| Logs |
2009 March 17
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Bough Logs |
Second Movement, Requiem: Pastoral
Jareth has bandaged the two would-be intruders into the Theban consulate, stabilizing them though they were not grievously harmed. Except for the one who was about to kill the consular aide. The aide required more serious attention; he was in bad shape, apparently having been badly beaten before the group got to him. However, nothing was broken, it seemed, and he will heal in time.
Jareth, being the generally compassionate person he is, settles in by the aide and starts talking with him, doing his best to distract from the pain and worry. He picks up the aide's hand in both of his as he tells him stories from back in the village. It's not a flirtatious act, he just wants the young man have some physical sensation that isn't pain. His thoughts are wandering a little, going to his friends and companions.
Jareth sees a hint of motion out of the corner of his eye, something dark and fluttering and seemingly huge as it whirls into the room, bearing right down on him.
Jareth startled tries to roll out of the way, but the rush and the fluttering confuses him. He rolls the wrong way to make for a good escape.
The black rush rolls over him, enfolding him, and he hears a harsh whisper murmur, "Nothing personal." In that tone of voice that belies that to the speaker it's very, very personal indeed.
Jareth panics slightly, knowing that his earlier knife-throw was completely luck. He kicks out with arms and legs mindlessly, just hoping to connect with something.
The person atop him -- somewhere in that cloak, there is a person, it seems -- is a practiced fighter of some kind. Jareth's struggling doesn't seem to hinder him at all. The figure moves, shifting it's weight abruptly--
And then there is silence, a somehow sublime peace that rests over, well... everything. Jareth stands in the corner of the aide's apartment, and from where he is he can see the two intruders, and something of the aide. But of the pool of dark fabric in the center of the room where he had been brought down to the ground, the view is blocked by a figure, standing there in a voluminous cloak of black (though of a velvet black that, unlike the figure, does not seem to seek to drink in and abolish all light.) The hood to the cloak is thrown back, and clearly visible is a mane of white hair that touches the shoulders, and red eyes.
Jareth blinks, the shock of the sudden change of position sending his thoughts completely out of order for a moment. He stares around the room and then down at his own hands, verifying that, yes, he is standing in the corner and not drowning in a sea of black. The white-haired figure standing over the pool of darkness is unnerving somehow and Jareth swallows, instinctively trying to slow his pulse... and then realizes that he can't feel his heart pounding like he thought he would. One part of his mind is putting these facts together while another is dismissing them out of hand. For the moment, all he really is is bewildered.
The figure in front of him seems to come -- bit by bit -- into focus. She gently touches his arm, looking at him with a sort of gentle affection and sympathy, without ever really showing such an emotion on her features. "Hello, Jareth," she says, her voice like a whisper but clearly audible.
Jareth takes a very deep breath and says, "You're Raven, aren't you?" That part of his mind that was putting things together snaps clearly into focus and he knows that if Raven is touching him, he has shuffled loose the mortal coil. His eyes slide over to the pool of darkness enveloping the space where he was just telling stories to the aide.
Raven makes a quiet sound of affirmation, nodding, letting Jareth take in things in his own time. On closer inspection, he can see the pool of darkness is a kind of cloak of fuligin black, large and encompassing, hiding from view both the assailant and... well.
Jareth swallows hard and says, "And that means I'm..." he takes a step around Raven, moving toward the cloaked figure that's hiding what he very much fears is his own body. He's not entirely sure he wants to see his own corpse, but he also can't stop himself moving that way.
Raven gently places a hand upon his chest; her touch is surprisingly warm for someone who apparently embodies the concept of 'death.' Her touch is gentle and suggests not moving forward, but does not insist. "It never helps," she says simply, as if reading his intentions.
Jareth stops when Raven puts her hand on his chest. He moves to take a deep breath and again, realizes he really doesn't have lungs. All the normal little physical things he would do to center himself are not going to work. "He was one of the intruders, wasn't he?" He stiffens, eyes widening, "The others! Mikal! Norris! Tomas! I need to warn them..." This time, he starts for the door. The fact that he's dead may have filtered through, but not exactly what that means.
Raven lets him go towards the door. The stillness of the entire scene finally registers when he notices that nothing is moving; the aide looks to have a look of frozen surprize and horror, and even the two other intruders look more than a little stunned, a tableau of shock at the assassination set before them.
Mikal comes whipping out the door and across the corridor, her still-nocked bow coming up as she whirls to the right and nearly slaps her back to the northern wall, aiming into the room Jareth is in. She's reacting nearly instinctively at this point -- her pack is in danger! -and her stormy-gray eyes are narrowed, while her lips are unwittingly drawn back, baring her teeth in a snarl. Despite her rage, however, her extensive training in surviving the monster-infested forest is standing her in good stead -- the steel point on the nocked arrow is aimed steadily into the room as she sweeps it visually for her packbrother.
The fact that nothing and no one is moving clicks slowly into place as Jareth moves to the doorway, his initial rush bleeding away into confusion again. He stops in the doorway, half-in and half-out of the aide's room. He sees Mikal there with her bow raised and a look of anger and worry mingled on her face. "Oh, little rabbit..." His brow creases and he reaches out to put a hand on the side of her frozen face.
Without saying anything, Jareth knows that Raven is now standing quietly behind him, letting him have this moment's emotions to himself.
Mikal's brow creases faintly in worry and confusion. She expected the aide to look horrified... but the two bound attackers having the same expression is starting to frighten her. Added to that is the large black puddle of shadow with some guy in the middle of it -- and the only thing she can think of is: [where's Jareth?!]
Jareth's mouth turns downward into a frown and he reaches up to touch the furrow between Mikal's frozen eyes. He leans forward and brushes his lips over the corner of her mouth, hestitating a little, not sure how that's going to work. Without turning around, he asks stiffly, "What now?"
Raven's voice when she speaks is gentle. "Now you can rest for a time, Jareth. A rest that you and every mortal who lives is denied for far too long."
On the heels of that question comes another, "Can I warn them? I don't want her... them to die because I'm useless."
There is silence for a moment, then Raven puts her hands on Jareth's shoulders. "You aren't useless," she insists. "You never have been, not to them, not in this life, not in any other. No mortal is useless."
Jareth stands, looking at Mikal and says, "I feel pretty damned useless right now. Went to the trouble of making sure everyone was all bandaged up. Told a couple of stories and got myself killed." His fists clench and he says, "Can't I at least warn them? Something? We're... they're trying to do something good here. I've been talking hope to people and they need to survive this to get that hope out to people."
In a pained voice, she says, "Everyone has things that they want to do at the end, Jareth. I'm... I'm so sorry." She pauses. "It isn't about just warning them... warning her, is it?"
Jareth's lips compress and he shakes his head, one hand raising up to rest on Mikal's shoulder, "No. No it's not." The shock is starting to wear away, anger seeping in to take its place.
He feels Raven rest her head against the back of his neck. "This is the hardest part," she whispers. "I know. All I can promise is that you will see her again."
Jareth clenches his jaws again and rests his hand on Mikal's face again, murmuring, "I'm sorry, little wolf." He forces himself to turn away from the girl with the drawn bow and to look at the Throne of Death, "If I cannot help now, will I be able to help later? Is the rest forever? Or just for a while?"
Though she does not cry, her expression is clear as to why she has red eyes. "Just for a time," she says. "There are other lives ahead of you. Just as you have had many lives before."
Jareth's lips twitch up a bit into a ghost of his charming smile and he says, "I was just getting to really like this one." He starts to take a deep breath again and snorts to himself, not quite a laugh, "Then let's go on." One last pat of his hand to Mikal's shoulder and he says to Raven, "Maybe you can tell me as we go... why do you do what you do?"
Raven actually smiles gently, and it it looks as if it is an expression that comes naturally to her. She reaches forward to Jareth. After a moment, he realizes she is offering her hand to him to take. "It is what I do," she says quietly. "It is a joy. You will see why, when we cross the river."
Jareth takes the slender, pale hand and nods, "Then let's go. Show me one more story before I rest."
Raven nods, her eyes seeming to water a little, though no tears actually fall. She turns, and takes a step in a direction Jareth hadn't noticed before, and they walk outside everything.
A forest stands behind them. Dark, vast, ancient, with the chirping of birds and the rustle of an unsettled wind through the branches. They stand on the grassy bank of a shallow river, and before them is a ford, a slightly shallower place to cross. There is no way to cross the river without getting one's feet wet.
And there is an angel here. Though not any angel Jareth ever wished to dream of.
It stands ten feet high, in dark slate-blue robes that appear only slightly tattered about the hems. Two massive soot-grey wings emerge from the creature's back, and set into the hood is what can only be a skull-like face, with coal-like cinders burning where the eyes should be. In it's hands, point resting in the ground, is a massive sword made from dark iron, rough as if forged by less than an apprentice but undeniably solid and lethal.
Both the angel's name, and Raven's regard for it, are readily apparent almost as soon as they appear here, in the softly growled greeting that seems, to her, invective in and of itself: "Azriel."
Jareth looks in horror at the creature... angel... being... that stands there with the sword in its hands. And then something makes his lips twitch, not quite humour as the thought flits through his mind [What can it do? Kill me?]
Somehow Jareth knows that Azriel turns to fix its cinder-gaze upon him. "Little Death," it intones in a sepulchral (natch) voice. "This one belongs to me."
Perhaps some of the iron resolve Jareth knows Mikal has is brought to mind, when Raven steps bodily in front of Jareth, cloak spread apart as if to shield him. "He is not, and never has been, yours. Nor does he 'belong' to your master. He is his own."
"In this life he bent knee to that whom he knows as the One. He has given himself to the Architect, and thus he is mine to take to Judgement."
"He crosses the river from the Dreamtime. It is my duty and my duty alone to bring him there. And he will not be judged by the likes of you, or the Architect. This is the rede by which I have lived since the mantle of the Throne came to me, and even the Architect cannot renege on that. You may not take him."
Azriel is still looking at Jareth, that level, unblinking, flickering gaze of embers. "I may," he says, "if he comes with me willingly.
"What say you, Jareth of Staunton? You who claimed the One as your god, it is time now to submit yourself to him that he may sit in judgement upon your soul."
Raven stiffens, and goes silent; she half-looks at Jareth over her shoulder. He sees fear there, but not for herself: for Jareth.
Jareth stands for a moment, head cocked to the side, thinking.
Jareth purses his lips and asks Raven without looking at her, "If I go with him, I don't get a chance to help again, do I? I won't see them... her again." He wrinkles his brow slightly, eyes narrowing, back straightening, "I don't think I will go with you. I've learned some things while we've been in this not-dream. And I think I'm going to go with Raven." He reaches out, without looking, for the pale-haired Throne of Death's hand.
Raven relaxes visibly, and with one hand takes Jareth's hand, squeezing it surprisingly tightly.
Azriel studies the two for a very long moment. "Very well," it says dispassionately. "You may have this one, as special as he might be. But this will not be forgotten, Little Death. Those who came before you did what the Architect instructed, in time. And so will you. In time.
"And you, Jareth of Staunton. Enjoy your last victory. But may the weight of all your past lives crush you. And when we meet again at the end of your next life, I will ensure you remember this moment."
With that, Azriel is consumed, briefly, in black and white flames which spirit him from view. As soon as he is gone, the forest and river seem to relax, letting out some sort of nonverbal sigh. It is now that Jareth can hear, on the other side of the river, the crash of ocean waves, currently hidden by a ridge beyond which is clear, blue, cloud-speckled sky.
Jareth smiles tightly and somewhat crookedly, "Let's hope I can remember not to be religious in my next life."
Raven relaxes visibly, still looking a little unnerved. "It would be the Architect's religion as it is," she says tiredly. "Since the end of the Godswar, his has been the kingdom, and the power, and the glory. I do not think you of all souls would have much trouble resisting a religious urge, particularly that one."
Jareth shakes his head and sighs, "That's just got to change." He reaches without thinking about it to wrap his arm around Raven's shoulders and give her a hug. Just at the moment, he's thinking she seems to need a little comfort herself. And then he says, "Shall we go on?"
Raven looks about to reply, when she pauses for but a moment, looking a little uncomfortable. She closes her eyes, nestling comfortably into the hug he gives her, and he feels her give a faintly shuddering sigh, holding him tightly for a little longer.
On the other side of the ridge, beneath the crash of the surf and the ocean's waves, Jareth begins to hear voices, some of them very, achingly familiar, though he has never heard them before.
Jareth catches his (non-existant) breath and says, "I... yes. I want to go down there..." He turns to Raven and smiles, his full bright smile, "Thank you..."
As she looks up at him, the Throne is serene, but now, so close to the river, there are tears. "For so long, they wanted you to fear Death," she says quietly. "They wanted you to fear me and what I could bring you to... the place you deserve, that should have always been yours....."
She squeezes her eyes shut again, her embrace tightening again as she buries her face in his chest. "B-but you're right," she says. "This has to ch-change. And y-you are special. All of you. I want... I w-want to take you there, to see you happy. More happy than ever... ever before...."
Jareth blinks, hugging the Throne tightly since she obviously needs it. He finds himself wanting to shush her like a child that's scared and in pain. The hesitation is a little confusing, and perhaps a little worrying. He lets her go on. That he's comforting Death feels very, very strange but it's in his nature to comfort.
She tries to compose herself, though her breathing is shaky. "Just this once," she whispers. "I c-can only do this, this one time. And only for a little while longer. But y-you're right, this h-has to change It has to." She looks up at him, a tear now finally running down her cheek. "Forgive me. Please."
Jareth's brow wrinkles in confusion, saying in reflex, "I forgive you... what am I forgiving you for?"
Jareth reaches up and uses a thumb to brush away that one tear.
As he touches her, Raven, Throne of Death, says in a hoarse whisper, "For this."
And as he touches that tiny droplet, her tear, the land starts to go still. The wind dwindles away to nothing, the rushes of leave become quiet. The voices fade away to a great distance, even the roar of the surf becomes hollow. And the midday light which suffused this side of the river, this place so incongrously called by the ancients 'Hades,' the light begins to fade, like twilight and moonless night rushing in.
Jareth feels an ache in his chest where no heart currently beats, sadness settling in as those strangely familiar and yearned-for voices fade away to nothing. More confusion as things change around him from the anticipation of joy to the unsteadiness of uncertainty.
As the light fades, and slowly the only thing becoming distinct is Raven before him, she says, softly and urgently, "Remember this, please. When the ache in your heart for what you know waits for you becomes too much, rememeber this: You... you have something worth living for." By the time she has said this, all that Jareth can see are her luminous eyes.
Jareth realizes that he's not going to join those voices under that perfect sky and a new sadness reaches to him, mingled with a strange surge or hope. If he's not going to the voices, he must be going back!
The eyes close, casting Jareth in darkness at last. For the briefest of moments, he feels lips brushing against his. Then there is her voice again, softly whispered. "Anima Fiat--"
Then suddenly Jareth is rolling out from under the assassin's grapple, coming up to a crouch as the spluttering, cloaked man attempts to regain his balance.
Mikal draws a deep breath, reluctant to shoot until she's sure she's not going to accidentally hit Jareth, and skitters lightly into the room. As she searches visually for her packbrother, she's careful to keep the aide out of her line of fire -- although she's still aiming directly at the black-cloaked man's center of mass.
After the strange, endless time with Raven, this is just as disorienting as the moment he found himself standing in the corner and looking at his murderer, but even that thought rolls away. [Must be faster than I thought...] And it has never felt so good to just breathe! Even if he is panting like mad as his heart pounds behind his ribs. He crouches, trying to get enough thought together to formulate what to do next.
Mikal's breath escapes her in a gasp of relief -- then she snaps at the man, "Surrender now!"
The assassin comes up, the awfully wicked thrusting-knife in his hands flashing as he turns to take in Jareth... and now spotting Mikal. Barely brething heavily, the assassin pauses, gauging this new combatant.
Mikal doesn't hesitate at sight of the knife or the lack of clear surrender -- that, plus the looks of horror on the faces of the observers inform her actions. She shoots instinctively.
The assassin has no chance; even with the beginnings of the dodge that he is attempting, Mikal's shot is unnerring and at close range the arrow smacks into his chest, just a few inches to the right of his sternum. He barely lets out a cry before toppling backwards to the ground. A split moment later, his knife -- dry and unbloodied -- strikes the stone floor with a ringing clang.
Mikal doesn't look directly at Jareth -- she's still glaring at the three intruders -- but her voice is a bit breathless still with worry, "Jareth? Are you all right?" As she speaks she also lashes out neatly with one booted foot, knocking the knife back towards herself and away from the bound attackers.
Now that he's immobile, it's easy to get a clearer look at the assassin. He is a little sallow in complexion, gaunt with a few days' stubble upon his chin. His shag of hair is of salt-and-pepper. He is definitely mortal. Beneath the pitch-black cloak he wears black leather armor, though not boiled leather; it is supple and clearly meant for mobility first. He has no identifying marks or symbols on him.
Jareth stands up and takes a very deep and very shaky breath. [Oh, that still feels so amazing!] He swallows hard and has to clear his throat before he says, "I am now..." He looks down at himself just to make one hundred percent sure. Mikal's moving, right? This is good.
And Mikal's here! And she's alive, too! These thoughts sing through Jareth in a way that he's just really not used to and he knows he's going to have to think very long and very hard about a thing or two.
Jareth croaks, "I think that guy was the one they brought to kill the consular. He certainly came awfully close to getting me instead." Time enough later to tell Mikal and probably the others the real story.
Mikal nods firmly as she draws and nocks another arrow, "All right. If you can move all right, Jareth, can you bandage and tie him up? I'm guessing the consul will really want to talk to him." She concentrates very, very hard on being a good pack protector -- there's this small, sneaking certainty that if she lets herself think too hard about the almost liquid burst of relief she'd felt at sight of seeing Jareth roll out from under the attacker... well... she blinks rapidly several time. She's a wolf, yes! Must keep the pack safe -- that's it right now!
Jareth finds that his compassion is having a hard time wrapping around a man that killed him, but Mikal is right. Still, "Uhm... Rabbit, I don't think I can fix this... I'm OK with cuts and bruises, but this..." He shakes his head.
Mikal is silent, thinking and carefully studying the man... then she lowers her bow and nods firmly again. "All right, let's work together on this then. I doubt he's going to leap up and attack any time soon, after all." As she kneels next to the man she adds fiercely, "And if he does -- he'll be sorry!"
Jareth's lips twitch at Mikal's fierceness, but he stifles the laugh, not wanting her to think he's laughing at her.
Mikal pulls her little hip pack of herbal remedies and bandages to the fore, then gets Jareth to help her as she works over the man.
Mikal is not having a great deal of response to her efforts, and she snaps angrily, "No! No, no, no, you do not get away this easily, you monster!" She continues feverishly working over the wound, and finally sits back with a relieved sigh, "Got him! I think he won't be slipping away from this now."
Jareth finds that his feelings on distinctly mixed on that front. He looks at Mikal and finds himself grinning rather foolishly. Mikal! And he's alive! For a moment, there's an ache when he remembers the voices that were laughing on the other side of the river. But for now he's here and like Raven said, he's got something to live for.
Mikal glances around, then simply picks up one corner of the man's cloak and wipes her hands on it as she adds firmly, "All right, let's see. We need to go make sure Ra- er, Wolf and Badger and Bear have subdued the other two. We need to make sure the consul is safe." She looks over at the aide, "Can you guard this lot if we leave you with weapons?"
THe aide looks still kind of shocked, looking like he's not quite sure what just happened, but the ljosalfar nods, a touch shakily. "Y-yes. Yes, that shouldn't be a problem, I think.
Jareth's lips twitch again and he puts on his best wounded expression, "What? Don't you think I could do it?" No matter how good an actor he is, his eyes are twinkling behind the long face.
Jareth pulls out his kniff and hands it, hilt-first, to the aide. "I suggest standing near the door and watching the hall to make sure no one comes down it.
Mikal nods and smiles encouragingly at him, then blinks at Jareth. A flush creeps across her face as she realizes she'd intended to not let him out of her sight -- that was why she'd asked the aide -- she blinks again, giving a small sigh of relief as he turns to the aide, and hastily scoops up the assassin's knife.
The aide nods, accepting the blade and positioning himself as jareth suggested. "Please, make sure Swanhilde is all right...."
Mikal's hair has swung forward to shield her face as she ducks her head and slips silently towards the door, nocking another arrow. How embarrassing! She hopes Jareth didn't catch her slip.
Jareth smiles reassuringly at the aide and follows Mikal out into the hall, waiting until they're both out the door before he puts his hand on her shoulder, lower his voice so it can't be heard inside the room, "Mikal?"
Mikal spooks slightly, then glances up over her shoulder at Jareth, her bangs half hiding her stormy-gray eyes, "Wh-what?! Er, I mean... yes, Ja- uh, Cat?"
Jareth leans in, carefully so she can see what he's doing, and kisses Mikal very, very briefly, whispering "Thank you..." before his lips have even really pulled away from hers. Then he flashes her a nervous sort of smile, "Let's go join the others... and have I got a story for you tonight..."
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