Love's Mercy

12 All So Wasted on Myself

Maria sat upon the well-worn sofa in the living area of the boys' house, her eyes upon the hearth as it were stoked to life by Alfred. She wondered how, in such short time, a man who were once a King- luxuriant and aided in all things, for mundanity should not be allowed to touch his resplendent hands- learned to strike a stone to start a home's warm fire. He seemed able to do so as if he had for all the mornings of every year in his life, and to wear the clothing of the common man as though they made no offense to the brocades and gemstones one of royal birth should regularly be adorned.

Interesting, she thought, and someone had passed in front of her view as Alfred stood.

"My Lady," Viehn's voice came, as did her hand with a rough ceramic mug in offering to Maria. Maria thanked her as she took it, and the knight sat beside her, her own cup in hand. Daraen had set a new kettle about the hearth once Alfred had readied, and they both took their own seats opposite one another. Alfred caught Maria's gaze as it were yet upon him, but he was evasive to her without reason she could discern.

"Well," Viehn spoke again, "where are the other ones?"

"Jareth must still sleep," Daraen supplied. "It is not unordinary for him. He is ever one to prefer the nighttime."

"I have neither seen Giovanni this morning, unless Maria has," Alfred said.

"No," Maria added.

"Not to worry," Daraen said. "I am certain the both of them shall soon join. In fact- yes, I will seek Jareth now." He began to stand, but was halted by the entrance of his brother.

"Do not trouble yourself," Jareth said as he came to the sitting room, and looked at all who had joined. "Lady Viehn," he spoke, "I trust you must be here to discuss the map."

"Much to say, dear boy. All in time; I have only just arrived as you seem to have just awoken. Why do we not all speak as friends, this morning?" she said, her smile felt mocking to Jareth. "I do so love the rain. Tell me, does its water hail from this tree as well?"

"Friends do not speak in pretension," Jareth replied as his back laid to the wall.

Daraen spoke as if to break a certain rigidity in the room; "We have never considered, my Lady. I would suppose it must? If we are to be friendly, let us await the arrival of the last of us."

Us, is it? Jareth thought to retort, but only held his tongue, as he additionally awaited Giovanni's return. The knight is not 'us'. This man, he glanced to Alfred who sat passively in the chair belonging to Daraen, as Daraen were in that of their father's, wherever he belongs, it is certainly far from here. Lady Maria should soon return to whatever dark cavern it were that forged the stone that lies in place of her heart. As the knight leaves, so should they all. The thought, though it were his own, struck negatively with his own belief.

Giovanni, he knew, were not of his belonging. It seemed there could be no one person or place of which laid claim upon the sorcerer's sovereignty; certainly not an insignificant village, nor his similar place therein... Jareth let the thought be tossed away; a drop of rain upon innumerable stones.

Maria turned her head, then, and set away her mug to stand. "Giovanni is here," she said, without the offer of elaboration, and left towards the entryway. A window were beside the door, and approaching quickly through the rain's downpour were Giovanni. She opened it; "You are late."

"Late to what!" Giovanni cried, and rushed into the home. "Oh, look at me..." they said pitifully as they gestured to their drenched coat- lined down from their neck to the center of their chest with pearled buttons.