Chapter Four: Dwarf to Elvin With A Little Help From His Friend
"You summoned me Sire?" asked the Dwarf, Hoggle. But Jareth was not going to be calling him the ridiculous name anymore. He had noticed how his bearing had changed. His limp had all but disappeared and his head was held up high. And now it was time for an almost cruel reawakening.
"Yes I did," he answered, leaning back on the chair behind his desk in the book lined study, Sarah's manuscript lying sinisterly closed before him. It was then he said the most brutal thing he had ever uttered in his lifetime. "Auranar." The Dwarf flinched, but continued to stare him in the eye, a trace of the Elvin he once was defiantly clinging to his stature.
"It 'as been a while since I've 'eard that name, yer Majesty." Jareth raised an eyebrow. Remembering the blue glow of magic he had seen about the diminished knight the day before. "An' I still say I don' deserve to bear it yet."
The Goblin King smiled. "You are needed in your calling."
"I have no calling." The smile stopped, though inwardly Jareth was thrilled. It had been far too long since he had heard the Dwarf speak with authority in his tone; he could almost hear his old friend again. So, pretending that he had not heard Auranar, the King continued.
"I know, or at least highly suspect, who one of the Sylphs descendants is, and I believe it is someone you would be very interested in protecting." The Dwarf glowered at him, something that he had not had the gall to do in centuries, and it was a battle for Jareth not to grin at the display. "I'll be performing a spell on her tonight as she sleeps that will alert me should one of," his lip curled at what he was about to say, "my kind," he growled out, "step within three miles of her with the intention to harm her, but other than that I can do nothing. Bringing her to the Underground would only anger the other Kingdoms, well, those who have a ruler that was not here at the time of the war. So it falls to you to attempt to protect her from menial things."
"I doubt I could protect meself, never mind someone else."
"It's Sarah." Silence rang through the room. Even the soft crackling of the fire in the mantle seemed to be smothered by the Kings statement.
He watched the blue eyes of Auranar carefully as they hardened with an emotion that the King had missed in the dwarf. Cold determination. All self preservation left him; it was if Jareth had told the Elvin that Celeste was in danger long ago. But there was something else beneath that steely resolve, and it was as unwanted as a cancer. Self doubt. Jareth could practically hear the workings of his mind, asking just what a pathetic broken knight could do to stave away danger of any kind. "What makes you think it's the little lady?" He asked, suspicion as well as despair ringing in his voice. Jareth waved away the question for the time being, though he would eventually get around to answering it.
"First I want to know what she has told you of the car crash that killed her family."
The Elvin Dwarf frowned deeply before speaking. "She was in the car with them. Then a truck crashed into the side and she was somehow on the road with nothing more than a scratch. Rose vines . . . were . . . in . . . her . . . seat." Jareths' heart sank as heard Auranar speak with slowly dawning dread and realisation, confirming his fears. "Sacred Forest! She has to be a Sylph!" The Goblin King nodded gravely, taking note of the Elvin saying. Yes, his old friend was returning. And it was about time he rediscovered his spine. The King nodded.
"You will start training with the Goblin army, the real Goblin army, so you will be able to fully use the pathetic body you inhabit now. Then you will give Sarah a gift. A mirror. One that will alert you when she is in danger of any kind." The Dwarfish Elvin frowned.
"A mirror like that would have teh be Elvin and small enough for her to carry round." Even his speech was again trying to reach the noble level it had once been at. "Where am I meant to get 'old of one?"
Jareth casually leaned back in his throne, revelling in the look of utter annoyance that he evoked in the Elvin. "Auranar, don't be an idiot. You excelled in crafting such mirrors and that is a skill which is never forgotten." He wasn't sure who he was helping more through this arrangement. His old friend or his future lover, but they would hopefully both thank him, though he doubted it. The Dwarf glared at him and started to protest, but Jareth didn't give him the chance. "Don't even bother attempting to turn this down. I know your ability to perform magic has returned, even if it is somewhat diminished compared to its previous pique. Creating a well disguised mirror won't require your full strength; it's more skill and patience than anything else."
He could see Auranar fighting to hold back his raging anger at the orders he had received, and he felt utterly smug for being the one to show him that he still held the fire of an Elvin in his soul. But he could understand why his old friend was becoming so angry. The mentality he once had was returning, and here was someone he viewed as a friend giving him an incredibly difficult task when at one time he had never even dreamed of giving him an order unless they were in battle situations. Not only that but he wasn't even his true King, not to mention he was taunting and provoking him. Yes, he could easily read into Auranar's anger, though Hoggle had always been somewhat of an enigma to him.
As he stormed through the castle, every Goblin and creature dodging from his path, he yanked the jewels for his waist. He had never been so infuriated in his life as a bloody Dwarf. How dare a Goblin King order him do anything! His repugnant form may be Dwarfish, small and insignificant, but his soul and ever increasingly, his heart, were the fiery components of a proud Elvin! Even as powerful as he was, Jareth had no right to give an Elvin such a command! Though what annoyed him more was that Goblin King or Elvin, he still had no choice but to comply, simply because he could not let Sarah come to any harm.
And not simply because his guilt would destroy him if hers was the death that allowed him to retrieve his body. He truly did not want to see her come to anymore harm. She was a friend and it pained him to know that the foul things which loomed above her world needed her to die before they could return to menace both worlds. If crafting a mirror could help save her life then so be it. He would craft a mirror.
But what to disguise it as? He pondered on this as he barged into the large jewellery crafting room. "OUT!" He yelled with such ferocity that it surprised himself. The seven or so Goblins that had been messing around scattered. Some jumped out of the windows, others edged around him and out the door. But the room was empty in less than five seconds.
The wooden workbenches were a mess of tools and sparkling bits of metal and the floor was littered with scrap. Shaking his head he set about cleaning the room. He never could work in a messy environment unless it was a battle field. His concentration always strayed away from the task at hand.
As he cleaned he pondered over his dilemma. Whatever he hid the mirror in, it would have to be something that she would never take off, and he would have to make it seem as though he would be offended if she removed it. The only problem was Sarah had never been particularly interested in jewellery that was not part of a costume. As he saw it, he had three options for creating the hidden mirror. A ring, the kind that assassin held their poisons in, a locket or a charm bracelet.
The bracelet was out almost immediately as the only ones she wore were those plastic things that were cheep and easily replaceable. The idea of the locket was the next to go. For as long as he had know her she had been adept at loosing any necklace that she draped around her neck within a week of wearing it for the first time. So that left a poison ring that she hopefully would never use to store poison. Though in all honesty if it was for Jareth he wouldn't be entirely against the idea at the moment.
As for getting her to keep it on at all times. Well, that was simple. She knew little of the Underground so he would tell her that there was a day that honoured sisters, or those seen as sisters, with jewellery that they were obliged to wear until the holiday that honoured brothers, which was four centuries away. He wouldn't be lying to her. The things about the holidays was true, he just wouldn't mention that the day to honour sisters was thirty four years away. And she was like a sister to him so he would be giving her a gift then anyway, if they both lived that long.
At last the room was tidy enough for him to work in without distraction. Swiftly, Auranar gathered the materials he would need, metals, gems and moulds. He would use the measurements he took from the Sylph Kings daughter when he had made her signet ring, and if it was the wrong size he would discreetly use magic so it fit her properly. Now all he needed to do was make the ring, which would take around half an hour, fit a tiny mirror into the compartment, which would take five minutes, then finally cast the necessary spells, which would take four hours if he was lucky, seven if he wasn't.
The ring came together easily and he used some of his own jewels to add to it's significance, but he had made the compartment smaller than he had meant to. It had been a slight mistake and it was a mistake he was thankful he had made as it made the ring look more delicate and feminine as poison rings usually did not fill either of those criteria. It would be a wonderful gift, one he would proud to present to one of Sarah's noble blood line, even though he was making it because of an order he resented receiving. Though one down side of the mistake was that it made mirror more fiddly to cut and fit, but it would be worth it in the end.
He was actually very surprised that Jareth had been right. The craft was a skill that he had been unable to forget. But what surprised him more was that he had been able to get his hands to move as Elvin hands once had with so little effort, even though they were drastically different. His Elvin hands were soft, though the palms were calloused from his craft; they were elegant with long, thin, but strong fingers that never failed to move surely. His Dwarfish hands however, were overly large but still stubby, gnarled, horrifically scarred though they had never been cut and never failed to move gracelessly. Not to mention their blotchy complexion compared to the pristine pallor of his original hands.
With a soft click the tiny mirror easily fit into place in the hinged lid of the compartment and he set the ring down on the work bench, ensuring that it was open and wouldn't fall closed.
Now for the moment of truth, the magic.
Taking a deep breath, he began to rub his loathsome hands together. As he did so his eyes once again began to glow the eerie blue of Elvin magic as they lazily half closed. The procedure he had to follow flowed back to him as easily as a sword drill had once been. It was second nature, though he had thought such a nature lost to him forever.
Suddenly there was no disgraceful body. To him there was only the ring and the magic, meagre as it was now, that flowed through him, focusing at his hands. He could almost fool himself into believing that he was whole again. He slowed his hands, letting the magic build gently and as it did he felt the familiar tingle running through his fingers, spreading through his hands as the magic became more concentrated. When the sensation, almost like a pleasurable version of pins and needles, finally spilled out into his arms, he stopped the slow rubbing of his hands. They glowed blue now, not as strongly as they once did, but it was heartening for him to see. Carefully and with painstaking steadiness, he pried them apart. Ethereal bluish green lightning bolted between his palms and finger tips, joining the two hands together, and he willed the stream of lightning, the Elvin air magic, to strike at the ring.
Now all he needed was patience.
Jareth leaned against the wall outside of the jewellery craft room, a smirk gracefully placed upon his lips as he revelled in the feel of the Elvin magic coming from within. He had missed it, he would defiantly admit to that. Elvin magic was subtle, elegant and refined. . . Unlike Goblin magic which was often sloppy, anarchy educing and heavy handed. Just like Goblins themselves. And in all fairness his own magic didn't even originally come from this realm and was mainly a sort of wierd hybrid, as mismatched as his eyes.
His magic was sharp, precise and unforgiving, yet at the same time it could be as soft as a feather, as gentle as a lover and as beautiful as a perfect crystal. It all depended on the purpose of the magic.
But his phantom wings were by far the most malevolent. They were dimensional rifts, stores for lightning and in short every negative emotion he had ever felt, so they got more powerful with time. His sisters' were the opposite. She had used them once to revive a member of their squadron, who it was escaped him now, but no doubt it would be in Sarah's manuscript.
His condition could not be described as magic. It's cause was simple. Screwed up genetics coupled with extreme emotional pressure. All it took to set it off was for certain emotions to be too strong. It had made him seem to be a petulant child during the war, then later an animal when others had discovered it.
Now the war was just another legend. A story to scare children. He had become the very thing the Undergrounds nightmares were made of, yet no one seemed to realise that it was him in the tales of sheer brutality and slaughter they heard. No one remembered the war save the few that managed to survive both the war itself and then the bizarrity of the peace that followed. As far as he knew all of his squadron still lived.
Who was he kidding? Of course they were all still alive. His sister and Auranar were the only ones that he had regular contact with, but the last he had heard, Brock had married and had children, Alfred had finally gotten his school up and running again, Echoe was still wallowing in self pity and trying to atone for not being able to save his mate, Ribbon was still serving in the army, though why he could not fathom, but he had absolutely no idea what had become of the psychotic Satyr, Vanity. She had disappeared some time ago, hopefully to get some anger management for she desperately needed it. But more than likely she was in seven different kinds of trouble, most of which caused by someone calling her a Fawn rather than a Satyr.
But that didn't help the knowledge that the efforts of his squadron and himself had become nothing more than an entertaining story to be told at festivals. When ever the war was mentioned it was simply waved away as something that had been blown out of all proportion so that it would be fit for novels. No one save a few were prepared for it and of those few people only he would be taken seriously. Unfortunately showing the other monarchs just how important this was would also show him for the monster he was. For the fair faced monster all had heard of and yet none believed had truly existed, let alone existed within him. But when the time came he would show them the Angel of their nightmares, with wings of white, not of eerie light.
But this was what happened to history that should never become myth when such a large amount of time had passed. Fourteen hundred years would have bad enough had that time passed in the Upperground. But it was by far worse when it had passed in the Underground.There a day was thirty nine hours and there were three of these days to every day in the Upperground, yet they counted the turn of the year at the same time. So it took far fewer years for things to be forgotten in the Underground. Yet at this moment he could not bring himself to care. His realm would see how serious this was when the barrier crumbled.
Above all he feared for the Upperground. They hadn't seen magic for centuries, never mind fought against it. Millions if not billions would be slaughtered. Magic had become something from a story book for them just as he had to his world. With magic gone from their world they quickly forgot it, even started to fear the small form of it which all humans could wield. True not to such a great or dramatic effect, but it would work and produce results. Yet it was feared when it was so temperamental that it would cause misery to those who deserved it without ever being called. But once it was tame towards someone it could be used easily, though not without consequences if it thought it was being used unethically.
With a sigh he walked away from the completed magic within the work room, the door to the room itself and his thoughts of things he would no doubt be reminded of when he returned to read Sarah's manuscript.
Tears rapidly ran from his pale blue eyes as he stared at the body of his son. He leaned against the glass pain separating them, choking on his sobs every time he dared to glance at the lump of bloodied dead flesh that had once been a lively and intelligent fifteen year old boy. "He was going to be a doctor," he wept as the coroner rubbed his back, trying to calm him down.
Calm him down! How the hell could any father be calm when their son had just been found dead in a bush with an arrow sticking out of his throat! Murdered! Who would want to murder a fifteen year old boy! It was senseless! Had they done this just to take the tiny amount of money he had on him! Enough for a bag of chips!
He didn't even look human any more! He looked like a slab of meat! Hadn't killing him been enough! Did they get some sort of kick out of smashing his body to bits so that even the boys own father had trouble recognising him! Oh the nurses had tried to make him look close to human, but they had failed to make him look like his son. His nose was wrong. So were his cheek bones. It was all wrong.
He should be at home complaining about not being able to get past one of the bosses on his Super Nintendo, not lying dead on a steal tray in the mortuary. It just wasn't fair.
A flash of spinning silver smashed the glass. He span around to defend himself against whoever had thrown it. Where the hell had it come from! His eyes darted around before finally landing on the coroner.
"HOLY SHIT!" Blood was rapidly spilling out onto the once sterile tiles from the mans neck as his body lay slumped on the floor. The fathers stomach heaved as he spotted the guys head on the other side of the room, eyes staring vacantly at him.
A/N I've been nice enough to write it, so please be nice enough to review it, or I will get very bitchy very soon. (Hope you enjoyed it and thank you to anyone who has reviewed).