Chapter Six: Jareth's Condition
It was odd. She could not describe it any other way. This tall Elvin held almost no trace of the Dwarf that he was only hours ago. She could talk and joke with him, she felt comfortable with him and she could tell that he defiantly was Hoggle. But at the same time she simply could not get used to looking up to his face rather than down to him and it certainly made a difference. He was more confident in leading their conversation and he seemed, well, arrogant to be honest. But it was a kind of playful arrogance that she could tell was simply to tease. On their journey back he made a point to start play fights, to pick her up and twirl her round and generally act like an excited seven year old. There was only one word to describe his mood.
Hyper.
Though she could not blame him. His body had not been used in centuries and according to him it had stored ever increasing energy for that time. Now he needed to get rid of it. And lucky Sarah she was there to help, even though she was emotionally as well as physically exhausted. But she was happy for him. She was glad that he had finally gotten rid of his cowardly streak and that he had finally found his strength.
However, she was equally glad when they reached the pond that she had arrived through and he sent her home, mumbling something about terrorising a certain King. She wished him good luck on that endeavour before somehow finding herself sat on the stool before the mirror on her desk. All she wanted to do was crawl into her bed and sleep for week. Unfortunately she was fairly grimy from her journey.
So with an audible groan she dragged herself to her feet and forced herself to stumble towards her pathetic but clean bathroom. It took far too much energy to remove her clothes and climb into the shower but she somehow managed it. Then came the hard part of not falling asleep in the shower. It took all of her will power to simply stay awake. She could not even remember washing, but since she came out smelling like oranges she guessed she had managed it. The next thing she new she was crawling into bed, her entire body aching from its unusual amount of use, wearing not a lot. Then she was wrapped in comforting warmth and darkness.
Jareth was leaning over his desk in his private study dressed Upperground clothes when Auranar silently opened the door. He recognised the signs straight away. So he hung back, not wanting to startle him. His shoulders were shaking. Yes, his condition was about to shine through. He mumbled something, quietly. But he heard. "Celeste. Help." It must be bad for him to be asking for help, especially if he voiced it when he was not meant to.
What could make him have such a reaction? It must have been something terrible to cause a flare in his condition considering he had not reacted this way to anything since the war. He knew of the link between Jareth and Celeste, it had been used many times, to combat both Jareth's condition and the Aboveground denizens. But he also knew from the fact that the King was shaking so much he was pushing his desk back and the bluish ethereal glow that was barely perceptible which had begun to form at his back, that this warrior King was too far gone for Celeste's aid. So it was up to him to try and control the trembling King. Unfortunately, Auranar highly doubted that he was strong enough.
Cautiously and silently, his old Elvin habits once again taking their place with the return of his body, he approached the King who had now stopped trembling and stood perfectly still. His muscles taught and tightly strung. That was not a good sign. It meant he was close to loosing to his condition. That was never good. The Elvin shuddered at the memory of the last time he had seen Jareth's condition at its worst. It was not sight he wished to ever see again. In short, it was terrifying.
A sharp magic shock wave should nock him out. Hopefully. It had worked last time. And rendering him unconscious quickly was a better alternative by far than letting him- no, he wasn't even going to think about that.
Slowly, trying to be as subtle as he could, Auranar guided his magic to his hands, letting them charge with the energy as he stood less then a foot away from the Goblin Kings back. Please let this work. It had to work. The shock wave he was about to create would be able to knock out an elephant. But then . . . Jareth was no elephant. He felt his stomach knot and twist as he realised that his old friend was far more powerful than the last time he had done this. He had no idea of the extent of this Kings power, resilience and warding.
With a deep breath to vainly try and clam his nerves, the Elvin readied himself to act. The King twitched slightly, the glow at his back darkened almost unnoticeably. A mental cry smashed through the room. A gasp escaped the Elvin's throat.
Then it was too late.
He was pinned against the wall. Feet over a foot from the floor. Jareth's gloved hand crushing his throat. In a panic he grabbed at the Kings arm. His eyes watering from the pressure and lack of air he looked to his old friend in fear. His mismatched eyes were no longer mismatched. They were both the same murky greenish brown, and he was squinting up to him. He could not see, realised the Elvin. And the colours of his eyes had not completely swapped over. But his expression was purely animal hatred and blood lust. But there was still hope. Even his phantom wings had not fully formed.
"Jareth," he rasped, praying to every deity he had ever heard of that he could somehow get through to the King. Because he knew that his magic would be useless against him when he was like this. "Get off me Jareth." His only response was to squeeze harder. He choked, feeling his limbs turn heavy. He would dead if he didn't reach him soon. "It's me, Auranar." He was slammed against the wall. He had forgotten that Jareth only got more violent if his prey spoke. Sacred Forest, let this last thing work. "Think of Sarah," he forced out as spots danced before his eyes. "What . . . What would she think if she saw you like this?"
It worked. Jareth threw him aside and crashed against the wall as Auranar slid to the floor, holding his sore throat and gulping down air. He didn't have the strength to move as Jareth violently shook, leaning heavily on the wall. His eyes were squeezed shut. The light faded from his back, but he was by no means in control of himself. It was start however. He was back to the stage were his link to Celeste would be able to guide him back to sense.
What he had said had been cruel. There was no doubt about that. But it had also been necessary. For the King of the Goblin Kingdom was a berserker. It was a harsh and simple fact, one he had hidden for centuries even though it was in every war time legend. No one believed that this suave if arrogant monarch could loose every ounce of sense and reason he held and become a simple blood lusting monster if his negative emotions spiked too much. It wasn't his fault though. It was a genetic mishap that was very common among Vampires but less so amongst Jareth's own Angelic appearing race. But in his kind it was always shown in radically mismatched eyes, such as his own.
The Goblin King slid down the wall so that he was kneeling as he leaned against it shaking, but less so than he had been before. His forehead lay on his arm which he had limply against the wall. He was taking deep shuddering breaths, trying to fend off his condition and succeeding one small step at a time.
Suddenly his resentment towards the King was no where to be found. Perhaps it was because he had his body back so he knew he would no longer be bullied by a brother, scornful because of what he had put his sister through. But to be honest it was more likely to be because of pity. Auranar knew how ashamed Jareth was of his condition. It pained him to know that if he lost control he could, and had on many occasions, kill someone, or at the very least seriously harm someone who he cared about. During the war, when the King was a prince, he had been lucky to go one week without fully loosing control, but luckily it had mainly happened on a battlefield or when they were seriously outnumbered. He had even had to force himself to give into his conditions many times simply to ensure that he and his squadron survived. And with yet another war on the brink of the horizon it was no wonder his condition could be triggered yet again, simply because of the stress caused by knowing that giving into it was inevitable.
He had stopped trembling now and simply looked exhausted as he kneeled, slumped against the wall. Suddenly Jareth didn't seem to be the centuries old King he was, to Auranar he simply looked like the angry teenage prince who had been at the head of the realms most effective if bloody squadron. Exhausted from a battle against his condition. It was not a powerful monarch he beheld, it was his old friend.
Slowly Jareth turned his head to face him and Auranar was immensely relieved to see that his left eye was once again Blue and his right as brown. He had taken to noting this detail every time he looked at Jareth, as had the rest of his squadron, as a precaution against being caught in the blaze of his berserker tendencies. There was slight glimmer of happiness, but it was overwhelmed by the regret in his eyes.
"Forgive me, that was not quite the welcome I had planned for your return."
"You were going to keep it secret weren't you." It as not a question. He knew Jareth well enough to know that he would have only told anyone about the return of his condition if he had no other choice. The King simply smirked, but it was mirthless and self mocking rather than arrogant as he was used to. "I thought so."
There was a long pause before Jareth spoke again. And his voice was filled with self loathing, as it always was after a flare up.
"I don't deserve her. I never did, but especially not now."
"Don't be an idiot, you Angelic prick," he snapped. "Of course you do. Besides old friend, isn't that her choice to make?" Jareth simply snorted.
"I'm little more than an animal Auranar."
"Don't make me knock some sense into you, because you know I will be able to now I'm back to my usual self." Then the Kings smirk became one that clearly implied he was in serious trouble.
"That reminds me, when Celeste finds out, and she will find out," he added when he saw the grimace Auranar gave. "You'll be lucky to avoid castration."
And it was true. Celeste was even tempered the vast majority of the time, actually, more than that. She was cheery and calm. But when she got angry she could almost match one of Jareth outbursts, not counting those caused by his condition. Only from her it was far more terrifying, simply because seeing it was a rarity. But even with his pending . . . demise possibly, he would give anything to be with her again. Now that he was worthy of her in his own eyes, the only thing left for him to do was apologise and pray he survived it. Needless to say he had never been so petrified in his life, including the years he had spent centuries as a cowardly Dwarf.
To say he was nervous about doing this would be a gross understatement. What didn't help was the fact that the only effective spell could only sink through one layer of material. Which was why he was nervous. He had seen what women from the Upperground wore to bed and it was in no way modest. Especially in the summer months that had hold of the land now. Not mention he also knew that a number of women also wore underwear beneath their nigh clothes and he prayed, hoped and nearly begged anyone Gods, Goddesses, Saints and Demi-Gods that Sarah did not. Because then he would have to undress her and he simply would not be able to handle it. It was bad enough he practically had to touch her for the spell to take effect, having his hands only a few centimetres above her flesh.
This was one of the reasons he loathed Angelic magic. Basically, it was crap. It had the range narrower than that of a small chipmunk when it was not offensive and when it was offensive it was disgustingly coarse and completely inaccurate. The other reason he hated it was because he had been beaten by it on many occasions and still bore the scars. But unfortunately the magic had its uses. It was very powerfully protective and excellently alertive, even if it was unnervingly hands on.
So Jareth stood in Sarah's small bedroom, still connected to the Underworld by a thread of magic through the weakened barrio which allowed him to see without those miserable glasses, but unfortunately made him stand out just too much to be able to use it when he wished to spend time amidst the normal population of this realm. He had been shocked to see just how small her living quarters were, though he knew she did not have a lot of money he had expected her to live somewhere a little larger, perhaps even to still live in her parents' house. So to see that she lived in a flat smaller than his own bedchamber had been a real wake up call as to how the people of this realm often lived. He was so used to occupying a castle that it was rare he thought of anything less than that. Strangely enough the children who were wished away to him were rarely from poor families, they were normally from families that were at least middleclass. Couples that thought their children were in the way of their sex life. So even when saw the homes that people lived in they were usually a lot larger than the home Sarah had inhabited with her parents.
Though he had to admire how she had cared for her tiny flat. It was immaculate with hardly a spec of dust on any surface. And it was cosy as well, filled with warm colours that brought a smile to his face. For something so humble it unusually appealed to him. Usually he was only comfortable surrounded by grandeur, but this small, modest yet rich place was somehow grounding and comforting. Then his smile became a smirk as he saw the only thing that he recognised from her old home. Her Goblin King doll, standing guard on her bedside table next to her alarm clock. Shaking his head at her bizarre logic he turned his eyes towards her.
There was slight smile on her delicate lips as she slept. She looked exhausted from her day and half adventure in the Underground, but she also looked content. He knew she had looked at the Crystal moon and that had helped her start to heal. But simply being in his Kingdom would have helped her. The very atmosphere was charged to heal a hurting heart and spirit. That was one of the reasons his Kingdom was so good for the children that were wished away. They were often hurt more than physically and stayed only long enough to heal before they were adopted by people in other kingdoms and eventually became the kind of that kingdom. The Vampiric Kingdom was the usual place for them, since Vampires find it very difficult to conceive and they look similar to humans, so the transformation was not as traumatic for the child.
Strangely enough she also looked content. Which was odd considering that she usually simply looked cold and distant when he saw her awake. His kingdom must have had a greater effect on her than he had first thought. Hopefully she would be able to heal herself from this point, though it would take longer than if she simply spent a week or so in the Goblin Kingdom.
With a sigh of resignation he summoned a crystal. Though he could gladly put his task off until dawn and beyond, he knew that he should get it over and done with. With spectacularly little effort he poured some magic into the crystal and hummed a soft Old Realm mantra in his mind, to give it the purpose of preventing her from waking until her normal time. Then he quietly held it over head, and shattered it into sparkling dust. The glittering particles slowly drifted down and landed on her skin, staying put for a few second and giving Sarah a heavenly glow before sinking into her flesh. She stirred slightly, shifted a little then rolled from her side onto her back. Well, that would make his next spell a little easier.
Hesitantly he reached out to take the quilt from her. Reluctant to do so simply because he didn't want to see her form until she was offering to show him, if such a time ever came. But still, this had to be done, and it had to be done without her knowledge or it would not be as effective. So he gently pulled away the quilt, as though afraid of waking her, when really he simply didn't want to disturb what ever dream she may be having. As soon as the cover was out of the way Jareth found his breath was caught in his throat. Did she have to wear that tonight!
And by that he meant the rather close fitting spaghetti strap top and short to match, both black. Now, Jareth was no stranger to the female form, exactly the opposite actually. His prowess at attracting lovers would be enough to make Casanova envious. And his prowess at keeping said lovers was even more spectacular. But he had not once been in love with any of his previous consorts. He had cared about them of course, and deeply enjoyed their, erm, company. Many of them had been far more beautiful than Sarah, most with rather more noticeable assets. Yet this sight stopped him in his tracks. His heart beat stepped up several notches as he looked at her. True she was not particularly busty, but what was there was made all the more noticeable by the tight top. And her legs were breath taking. Of all her body he had say that her legs were the most stunning. They were perfectly shapely. Not skinny as most women seemed to think was most attractive. He could not stand women who had no flesh on them. In his opinion skinny women simply were not in any way attractive.
This was going to be more difficult than he thought. With a deep breath he closed his eyes and spiritually searched around for that loathsome pit of power that his foul parents had blessed him with. It took a while to find it since he was not accustomed to drawing upon it, but he finally found it at the back of his rib cage. No surprise there considering what would happen when he tapped into it. Another deep breath to steady his heart, but it would not be calmed for it knew what was to come.
Pain. It flared across his back, lanced through his bones and rushed out behind his, then arced around the room. All through the agony he had not moved. It was nothing compared to other tortures he had endure in the past. Then it ebbed away, leaving him feeling oddly empowered. But not in the clean way his usual, if rather mismatched, magic made him feel. This felt more natural to him. More right. But at the same time utterly wrong, simply because of his memories of those with wings of white. If he push away such memories he would have no qualms about this form of magic, but the memories would never leave, no matter how long he left it.
Slowly he opened his eyes, not afraid of what he would see, but dreading it all the same. And there they were. Just as beautiful as they had been the last time he saw them, but at the same time just as terrible. His wings. Gently arcing around the room, not touching the walls or any of the few nick knacks that belonged to her. Experimentally he moved them slightly. Not enough to do any damage to the room, but just enough to assure himself that they would follow his command.
It was odd. He knew they belonged to him, and he silently acknowledge that he would have to get used to using them once again so that he could be of more use during the war that was inevitably to come, but it just felt. . . strange to see them again after so long of denying his nature. He suddenly had the irrational desire to see if he could still fly. Oh he knew he could fly in his owl form, and he greatly enjoyed it. But it was nothing like the rush of knowing that you could do that without the aid of magic or shape shifting. Really, what was the harm in trying it once he was back in the Underground? He knew his sister went flying regularly, so really he would be able to.
But first the spell. It was simple enough, to be honest the hardest part was forcing his mind to stay blank as his hands moved a mere fingers width above Sarah's skin. Calling on the magic in him when his wings were free of their prison was as simple as it was to call upon his own, almost unique magic. Just concentrate, call and say the spell in his mind. The only real difference was that this magic was less malleable and had to be cast far closer to the target.
When he had finished he covered her back up with a sigh of relief. One thing was for certain. He would defiantly need a cold shower before he tried to fly again. And with that thought pulled himself back through the barrier and into his own bed chamber.
Sarah lazily opened her eyes to the day. She was still aching a bit, but it was bearable. For some reason she was smiling. She had absolutely no idea why, but put it down to the dream she could not quite remember. All that was left of it was a pleasant, warm feeling that was spread throughout her body.
Her trip into the Underground had definitely been beneficial. It had been years since she had woken up in a good mood. She giggled slightly at the absurd thought that a guardian Angel must have blessed her in her sleep. After a long yawn and a stretch that made several of her joints pleasantly crack she rolled over and-
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"
A/N No, Reviewing is not a Japanease city. It's a very nice way to show you liked my story, or to tell me I'm crap. Either way I'd apriciate it.
And thank you to orientalbunny, Layrinth Mistress, White Rose Whithering, Lady Alira, Anij and BlytheSarita for taking that time to review.