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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
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Sarah woke in a dark room. There was enough light for her to see dim shapes around her, shapes that were not comforting. She tried to sit up, but discovered she was bound. Hand and foot, bound to a table of some sort. Muzzy from hunger and thirst, head aching from the blow that had knocked her unconscious, she tried to think. What did this room remind her of? What was it that was so close to her thoughts, but so far from her memory?
She closed her eyes again and concentrated on her body. She was bruised, sore, naked--but she hadn't been raped. Her amulet was gone, but not the collar. The collar and her snarl, a perfect goblin gana's reaction to the threat of rape, had kept her safe. From rape. Apparently, she was not safe at all.
The realization she was not safe made the memory rush back to her. She was in a torture chamber. She was in the hands of people who would hurt her. And they didn't care about her one way or the other. These men weren't--
"Jareth," she whispered, a desperate plea to her king, her love, the only man she would allow to torture her.
=-+=-+=-+
"Sarah," Jareth breathed, his attention straying from the papers in front of him. He felt her whisper his names in the dungeons. A cat purred loudly and leapt onto the arm of his chair.
The door of the office opened, and a priest entered Jareth's office. It was the same head priest that had informed Jareth of the hunt.
"Sire," he said, his accent both pleasing and grating to the king's ears. "We have her."
"Yes," Jareth replied, his voice almost curt. The man bowed, turning to leave. "Do what is required, no more." The warning in Jareth's voice was clear. He may not be able to control this, not really, but he was still the high priest. Any measures that were not necessary would be accounted for.
"We never excessive," the priest replied, insulted. He turned to defend his mysteries. "Blood-rite do no more than necessary. Ever."
Jareth lifted an eyebrow. "This one would not allow your hunters to play," he purred, pleased that Sarah had that much gana in her. Would he had managed the same.
"No," the man replied, calm as every. "But then, she not needing those attentions from us. You done dat already."
Jareth gave a warning hiss, echoed by the cats surrounding him. "Remember, no more than required."
"Of course not," the priest turned away and added, "some just more stupid than others."
Jareth glared at the man's back, then settled back in his chair with a sigh. "True."
The priest paused at the door and half-turned, the shadows of the dark corrider making the elderly man seem sinister.
"We break her. If she recover, if she see truth, then she come to you." It was the promise of pain, of a man to his King. If she could recover, see the truth, then the priest would be directly responsible for sending Jareth his Queen.
Jareth nodded. The priest smiled once, and left the room.
After the man was gone, Jareth looked over the cats that had come to give him their silent devotions.
"Some follow. Report back to me. I would know all."
Several cats milled about, discussing who would stay or go. One by one, some dozen cats turned and winked at the king, returning to their home with the blood-priests.
Perhaps this Queenrunner would taste as good as their King.
Jareth picked up a small blade and flipped it in his fingers. Then, smiling down at the cats around him, he sliced his palm and cupped his hand, letting it fill with blood. Gently, he held the blood down to the cats around him, hearing the sharp increase in the tempo and intensity of their purrs. Closing his eyes to half-slits, the blonde king purred with his pets.
=-+=-+=-+
"What do you want?" Sarah demanded harshly of the figure coming closer to her. Even though her focus was on the man, she could see the gleam of golden-green eyes high atop the devices. "Why are you doing this?"
There was no answer. The light did not change, but every so often, the man would turn and walk away, another taking his place. For another day, Sarah lay bound to the table, anticipation forming a terror in her that she had never dreamed existed. No matter what she asked, there was never an answer.
The next morning, though Sarah had no idea what time of day it was, she was fed. Still bound, still unable to leave, she was carefully fed a nourishing broth and given sweet, sweet water. While she did not want to take the food, while she did not trust its purity, she knew she needed the nourishment if she was to survive…whatever was in store.
After she had been left for several more hours, the panic building with her shrieked questions and demands for information, the pain began.
Sarah was familiar with the feel of a whip now. Familiar enough to know that this was not as bad as it could be. She hissed and tried to dodge the lash, but it did no good. Panting, cursing under her breath, Sarah counted each lash in her head. She counted fifty-seven before the whipping ended.
When the whip pulled back for the last time, she was left alone. She didn't know for how long. Pain and exhaustion and the heavy meal she'd had earlier took a heavy toll. Sarah slept in her bonds, terror forgotten in the haze of reaction.
Sarah woke, hearing the soft sound of something humming in the air. The wicked slash of the birch rod across her breasts made her gasp, caving in her chest and trying to fight her bonds. Welts and stripes fell across the tender flesh, but no mercy came to her. After one well-placed slash, she couldn't scream. That man moved away and another took his place, slowly sliding thick needles through the flesh of her legs. The sensation rolled Sarah's eyes back into her head, mercifully leaving her unknowing.
Another meal, gently given to her. Water, dribbled down her chin and neck onto the tender, red flesh below. Another time to rest, to anticipate, be terrified. Time to see the unblinking eyes of the cats as they watched her, waiting for their turn with her sweet blood.
She could smell the heat in the air and turned her head to see glowing coals in a metal brazier. There were several thin rods in the coals, and Sarah moaned.
At first, the burns were tiny, like brushing the eye of a hot stove and pulling quickly away. Slowly, the contact grew longer, deeper. The tender skin of her thighs, her belly were delicately touched and scarred. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, a growing perfume in the darkness. An iron drew a tiny design on the heel of her foot. Finally, hands parted the tender flesh between her legs, gentle caresses opening her body to them. A quick movement, and an iron was pushed deep inside her.
Pain, agonizing burning pain radiated from within her. Sarah shrieked once. Her body convulsed in agony. Blessed blackness took her from herself.
When she woke, another pain waited her. The gentle caress of steel on her back became a slowly drawn, agonizing session under a knife. The priest was something of an artist. The design was magnificent and detailed. His art was unappreciated by the subject of it, for Sarah had passed out several times in the drawing.
When she woke after the design was completed, she felt the gentle rasp of sandpapery tongues washing the wounds of her skin. The gentle purrs of those who tasted her blood lulled her to sleep.
Over and over, Sarah woke to pain and escaped it through unconsciousness. Never were two pains the same, never was attention given to the same part of her body twice in a row.
The days wore on.
=-+=-+=-+
Jareth was waiting, trying to be patient. The memories plagued him. Ice packed around him. Lashes of beaded leather. Nails driven through his most tender skin. Molten glass dropping onto his chest. The agony of the men taking their pleasure, sheathed for causing pain and damage. The peel of skin from flesh. Hot coals on his tongue, jaw forced shut.
His temper had become uncertain, the anticipation of Sarah becoming too much for him.
What would she be? How would she come to him?
He could hear her scream his name, begging for intervention.
He dared not go.
=-+=-+=-+
Sarah screamed for Jareth again. It had not occurred to her to tell the priests she would not continue the run, that she would not be Queen.
Finally, almost two weeks after she had been captured and dragged to the dungeons, she broke.
"Please," she begged, sobbing. "No more…no more…"
No one spoke. Then they continued until she passed out, her body limp long before her mind succumbed to darkness.
=-+=-+=-+
Jareth heard the report from the cats while he was in his office. He nodded, then called for Oakheart.
"I will be in the throne room," he told his secretary. "I am not to be disturbed. By any one or any thing."
"And if a summons or war comes to us?" Oakheart asked.
"Handle it. You know my proxies." Jareth said nothing more.
Oakheart watched as his king went to wait. He knew the proxies, better than Jareth himself.
"As you will, Sire," the elf whispered to his king's back. Sorrow filled the dark brown eyes and Oakheart turned to the king's desk.
While the king waited, the kingdom continued on.
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Shattered