Chapter Three: A Writers Mind

Paling rapidly, Jareth drained the remains of his coffee, then with a shaking hand he firmly snatched up the manuscript and hurriedly strode from the coffee house, nearly forgetting to set down the cup. It was a coincidence. It had to be. He would read it and there would be some sort of predictably biblical war between Angels and the Devil.

There's just one problem with that theory, he thought nervously as her ran his free, also shaking hand through his hair. Sarah is far too imaginative to be predictable.

He shook his head fiercely as he walked. Images of mangled corpses and blood drenched wings dancing before his eyes. Pulling one of his twin blades from a combatants' back. Watching the arrows fly and preying they would not burry themselves in a friends flesh.

He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut. Hoping in vain that it would stop the ghosts of a long gone past from forcing themselves upon him. He felt the familiar burning sting at the back of his eyes. No! Not here! Not here! Jareth forced his breathing to slow to deep shuddering breaths. He would not let it happen. It had not happened since the war and he was NOT going to let it happen now.

Suddenly he felt something else since he had not since the war. It felt like a cool calming blanket lay itself over his mind as his sister joined them for the first time in well over a millennium, and he revelled in it. He felt her words, rather than heard them, but he knew they were soft and worried. Jareth, are you okay? I thought you were going to-

I was, he cut in, he could not bear to be reminded of what was about to happen any more than he already had been. I'll be fine as long as you stay with me. It wasn't as bad as it normally is.

I'll keep contact. What happened?

Just a reminder of things I would far rather forget, a reminder that was far too strong. There was a long pause before Celeste replied, and Jareth opened his eyes, only to find that everything was slightly blurred through his glasses. That was not a good sign, it meant. . . He did not even think about what it meant.

You should hurry back; your vision improving in the Upperground isn't good.

Well ahead of you.

And he was, with his sister still a soothing presence he set off at an alarming pace, only to be stopped by a violent shudder running through him and the feel of something hot running down the front of his neck. What the-

Jareth, her voice was a heart breaking sob as she put the meaning in his mind and the image of a young woman, scantily dressed and slumped forward with a very familiar arrow protruding from her throat crept in by accident.

Celeste!

Hurry. . .

He took off at a run, the old instinct to protect his sister returning full force. Weaving through the blurry crowds, forgetting his own problem and as he did his vision worsened enough for his glasses to once again be useful. He had to get to Celeste. Something wasn't right. He could feel the slightest crackle of magic and he should not be able to. This world should be as dry of magic as a desert was of water. He skidded and span on his heel to run down an alley way. It was blessedly empty, and seeing this he stopped with the bone jarring precision of a warrior.

Frowning, Jareth took off his glasses and folded them up. Where are you Celeste? He asked hurriedly, the anxiety in him showing plainly to his sister.

Here, she answered weekly, flashing a picture of his throne room in his minds eye.

The Goblin King took a deep breath and felt for the barrier keeping him from his sister. Something was wrong with it. It was trembling, almost as much he had been. But worst of all, it was flexible. Rather than being the solid wall it had always been, it was bending as he gently pushed against it, showing where he needed to be in the Underground. What had done this? The Sylphs' magic could not be failing. It was eternal and powerful, near impossible to defeat.

Pushing these worries to the back of his mind, the world warped around him. The narrow alley spread and became a wide sandstone floor, windows opened in the dark walls as the light stone spread like oil on water. His horseshoe shaped throne blossomed up from the ground and the centre floor sank down to form the different levels. Finally the form of his sister, kneeling and exhausted on the bottom tier shimmered into view, along with the fox knight Didymus trying to help her and the hiding form of Hoggle skulking out of his sisters' view, watching her with worry. Trying to suppress his fear at how unusually easy it was to return to his world, he focused on his sister.

"Jareth?" She murmured weakly. Dropping his glasses and Sarah's' manuscript, he rushed to her side and draped his arm around her shoulder, hoping it would comfort away the distress he could feel pouring from her.

"I'm here Little Star. What's happening? Are you okay?" A pathetic half smile touched her lips briefly at the use of her long unused nickname, but vanished all too soon.

"I'm okay Flash Blade. But the girl." Her voice cracked, death always hit Celeste the hardest of all the people he knew. She saw it as a waste of potential and found it extremely difficult to kill, even if her own life was in danger.

"What about her?" He asked softly, not even bothering to dismiss his subjects.

"She . . . She was young. Her parents had been murdered and she was a drug addict, and a prostitute. Oh Crystal Moon. She was so young. The arrow? Did you See it? Jareth? Did you recognise it?" He nodded grimly.

"Five black feathers and a silver shaft. I know those arrows. I've helped pull enough of them out."

"She was . . . the last of her line. Her death is what has changed the barrier. She was a descendant of the Sylph King. There aren't many left. If they all die, then the so does the barrier. The war will start again. And this time we have no Sylph to hide behind. It'll be the last world standing."

"Can you See the other descendants?" He asked softly, oblivious to the determined look slowly beginning to grace Hoggle's face.

"No, that's why I came to see you today. Something is blocking my Sight. I can't See the people I'm supposed to be watching over and protecting. Because of me, that girl died. And because of me, others are going to die. Every time I Look into the future all I See are wings and death and blood. Something is happening Jareth. And it's something we can't stop."

Frowning, Hoggle slowly climbed down from the window ledge outside the throne room. Just like the Sylph had said, the Aboveground denizens were on their way back to the two sister realms of the ground. He thought he had felt a tremor in the magic, but in this form his senses were dulled and it was hard to tell. But he had noticed one thing; he could sense his true body, deep in slumber and hidden from him, somewhere difficult to get to. He couldn't even tell what Kingdom it was in.

He walked slowly, his eyes drifting to half closed as he did, the remnants of his old Elvin senses trying in vain to find their true vessel. He refused to soil Celeste's presence until he had a body fit for her eyes to fall upon. Where was it? He could feel it as surely as he could feel the pathetic fake flesh he inhabited now. Words of the long dead language he had thought lost to him quietly flooded from his lips, refining his meagre sense of magic.

More than his broken pride, more than threat of renewed war looming over him, more than the longing to have Celeste back in his arms, more even than the simple wish to be whole again, he wanted his body back so that he could carry out his duty. He was meant to protect the Seer, to protect those she could not let die for fear of a ruined future. And that was a task for an Elvin Knight, not a repulsive little scab of a dwarf whose body was simply magically animated stone.

Any who saw him might have noticed how his limp had lessened, or how his posture had become stronger, or even how he seemed to now have a purpose after so long of wandering aimlessly. Though in all honesty they were more likely to notice the fact that his eyes were glowing the blue of Elvin magic. Had he not been so angry at himself for failing, he would have marvelled at being able to tap into his old magic.

Suddenly the light dimmed and the dwarf let out a cry of frustration. It was no use. He could not sense its place. But at least he knew his body was still in one piece. That much he could tell. It was in one piece and full working order, simply frozen and out of his reach. Though he might be able to sense its location soon, if what he had heard was true. As much as he wanted his body back, he did not want any descendants of the Sylph to die for that to happen.

Still, he had no doubt that that was exactly what would happen. Especially with his post left vacant as there was no way for Celeste to send a protector. And not only that, she could no longer See those she was supposed to protect.

A war truly was inevitable.

Her pen glided over the page. She was lost to the lure of writing. It was all there was for her. There was no chill brushing against her skin unless it brushed against that of her pawns. No, pawn was not the word. For though she had created them, these people, these characters were just as likely to come up with their own adventures, their own miss fortunes as Sarah was to lead them down the road to ruin with her own hand.

She could feel the crunch of gravel on the unkempt path as surely as if it were beneath her own feet. The fierce sun beat down on her back even though she was sat at her desk in her small and quite pathetic flat.

But it was in this flat that unquestionable brilliance was achieved. All who read her work would agree that it was far superior to any other book they had ever come across, but they would always point out her one flaw. The complete lack of joy. There was never a happily ever after in Sarah's world. Never a joyous occasion that was not ruined by misfortune. Yet when reading her work the reader always expected there to be. They always waited for the glimmer of joy, the glimmer of joy that never came. Only misery upon misery found its' way on to the page. And Sarah was its' slave. She was powerless to resist the pull of sorrow in the worlds that she created within the pages.

She noticed nothing around her. Someone could have broken into her flat and pilfered everything but the desk she was writing at, the paper and the pen in her hand and she would only notice when her internal clock told her she needed food or something else. Even then she tended to ignore such trivial matters as bodily functions until she had no real choice but to obey her protesting body.

The results of her toils where unmistakably disturbing. But she had no idea just how disturbing Jareth was finding them.

Leaving the manuscript on his desk, Jareth stumbled to his feet and fell against the wall. He was trembling as the ghost of the past assaulted him. Leaning heavily on his forearm he tried to slow his erratically beating heart and steady his haggard breath. Blood soaked battle fields flirted in and out of his vision. If he had thought that seeing the title of Sarah's work had been bad, it was nothing compared to relieving the war with the threat of it starting again looming over him.

Cautiously, as though afraid it would attack him, the Goblin King peered over his shoulder to the open manuscript. How had she known? It was impossible for her to have knowledge of that time. It was even written from his perspective. Had she simply thought that his appearance had inspired her character? Or had she not even noticed the similarities?

As if that was not bad enough, the prologue had been the last scene of abuse he had received from his mother at the age of seven. It had all but driven him insane to relive that long since buried memory. To see his adoptive father in something other than a lifeless painting tore his cold heart to shreds. To hear himself hurl abuse at the old King of his domain had been even worse. Then the perfect description of his unfortunate condition had set it off for real as he lived through it.

He now fought against it, clumsily reaching for his sisters' mind as he trembled and his vision began to blur, stinging his eyes with the precision of a needle in his own study. To lay ghosts to rest, he had to read it. He had promised Sarah he would, but more that that he felt he owed it to his fallen friends and father. To all the heroes of war who ended their own potentially eternal life mere decades after the conflict came to an end. Unable to adjust to peace when they had lost so many friends and family members.

Slowly his vision began to sharpen and the burn left the back of his eyes. Worn out from his struggle, the King slumped with his head resting against his forearm in a most un-regal fashion. His breath was heavy but slow and his heart was steadily returning to its' regular beat. "Rose vines and wolves," he murmured softly. Searching his memory for their significance. His eyes drifted closed as he reached for calm and understanding. Then they sharply snapped open in shock as he remembered. Just another detail that no mortal should know. In fact there were few immortals who knew. They were the royal emblems of the Sylph, much like the barn owl and crystals were his own.

With a deep steadying breath he stood properly and warily returned to his desk. He had to finish reading the book, no matter the toll on his nerves and his temper. This was beyond the simple wooing of a woman he loved. This was a memorial to the past of all three worlds and their dead who should not have died at that time.

He struggled through chapter after chapter. Forcing down any overwhelming emotion. He could feel his sister trying to aid him in his fight against his condition as he read. Sarah was a superb author. There was no doubt about that simple fact. He only wished that she had given him another piece of her work that he could admire rather than a manuscript he wanted to cringe away from.

It was all there. The forming of his brutal squadron, the revealing of his condition during one of his fathers loathsome feasts, all of it. In perfect detail and far sharper than his memory could have ever been. Ribbons' irritating accent was flawlessly written, Brocks' kind and patient attitude was faultless and every slash of garish colour gracing Alfred's waist coat were exactly right. She even went as far as to describe the sensation of his phantom wings with impossible accuracy.

At chapter seven he stopped, unable to read anymore for the time being. He slid a book mark in to place at the right page and leaned back in his wooden chair, still trembling from such a clear image of the past being presented to him. It had been worse than viewing a film of what had happened, as a film he could have mindlessly watched. But with a book his mind filled in the correct detail, making it seem all the more real to him. All the more graphic. He could feel every breeze as he had centuries ago. Every wound, whether physical or emotional had felt new and fresh yet again, their sting had not been lost with time.

Pulling an arrow from Ribbons' shoulder, teasing about how she was supposedly the fastest flitter in the Underground, had been one of the worst. Having Seen an arrow identical to it protruding from the throat of a descendant of the Sylph King that day. Though how one of that noble lineage had ended as an underage prostitute he could not fathom.

That was when his mind started to work against him. Just how had Sarah been able to write, with such vivid and accurate detail, about something that had happened well over a millennium ago? The first thing that he thought of was that perhaps in a bid to draw the young woman to him after she had left, his Labyrinth had given her some form of subconscious layer of his memories. But he discarded that theory quickly. As wilful as his domain was, it would not disobey him quite so grievously. True his Labyrinth had changed her slightly. But not to that extent.

He allowed his eyes to close as his mind wandered from theory to theory. Then a small rebellious thought snuck into his musings. The Sylph were connected to everything. They remembered what would be forgotten. From there he noticed dully that Sarah was the last of her line. Her family killed in a car crash. His eyes snapped open yet again as the realisation struck him and refused to let go. He knew how she remembered his past. His Labyrinth had woken a side of her that had been dormant for generations.

Sarah was a descendant of the Sylph King.

A/N Please review, tell me what you think.