Author's note: if you are seeking a traditional J/S story turn back now, leave this page at once. This is highly nonlinear. So nonlinear in fact that most of the similarities between the original story and this proceeding piece will be strictly character names and character flaws. I had a marvelous idea for a story that involved a hand full of characters from Labyrinth but completely out of their element. There will be no wished away child, labyrinth to conquer, or ballrooms to dance in. But there will be goblins and kings, romance and mystery; perhaps a chicken or two, and plenty (a hefty serving) of sarcasm and the nonsensical.

I find I work better when there are people constantly peering at me from their internet corners, demanding more and being involved. I live to please my fans and it has become apparent that I have been absent for too long.

Hold on we're going down the rabbit hole. Hold your breath and make a wish.

Chapter 1

"This is your last chance Jareth Ichabod Phelonious Choblyn! Answer the question: were you or were you not present at The Croaking Frog this past January the eighth in this year of our Lord Oberon cavorting with wayward mortals, half-breeds, and other such promiscuous individuals, using your power to grant wishes for your own selfish gain?"

The old man, the Honorable Hobnob had gone red in the face. It made his whiskers stand out snow white along his jaw line. He was glaring too- bug eyed and probing. To Jareth he rather resembled a pimple about to burst; the Honorable Hobnob would gush and ooze all over the crowded court room. Imagine that bit in tomorrow's gossip column, thought Jareth. He wanted to laugh at his own foolery, but knew better. Jareth had finally been caught. He knew it. But he also knew that there were other guilty parties present though hiding.

He scanned the crowd. The court room was packed, filled with curious spectators of all species: ears twitched, heads bobbed, and all eyes darted back and forth waiting with baited breath. Had Jareth Ichabod Phelonious Choblyn, Wish Granter and ruler of the impish goblin race, finally been caught? The repercussions would be severe. Would he be stripped of his kingdom? If and only if the charges were proven.

Jareth found Frederic Wobble in his drab robs that hung on him like limp lichen. Near by was the man simply known as Franz. And where was..? Yes, there was Lemmony Orwald hiding behind the giantess in blue. All three were Wish Granters.

Hobnob's voice came out through clenched teeth, "Need I remind you that Frederic Wobble swears that he saw you enter said establishment?"

Jareth blinked and concentrated on the matter at hand. "Yes I admit to being at The Croaking Frog," Jareth replied. He found Frederic's equally drab grey eyes. "But hardly alone. Sendy the barmaid sends her regards and does so desire that you would stop stealing her handkerchiefs."

Never point a finger at someone whose crime is the same as yours. The ruckus that ensued over powered Hobnob's frantic hammering with the gavel. Jareth smiled and plucked at the silk cuffs on his shirt. Frederic Hobnob would rather die than admit to being at The Croaking Frog and the very idea of the court bringing in such a lowly barmaid (a half-breed no less) was ludicrous.

It always happened this way. Jareth would be going about his merry business, granting wishes that ensured all parties had a divine time (he found such immense satisfaction in his life's work) and then someone would feel cheated. Wishes on the surface appear easy enough: someone wants something and his kind oblige. Unfortunately, though not everyone has the same desires. Prince Charming does not always desire the scullery maid; some times he rather fancies her cousin, or has no inclination to marry whatsoever. And when one fae interferes with another fae's desires problems are sure to be had. Such was the case with Frederic Wobble. Sendy the half-breed barmaid had wanted companionship and Jareth had been more than willing to oblige, and in the end she had not sent her regards to Frederic, but rather her contempt.

Places such as The Croaking Frog were considered unsavory and had the habit of tarnishing one's reputation. Frederic Wobble, the drab little man, would rather be admired than right. He granted wishes to be noticed. And the favor of the court was far above any woman.

The charges were dropped. Jareth knew that Hobnob was regurgitating his same old speech about the responsibility of wish granting- "for the soul purpose of another's happiness." A Wish Granter must never take him or herself in to consideration when seeing to other people's desires. But, argued Jareth internally, it is such a heady experience; the power, the control. With a little charm and masculine persuasion it was easy to convince a young woman that her happiness laid next to him in bed, or that all of that gold would do well being donated to his breeches' pocket, after all he was just a charitable Wish Granter, a constant giver.

Jareth realized that he had once again completely tuned out the Honorable Hobnob. He knew not nor cared what had been said or what warnings had been issued. It was past lunch time and he was considerably hungry.

Hobnob set his gavel down and left his bench. The situation was over. Jareth straightened his jacket and turned on his heal. He needed to find his valet, Marcus and go home. The man servant traveled every where with him, but had the oddest habit of wandering off. Stepping nimbly around the giantess he exited the great room.

"Marcus!" he called.

It was pleasantly cool outside, a welcome change from the stuffy court room. The grounds in their ever spring-like state were over flowing with flowers. A stout older man was examining several plants. At the sound of his name he joined his master. "Finished sir?"

"Yes. Can't believe I was drug all the way out here by Frederic Wobble. What a ghastly waste!"

"He does seem to not particularly like you, sir."

"No he doesn't. Not that I want him too, mind," Jareth said. "He's so drab and…" He twirled his fingers in the air searching for the right adjective.

"Plain?" prompted Marcus.

"He goes beyond plain. The man's very presence could make wall flowers wilt."

"Whither to dust sir."

"Yes and too much dust is horrible for good silk. Come Marcus it is past my usual lunch hour." He turned to leave.

"I beg your pardon my lord, but I do have a question," said Marcus.

They walked the path that led to the receiving grounds where their carriage would be waiting. "Yes Marcus?"

"Did you do it? Are you guilty of the accusations?"

Jareth smiled. Marcus had been with the Choblyn family through three generations of kings, princes, and Wish Granters. He understood his masters on their most primal level, but he always waited to point out any faults until he was given permission. Jareth glanced side ways at him. "What do you think?"

"I think, sir, that your are as guilty as the night is dark."

"And what of it Marcus? Why does it matter whether or not I have done anything when half of the men in that very court room, Hobnob himself I'd wager, are guilty of the same if not greater deeds?"

The carriage was not ready. Jareth was annoyed now. His day was wasted, he was hungry, and Marcus was seeing fit to reprimand him. He plucked at his cuffs. A tall glass of Dandelion nectar and a thick serving of Shepherd's Pie was what he needed.

"Yes, but half of those men are generally liked sir. They are not having their very kingdoms threatened by their misdeeds. You on the other hand-,"

"Enough Marcus!" Jareth snapped. "Enough. I understand your concerns, but I am a mature fae, well past my hundred year mark, I think I can take care of myself."