Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Jareth and Sarah belong to Henson and Co.
Warning: This story is rated M for mature themes (not sex). I will be attempting to please both those who dislike 'sex' in their stories, as well as my regular readers who like my lemons. SO... with that in mind... lemony scenes will appear in separate chapters that more sensitive readers can skip without missing out on key story stuff. Sound good? :)
Also, this story features delightfully 'wicked' (snarky, somewhat villainous, in a yummy sort of way) Jareth. Consider yourself warned.
Please review if you would like this story continued... I have alot on my plate and will only continue this plot bunny if there is interest in it :)
The Wild Hunt
No one saw him, except the moon. But then, the moon sees everything.
Silently she watched the lone figure, upright and tall as he stood on the rough-hewn slate tiles of the highest roof of the castle. She watched and worried for him as the wind howled, whipping and tugging fretfully at the heavy leather cloak that hung from narrow shoulders, making it look for all the world like a set of leathery black wings. Yet he did not move, seemingly oblivious to the banshee-like screams of the wind and the icy fingers that caressed the heavily embossed leather armor, like the touch of a lover too long denied.
And still the moon kept watch.
As the wind continued its otherworldly scream, the figure leaned forward, peering down into the courtyard far beneath, searching with mismatched eyes. Swirling viciously around the figure, the wind carried with it the sound of hooves clattering brusquely against the cobblestones of the courtyard below. The warhorses were being made ready, their coats glistening with dragonsblood oil, while tender bellies and flanks were covered with heavy leather plates, the armor decorated with grotesque goblin faces that seemed to shriek in abject terror. Stomping their hooves in readiness, the horses shook their heads in anticipation, each snort and pant sending puffs of steam into the crisp night air. Heedless of the goblins that darted madly at their feet, the warhorses stamped their feet, sending goblins diving to avoid the deadly weight as the hooves crashed down, sending showers of broken cobbles upward with each forceful blow.
Yet still, she looked on.
She watched the figure on the roof of the highest tower squat low, held in place by his iron grip on the thin spire. Leaning into the wind, the lithe body was buffeted by the furious lash of the roaring currents as they rushed by, ripping at the feathery wisps of white-blonde hair that stood out from his head. The figure cocked his head, thin lips smiling faintly at the frantic yelping and excited baying of the hounds as they were released from their crates – his fingers drumming against a broadly muscled thigh as if finding delight in the eerie music of the hounds. Turning his dark eyes back to the courtyard below, he watched as bands of goblin handlers rushed to and fro, struggling to keep hold of the leashes that held the hounds in check, the dogs snapping and lunging against their bonds.
All around the goblins and hounds, warhorses were being mounted by figures cloaked in black, looking for all the world like shadowed wraiths, their hoods pulled low obscuring their features. One by one they settled into the immaculately polished saddles – twelve black riders upon silvery stallions. And as one, they began the call. At first a subtle hum, their voices rose in perfect unison. Haunting in its melody, the lilting call of the hunt rose aloft, swirling along on the wind.
Without a word the moon listened.
She didn't blink when the figure upon the highest tower reached out, leather clad fingers gliding with whisper-like softness over the crystal orb that topped the spire. At his touch, the crystal flickered to life, a red glow flashing brilliantly outward like a beacon.
Rising once more, straight and rigid against the tumultuous wind, the Goblin King, the thirteenth rider, smiled wickedly, sharp canines glowing in the crisp light of the full moon as it hung overhead. As the moon looked on, the Goblin King began to laugh, velvet tones tinged with devilish delight.
Soon… the Fairy Host would ride.
Soon… the Goblin King would lead the chase.
Soon… Sarah Williams would learn that fairy tales sometimes come true.
But there are always consequences.