Anam Cara

The Champion Learns the Truth

Sarah's knees collided with hardwood floors as she collapsed in a silver heap of skirts and tears. Sobs stole the very breath from her lungs. She threw herself the rest of the way to the floor, burying her face in her hands, scared to see where she was. When she was. Scared to see the outcome of her meddling in the past.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she choked. Everything had been for nothing. All her plans. All her scheming. Jareth was right all along. There was nothing she could do to save him now. There never was.

The floor was soaked with her salted sorrow. Time stood still. Minutes could have been hours or days as her body hemorrhaged all her disappointments and regrets. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Strong arms lifted her, against her will, off the floor to sit. Her fallen hair was brushed behind her ears. Weak and disoriented, the hands grasping her shoulders steadied her. She felt the cooling effects of a healing spell run down her body but no magic would ever mend her broken heart.

"Shhh, Sarah. Don't cry." Jareth pried her hands from her face. He marveled as his old familiar power bent the boundaries of nature and molded it with his own magic. Even with red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, she was a vision. That her tears were for him, nearly shattered him.

Sarah blinked, her bleary eyes unwilling to believe her ears. "Jareth?" Her hands touched his face. No longer sickly and gaunt. His skin clear and unblemished. He was the vision of health and handsome perfection he had been in the past. She looked around taking in his bedroom. Was she dreaming? Hallucinating? "How? What–your curse–I–I–I failed..."

Jareth lifted them to their feet, holding her close after all these centuries. No phantom presence forever evading his grasp. Real and warm in his arms. He'd never let go again. "No, you didn't."

Nothing made sense. His thumbs swept her tears away, they felt real. She touched his chest, felt his heart beating beneath her palm. Her lips trembled even as they stretched into a quavering smile. Happiness clouded with confusion. She'd promised to find Brigid and break his curse, but she didn't. Shaking her head, she said, "No, I–"

Jareth leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He felt the same spot he kissed two hundred years ago. He was once again complete and whole. "The woman I marked as my own is here."

The hair on her neck stood on end, her skin tingling to the tips of her toes. Her heart lurched and stomach tightened. She fought the urge to scan the room for another soul when she finally whispered, "Me?"

"You." His hands cupped her face, tilting her chin up. His lips were on hers, starved from centuries of pent-up passion. She was his. Finally his. No longer hidden behind spells and magical barriers within his mind. No longer disappearing from his reach. He would burn his claim on her skin with searing kisses. Mark every inch of her body. Making it impossible for her to ever leave him again.

Her mind was muddled, warring with itself in an effort to understand. Her emotions ran as rampant as her longing in her bewilderment. A sly sneaking voice surfaced from the depths of her mind. Why should she care if anything made sense? Jareth was alive. Holding her . Kissing her . That was all that mattered. If the world was going to burn, let their desirous fire be the cause.

"I thought I would never see you again," she said, breathless as he trailed kisses down her neck.

His hands wandered over her silver gown trying in vain to feel her body. "I had given up hope of ever finding you."

Feeling weightless and intoxicated by hope, she allowed herself momentarily to live in this happy ending as though it could not be ripped from her the moment they let go. Relief lifted guilt off her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around him, pushing against him. She couldn't get close enough. Wanted to feel him. Needed more.