I own nothing. Original story and rights to go Jim Henson, Brian Froud, ect.

"We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?"

.

Goblin Market

by Christina Rossetti

She is vaguely aware of where she is. She feels pain though, that's real. Pain is throbbing in her bloodied feet and her lips are cracked at the corners. She's so tired and parched, and it's very cold here. The snowcaps surrounding her offer little relief as she rests—more like slumps—against the dark stone walls towering high above her. Her pleas for help are muddled and weak, barely escaping her throat, her words come out in half-formed phrases. The light finally rises over the gates, streaming down upon the icy path. What day was it? What time was it? She knows not. Her head is still spinning from all the running she's done up until this point.

He finds her sitting there eventually, the dwarf making his rounds. But he is not tall enough to carry her weight by himself. And soon, he hobbles out of sight and returns with his King, dressed in simple leather and tall black boots. They check her eyelids first, then her temperature, not knowing how long she's been like this. What is clear to them, is that she's all alone, exhausted and drained by hunger.

The dwarf speaks up, "She kept mutterin' somet'in' about murder and black riders when I left."

"She's in a poor state—been running for a long ways," the King notes. "Stand back, Hoggle."

The King really has no other option but to take action. He gathers her up in his arms and the wind whirls tightly around them, and suddenly they are in the comfort and warmth of his castle.

Deep down, she is grateful for the softness of a bed, the roaring fireplace, and the fur quilt bundled beneath her.

She smells the familiar sweet fragrance of incense and magic around her.

"Is Lord King goin' to Bog this girl?" somebody else pipes up beside them; it's a little horrible creature voice, like a gnome, or goblins! Yes, she's sure it must be a goblin.

"No, not yet. Once she's recovered and well, I'll get answers out of her." The Kings huffs. "Get the books out. A healing potion should do the trick."

"Yes, Lord King!"

With Winter still hovering over the Labyrinth, the walls are white, and its sands are turning to pure slush, and the Bog is completely frozen over.

She returns to the Castle Beyond to seek out the Goblin King, magic still tingling across her skin, and finds him in the tower standing upon the great stone terrace, gazing out over the fresh ruins of the Goblin City.

She struggles to look past the chill and imagine the taste of warm spices in the air that used to be. Now, there is only frost, and fog escapes her lips every time she breaths out.

Though Goblin King is very quiet today and he doesn't even notice her straightaway. When he does see her there, he still does not react much— he merely says, "You're cold."

He removes his heavy furred cloak and wraps it across her slender shoulders. And so, there's a moment of strange relief and appreciation while looking into his eyes. It's familiar, an easy thing to do.

"For an earth witch so used to sunshine, you are quiet lovely covered in snow."

She cannot help but to smile up at him, hoping it may humor him in some fashion. "Thank you...Milord."

Several moons pass afterwards, hearts are lightened, and the enchanted Winter finally melts into Summer again.

The Labyrinth is what it was once ages before, regaining its regal splendor.

She strolls up beside him, the sun shining in her hair. "Are you spying again?"

Jareth lowers his crystal and at last, with acceptance, it's simpler to do this time. "No more, precious lady."

She smiles contently at him. "What changed?"

"A new chapter has begun."

Whispers begin to stir. Destruction follows. A looming darkness takes Northern Marshes and the shadow is only spreading, supposedly. It has some creatures on the run while it poisons others, and the ones that remain have bowed down to the faceless force instead, making allies with it.

Jareth pays little attention to rumors though. He's lived a thousand years and it takes far more than gossip like that to actually worry him. He knows that fools are the one who have to talk, talk, talk, while the wiser ones hold their tongues and keep their knowledge among themselves.

If this shadow...truly were a threat, then he'd be the first few to be aware of it. There's no doubt about that. It would be called to the Courts and discussions would be held. Plus, even with the blunders he's faced in the past, his kingdom is still great and his will is still strong. No other sober being born to his homeland will challenge the Labyrinth so carelessly.

He stops his leisured patrol and glances up the mighty willow trees that his witch has helped him grow since she decided to stay.

They are beautiful and magnificent to suit the Labyrinth, to suit him. And her as well, if he must admit it.

Edeline comes flitting up beside him, tugging on his arm. It's her favorite thing to do these days. "Look, Milord. Birds." She points upward, focusing on the willow's leafy tresses now gently swaying in the breeze. "Crows, aren't they?"

Crows?

Jareth surveys the trees more carefully, indeed seeing a murder of crows fluttering about the branches. "Yes..."

Where did they come from, those crows? Ravens, large black magpies, and owls are famously native to this territory— crows in particular, not so much. Although birds do fly between worlds, bringing their beholders massages or omens of caution, which is why Jareth hesitates for a moment.

"I wonder what secret the carry," Edeline ponders aloud.

"Secret?"

"You know...the old children's rhyme? It's one of first things my mother ever taught me when I started to study magic under her. One crow's for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy...and so on. Seven crows, like up there, means a secret."

"Come!"

Edeline jumps in surprise. The birds begin to caw together in an uneven throaty chorus. "Oh," she says, "they can talk."

Jareth glares. "So they can."

"Come! Come, come, come, if you dare! Come! If you dare! Come, come if you dare! If you dare!"

The Uproar Hooded Army of the Duergarrs falls to the Thorn Queen.

Her skills in magick-weaving takes them by storm. Her power is old and strong, and it practically bleeds out of her when she moves. None of them can fathom why someone so compelling hasn't shown herself before now. The Age of Dominance is long behind them, though that doesn't stop her from conquering them.

Nothing can physically touch her, not their swords, whips, flying stones, or their arrows.

She lets them take off for the upper mountain pass, dragging their dead and injured with them as she laughs.

Hoggle watches the Thorn Queen from behind. Pixies hover around her shoulder, buzzing back and forth with interest.

His new mistress is like the eye of a rainstorm, the shade in the clouds, the crashing of waves, and the fury of the wind. But he cannot lie to himself; she's still exciting in a way, and no less beautiful. Her daily fits of vengeance has turned into a cheerful need to make those little hobgoblins miserable for their mistake on trying to rob their caravan clean.

"How dare they ambush us," she muses, turning away with her fist tight around her long royal scepter. "I won't bend that easily. Come, Hoggle. I'm hungry."

The dwarf starts to hobble after her. "'Course, Your Grace."

"Come if you dare! Come, Come! You will fall! You will fall!"

Initially, the singing crows were a downright nuance—and now—they are a threat. They're a sign of sheer trouble on the rise.

"Come if you dare! Come, Come! You will fall! Come, come!"

Second, it was the very walls of the Labyrinth. They're chipping easier, cracking deeper along the surface, spreading apart, and the trails are getting coated in a sickening moss from the deterioration.

Thirdly, Jareth is anticipating the vilest outcome imaginable by now, and he's simply dreading it; his own subjects are betraying his rule. The Fierys have been running amuck lately (more than necessary), igniting the treetops up and down the Mid River and trying to escape the Labyrinth's forests entirely. Jareth has sent out Edeline to regrow all the flora they've burned three times already, but unfortunately he's forced to keep her away from that that task since the Feirys deliberately go pouncing after her, eyes glowing red and claws bared. It was a close call that last time and to Jareth's dismay, Edeline walked away with white blisters on her arms and the ends of her pretty auburn curls were singed black.

The whole Labyrinth is acting up, unexpectedly, and somehow it's forgetting its one true master.

Edeline looks up from her routine potion making as Jareth comes stomping into the den with a simmering mood. "What's happened now, Milord?"

"We must do something with those damned birds," he replies swiftly, pacing around. "HOGGLE!"

Sir Didymus happens to answer his call instead, riding in on his slobbery mutt of a steed. "Sire," he reports, "I haven't seen Friend-Hoggle in the last couple of days."

Both Edeline and Jareth snap their heads toward the Bridge Keeper in curiosity. "What?" Jareth towers over him, teeth clenched. "And, who prey tell has been spraying the pixies with iron tonic at the gates these days, if not Hoggle? He has left but that one task!"

"Milord," Edeline soothes, "please be at ease."

Jareth turns briefly. "My apologies, precious."

But Sir Didymus yaps out, "There are no more pixies to spray, Sire. They are gone as well."

Now that his actually makes Edeline panic, though for the sake of the Goblin King, she restrains her voice from sounding tense or excitable. "No more pixies, and now Hoggle's disappeared? Great Mother, what is happening 'round here?"

She's been lodging at the Castle Beyond since the first week she arrived in these parts and that was roughly...eight years ago. She's never noticed the Labyrinth having such problems.

Sir Didymus gulps. "The word is, Lady Edeline...if she wants you, there is no escaping it."

"She?" Jareth demands.

"The Dark One, Sire," Sir Didymus continues as though he's surprised, or perhaps confused. "Hath thou not heard the latest stories? The shadow looming throughout the Underground is a rogue Faerie Queen, an Unseelie with a ferocious power at that. The Thorn Queen is what the North calls her, I believe. She's conquered lords and other outer kings and her subjects are merely growing in numbers."

"Ah. I see." Uncertain what to make of that, Edeline feels her stomach churn. "So that may explain the change in the Labyrinth, and in you, Milord. It's reacting to this new force invading the lands."

That next day, the chain effect doesn't stop there, as the Labyrinth receives news from Jareth's fifty-sixth cousin, the Red Wood King living out in the East beyond the dark waters. His attacking troop of elves have collapsed under The Thorn Queen's wrath as well and the Red Wood was just left in shambles. Another week passes while the Silver Witch of the Western Hills is drained dry of her magic after losing her enchanted pendent to the Thorn Queen. Provided that The Silver Witch is not everyone's favorite character here, for she likes to throw out curses more than she does acts of charity for those living in her woodlands...and she's an old hag, but she is or she was, quite powerful and even she's been bested at her own game?

At this point, Jareth cannot sleep.

Things seem absolutely dire when his magic is then blocked by an unseen shield. He tries using his crystals as a greater advantage, but they do not let him foresee what he desires. In fact, his magic altogether is feeling strained recently, and he's left exhausted and frustrated.

Pushing her way through the doors, Edeline runs up to him, huffing out, "What can you see?"

"Very little," he confesses to her. "I haven't really felt this way since—" he catches himself, and sighs, "—in a long while."

"Since the Champion of the Labyrith left? Sarah Williams?"

"Yes," he nods, quickly redirecting the subject back to the first issue. "What about you, precious? What did your holy cards predict?"

"Well, I was working with my Tarot deck all day long, Milord. At first, it was all very confusing and my mind was all knotted after hours of shuffling and restacking. They said no, then yes, then yes and no. But I want to see the Wise Man afterwards for advice. He reminded me I needed to ask the right questions, and I did. My answers then...were becoming more consistent...and frankly they were, well, unsettling. You need to know this."

Jareth stiffens. "Go on."

"You see, it's odd because I focused all my energy in trying to feel out who was blocking your magic and stealing creatures out of the Labyrinth without us knowing it. The Thorn Queen is but a name. We have no face to that name. And the cards insist that...it's coming from you." She swallows hard, pouting somewhat. "The secret magic at work is your own, Milord."

"That's a false conclusion, surely."

"The cards never lie!" she cries.

"Do not accuse me of such things! Why would I flutter about like that and go wreck my homeland?"

"I know you wouldn't, Milord." Flustered, Edeline evens her breaths and properly keeps track of her own temper, trying to redirect the mood. Her clear baby blue eyes stare up at him intently. "I know. I don't believe it is you. Though whoever she is using magic that gives off the same...rhythm as you, sort to speak. The roots are of the same magic, but the branches are spreading in utterly different directions. She's the imposter, probably abusing her powers...dappling in magic to a dangerous degree, if you ask me."

"Yes, most likely." Jareth pauses before an idea strikes him. "She now lives in the Northern Marshes. We need to go there. Confront the issue directly before any more calamities take place."

"Milord...that concerns me. She ruined the Silver Witch, she destroyed your cousin's elven troop, she conquered the mountain pass." Edeline places a tender hand on his arm, because he's a priority of hers now. "How safe it is for us to confront her alone?"

She would be outright lying if she said that she does not care for him or their ongoing companionship. Despite the rumors spreading in the past, she knows this Goblin King to be established and honorable. He is Seelie after all, that counts for something. He saved her. And sure, he may have a royal ego, and he may throw a temper tantrum on occasion—but—that has never lined up to pure evil. He's protected her, solely by choice, even though he did not need to.

She's all willing to return the favor.

"I am still a High King in these lands, am I not?" He brushes a couple of stray curls behind her ear. "Authority here is mine to spare. This bloody Thorn Queen cannot deny an audience with me if I go and request one. And now, she has consequences to face. This is becoming a personal offense if her power is going to devastate the Labyrinth in its wake. It could mean a war."

This really is a serious matter. Eldeline bites her lip.

"How do we get there?"

Jareth smiles back at her a little shrewdly, his pearly Fae teeth bared. "With style."

Two nights have passed since the Goblin King and his witchy Lady Hand made plans for travel, though it isn't the warm golden light that wakes Edeline from her deep sleep this morning.

There's hissing, snarling, and chittering coming from inside her room.

"Eat it...," she hears. "Eat...eat..."

Her eyes flutter open to find the Labyrinth's goblins huddling around her bed, circling her in.

She pulls herself up against the pillows in a flash, holding the quilt to her chest to act as a shield of protection. She formally calls out for their master, looking at her chamber doors. This was an odd wakeup call and it isn't really a part of Jareth's usual show. The goblins are staring at her—hungrily, greedily—fangs showing, smiles wicked, eyes aglow, and they hold their axes at the ready.

Just last week she was planting new green hedges with them in the Goblin City. And it's all just so wrong.

"Jareth!" She calls for the Goblin King again, this time by his real name and she means it. "Come in here, right now!"

With a gust of wind, the Goblin King is suddenly standing in her chambers, hair flowing and a cloud of faerie dust falling to the floor. He examines his goblins surrounding his Lady Hand; he's humored at first glance, then he soon realizes it's not in jest. They want to cause damage.

"What is the meaning of this, you rats?!" he stresses loudly. His ire boils.

On cue, the goblins startle out of their unruly trance and whirl on their King, all embarrassed and muddled.

"Well?" Jareth snaps, while they whisper headily to each other. "Get out!" Screeching, the goblins flee, leaving their weapons behind. Jareth glances back at her. "Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Eldeline tells him while sliding out of bed, and she stops right in front of him. "But the goblins, Milord. Now they're getting infected! They're acting independently from you!"

Jareth glares, his resentment for the darkness creeping in on them clearly showing "Then we need remedy that soon, don't we?" he instructs.

"Today?"

"Today."

A sweeping darkness, indeed.

The Northern Marshes look nothing like how they're described in Jareth's noble archives. They are damp, dark, blue, and it's all surrounded by tall, thick walls of violets, roses and giant black thorns. Rich peach trees line the edges beyond the fog, although as an earth witch, Edeline can't imagine how the poor things can naturally flourish that well in this dankness.

Well, it must be the magic. The place is literally humming with a fierce sort of power. She can feel it in the air, in the water. The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It just has a foreign daunting energy hanging over it, while the Labyrinth feels more like an abode of eternal youth, riddles and prizes, and dreams that come alive.

Jareth's grand opal-white boat carved into the shape of a flying owl finally skids to a halt upon the misty shoreline, the bow getting sucked down into the muck.

He disappears and rematerializes on the riverbank, offering her a helpful hand out. Thankfully enough there's a visible path of steeping-stones verging off from the riverbank, snaking its way through the Marshes. "I presume that's our way to The Thorn Queen?"

"Hm." Jareth nods. "Must be. I haven't seen the Marshes in such a state but the groundwork is almost the same as last time. The ruins of the Podsworth Keep are still atop the main mound."

Their actual trek through the Marshes is not any less eerie for Edeline than it was sailing North itself in a sail-less boat on unfamiliar waters. But she tries to make the best of it and reminds herself that she's back in her Element. She meanders ahead of Jareth, manipulating the local plants with her magic-laced fingers, moving them out of their way, parting the wild brush, and easing the creaking branches to bend in the other direction. But all the while those tricky thorns are getting stuck everywhere; on her skirts, on her walking boots, in her hair, in her stockings. She huffs. Nature Spirits of the netherworld will normally greet her like she's a friend. She's worked with enough stones, flowers, and trees to recognize how they choose to interact with the individual people around them, especially witches who worship nature. She's learned many sacred lessons taught by the Earth, things like 'seed your inquisitiveness and water that wisdom until it can be harvested,' but the thing is...these Nature Spirits of the North feel a bit standoffish in comparison and want very little to do with her. It's almost like they're testing her powers instead, trying to make her feel small in their presence instead of trying to guide her.

Although disappointed by this, deep down Edeline thinks it only makes sense. The North and West territories belong to the Winter and Autumn Fae Courts, a scale of personalities that range from usually malevolent to sometimes maleficent. Therefore the said areas tend to see the brash side of the Fae. They will, probably frown upon Mortals more often rather than befriend them. Their dark tones and spurts of malice echo within their environment. It's just their way. Needless to say, it's a cultural adjustment. The Labyrinth on the other hand is set where the Summer and Spring Courts dwell. And they're usually benevolent or sometimes benevolent, which is just a safer choice. Plus, heat, gold, flowered trees, rich sands, and other preferred natural luxuries are more plentiful down south.

"Ouch. Now I see why they say she's a thorny one," Edeline comments, after one thorn does manage to sidetrack her by physically grazing her skin, leaving a faint red line beneath her right eye.

That's when Jareth steps forward to assist her by conjuring a crystal in his palm. He lets it drop to the ground and it bursts open on impact with a white orb of faerie Light. The bright rays stream forward through the trees, slicing the thorns in half so they become so dull they can't cause them any more harm.

After his Light stretches to its furthest point and then dissipates, the atmosphere around them returns to its dim conditions. Although now there's a fresh path left behind for them to use, and Edeline smiles at his efforts.

Once they eventually reach the main mound however, beholding the surprising sight before them, Edeline's mouth falls open, standing there in awe...not even Jareth can seem to hide his own astonishment either.

"My, my," she pants, "those are some well put-together ruins, Milord."

Jareth in turn scoffs as they linger in the shadow of a new Podsworth Keep, now thirteen towers strong and wisely protected by black metal gates with more barbs on top. The large front doors are solid silver by the mere looks of it and colorful stained-glass windows are generously scattered along the sides, giving the fortress a mixed glow of blue, violet, and greens around it. Only the gods know what the Queen had done to the insides. Compared to his Castle Beyond, which is quite old and plain, but still stately in its own way, Jareth expects to see more and more of this feminine flair. "True, The Thorn Queen clearly...has been busy remodeling the place, hasn't she?"

Edeline is continuously questioning her self-worth and abilities. "Are you sure you want to do this?" This fortress was fashioned by a magic that matches—no, rivals—Jareth's perfectly, and that certainly makes a bold statement. She's practically a lamb stepping into a lion's den. She glances over at him.

"Regrettably, what choice do we have from here on, precious Edeline?" Jareth is staring into another crystal, and she leans in closer, too. The image is foggy, yes, but she can make out the little black silhouettes of their dear goblins eagerly pouncing around the throne room, tearing into a pet rooster, breaking the neck, pulling on the meat, and plucking out its feathers. Blood splatters within the crystal and then everything goes blank. She gasps, turning away, sickened by the open goblin-slaughter. Sighing, Jareth breaks that crystal as well. "The Labyrinth hangs in the balance. Come, and remember who you are, Hand of the King."

Edeline wants badly to right the wrongs. And he's right, her attendance is just as valid as a monarch's would be. Gulping down her doubts, she hopes the pride of her bloodline can devour it. Her fears dissolve, gradually turning into courage. Feeling refueled and energized, she nods back at her master, ready for a conflict if necessary.

With that, Jareth and Edeline push past the gates and they strut up to the fortress steps side by side to wait at the doors.

Then, three crows descend to perch themselves on the pinnacles straight above them.

"Come, come, come!" they caw loudly. "If you dare, if you dare! Come, come if you dare! She'll make you fall! Make you fall!"

"It's a challenge," Jareth recalls. These birds are really no different than the False Alarms found in Labyrinth. "They're just an illusion to let us in or keep us out."

Wetting her dry lips, Edeline draws in a breath and she glares up at the crows attentively. "We dare."

The result? The crows suddenly melt and fall to ash, and they both hear the grand silver doors unlock from the inside and start to groan open on their own accord, allowing them to cross that first threshold.

Torches and two huge marble fireplaces are already lit with green faerie fire on either side of them as they ease their way further into the common hall. Thirteen soapstone pillars to the left and right carry on along the length of the room, supporting matching indoor verandas above. Intricate patterns of the same cool color scale lace over the sparkling ebony walls and flooring. Large threaded banners hang there, dark silver, trimmed with blue silk. In the center of a grey circle, is a dagger, entwined by a thorny vine.

Edeline trains her eyes away from the splendid view, skimming the empty shadows. "Where're the guards?"

"Wait," Jareth holds his hand up to shush her. "There, I hear something."

Turning onto the next corridor, stifled voices lead them towards the real Throne Hall.

It's a space that is just as remarkable as everything else in Podsworth Keep thus far. A gallant black throne ornamented with crystal and emeralds sits facing the two archways beneath a vaulted ceiling.

Down at the base of the steps stands a table that's encircled by various men in black knight uniforms, conversing amongst themselves.

Nobody notices them coming in at first, but that hardly matters when Jareth becomes completely distracted by the fact that Hoggle is there, standing nearby, between six other strange dwarves and a man-servant. "So is this your final stage of retaliation, Headhog?" Jareth is obviously not pleased and he ultimately interrupts the whole discussion the knights are having, though he doesn't care about that.

Edeline stands her ground, alert and focused, as they all start crossing their arms and glaring at Hoggle for causing a scene, then glare back at her like a pack of provoked wolves. And she knows the old tribes of the Northern Marshes certainly have that reputation. Archives claim that men like this were once born mortal, like her, but they too can adapt to live in the the fearie lands because of their magical gifts. They are great warriors, similar to the Berserkers in Norse folklore, the supposed descendants of a wolf goddess. They usually live in harsh cooler climates with equally harsh living conditions and they are recognized by those wolf pelts they wear on their bodies, which can possess them to behave more like beasts than common men during battle.

"Jar—ah—Your Majesty!" stammers Hoggle. The stunned expression on his face is genuine. "What are ye 'ere for?"

The dwarves grumble amongst themselves in question.

"Why...," Jareth blinks, and his tone gets dangerously smooth, "...am I here? You've been taken by the North, or you've sided with them behind my back, and that's all you have to say to me, you miserable little toad?"

"No, no, 'course not, Your Majesty! I just—"

Two of the dwarves raise their blades, growling and threatening to strike.

"Enough." The man-servant there watching Hoggle being interrogated slides in between him and Jareth. He's lean, and tall, with long arms and a pointed chin. His hair is black as night and it's neatly slicked back. His complexion is ghostly pale but smooth, complete with narrow amber-brown eyes. Yet, there's something docile about him. It sounds like he means Jareth no disrespect. He just doesn't want a scuffle to break loose. "My name is Ferris. Perhaps I can help. What is your qualm here, Fae King?"

"We've come to see your meddling Queen," Jareth informs him.

The head knight at the table laughs, throwing in, "She won't see anybody who simply barges in!" He ends the statement by sticking the tip of his dagger into the maps sprawled out before him.

"Aye," a fellow knight sniggers. "She doesn't take too kindly to those who defy her!"

"Even so...by decree of our Courts," Jareth returns curtly, "she cannot deny us a meeting in person. And in the meantime, mind your tongues in my presence. You have no idea what I could do to you when I'm cross."

"Your Majesty—" Hoggle implores him. "It's—you—you don't unde'stand what's happened, really—"

Jareth's grin turns sly. "What could I possibly not—?"

"—Hoggle!" another voice suddenly joins in and cuts them off. It's sharp, and feminine, and controlling. The knights all quiet down as their mysterious Thorn Queen comes breezing in, aiming straight for the main dwarf while the others bend on their knees. "What's all the ruckus about?"

Captivated, Edeline studies the Queen's shaded profile. The Thorn Queen comes carrying a dark wooden staff, dressed in Gothic faerie robes that have a train running down the elegant skirt, pooling to the floor. And even though the ruff of her collar stands high and it fans out wide behind the Queen's neck, shielding the rest of her features, Edeline still admires the sight of her pretty hair. It's long, and dark, and straight, the top layers all wrapped up in shiny beads and green gems on top.

They've waited so long to see what she actually looks like and now the moment is here! She's here!

Uneasy, the dwarf answers her gruffly, "We have some company..." He points to them.

Edeline does a double-take looking at Jareth, who in that instant, falls dead silent.

It's strange. His aura changes. His smirk fades. Time itself seems to falter around him, flowing in slow motion once the Thorn Queen begins to turn, facing the Goblin King openly and directly, her sheer green eyes already judging him.

Brow furrowing, Edeline wonders what is happening? Jareth's just staring at the Thorn Queen, until he speaks.

"Sarah?"