Author Note: My first Labyrinth fanfic ever. I'm not entirely sure if you guys will end up liking what I have here, but it's been bouncing around in my head for a while, so it's worth a shot. Reviews are awesome (and are also encouraged, seeing as how I'm uncertain about whether or not I should even continue with it)! Story takes place many years after Sarah's first venture into the labyrinth. I suppose I could explain how goblin tongue works in my mind for those of you that will be confused about certain elements, but I'll write up my thoughts on it next chapter, pending upon how well this one is received.

Rating: T (Currently, expected to involve adult stuff later.)

Pairing Focus: Jareth and Sarah

Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth or any of the characters and have no intention of making money off this fic.

Scavenger

1

One green, one blue. Colors suited for a King, she thought, almost flustered into submission by such a mesmerizing gaze. Heat rushed up her neck and settled stubbornly in her cheeks as her eyes met with his. Defiantly, she stared him down, knowing full well that even in the dim ballroom lights, he could discern her look as a challenge. That was the trick to besting the Goblin King: obstinacy. For all his grace, his dark charms, powerful magic and wicked intelligence, he could not stand to see an opponent on equal footing with his own stubborn nature. She had beaten him once already and almost smiled at the distant memory. How many other mortal women held her record for defeating the labyrinth and its master? Some of them would kill for this, a thought whispered. She pushed a few conflicting emotions out of her mind. He wanted to dance again.

"I'm afraid, your Majesty, that I must decline." Sarah's voice didn't falter or squeak as she expected it might – Jareth was intimidating – but he was more than daunting wasn't he? Dangerous, she thought, flushing again at the wild images invading her mind. The problem with meeting the Goblin King face to face now was that she began to see him through an adult perspective, and not through the eyes of a frightened teenager, a child hoping to fix a stupid mistake and win back her baby brother. Was it beginning to affect her judgment? Yes. But there was something to be said about being this close to the Goblin King without his knowing who she was or why she was here; it certainly made it easier for her to focus on him and not on what she should be doing.

For instance, her eyes were drawn to places they shouldn't be wandering. The white shirt he wore was loose and open up near the collar, revealing more chest than honestly necessary, and sometimes her eyes caught on the hardened muscles in front of her as if she had forayed right into a trap. A gorgeous ebony coat hung over his shoulders, the inside of which glinted a perfect shade of silver. The whole coat trailed far down to the top of his boots and his dark pants complimented the colors nicely. Pity he seemed so vexed – anger skewed her view of him so that he was less of something to admire and more of something to be wary of. The difference between a pampered peacock and a feral lion. It was particularly amusing to note that unruly mane of hair and compare him with the latter.

"Jareth," he corrected, interrupting her train of thought and scowling down at her while his eyes narrowed. How many times was this now? Again and again she escaped his grasp, and again still he found her roaming around free in his kingdom. Something about her voice clicked in his memory, the familiarity was uncanny. But he could not for the love of him pull the damned thought from his mind. Who in the blasted hell was she? His eyes travelled down, brows furrowing as a rush of frustration boiled his blood to a near breaking point. "Not a wise decision," he said, smirking down at her. It was almost difficult to believe that this woman was so small and demanded so much of his attention. The problem was she was shrouded in mystery, and as the Goblin King, the sole master of illusions and trickery, she managed to outwit him on far too frequent a basis for it to remain tolerable.

He could not even see her face. Beyond a few feminine features hiding behind the thick, high collar of her coat and a heavy hood that concealed most of her from him, there was little but her size, the sound of her voice and the softer curves of her body that gave her away as a woman at all. With equally dark pants and boots, from a distance she was nothing more than a shadow. Each time he met her eyes – they were a sharp, intelligent cinnamon color – he felt a whiplash of magic strike out at him like a snake. It gave him a smarting headache and pissed him off for hours on end. How dare she throw magic at him when she was the intruder in his kingdom? This was the third time he had come across her in the past few weeks, always at night and again, magic poured from her in unrelenting waves. She likely assumed it would be easier to slip away from him in the darkness, but she had no idea how deep his magic was in these lands, how much more powerful he was then her.

But was it her specifically? His eyes flickered temporarily over his shoulder to the goings on of the ballroom. Hundreds of guests were in his castle walls tonight, and most of them were out on the floors, enjoying his food and wine, reveling in the music, trading dance partners and taking full advantage of his temporary hospitality. In fact. He was beginning to grow bored with every single one of them.

Except for one.

He found her lounging outside on the balcony, watching the guests in the ballroom from a distance. The longer he observed her antics, the angrier he became. He knew that magic kept most of her features and face covered in thick darkness, no matter how much light was in a room. (In fact, the more light there was, the harder it became to discern anything from her.) He wore leather gloves on both of their encounters before, but this time he left them behind on purpose, so he could sense her power himself, without anything to impede the process. But upon confronting her and pouring the usual charm into his gestures and talk, he realized she was not a meek kitten to be coaxed into the light. He offered her a dance and she turned him down instantly. It was of course, a ploy to get her closer and thereby grant him further access to her magic, but he had to admit. He would rather enjoy whipping that hood back and finding out just who she was.

But no. She refused him. Instead he was left to gauge her from the small distance that separated them.

The mystery woman was leaning close against the banister of his balcony as if she would jump if he took a step towards her. It was not the first time she did something so ridiculously stupid. He wouldn't hurt her – at least not much, but he still felt as if he owed her a few vicious migraines- and yet she insisted on leaping into dangerous situations to get away from him. The first night he came across her, she sprinted into the heart of the labyrinth (and disappeared, an impossible and unbelievable outcome). Most would consider her mad for going in willingly. There were many aspects to his famous maze that even he considered to be dangerous – it was his magic that made them so. He did not bother to scour the Kingdom for her again, just attempted to track her progress through the maze, but always, her magic barred her from the all seeing eye of his labyrinth and therefore, from himself. Days passed with no further sightings. He expected to find a body not long after – tragic, considering he wouldn't just kill her if she stayed to speak with him. But even this wasn't so.

He found her again when that same week was almost over. The goblins complained of a shadow that haunted their dreams at night and stalked them as they went about their duties. They would not shut up for hours, some of the braver, stronger creatures complaining nonstop about how the creature terrified them so. He could not believe the woman in front of him was the source of their pain –she was too meek- but her appearance in the wine cellar of his castle a few nights later set him on edge. It was rare he go down there, but as fate would have it, he decided fetching his own damned drink was preferable to sitting in his study and listening to another round of goblin problems. That time he almost killed her. She was slinking around down there and the instant he felt her strange magic pulse in the damp darkness he unleashed some of his own in her direction. Had she not bolted from a corner and nearly bowled him over for the stairs, he wouldn't have reacted so badly, but he was beginning to lose his temper and patience.

And now she was threatening to jump over the damned balcony. "Are you so afraid of me you would jump to your death?" He asked, genuine curiosity lacing with his aggravation. Even if she fell, he doubted she would really die, but he was amused at how she stiffened under such a question, as if she hadn't thought of it before. "You shouldn't be here, Duvessa. And I know you know it."

"Duvessa?"

"I have to call you something," he retorted, brows furrowing again. His eyes were drawn to wide arches of magic that skittered off of her coat and glittered faintly in the air. Whether she noticed them or not, she gave no sign, but what bothered him was the colorlessness of her magic. He could not see it outright, he had to visualize it and feel the energy surges for himself. But at least he felt a spike in those chaotic pulses when he called her something. A name was the most powerful thing you could give someone, and now that he had given her one, it might make it easier to persuade her away from the balcony. Magic seeped through his words as he spoke. "Come away from there before you fall, little one."

She shook her head. "I kind of like it over here. You just. You stay there."

Jareth drew in a deep breath, refusing to lose his temper with her and using as many persuasive spells as he knew to force her away from the balcony. "You wound me by assuming I would hurt you so." Part of him childishly wanted to leave her to her own stupidity. If she wants to jump off the balcony, let her, it hissed. But this would be the third time she risked death instead of confront him properly, and he refused to let her get away again.

"Your reputation precedes you then, Goblin King." His eyes narrowed at her dry tone. "I know you are not as charming as you seem."

"Duvessa, you are treading on dangerous ground." The persuasive spells dropped from his voice instantly. They obviously weren't working on her and that was infuriating to no end. He suspected her chaotic magic had something to do with it, interfering with his own when he normally expected no obstacles whatsoever.

"What does that mean?" She asked.

He cocked a brow. "The name or what I just said?"

"The name," she said warily. "I heard you just fine."

His anger had the better of him and he sneered at her. "Wretch." It didn't of course. Duvessa was goblin speech. Often enough when he traveled to the Aboveground he found bastardized versions of the ancient tongue everywhere. Meanings were confused and mixed up. Here, in the Underground, Duvessa meant "beautiful dark". It was meant to flatter her a little, but obviously she didn't belong to the fae kingdoms because she didn't know it, and this was an interesting tidbit of information. He knew she didn't belong in his Kingdom, but to say she belonged nowhere…that was very interesting indeed.

"Kind of you," she bit out.

"My patience is growing thin with you," he took a step towards her, hoping to pull her physically from the edge but she swerved on her feet and placed one thick boot up on top of the banister. Her hands were against the cold stone as if preparing to jump. "Enough," he said, exasperated and furious. "I have no intention of killing you." But he had half a right mind to shove her off the ledge himself.

"But you have intentions?" She countered, her entire body rigid.

"Merely to ask how you snuck into my Kingdom without my knowledge." His jaw set as he watched her shoulders square off. "And how you continue to elude me." Her back was turned, and though he preferred not to startle her and have her jump, he considered trying to grab her now, while her attention was elsewhere. Quietly, he took another step towards her. She gave no notice. "What exactly are you doing in my Kingdom?"

"I cannot say," she whispered.

Confound this woman! Magic burned below his calm exterior. "You are trying my hospitality. I could have killed you a number of times if I deemed it necessary."

"But you won't."

Oh? His brow rose again, but that was the last straw. He reached out for her as she turned to face him. He saw her brown eyes flicker with something like fear as his fingers brushed the soft material of her coat. He was surprised to realize it was smoother than silk and not exactly black as he had thought. Up close he could see hundreds of subtle colors meshing and rolling together in the fabric, never a single shade or hue. In fact, the iridescent quality was distinctly oil like, and as his fingers dug into the material at her shoulder, he felt her slipping from his grasp anyway. At first he didn't understand. He had a tight hold of her and could haul her from the balcony, but the opportunity to do so never arrived. One second he was staring into her eyes, her magic meshing with his as they clashed for dominance, and the next she was…shrinking.

He yanked back out of confusion, but all that came with his hand was a mesh of soft black feathers – not the woman. In fact, she went tumbling over the edge and he scrambled to grab her before she fell to the ground. But she wasn't herself anymore. A small, pitiable black crow took her place and he barely missed her as she spun dismally towards the ground.

How in world did this happen?

Sarah's heart was racing a million miles per second while she struggled to get her new body parts to work correctly. How did wings even work? She flapped miserably, struggling to right herself first so that she could face the ground before she hit it – and she would hit it, because she didn't know how to fly. Each wing beat caused her body to twist in a new direction, but she never truly managed to straighten out and slow down. Granted, she tried really hard to avoid the inevitable –birds made it look so easy - but she still smacked into the ground at a blinding pace, a piercing crack echoing in her ears while the smell of dirt and grass flooded her senses.

She spent a long time just lying there motionless, exhaustion biting at all the muscles in her body and her brain swimming in a mess of thoughts. How and why were amongst the biggest questions. In the few weeks since returning to Jareth's labyrinth, she had never turned into anything. In fact, the only magic she knew of belonged to the coat, and she couldn't exactly remember how she had come across it. Something told her it was absolutely imperative that she didn't lose it or take it off, but she couldn't remember why. And now, of all the times for it to pull a nasty trick (she should have known better, here in the Underground nothing was every easy or nice, ditching the coat would have been much simpler at this point), it did this. Right when she needed to get away from Jareth, and fast.

Could she even get up right now?

She breathed out a low caw, blinking dirt from her eyes as she struggled to get to her feet. She was upset to realize how small she was in spite of the changes. The coat didn't turn her into just any crow when he grabbed at her, it turned her into a scrawny, tiny crow. A small thrill shot up her back, ruffling her feathers as her eyes peered up at the balcony she fell from, heart still tripping lightly in her chest. When he grabbed her like that, she felt the heaviness of his hand and the warmth of his magic at the same time. Two very conflicted feelings surfaced in that moment and they still swirled around in her head, popping in and confusing her again as she examined how far she fell. She practically froze as she craned her neck back and met his gaze.

From here she could see his lips moving, but his words must have been filled with contempt, because his gaze was neither kind nor relieved. Sarah even shuddered as he started to laugh, black feathers drifting from his fingers as he relaxed the hand that used to hold her. An earsplitting pop resounded from the balcony and her stomach clenched as the Goblin King vanished. He was so angry.

Well. If she were in his shoes and just as petulant as he was, she would be angry too. How many times had she managed to run from him now? This time really didn't count, seeing as how she couldn't exactly fly away, but it still mattered. Eventually, the coat and this magic would wear away, and she would be able to revert back into a human form, but until then, she needed a place to hide. Before she could do anything about it though, a gnarled pair of hands clamped around her middle. Pain rippled through her right side. It was so terrible that a mosaic of colors burst behind her eyes and sent the world spiraling into darkness for a moment.

"Notchy caught a birdy!"

Sarah was dimly aware that such a high pitched, childish and scratchy voice could only belong to a goblin. As her senses reeled and the pain ebbed into a dull throb, she realized she was caged in the hands of a very young one at that. His enormous green ears kept pricking back and forth while his amber colored eyes examined her. His hands gripped her awfully hard, and she noted how leathery they felt and how close his long nails came to pricking her skin.

My day just keeps getting better and better, she thought, trying not to cry out as he started jumping up and down. The pain came back, so heavy and thick she wished she could just pass out and forget about it, but every movement from her captor seemed to make it worse. Sarah's stomach began to churn as he hopped around in joyful circles, not helping her mood, or the massive amount of pain rolling through her right side. When she could take it no more, she squawked, essentially begging him to stop with her mind.

A familiar earsplitting pop split the air a moment later and the goblin stopped dancing around immediately.

"Uh oh," he drawled, shrinking back like a child while Sarah opened her beak in a heavy pant. Why in the hell did it hurt so much? She tried to lean more on her left side to relieve the agonizing pressure on her right, but Notchy whipped his hands behind his back, making her dizzy as he hid his prize from the Goblin King. Not that it mattered. She missed the first thing Jareth said, but almost as soon as he said it, Notchy flinched. "Notchy found the birdy first!"

"And he had better hand her over," Jareth snapped. Sarah could tell he was still in a foul mood. She wondered grimly what had taken him so long to get down here, and almost clapped her beak in anger at the thought that he had taken his merry time about it. Feeling as if it was now or never, she kicked out feebly with a clawed foot at her captor's wrist, but she couldn't reach his skin.

"But…" Either Notchy really was disappointed and wanted to keep her, or was feigning it very well. "But Notchy found…f-found the birdy." Jareth was being a jerk probably, as per usual, and glaring at the poor little guy. Eventually, Notchy would crack and hand her over, and Sarah honestly didn't think that was a good idea. She made a fast decision and snapped her beak over one of the goblin's fingers. He dropped her with a squeal and she landed on her bad side, squawking painfully.

Jareth snarled something she didn't quite understand, but from his tone she could tell it wasn't very nice anyway. She scrabbled for a good hold in the dirt with her feet, but as she stood again, she swayed, leaning more to the right than the left. It took some effort, but she turned to look at her right wing and what she saw made her sick to her stomach. The wing was halfway open and twisted badly. There weren't any bones poking through the skin anywhere, but she was certain it was broken, and the fall earlier would have done it. It certainly explained the unsettling cracking noise she heard when she hit the ground. Now that she knew about it, it seemed to throb with more purpose.

"Come here." Sarah jumped at how close Jareth was now, his fingers brushing against her uninjured side. His touch sent familiar chills down her back and before he could grab her completely, she swatted at his hand with her good wing and fluttered backwards a few feet, diving into a nearby bush to get away. He cursed wildly, his voice so loud that she shrank back into the shadows of the bramble. "Enough!"

Her head spun momentarily as the air around her thickened. Before she could think of what to do, the protective hedge with all its burrs and thick branches began to snake away from her. The entire hedge parted and she almost squeaked to find herself sitting in the middle of empty space again, the bushes leaning off to the sides. Looking up, she met Jareth's cold gaze. Her feathers bristled, but she didn't move. "You'll break your other one at this rate," he growled, some of the anger fading as he knelt down to pick her up. He was as careful as he could be and Sarah watched him with meek confusion as he scooped her up into his hand. His gentleness was like a foreign concept to her, but if he noticed how baffled she was by his behavior, he gave no sign. Without a word, he tucked her gently into the crook of his arm against his chest, wise enough to leave her right wing exposed to the air and not crushed against his side.

"Clever of you. Turning into a bird when you don't know how to fly," he commented dryly. Frustration seeped through his tone while heat rushed from her chest to her head. She thought to snap at his fingers as his free hand drew close, but a soft, recognizable croon entered his voice and made her hesitate. "Where did you learn such magic, little one?" Not only did he see fit to pour some magic into his words, but Sarah's breath caught as his fingertips brushed through the sensitive feathers under her throat.

Wh-what is he doing?

Sarah shivered as her body relaxed, his fingers circling around to her rest between her shoulder blades. She would have whimpered if she could have. Even though his touch was delicate at best, when he paused between her shoulders like that, pain rippled up through her right wing. Jareth only shushed her when she made a noise in an attempt to warn him. At first she thought he was going to torment her for a bit – that was more his style anyway – but those thoughts were instantly quelled as warmth spilled from his fingertips and over her back.

There wasn't much he could do about the broken wing.

Jareth glowered at the injury while he poured magic into her small body. He was still furious with her for jumping in the first place –it took a special kind of idiocy to turn into a bird when you couldn't fly- but the damage was done and there was little he could do to change it. In fact, the longer he mulled over the situation the more he thought it was a suitable punishment for her foolishness. Medicinal herbs and rest would help it heal with time, but shape shifting back into her normal body would put her through undue amounts of stress and pain. Some of the fracture would heal in the process as bones and muscles reformed and enlarged in the proper places, but it would still hurt, and no amount of magic would be able to numb it entirely.

Even more intriguing – the fact that she could shape shift.

His eyes narrowed as he trailed his fingers over her broken wing with the utmost care. She trembled fitfully and he knew it must hurt, but maybe it was more than just the gentle caress that bothered her so. He could still feel magic pulsing out of her body and meshing with his own, but again he found himself unable to see it. He could do nothing but work blindly around it. Jareth supposed that the same exasperation he felt for the task, she felt too. Magic could be as stubborn as the individual controlling it, and with a spirited creature like her, it became particularly obnoxious and difficult to work with. At times he saw her cringe – no doubt her injury was part of the problem- but it always happened when their magic refused to mix together peacefully. His brow furrowed as entire minutes ticked by with no progress. He meant to help ease the pain, not give her more to worry about.

And yet her weakened state and their quarreling magic fed him more information about her than she was likely willing to reveal on her own. First and foremost: that she was mortal. Only powerful fae could master an ancient art as complicated as shape shifting – even at its simplest levels, it took years to learn. Yet the magic that clashed with his own had the taste and aura of a mortal being, not exactly a typical denizen in the Underground.

"Impossible," he hissed.

Mortals had no magic, especially here, in his realm. Yet, right to the contrary, here she was, defying every known natural law.

"C-can Notchy have birdy back now?" A squeaky voice picked up behind him. Jareth slid his gaze slowly over his shoulder towards the small goblin, who promptly flinched. "Or Kingy can keep..b-birdy. Notchy go find another one..?" The enormous bat ears that framed his face fell back as his confidence shattered. Jareth's lips twitched in a bemused smirk before he glanced down at the bundle of black feathers cradled in his arm. His mystery woman no longer seemed to care about what was going on around her. She was mentally and physically exhausted, always jerking herself awake again when her eyes began to close.

"Something you can do," Jareth said, frowning down at the bird in his arms as he turned to face the goblin, "fetch Matthias and tell him to meet me in my study." When the creature didn't move, his brow furrowed. "Well?" The goblin jumped, babbling nonsense before scrambling off through the dark. Jareth noticed irritably that he ran off in the wrong direction. He would have to grab Matthias himself if he wanted his counsel. In the meantime, Jareth drew his eyes back up to the balcony she fell from. As expected, a few of his ballroom guests were there now, carefully avoiding his gaze as they returned to the dance floor. No doubt, murmuring amongst themselves about the strange customs of the Goblin King and the company he kept. His Kingdom was the only one amongst the fae that welcomed unwanted, pitiable creatures like goblins and gave them a place to live. Naturally, during festivities, most of the Labyrinth's inhabitants kept to the darker areas of the palace and stayed out of the guest's way. They did this so well that Jareth actually enjoyed himself when a guest inadvertently wandered the halls, drunk from too much wine and screamed at a passing goblin in the dark.

This was different, however. The rumors would circulate for weeks, particularly if any of his visitors managed to see what happened on the balcony or happened to see her, before she changed into a bird.

"Such a hassle, Duvessa." He lowered his voice to a near whisper, a slow grin spreading across his face as he summoned up a portal. She stiffened in the crook of his arm. "I look forward to your explanation." He stepped through, his laugh carrying through the castle yard before they disappeared with a loud pop.