds of soft splashes and laughter filled the room while Couric found that he didn't need as much courage to enjoy time with Jareth as he'd thought. At the same time, Jareth found himself relaxing and truly relishing Couric's company. While the Grean wasn't exactly loose, he was much more confident, and that increased the attraction. The fact they shared the ability to please one another was also included, but the playfulness was a balm to the dark pleasures surrounding the misbehaving Karen.
Several minute of real-time later, several hours from the broken moments, Couric and Jareth returned to the task at hand-preparing for the Central court.
Damp, smiling, and relaxed, Couric watched Jareth dress in the deep blue, scarlet, and gold of his line. His hair was still wild, but it was somehow more refined. There was a thin circlet of gold on the heavy dressing table, something Couric hadn't seen before. Looking over the finished product, Couric was rather pleased. The midnight doublet with scarlet slashes seemed plain, but the touches of gold here and there, particularly at the cuffs and neck, added an elegance to the simplicity of the colour scheme and made it suitable for royalty. The hose were also dark, a grey reminiscent of fog-shrouded castles. The boots, thigh high and folded over at the top, were black.
"Now, the only question I have," Couric said, towelling his hair a bit more, "is do you want a codpiece or not?"
Jareth snorted. "Spare me."
"I'm trying to," Couric teased. "Horny as you get, it might save you some blushes."
"Me?" Jareth said, giving Couric a lazy, purely sexual look. "Blush?"
"Good point," Couric replied, brushing his hair back behind his shoulder. The thick black locks were longer now, just past the top of his shoulders. He still wasn't used to the way it tended to flop forward at the most inconvenient times.
Seeing the final touches, including the circlet, put in place, Couric couldn't resist the temptation to give Jareth a proper send-off. He reached out a hand, took hold of the amulet so prominently displayed against the midnight blue doublet, and pulled Jareth in for one more deep, lazily passionate kiss before he had to leave.
"Mm," Jareth said, eyeing Couric anew. This was more like the King's Lover he'd imagined. "If I didn't have somewhere else to be, you'd be doing much more than studying on that bed."
Couric grinned at him, his hair falling appealingly over one eye. "I'll wait," he teased.
"Don't," Jareth said, giving Couric a kiss. "I'll be gone until morning, at least, if this is what I'm beginning to suspect. And no," he added, grinning. "I am not about to tell you."
Couric sighed. In response to the tease, he slid one hand up Jareth's thigh and laughed as the other man caught his wrist and pushed it away.
"Behave." Was Jareth actually admonishing the Grean lover to behave? Was the sky now the earth?
Couric's answering smile was unrepentant and promised much.
Shaking his head and wondering how he managed to created these monsters, Jareth translocated himself to his throne.
***
Sarah listened and watched as cases were presented. Each of the ones that went before the lord and lady before the lunch hour were, just as stated, fairly simple. With a nod to the chamberlain, the chamberlain stepped down and, with a few words from the lord, the remaining petitioners were dismissed until immediately after lunch.
"We shall break court for one hour, preparatory to the luncheon meal," the lady said. With a clap of her hands, the courtiers rose and left the room with their retinues. Sarah followed those who were from outland to a small area where they could wash hands, faces, and otherwise get comfortable for a bit before heading back into the hall and the formal dinner that was being put in place by the servants.
She had no idea the lady and lord were speaking to Jareth, who had just appeared with his throne in the highest place on the dais. The thick stone and enchantments being hurled willy-nilly to prepare the tables in time for lunch prevented her from sensing his very specific magics.
Taking his seat in the white stone curve, back straight and feet on the floor for a change, Jareth concentrated on the empty dais in Ukodus' great hall. With a surge of magic that made his castle at the heart of the labyrinth tremble, he flashed into the court with his throne. The receiving hall jolted with his arrival, the magic of his presence in his throne suffusing the walls and making Lord and Lady of the Central Lands close their eyes and suppress shudders.
Everyone paused in their work and turned to bow to Jareth. He nodded, smiling slightly as Lord Ukodus and Lady Phillya rose and turned to him. Both went to one knee before him. He let them stay there for a moment, considering them, tasting their rule of his Central Lands. Then he smiled, pleased.
"Rise," he said. "You called, Lady Phillya?"
"I did, my liege," she replied, breathing in the magic that surrounded him. Strong as she was, he felt like the sun. Of the same line, Phillya felt his presence in the hall as a relief. One missing had returned home. Overwhelming as he was, his presence made her breathe a little easier.
"Do you concur, Lord Ukodus?" he asked, turning to the man.
"I do, my liege," he replied. Though Ukodus was no magical slouch, his prowess had always been the balance of justice and the clash of arms. He could feel the immense strength pulsing through the deceptively slight man. Slender and tall, the king held within him the strength of all races, of the land itself. There was nothing in this world or any other that could induce Ukodus to challenge his king. He explained where his lady had not. "She has come; the Runner is among us for judgement."
"Ah." Jareth sat back a bit, and smiled. "Tell me," he commanded.
Lord and lady did just that.
It had been several years since the king had come to their court in an official capacity. They had forgotten how disconcerting and how intensely right it could be.
Karen lay in her cell, quietly moaning, unable to cry even though dry sobs wracked her body. She knew she should be thinking, but right now the ache in her, her need for release, was too great.
On his stained, white stone throne, Jareth sat properly for a change. He hated sitting up straight in this damned thing. There was no padding on the seat, and it was, literally, a pain in the ass. Unfortunately, this particular pain also rose up his spine and lodged in the base of his skull after a few hours. With any luck, the case in question would come up soon. The cases before it seemed to be simple matters. And before any case could be heard, there was the luncheon to deal with.
Stifling a sigh, he nodded to the young squire of his line, the line of Carnelian, who brought his tray-table. This same young man would serve him. Formal manners, proper etiquette. Jareth longed for a relaxed tournament or fair, where one ate and drank as one pleased. This formality, though, also soothed the knight in him, the same young man who had thrived on this very dance of courtesy and politeness. He wanted to say he forced himself into the spirit of the court, but it was so much a part of him, the hall so much like home to him, that he found the manner of this court returning to him with ease.
The hour of preparation was over, and the courtiers filed back into the court, taking their places by the age of their particular house line. Sarah ate with the remaining petitioners, on the plain stone of the central section of the hall. The meal among the petitioners was silent, though the lords and ladies chatted and laughed, along with their courtiers. The fancy tables were set nicely, and the King, Lord, and Lady ate upon the dais, quietly talking about the various needs of the Central Lands, ignoring the petitioners before them. Such was the way.
Sarah had noticed the addition of Jareth to the dais, and she wondered why he had come. This was twice he had been in a court with her. She wondered if it was a habit of his to show up at scheduled times, and she was just catching the right days.
In the end, it didn't matter. The meal was cleared away, another hour was given to the court to wash up and return in proper attire. Proper attire for the afternoon session was a bit different from the morning session.
Since Sarah had the time, she decided to do as others were doing and bathe off the morning session and the smell of lunch. It took her little time to go back to her room, sponge off, and put on the afternoon clothes a servant whose job was to assist petitioners new to the Central Lands, had helped her pick suitable attire from her limited wardrobe. Instead of the simple black and white breeches and shirt with jerkin worn to morning court, she wore the black breeches with a pale blue shirt and a silver-studded dark blue jerkin. The colours brought out Sarah's eyes and the blue ribbon around her neck. The amulet shone brightly against her skin. She looked longingly at her swordbelt and daggers, but left them in her packs. She could not be armed for her time in the court, as she was not a knight or soldier of the Central Lands. Despite the fine clothing, she felt naked without her blades.
Back in the hall, Sarah waited at the end of the long tables, with the few left who claimed no ties with Central lords. Wassail and Seff had returned to stand beside the same table as before. The fifteen cases that came before Wassail's went quickly. It was a matter of perhaps an hour before she was again standing before the Lord and Lady…and her King.
Wassail bowed confidently when the chamberlain again called his case. Seff bowed shakily, now terrified out of his wits. Sara bowed as well, named as sole witness for the defendant. She remained calm, though she was not nearly as certain as she appeared.
"Very well," Lord Ukodus said. "Speak your piece, Lord Wassail."
"Lord Ukodus, Lady Phillya, I do employ this boy, Seff, as shepherd in my northernmost pasture in his father's place. He watches my flocks for three days every week, then comes home to help his mother tend to their house. His father is currently serving a sentence in my house as a drudge for the theft of some seven gold pieces. The boy, knowing the situation, took up his father's duties to support his mother and the household. Two nights past, he did neglect his assumed duty, and so the charge is dereliction of duty, for the boy did leave his post as shepherd and some twenty of my flock were killed."
"You have witnesses to this?" asked the lord.
"Yes, my lord. My men-at-arms did see the dead sheep, and that the boy was not at his post. That same morning, several minutes after I arrived to see the situation for myself, this girl, a runner, did arrive with the boy." Wassail practically crowed.
"Did she give reason for escorting the boy?" The question was calm, controlled.
"Yes, my lord. Said there was a werewolf sniffing around him," Wassail's voice was that of a man relating a particularly bad joke.
"Indeed?" the lord seemed inclined to hear the joke. "Very well, Seff, shepherd to the flocks of Wassail, step forward."
Seff did, and was so obviously nervous the lord pursed his lips before putting the boy to question. He could tell, as could everyone in the court, that the boy was too frightened to tell his own name without prompting, much less events of the night in question. He verified Wassail's claim that Seff had taken over duties for his father. Then they came to the heart of the matter.
"Seff, did you leave your post night before last?" The question was kindly asked.
"Yes, Sire," he whispered. He was so scared and confused that he forgot his titles.
"Please address me as Lord, not Sire," Lord Ukodus said kindly. "Our king sits yon, 'tis true, but I do question thee."
"Sorry, Lord," he whispered, now blushing and staring at the carpet. Sarah ached for him.
"Did you have just reason?" the lord asked now.
"The lady-fighter, she woke me up, saying there was a werewolf coming for me," Seff replied, pointing to Sarah just a bit.
"Did you see this werewolf?" This time the question was factual, not kind.
"No, Lord." The boy's voice was so quiet that he almost couldn't be heard.
"Did you try to go back to your duties?" An important question, though one that would not have great bearing on the ultimate outcome of the case.
"Yes, Lord. She said I couldn't, 'cause the werewolf would bite me unlawful-like and a lot of people would get dead." He blushed and corrected, "Killed, I mean."
"Ah." Lord Ukodus looked at his wife, the Lady Phillya, and nodded. "Thank you, Seff," the lord dismissed the boy.
"Runner Sarah, step forward," Lady Phillya said, taking her post and questioning the woman involved.
It was law that no man, save the King when he is without a Queen, may sit in judgement of a woman. Conversely, no woman may sit in judgement of a man, Queen or not. At first, Sarah had found this a strange law, but as she saw cases in Destria arise and be dispatched by the respective councils of patriarchs and matriarchs, she began to see some of the reasons for it. No few cases had women of the town been inclined to believe the men and the men inclined to believe the women when those of the same sex did not. Sarah's own experiences showed it much more difficult for her to get away with things when dealing with females, but males didn't catch all of the little tells.
This system also made some punishments that were handed out go down easier. She wasn't a fan of corporal punishments, but in a way they made sense. A few lashes and the crime was punished, no lingering or wasting time or held grudges. Life was not easy here, despite the magic, and she saw how wasted time in jails and the like would not benefit anyone. It helped that every effort was made to see that justice, not vengeance, was done, and that cases that became acrimonious were sent to a higher court without an intermediate judgement. There were also various methods of getting evidence for review before bringing the case before the councils or courts, like the memory crystals and the panel of clerks who reviewed the crystals for the full courts, not the small town-based councils. In all, the daughter of a lawyer could find little fault with the system, since the final outcomes tended to be just for all parties.
"Relate to me the events of the night you did rescue this boy from a werewolf," the lady said. Sarah did as she was told, being careful not to embellish her tale, a natural inclination she had. When she finished, the lady sat in thought.
"It was a noble and good thing that you did," the lady finally said. She gave her thoughts to her husband. "While the facts of dereliction of duty are tempered by the situation, it is also true that the boy did desert his post." Turning back to Sarah, she said, "Runner Sarah, you are dismissed."
Jareth had not intervened. He had no need to do so. The facts were clear, and now the rest was up to Sarah.
Sarah stared, feeling as though she'd been slapped. She did not notice that everyone, including Jareth, was watching her intently. She was too stunned by the…the…idiocy of this judgement. Lord Ukodus took over again.
"Seff, Wassail, step forward." The males complied and the lord pronounced his judgement. "Wassail, you did lose twenty-six sheep to slaughter by unknown predators. Seff, you did desert your post as shepherd, allowing this to happen." Wassail looked up, obviously hopeful. Seff stared at the stone floor. "It is our judgement that Seff, being unable to reimburse you for your loss, receive one lash for every two sheep lost. Thirteen lashes for the boy, to be executed at once. Bring forth the frame and lash."
The mobile frame that looked a great deal like a door frame, braced front and back and with leather ties on the sides at top and bottom, was brought forward. The lash, a long braided whip, hung coiled on the side of the frame, waiting for the hand of the executor. Sarah staring in shock as Seff's back was bared and his hands and feet were tied into the frame. Heart screaming for something to change, mind racing, she watched.
The executor of the sentence was a man cloaked in shadow. He had no discernable features, which was part and parcel of this form of punishment. The executor was ever shrouded to remove any identification from him, even height and sex, for any knight could be called upon to be executor, and no few knights were female. One table was empty, but Sarah didn't know the device or the name of the lord who sat there. She remembered hearing that the knights, lords, and ladies rotated the duty of Court Executor for sentences less than death but more than fining.
She tensed in place, just to the side of the frame, able to see the terror on Seff's face. She watched as the executor lifted the lash from its place on the frame, and took several steps back. The lash was unfurled upon the floor and, as he drew back, Sarah knew no last-minute reprieve was coming, and she acted. Sprinting in between Seff and the whip, spreading her arms, and gripping the frame, Sarah gritted her teeth and choked back a scream as the lash ripped through her good jerkin and shirt, cutting her skin. She did not move, just tightened her grip on the frame and hoped the executor was quick. He was.
Twelve more times the lash landed, and Sarah, glaring up at the trio on the dais, refused to cry out. Tears of pain fell from her eyes, her lips formed a snarl, and she glared at Jareth as the rage inside kept her still and silent. If she spoke, Jareth would have her placed for punishment, and this was more than enough. She had to be-the thought stung like the lash-prudent.
When the punishment was over, the executor coiled the whip and put it in place. Only after that was done did Sarah move away from the frame. She watched, seething and shaking with pain and anger, while Seff was freed from the frame. The boy turned and stared at her, eyes wide. He wanted to ask why she did it, even opened his mouth to do so, but Sarah shook her head at him once, and he just walked to the side of the hall to stand beside Wassail.
"Runner," came Jareth's voice, resonating in the room as it had in Mab's. This time, though, Sarah could feel the power behind his words and she shuddered. She knew he was powerful. She had felt his magic in the most intimate way she could. She had not been able to feel the full weight of his position before, not even when she had been in court before him. Here, as in Mab's court, his words and temporal power were echoed through the magical bond he had with his land, the very real power he had available to him. It was oppressive, though he held it lightly. "You did interfere with sentence."
"I did." Sarah managed to ground out the words between her teeth. Her jaw didn't actually move when she spoke. Her teeth were clinched together too tightly in the attempt not to break down and cry. She forced herself to stop speaking with those two words, deliberately leaving off recognition of his title. It was enough to get her point across.
Jareth resisted the urge to laugh. Ever defiant, his Sarah. He did hope she was careful with her words after this, though, for he did not want to punish insolence before the court. He had his own ways of dealing with her saucy tongue, and none of them were painful. In fact, they both enjoyed her mouth very, very much.
"Wherefore didst thou?" The formal, distant question made Sarah blink. She took the hint and replied in kind.
"Sire, fault was mine, thus mine was the punishment. To punish the boy for what he could not control was unjust." She couldn't see Jareth's lips twitch.
"Thus is thy reasoning?" he seemed skeptical.
"Aye, Sire, for mercy was not just in this case," she replied. "The boy was derelict in his duty, but through no fault of his own. I, as the one who caused the dereliction of duty, took what punishment was mete."
"Ah." Jareth looked to the Lord and Lady. "How find thee?"
"Sire, I do find this runner just," said the lord.
"Sire, I do find this runner noble," said the lady.
"Says the Court of Knights the same?" Jareth asked the assembled lords and ladies.
Sarah now saw they were not lords and ladies, but knights and consorts. She felt like an idiot. Lord and lady were titles for landed knights. The formal Sir was for any knight, male or female, who did not wish his land-status to be known; thought most knights were not landed, much less highly landed. The Lord and Lady of the Central Lands-now the facts returned to her-were Knights of the Realm, elected by their Court and, after passing the tests to rule these lands for King Jareth, placed to sit in judgement as the king's vassals.
"Sire, we have watched the progress of this runner," came a familiar and beloved voice. Sarah forced herself to stay still, not turning. She almost couldn't believe it. Could it be? "She has been found to possess all of the knightly virtues."
"So says one of thee," Jareth said, almost bored. One by one, knights of the lands she passed through rose. "What proof have thou, knight, and are there others among this court that say the same as thou dost?"
"In my lands, she did show courage, endurance, and charity" the Knight of Granite Mountain spoke. It was Elder Shan. He did not often go to Court, but it was his place to be here now.
"In my lands, she did show gratitude and willingness to learn," the Knight of Everwinter Mountain spoke. It was the Lady of Magic, so called for her strength and long-standing position as teacher. She, too, was rarely at Court. That she came in person said much of her opinion of Sarah.
"In my lands, she did show courtesy and honour," the Knight of River Crossing spoke. It was the innkeeper where she had recharged the fire-charm. He was a regular, and he liked the Court. It was a pleasant break from his place in River Crossing.
"In my lands, she did show excellence, reason, determination, and prowess," the Knight of Destria spoke. It was Weaponsmaster Redok. He attended special sessions of the Court, for he preferred teaching those who would become knights or squires more than the courtly etiquette and constant babbling. Still, for this student, he would bend his own rule of no more than three Courts per century.
"In my lands," spoke Lord Wassail, "she did show faith, defense, mercy, selflessness, responsibility, and justice." He stood with his hand on Seff's shoulder. Seff was now beaming up at the knight, and Sarah got the sneaking suspicion that she'd been had. When she saw a woman, the werewolf from that night, come up and stand beside the boy and knight, she knew she'd been had. Big time. Sarah was slow sometimes, but the wheels were starting to turn again. She was thinking, not simply being pissed off. Why was this sounding so familiar?
"Very well, she has proven the knightly virtues," Jareth decreed. "Who shall stand as sponsor?"
"I shall, an' it please thee, Sire," came that same precious voice.
It took that last question and the response before she recognized what was happening. This was the ceremony for a knighting. And she was going to be knighted. Strangely, she didn't really care. All she wanted was to turn around and hug the one person in the world who spoke with that voice. That gentle, piercingly sweet voice. It was all she could do to keep from breaking down then and there.
"Step forward." The command was simple. Both Sarah and her sponsor did just that. Sarah, having been taught the ceremony, knelt before the first step of the dais. She looked up at the king, her king, and watched as he gathered himself and rose. The lord and lady did the same, turning in to face the central dais.
A small, gentle hand came to rest on Sarah's shoulder. The light touch served as an anchor for her swaying, reeling mind. Able to concentrate on the world around her again, she watched as Jareth descended the steps, the Lord and Lady of the Central Lands behind him, lord to his right, lady to his left. From the scabbard on his baldric, Jareth pulled his blade. It was simple, steel and leather and plain copper wire, businesslike, not ceremonial. No King of the Labyrinthine Realm had ever used a ceremonial sword. There was no ceremony in war, only bloodletting.
Jareth lifted the sword and held it over her head, blade flat and parallel to the ground. Sarah stared up at him, saw the hand holding the blade, and wondered. He saw her eyes, filled with the same expression as they had been during that dance, so long ago. Now, as then, his heart was captured by her. He did not resist the feeling, though he did not show it.
"Sarah Joy, citizen of the Labyrinthine Realm, thou hast been presented as candidate for knighthood by a knight in good standing and brilliant reputation. Thou hast been tested. Thou hast not been found wanting." He paused. "Dost thou accept the duties and privileges of a Knight of the Realm, pursuant to the Code of Honour?"
"I do," Sarah whispered. Her throat didn't want to work. Her eyes did not leave his as she answered. Public as this ceremony was, it was also intensely private. Before all the Court of Knights, Sarah again swore herself to her king.
"Dost thou accept and hold dear to thee the honour of the realm and thy king?" The power of the ceremony flowed from Jareth, the gravity of the knighting in his voice and the very stones. He watched her eyes, saw her dazzled expression, and under that, clarity. She knew, she realized, she understood all she was doing right now. Jareth resisted a relieved sigh as she replied.
"I do." Her voice was quiet, but calmer. This felt so strange and so right.
"Dost thou swear to uphold the justice of the realm, no matter the cost to thyself, wherever thou mayest be?"
"I do."
"Shalt thou obey thy king and liege lord, even though thou mayest ride to thy death?"
"I shall."
"Shalt thou uphold the knightly virtues to the best of thy ability, giving all to thy duties and keeping only that which to thee is necessary?"
"I shall."
The sword now descended on her left shoulder, then over her head to her right, and back to her left. The flat of the blade rested there, the edge brushing against her neck as her pulse fluttered. A single move would have her dead. Again, she had placed herself at Jareth's mercy. She did not regret it. There was no doubt in her.
"I do dub thee Sir Sarah, Knight of the Line of Didymus, sponsored by Sir Alphonse, Eldest of the Line, called Sir Didymus." Jareth's power radiated through the room like the sun. Sarah felt every word, every vow, bound in the stone of the hall, her magic tying her to this vow as tightly as her heartbeat was tied to her life. "Rise, Sir Sarah, and greet thou thy fellow knights. Be thou welcome."
Sarah rose, and Wassail's voice was heard, shouting, "Hip-hip!"
"Hooray!" the crowd shouted.
Twice more, the chant was led, twice more, the response rang through the hall.
"Retire, Sir Sarah, and return to us, armed and armoured with thy sponsor." Jareth turned to the court. "This night, we celebrate!"
"Let there be a feast," Lord Ukodus called. Magic warmed the room.
"Let there be joy," Lady Phillya replied. The magic grew.
"Let there be bouts of skill," Lord. Excitement grew with the magic.
"Let there be bright display," Lady. Tempered, the excitement became anticipation.
"Let there be music," Lord. Anticipation flourished, filling the air.
"Let there be dancing," Lady. The magic wound tight, waiting for the final words to release the court and bring the newest Knight of the Realm fully into Court.
"Let there be this night a Welcoming," Jareth finished the ancient formula. With the overwhelming of magic of King and Vassal resounding in the room, the courtiers bowed and took leave to prepare for the feast. Lord Ukodus and Lady Phillya lead the exodus, only Sarah and Sir Alphonse Didymus waiting.
The pair stood before Jareth, basking in the heat and weight and energy that shone from him, waiting until the last footstep faded from the room.
The courtiers gone, Sarah and Didymus bowed, then turned and left the hall, both eager to return to the Court and the King.
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