Chapter Two: Coffee with a King

Sarah had not spent so long getting dressed since she had gone to her family's funerals. Why she was so concerned she had no idea. After all, he was only the owner of a book store, she thought with a slight smile, the mental image of a dark and imposing King loaming over her with large, sad round eyes and a trembling lower lip making another appearance in her minds eye.

She would have worn more fashionable clothes, but she was going straight to work after her talk with Jareth, and she did not want to give the drunks and alcoholics a reason to notice her. So instead she wore something blander, jeans and a plain black t-shirt. That had not taken her too long to put on, but her makeup and hair were taking a fairly long time. Eventually she managed something that the drunks of the club would not pick up on, but hopefully Jareth would.

A quick glance at her watch told her that it was time to leave. She snatched up the manuscript that she wished him to look through, grabbed her bag and her key and rushed out of the door, remembering to lock up behind her. Why was she so nervous? It was not as if she was romantically interested in him. He was good looking enough but their previous encounter and not actually knowing him was enough to put her off. Though to be honest it was more not actually knowing him than their previous encounter. For all she knew he could be a kind and caring person, but from what she had seen in the Labyrinth, she highly doubted it. What she had seen clearly indicated that he was ruthless, quick tempered and arrogant. No. She was not interested in him at all when it came to romance; she just wanted to make a good impression to help him decide that she was worth bothering with when it came to publication. That was all. There was nothing else to it. Absolutely nothing. She hoped.

As she walked she tried to keep her pace even, she did not want her land lord, who lived across the hall, to here her rushing out. She owed him money and did not want to deal with the lout just yet; she would pay him when she could. The floor board creaked beneath her foot.

"Damn," she whispered as quietly as she could. Maybe he had not heard it. Perhaps she cou-

"Sarah! You no good bum!" No such luck. The door was flung open behind her. With a heavy sigh she slowly turned to face the over grown gorilla, her eyebrow raised in question. He was grotesque. Large, fat and filthy with the pungent smell of sweat and alcohol drifting to her nostrils. His beady black eyes studied her with lusty distrust over his rat like nose. At least three days worth of stubble pricked at his flabby jowls and fat face. It was enough to make her wretch.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the esteemed writer," he growled sarcastically. "Too busy throwing together her next best seller to pay her land lord." His eyes roamed her figure appreciatively and she fought down a shudder of disgust. "Now. Where. Is. My. Rent?" He said each word slowly and deliberately, as if she was a simpleton. Then he answered himself, as he always did, using that repulsive suggestive voice he obviously thought was alluring. "Of course, if you can't afford it, there are other ways of paying. I think you'll find that I can be very . . . generous, under the right circumstances."

Sarah curled her lip in disgust and narrowed her eyes. "I get paid tonight. You'll have your money in the morning." She put as mush stress on the word money as she could without sounding like an idiot.

"Fine," huffed the great mound as he manoeuvred his gigantic frame back into his stagnant apartment.

"You'll only ever have me you dreams you perverted, fat, bastard, and if I had my way you would not have then either," mumbled the repulsed young woman before turning away and rushing out of the dilapidated apartment block, irritated at how clichéd her living arrangements were and determined to show the world just how good a writer she was. Some day she would prove all of her critics wrong.

Hoggle had very nearly laughed at Jareth. Thankfully he had managed to turn it into an attack of coughing before the king suspected any thing. But he could not help it. The way he was acting because of his meeting with Sarah was just so amusing. It was as though his Majesty had suddenly turned into a teenager with a crush. It was one of the funniest things he had ever seen in his life.

A King who was over sixteen hundred years old was behaving like a sixteen year old, about to go on their first date. It was hilarious. He had spent almost half an hour on eyeliner alone. He had been overly meticulous when it came to his eye shadow and he had spent the last the two hours deciding what to wear only to pick something that was so casual it looked as though he had dressed in half an hour rather than in three and a half. But the hair had been the most amusing by far. He had painstakingly dried it, brushed it, styled the fringe so that it hung over his eyes then perfectly tied the rest back into a pony tail that purposefully looked rough.

That had been when Hoggle snapped. He ran as fast as he could away from his King's chamber, finally running into Ludo and Sir Didymus and breaking down into hysterical laughter which very quickly turned into quite cruel imitations and then ridiculously loud group mirth and amusement. Over all, it had been quite a good day so far.

Why in all of the Underground was he so nervous about seeing Sarah? It was not as if it was some sort of date. If anything it was a simple cup of coffee with a business associate. She would certainly see it as such. That was the reason he had taken so long to dress, being so careful to achieve a perfect casual but well presented effect. Well, he did not want to make a bad impression with a perspective client. Though in all honesty he was just trying to combat his fear of scaring her off. After all, this would be the best chance to begin a friendship that he could build on. Magic knows she needed a friend, though he hoped he would be able to become much more than that.

Finally he left his chamber through the door that lead into his shop. It was dark, but he kept walking at his usual fast past until-"Ow! Feck! That hurt!" He walked into the counter with a loud crash, whacking his knee off the solid but blurry wood and only just managing to turn a very foul word into nonsense. If he had actually sworn then his goblins would have been imitating his behaviour for months.

With a sigh and a fairly painful knee, his turned about and regally limped back into his chamber, squinting in the vain hope that it would improve his vision. The light hit his eyes as he opened the door and once he had stepped back into his realm he could again see perfectly. And he saw his wretched glasses sitting innocently on his bed side cabinet, next to a slender black candle, half burned down. Muttering to himself darkly, he hobbled over to the damned things, glaring at them as though it was their fault he had foolishly injured himself and snatched them up fiercely. Then, with his thin rimmed glasses firmly in his un-gloved hand, he limped purposefully towards the door once again.

Once through it he donned his spectacles and strode towards the door out of the store, fighting to keep the limp from his gait. His eyes narrowed in the light of the Upperground, unfamiliar to the sharpness of this world's sun light. A glance to his watch told him that he would be early, ridiculously early. Even after a millennium and a half he still could not get used to the difference in times between the realms. Now that stubborn weakness which refused to leave him had given him two hours with nothing to do but work himself up into a nervous wreck again. Wonderful. Oh well. At least he would not be limping when it was time to meet Sarah, that really would have been humiliating. He just hoped that he would not be a jittery idiot.

After a moment of indecision Jareth set off down the moderately busy street, pointedly ignoring all of the humans in his way. Though he did glare at the ones who gave him strange looks, most probably because of his makeup. He knew that it had gone out of fashion in this realm for a man to wear makeup, but to be blatantly honest he just did not care. It was normal for men to wear makeup in the Underground, and it was actually stranger for them not to do so, especially if they were human in appearance. In fact the only time he had not worn it since coming into maturity was when he had been fighting in the war against the Aboveground, the War of the Wings as it had come to be known, but then he had been more interested in the swords in his hands, than any form of personal grooming. Everything then had been for speed and attack rather than appearance.

That war had been terrible. It had destroyed one of the most noble and honourable Kingdoms in the Underground. The Sylph Kingdom. Nature weavers. They had sacrificed themselves to banish the Aboveground denizens from the two land bound realms. All that was left now was stone where there had once been roses, marble where there had once been water and precious jewels of every kind where there had once stood a Sylph. The entire Kingdom was a wasteland of rock and gem stones, a desolate and lonely monument to the fair race of the Sylph. No light ever shone over the valley Kingdom now. It seemed as though nature itself had abandoned the place when its people had turned to crystals.

Why was he thinking of this now? Though he had to admit that lately his mind had been lingering on past war time horrors far more often than he would like. It had been almost fourteen centuries since the end of the war. Since the Sylph fell. Since the two sister realms were safeguarded against the almost demonic sky realm, at the cost of their own connection. The King looked up as he walked. He had been a prince then. Newly immortal and willing to lash out at anything. He shuddered to think that he had descended from the foul birds that he knew loamed above, but he and his sister had been wished away to the Goblin King of the time and when their parents did not bother to look for them, they had shed their fetid wings and been adopted by the King who had spirited them away. Unfortunatly their wings refused to completely leave them, they could only be hidden.Even now he had strange flashes of guilt for what he had helped wrought in his mother realm and once or twice he had even wondered what would have happened had all three realms managed to live in peace as they once had.

But boundaries had been risen, permanent boundaries. It had been clear that another war could not be risked, even though the two ground realms had coexisted well for longer than any immortal could remember. The war had almost destroyed the Upperground and so it could not be put in harms way again. But still, he wondered at the possibility. He wondered if the parents who had renounced his sister and himself still lived. But most of all he wondered at the ancient power of the Sylph. It had been an incredible feat to erect barriers between all three realms, whether or not it had all but destroyed them.

At this thought she appeared, almost as if he had summoned her himself and for a sparse moment he thought he had. The King stopped and shook his head. She was just as he remembered her. The light blond hair, bobbed at her shoulders. The mismatched eyes just like his own, but blind and paler behind her dark lensed glasses. She used her Sight to see what was around her, looking in the future that was so close to happening that it was practically the present. The tall frame, soft skin and clothes of flowing white and gold silk. Of course in this realm she wore her skirt to her knees and her blouse was simply styled with very little embroidery. His sister. It was so obvious from their appearance that they were twins that the thought that they were related never crossed anyone's mind. Though he blamed that on posture. She stood shyly, her shoulders relaxed and a slight smile almost always in place. He stood tall; shoulders back with an unfailing sneer or glare. They were as opposite in personality as they were alike in appearance.

"Celeste, I would love to say that it is a joy to see you again, but in all honestly every time I have seen you in the last four centuries you have been warning me of some dire prophesy of yours," he sneered affectingly. Her smile warmed slightly at the tone of his voice, she had obviously expected him to still be angry with her from the last time they had spoken, when she had told him about Sarah, almost three centuries ago now.

"It has been too long, Jareth. But you are right. I should not come solely to inform you of chancing destinies involving you." Her voice was as shy as her posture and she blushed, looking down to the ground. "Even so, that is the reason I have come to you once again."

The King smiled and shook his head. For a Seer, Celeste had terrible timing. "I won't take much of you time brother, but this is something you should know."

"What is it?" Though he had tried, he had also failed to keep the exasperated note from his voice.

"I take it our connection is as strong as it has always been on your part?"

"If you mean do your thoughts still influence and intrude on my own, then yes, they do." She sighed in relief and her nervous smile widened. "Then I suppose you are the reason my most recent thoughts have dwelled upon events I would far rather forget."

"The war?" Jareth nodded grimly at her words. "I'm afraid this may open old wounds."

"Can this wait a few hours?" He asked warily, he really did not want to meet Sarah with the atrocities he had witnessed centuries ago at the forefront of his mind. "I'm meeting someone soon," he nervously looked to his watch, subconsciously imitating his sisters' manner. "She is fairly untrusting and I don't want to give her the impression that I am not to be dealt with."

"The mortal? Sarah? Is that why you have obviously put so much effort into looking as though you have put very little effort into your appearance?" She asked mischievously. At Jareth's glare her smile widened. "Awwwwe, my brother's is still in love. Even after what happened, which was all your fault, just thought you should know."

"I am well aware of my misdeeds on Sarah's part and I am now trying to rectify my rash actions," growled the Goblin King through gritted teeth.

His jaw almost dropped when a soft giggle rumbled from the throat of his sister. It was so infrequently that she laughed since her lover was transformed into the Dwarf, Higgle, Hogwash, or what ever his name was, he would remember it when he was annoyed. Of course Celeste did not know of her lover's fate, she had assumed that he had found someone else. His irritable mood vanished almost as soon as the silky noise reached his ears and a slight smile curved the corners of his lips. "What has lifted your mood?" Jareth asked, his voice good natured as he strode up to his sister and took her arm. She smiled and blushed as they started to walk together.

"I've Seen him Jareth. He is going to come to come back to me." There was a girlish note to her voice he had not heard in almost fourteen hundred years, since her proud Elvin general had become a repulsive little scab and lost his dignity, courage and pride.

"But, doesn't that mean . . ." He could not bear to finish. His sisters' face fell, the innocent joy in her posture crumbled away.

"As you said, you'd rather you mind be on happier things when you meet the love of your very long life again, I know that I wish mine could be."

They walked together for a time, never again mentioning the foul past or the impending horrors in the future. Horrors they had both seen before and had hoped to never see again. Instead they turned there conversation to happier topics and talked much as any other close siblings who had not seen each for far too long would talk, regardless of the Seer in the woman and King in the man. And when they parted it was with the promise that they would speak again that day.

She stood on the corner of the half abandoned, graffiti covered, suburban estate, waiting for a customer. The cold wind nipped at the skin her short skirt left exposed and chilled her chest left open by the low cut, flimsy top she wore. But her trembling was not just because of the winter wind. She had not had a hit in days and it was starting to get to her. That was why she stood, waiting for some perv who couldn't get his leg over the honest way to come and pay for the use of her fifteen year old body.

She was used to it. She had been doing this since she was twelve. She didn't like it. But she was desperate. She needed the money and this was the only way she could get it. She did not even want to think about what would happen if she did not get her fix. The crash would kill her as surly as years of use would, just thousands of times quicker. Death had seemed appealing at first, she had even tried to speed the process up, but after somehow surviving an overdose without anyone there to save her, suicide had seemed so pointless. Now she wanted to live as long as she could, no matter what the conditions of her life.

"'Bout fuckin' time." She mumbled as she saw the dark blue car roll slowly towards her, a Mercedes as well. He was obviously a rich one. She could put her price up and he would not care. With an exaggerated sway to her hips she walked to the edge of the curb as he stopped in front of her. The window went down and she leaned forwards to look through, making sure he got a decent view of the merchandise on offer. The passenger seat was on her side, so he got a better look than most and he wasn't too discreet about looking either. He looked just like all the others to her, featureless except for the lust in his eyes. "How much?" he asked dully. She hoped he wasn't just looking for a cheap shag.

"Sixty quid, an' A want payin' up frun'." After a short moment to consider, he unlocked the door for her.

As she climbed in she heard him say "you better be worth it little girl." She didn't bother replying, she wasn't getting paid to talk.

The window shattered. Her head slammed against the rest behind it from the force on her neck. The man screamed at her side. Something hot was running down her front, from the pressure on her neck. Her eyes moved down, her lips formed soundless pleas for help as she saw the silver shaft of an arrow sticking out from her neck. Her eyes rolled back, the world went black and she was granted freedom from her addiction and her profession by sleep eternal.

She was early; she had known she would be when she set off. But she had not expected him to be early as well. If anything she thought he would be fashionably late. And when he had arrived she had had to fight not to laugh. She had never seen anyone who looked so perfectly casual in her life. It was so obvious that he had spent at least two hours getting dressed that only another man would not notice. In a strange way the fact that he had been nervous enough to spend so long on his appearance was reassuring to her.

Then Jareth had had the cheek to pay for her cup of coffee. They had argued about it, Sarah had been adamant that she could pay for her own very easily, he had been adamant that it was good manners for him to purchase a business associate a drink when they had come at his invitation, Sarah had glared at him, then her resolve crumbled the second he peered over his glasses at her and she had moodily conceded defeat.

So much for "you have no power over me", she thought glumly as she sat on the seat facing away from the counter, closest to the spotless window in the cosy and ridiculously priced coffee house. Her mind drifted as she stared out of the window, watching all the passers by hurry past, so wrapped up in their lives that they did not even notice the homeless man on the other side of the street. All he had left was his dignity, she could easily tell, especially since she had tried to give him some money and he flatly refused to accept it without giving her something to trade for it. He had smiled and told her that she was too kind for her own good when she said all he had to do was give her a joke she could tell her friends. He had still told her one, and then refused to accept more than five dollars when she offered him ten. He said that it was an old joke and not even worth the five she was giving him, but he did not want to burden her conscience. She did not know what he had been happier about. The money or the fact that he had been treat like a person for a few minutes.

She started at the noise of the cup being set down in front of her and looked up to see Jareth smiling warmly at her. He set down his own cup and took the seat opposite her, shaking his head as he did so. The smell of the coffee was almost overpowering, turns out that they both liked it strong and black. "Do you daydream often?" he asked teasingly.

"When ever I get the chance. It's when all my best ideas come to me." His smile deepened at her reply and he leaned back in his chair, even that simple arrogance filled yet relaxed movement accentuated the regal part of his nature and it was obvious that he was quite far up the social ladder and very used to being so. But only she knew he was a King.

His eyes kept flicking towards the manuscript she had brought with her and she could practically feel the heat of the curiosity burning in him. "So what is it about?" he asked, faking calm interest. She gave him a cold smile, hoping it looked friendly.

"You'll have to wait and see." He frowned, showing just how used to getting his own way he was.

"Won't you tell me anything about it?" She raised her eyebrows at him. He obviously had no idea how strange it was to hear a King whine like a child, if only he would pout, it would make her day.

"Rose vines and wolves," she said cryptically. What she did not say was that the main plot for the book had come from a dream she had been having for years, since she had been to the Labyrinth actually. Now he raised an eyebrow of his own and looked at her in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" She smirked at him.

"You'll see. Just be patient." His shoulders sagged in defeat.

"Women." He grumbled in complaint.

Jareth had never seen her look so beautiful. True she wasn't particularly dressed up, but she was going to work soon so had expected her to wear something practical. All she was wearing was a pair of dark blue bell bottom jeans and a plain black tee-shirt. It would have looked bland on any other woman, but on Sara it looked better than the ball gown she had worn for him. And he wasn't sure why, but her eyes seemed to be much more vivid, a sharper shade of greyish green than they had appeared before. All in all, she was gorgeous. She was even attracting the sly glances of the other men in the coffee house, much Jareth's increasing jealousy.

But what was really eating away at him was the manuscript she had oh so casually laid down between them. If her physical form was stunning to him, it was nothing when compared to the beauty he had always found in her mind. Even as he leaned back in her chair, sulkily watching her smirk at him he wished that he could read it, just to see the kind of thing that went on in her imaginative mind.

As they sank further into friendly conversation, Jareth realised more and more that the blossoming rose before him had not been exaggerating when she had told him that she was not very good at talking to people. She seemed comfortable enough with him, she just did not seem to be able to come up with much to say to him. It was unnerving, but he was sure she would over come it with practice. Though he still found her behaviour strange. He remembered her as a mouthy young woman who always had something to say, not to mention she was a writer and they were normally damn near impossible to shut up.

Eventually her eyes darted to her watch and she began to stand. "I really have to go," she mumbled quietly. Jareth nodded, hoping she would say a little more, and he was rewarded by the soft sound of her voice. "Thanks for the coffee; I've really enjoyed talking with you."

"My pleasure I assure you. I'll call you when I've come to a decision about the book."

"Oh, I don't have a phone." She said hurriedly. "But my address is on the inside cover. If you can't get there I'll check into the store about once a week. Is that okay?" She sounded as if she was unsure of herself, but then she had right the way through the conversation.

"Yes, that's absolutely fine. I would walk you work, but I promised to meet my sister at the store soon."

"No, that's okay."

He reached out for her hand and she took it coyly, obviously shy when it came to any form human contact, though he wasn't really human, Sarah did not know that. She blushed and looked away as Jareth released her hand. "I hope you enjoy the book."

"I intend to, and I'll let you know."

After another cold but shy smile she left with a quiet "I'll see you later then."

And she would see him later, as soon as he had finished reading the book she had written. It struck him suddenly that he did not even know the title. So finally he picked up the manuscript, and nearly dropped it when he saw the clear but small type on the other wise empty cover.

"The War of the Wings".

A/N Please review