The King's Labyrinth
Horizon 6/?

Splashing water on his face from the sink, he caught a glimpse of his 
reflection and froze. His gaunt appearance startled him, as did the dark 
circles around his eyes. For weeks, Xander had been unable to sleep well. 
Since the night in the gallery, he'd been plagued by images, 
hallucinations. Exhausted, he'd had to cut back his work hours. Silviet was
beginning to worry about him, insisting he visit first doctors than 
psychologists, trying to pinpoint the cause, to no avail. All the while, 
the painting had continued to haunt him. No trace of it's existence could 
be found. In fact, by all rights, it *shouldn't* exist. He had this 
inexplicable urge to ask Jareth about the painting, as if Ann's secretive 
lover had the answers and could solve his problems. But Ann had been gone 
since the wedding. He didn't know where she and Jareth disappeared for such 
long intervals, wherever Jareth lived he supposed. Ann had never said. Now, 
all he wanted was a clue. Anything would do. Anything that could solve this 
damned mystery.

----

With a slight groan, Jareth got to his feet. How long had he been out? He 
never could tell. Sometimes it was mere minutes, sometimes hours. He'd 
tried his best to hide the affliction, both from his subjects and Amalthya, 
but the latter was too perceptive for him. She was starting to realize that
something was going terribly wrong, he knew, but she hadn't said anything- 
yet. It was only a matter of time. What was he going to tell her? That he 
was- remembering, for lack of a better word, a war that the rest of his 
world seemed to have forgotten? That one of her dear friends, Xander, had 
been one of his soldiers in the distant past? He hadn't found all the 
answers yet, but  piece by piece, vision by vision, he was beginning to 
rebuild a part of history that had been long forgotten. He lowered himself 
into the chair at his desk, took up pen and ink, and began to add the 
latest memory to his record. From what he could tell, the visions did not 
follow in chronological order. Most had been of what he assumed was the 
final battle with Japhet d' Avennes' forces. A bloody slaughter. This 
newest episode, however, seemed to have taken place just before the battle. 
He sorted through the facts to asses the situation. Apparently Japhet, 
young lord of the house of d' Avennes had made an attempt on the throne. He 
also knew that this must have happened shortly after his father's death, 
coinciding with both his missing memories and the empty pages in the book. 
It was safe to assume, that if these events really had taken place, and he 
felt in his gut that they had, Japhet had been unsuccessful in the attempt. 
Obviously, Jareth was still the Goblin King. So what had happened? Why had 
all traces been erased from the very fabric of the underground, from the 
king's own mind? Who, or what, had that sort of power? And why do such a 
thing? As of yet, his questions were unanswered.

----
Amalthya blinked as the early morning sun poured through her apartment 
window and onto her bed. She'd come back to New York for awhile, finding 
the need to get away from the castle, and, she admitted reluctantly, 
Jareth. He had been trying to hid things from her of late, some sort of 
illness. Of course he knew she saw through the sham -it was had to maintain 
the ruse when your lover finds you passed out on the floor on more than one 
occasion- but he hadn't been forthcoming about it and she hadn't pried. 
Perhaps, she thought, it would pass in it's own time. At the same time the 
logical part of her mind made its presence known by stubbornly insisted 
that the fey, as far as she knew, did not get sick, and had, in fact, life 
spans that lasted hundreds of years. If that demanding part of her 
subconscious had had a physical manifestation, she likely would have 
reached out and throttled it. Instead, she rolled out of bed and got into 
the shower. Turning the hot water on full blast, she sighed, letting it 
flow over her and relieve some of the tension. For a moment her mind 
conjured up an image of Jareth, lean body slick with water as it had been 
when last she'd shared a shower with him, could almost feel his silky lips 
kissing the back of her neck.....reaching out, she turned off the hot 
water, and cranked the cold on as far as it would go. There, that was 
better. After she'd finished, she toweled off and got dressed, noticing how 
utterly quiet the apartment was. The Underground was never quiet.
She was both amused and alarmed at how foreign Earth, her home, had become 
to her. Maybe....maybe it was time to say last good-byes with this place. 
She felt the sudden need to be out of the building, away from it's 
constricting white walls, away from the order it represented. On a whim, 
she went down to the gallery, hoping to have time to talk to Xander. But 
when she arrived, Rosslin told her Xander hadn't so much as stopped in more 
than a week. 

"He's sick." She said softly, "Has been for weeks. Silviet took him to a 
bunch of doctors but they all turned up blanks. We're starting to worry 
about him. I'm sure Silviet would have told you, but no one knew how to 
reach you."

"That's okay, Ros. I'll just stop by the apartment. I'm sure it's nothing 
serious." She said with a coolness she didn't feel. She turned things over 
and over in her mind as she drove to the apartment. Xander hadn't been sick 
a day in his life, as far as she knew. He was one of those disgustingly 
healthy people who went around distributing chicken soup and good cheer 
while everyone else was down with the flu. Humph. What were the odds of 
the two most important men in your life take ill suddenly, mysteriously, 
and simultaneously? Her concern for her friend went up a notch when she 
knocked on the door, and Silviet answered. She was ragged looking, her coal 
black curls disheveled, dark circles under her eyes.

"Ann." She said in a tired voice. "I'm so glad to see you. Xander...."

"I know, Rosslin told me." She replied, entering the apartment. 

"Do you want coffee or something?"

"Let me get it Silviet. You sit down and tell me what's happened." As she 
fixed the coffee, her friend began to relate the events of the past few 
weeks, telling her how Xander had been stricken with first dizzy spells and 
exhaustion, then blackouts. Amalthya set a steaming mug down in front of 
her friend.

"He's sleeping now, thank God. The doctor gave him some tranquilizers. He 
couldn't sleep, just wandered around the apartment all night or stayed late 
at work." There were tears streaming down Silviet's face. "I just don't 
know what to do Ann. What if...." She lowered her voice to barely a whisper 
and she held onto her coffee cup so tightly her knuckles turned white. 
"What if he dies? What would I do?"

Amalthya looked into her friends blue eyes and saw herself staring back. It
was as if she'd been talking about Jareth. Silviet's question seemed to 
reverberate in the still air of the apartment. What if what if what if. She 
shook herself out of her reverie, looking for a way to change the subject. 
"You um, mentioned a painting?"

"Yes. Here, I'll get it." She got up from the table and disappeared into 
the living room, only to reappear a moment later. "Here, take the God Awful 
thing with you. He's gotten so obsessed over it." She set it down so the 
other woman could see it, and Amalthya's Jaw dropped in astonishment.

End Chapter Six