A/N: This is my very first Labyrinth fanfiction. Yes, it is (eventually) S/J. But I really wanted to explore the structure of the Underground, as well as Jareth's own kingdom. Darius belongs entirely to me. Why is he Scottish? Because I made him so.

Disclaimer: I do not own Jareth, Sarah, the Labyrinth, the world, or the other copyrighted characters. They belong to Jim Henson Studios. I do own Darius, Wendell, Cook, Jetsam, Adie, and anyone else not mentioned in the movie. Mine! All MINE!

Prologue

Jareth sighed softly as he walked into his study. It was a nice room, a very nice room – and enchanted left and right so the goblins would stay out of it. The colors were warm, the carpeting was thick, and the armchairs and such were well-stuffed and comfortable. The perfect room in which to relax and unwind. This room was one of the two sole reasons Jareth managed being Goblin King so very well. He allowed a small smile to cross his face as he settled into his favorite chair, relaxing for the first time in his very, very long day.

At that moment, the second reason Jareth managed the post of King of the Goblins opened the door and half-walked, half-staggered in. The 'second reason' was really a person – or more precisely, something commonly referred to in the Underground as a 'cat-hawk'. He was tall, as tall as Jareth – really, he had an inch or so on the Goblin King, but obviously this was not common knowledge. He looked young – you'd peg him for a slightly serious eighteen, maybe. He had dark brown skin and silky black hair that hung about as long as Jareth's did; only he wore his straight down. Large, triangular cat ears stuck out the sides of his head, twitching to catch every sound – black feathers poked haphazardly out of his hair. A long tail lashed behind him, tipped in more black feathers – his feet were oddly proportioned, with three large toes that looked like demented paws. A cane was held tightly in one of his clawed hands, which he immediately dropped on the floor upon entering the room. He groaned as he flopped heavily into the seat across from Jareth, then sagging and laying there like a corpse.

"Long day, Darius," Jareth commented conversationally, mentally agreeing with his companion. It had been an exhausting eighteen or so hours, and he ached all over. First there had been that business with the Bog … and the fireys had been running amok in the hedge maze again, trying to puzzle out the Wise Man and his Bird Hat, who tried to sue the fireys for damage to his feathers. It took hours to sort that one out. And then the cobblestone goblins had revolted, resulting in a miniature battle involving lots of upturned walkways, mud, gravel, and, for some odd reason, three-day-old tapioca pudding. And then the goblins had the brilliant idea to throw a fairy revel – in the castle. It took over four hours of hard work just to round the little flying devils up, especially with all the goblins falling over themselves to help, thus getting in the way even more. And then a section of the Labyrinth had fallen down due to a strange fungus that ate away mortar … the list went on and on. Darwinian's Law at its best … or worst.

Darius only groaned loudly in reply. Jareth had no doubt that his friend's day had been just as bad, if not worse, than his own. Darius managed the castle. He managed the Goblin City, and the minor to medium-major disputes. He held down the fort. He took care of the paperwork, with much help from a literate goblin maid named Wendell. He made sure the food was edible, the castle wasn't falling down around their ears, and that anyone visiting was kept out of the way until Jareth could deal with them, especially the dangerous ones. He dealt with disgruntled Bog-dwellers, he took care of the babes when Jareth couldn't find the time, he read the goblins to sleep, he helped shore up anything that fell apart in the castle or city … again, the list went on and on. Jareth privately thought of Darius as his saving grace.

Jareth also respected the diligent and stubborn cat-hawk immensely. Not only did he manage all of the above (and more), but he did all this without the benefit of sight. That was to say, he was blind. Fairly recently, actually, only about a year or so, but he was adjusting nicely, and could still handle all his old jobs (with the help of Wendell, who read aloud the paperwork for him). And yet, through all of this work, they still found time for the occasional prank war. The last one had involved neon orange spray paint, superglue, copious amounts of glitter, and several tons of canned cream corn. Needless to say, theirs was a very … rough-around-the-edges friendship. But they lived a fairly comfortable life – as comfortable as two bachelors can be when they're co-running a kingdom, anyway.

Finally, Darius deigned to speak up. "Bad day. Bad day bad day bad day … very, very bad day."

Jareth smiled widely in that slightly predatory grin of his. "Oh, yes. Very bad day, indeed," he agreed feelingly, watching as his friend reached up and untied the bandanna he wore around his eyes. Darius' eyes were not the prettiest sight in the world. The once bright-gold orbs were clouded, with a jagged line running through each. The skin around his eyes was visibly scarred, though it went away little by little each year. Not very quickly, though. As Darius knew that the sight of his eyes disturbed some people, including most of the goblins (who bluntly claimed, when interrogated, that the sight put them off their dinners), he deigned to wear a blindfold instead. Jareth insisted that he remove it when they were alone, however; the Goblin King hated not being able to look him in the eyes, regardless of the fact that Darius could not look back.

Throwing the length of cloth heedlessly on the floor, Darius said in a matter-of-fact voice; "With a day as bad as this, you realize there is really only one thing to do."

"Yes, only one thing," Jareth agreed solemnly.

"Get drunk."

"Very drunk."

"Falling-down drunk."

"Insufferably drunk."

"I'm-so-drunk-I-can't-think-straight,-let-alone-walk-straight drunk."

"Yes," Jareth settled, standing up. "Very, very drunk indeed."

"I'll get the wine … I think we have some 597 vodka in there somewhere…" Darius got up and felt his way to a high, cherry-wood cabinet and opened it, feeling about for a moment before pulling out a tall, worn bottle. He turned it so it was facing Jareth. "This the one?"

"Yes." Jareth nodded only out of habit, but somehow Darius picked up on it and grinned, displaying oversized canines as he set the vodka on the table and reached into the cabinet for some glasses. He came up with two small, crystal glasses and sat down, extending them both to Jareth, who uncorked the bottle and filled them both, taking one for himself.

Jareth slouched languorously in his chair, sipping the alcohol, while Darius curled up in the seat of his own armchair very much like the feline he resembled, downing the glass in one gulp. Suddenly, Darius chuckled.

"What?" Jareth demanded, eyeing his friend questioningly. Darius shook his head, still lightly laughing. "Nothing, Jareth bach, I was just remembering … the last time I saw you drunk, and I was still conscious enough to remember, you re-did your hair into some braided ponytails …" he faded off into soft chuckles, obviously pleased with his memory.

Jareth scowled. "You will repeat that to no one, or I'll –"

"Yeah, yeah, tip me headfirst into the Bog of Eternal Stench, I know, I know," Darius brushed away the threat with a wave of his hand and a good-natured snicker. His slight Highland accent, mostly gone since the time he'd first come to the Labyrinth, resurfaced slightly when he was amused, or reminiscing. "You really should come up with some different threats, you know, I think I've heard them all."

Jareth rolled his eyes, snorting. "The Bog is fine," he retorted stubbornly. "Have you ever smelled it?"

"Numerous times," Darius replied dryly. "In person and reeking from those you toss in there and come to complain to me. My sense of smell is a mite better than yours, I'll wager …"

If Jareth hadn't been Goblin King, he probably would have pouted. As it was, all he could do was snort again and shift in his chair, knowing that Darius was right and unwilling to admit it.

Darius ran a claw lightly around the rim of his glass, causing it to vibrate musically. "Sooo …" he said finally, "what's this I hear about a Council meeting?"

"What Council meeting?" Jareth replied evasively, taking another sip of his vodka.

"Oh, the one in a couple of weeks to which you have to attend or there'll be hell to pay … the first one you'll have gone to since … my accident." Council Meetings were few and far between, occurring about three times over the course of two years. The spacing between this one and the last had been slightly long, but then sometimes it was slightly short.

Jareth was quiet, and they both knew why. Ever since Darius had become an indispensable part of the kingdom, he had attended every Fae council with Jareth. It was custom to bring your most loyal servants or followers to Court. So, Jareth brought his friend, who made quite the impression, being a skilled warrior and talented in his own right. And if people thought he was a follower or servant … well, that was their own conclusion, not necessarily the truth.

But now there was a problem. If Darius did not attend this one, it could be construed as a weakness, and the other Fae Lords and Ladies may take it as a provocation to move in on the Labyrinth's domains. But if Darius did attend, and it became known that he was, in fact, blinded … that could be seen as an even worse weakness. And therein lay the dilemma, not one easily solved.

In short, Darius was a weakness, a weakness of the Goblin King. He was only this because of the Fae, the Sidhe, the cold, cruel ones, only a weakness because they made him one. In truth, he was a strength. But now … now, they had to keep him from becoming a weakness despite both their best intentions.

Jareth's hand suddenly clenched into a fist, pounding down sharply onto the table, making Darius jump slightly and look at Jareth querulously. Jareth hissed in frustration. "Damn Alaric!" he growled, letting his long-pent-up rage shine through. Darius cocked his head but was silent, his expression unreadable.

Alaric, Lord of the Kelpies, was the one who was to blame for Darius' loss of sight. It was a kelpie who had blinded him, but as to which one, or if it was Alaric himself, they did not know. The problem was, however, that Alaric was allied with the Unseelie Court, while the Goblin Kingdom was one of the 'fringe' kingdoms – not belonging to any court or allegiance, of which there were many, with the Elders of the Council holding final sway. If Jareth accused Alaric of the crime without solid evidence – of which they really had none, as the culprit had covered his tracks remarkably well – the consequence could and would be nothing short of disastrous.

Which, of course, frustrated the Goblin King to no end. Jareth considered his subjects, each and every one, to be under his personal protection. He was very protective of what he considered 'his', and technically, Darius was as subject of the Goblin Kingdom, having originally been wished there. Thus, Darius was his; his subject, his confidant, his second-in-command, his best friend. Jareth wanted payback. He wanted revenge on Alaric, which he fully deserved, to his way of thinking, anyways. Darius rarely voiced his opinions on the subject, preferring to avoid it whenever possible.

Darius sighed, then said, "I shouldn't go. Maybe later, when we can handle the Seelie and Unseelie and Tír na nÓg Courts breathing down our necks, but not this time. Not this time. Take …" He paused a moment, then said, "Jetsam. He's an imposing figure, and can keep a secret. And Sir Didymus. I know you're not fond of him, but he's fiercely loyal, and fearless. He won't divulge anything you don't want him to."

Jareth frowned, unsatisfied, though he knew it was the best he was going to get. They were good choices, the best they had, really. Darius was right; Jetsam, a powerful kobold, would impress the Lords and Ladies of the Courts, and Sir Didymus was loyal and true, a testament to the loyalty of his subjects.

He just wished that it would be his trusted friend at his side, instead of trusted subjects.

"It's all we can do," Darius said quietly, reading Jareth's thoughts. "I'll send a summons for Didymus and Jetsam tomorrow. But after this is over, I demand one thing." Jareth looked at him curiously. "You. Me. Prank War. Here. Immediately Following Council Meeting."

Jareth laughed, a sound that chilled most people, but now was honest and genuine. Darius grinned, waggling his eyebrows up and down in a mischievous manner. "I have new plans of attack," he taunted, setting down his glass. "The Incident of the Canned Cream Corn Flood? Absolutely nothing compared to this one."

Jareth raised an eyebrow, trademark smirk spreading over his face. "Oh, I'll have plenty of time at the Council meeting to think up suitable tortures," he promised the cocky cat-hawk.

"It's a plan, Jareth bach, it's a plan!" Darius agreed boisterously, his Highland origins showing through his speech once more. Jareth refilled the glasses and raised his in the air. "A toast!" he proclaimed loudly, Darius laughing as he raised his own glass.

"To the damn Council!"

"Tae successful Prank Wars!"

"To the downfall of Alaric!"

"Tae Sir Didymus, an' his feathered hat!"

The last gave Jareth pause, before he shrugged it off and clinked his glass with Darius', guiding the cat-hawk's hand slightly so they met. With that, they downed the glasses and reached for more, good moods returning with abundance as the crystalline Underground moon shone brightly in the outside nighttime sky.

One week later …

Jareth sat on the throne with his head in his hands, ignoring the goblins that crept cautiously along before him, all stealing occasional glances at their ruler before scurrying away. He didn't look up as the familiar "tap-tapping" of Darius' cane echoed through the hallway, or even when Darius himself entered the room.

The cat-hawk made his steady way to the throne, whereupon he reached out and fumbled for a moment before touching Jareth's shoulder and resting his hand there. The two stood like that for a moment in silence, each thinking his own thoughts.

Finally, Jareth looked over at his friend, searching Darius' face for some sign of … mockery, exasperation, pity, annoyance, he didn't know. He found nothing but a calm willingness to both speak and listen. "Well?" he finally said, his voice slightly hoarse. "What have you come to say to me?"

Darius twitched his ears, his expression saddening slightly. "Must one always seek out one's friend merely to say something?" he asked lightly, attempting a slight grin.

Jareth clenched one hand tightly, angrily, before relaxing once more and sighing in defeat. "I lost," he admitted, though it pained him to do so.

"You lost more than just a game," Darius replied steadily. "But then, not all of it was a game, was it?" Jareth shook his head, the pain of Sarah's rejection renewing afresh. He loved her, adored her – truly, he did. But … he was so angry!

"She completely rejected me," he said hotly, eyes blazing. "I offered her everything, and she threw it in my face! I have no power over her." How dare she reject him? Him! The Goblin King! He was well and truly confused, and was currently sulking in order to avoid his tumultuous emotions. Unfortunately, Darius had other plans.

Darius sighed. "Jareth, ye're a right daftie," he said matter-of-factly, relapsing into his broad, natural Highland speech again in his exasperation. "Did ye nae think for e'en a blink? The lass be only a bairn, d'ye think she truly kenned what ye were sayin'?"

Jareth blinked for a moment before saying blankly; "Bairn? Kenned? Daftie?" He could never understand Darius when the cat-hawk lapsed into his own vernacular.

Darius laughed. "I mean … did you even think for a moment? She's only a child, do you think she really understood what you were saying to her?"

Jareth blinked again, this time in surprise. Why … of course! She was still a child, really, especially in mind. Of course she hadn't understood … he'd been the villain the entire time for her – for Sarah, the game had never halted, as it had for him in the broken Escher room. Yes … yes, she really had been much too young.

Darius cocked his head, sensing the sudden change in mood in his friend. He smiled, satisfied with his work. "So you're going to wait?" he inquired, already knowing the answer.

Jareth smirked. "Yes. But I will come for her." His eyes gleamed predatorily.

"Ye shan't own her as a sasine – a possession," Darius admonished his friend warningly. "Ye shall own her as ye own meself – in name only, and maybe, someday, in heart."

Thankfully, Jareth had caught the gist of that statement – Darius didn't feel up to repeating the fact that, not only did he 'belong' to Jareth, but was utterly loyal to him as well. That just wasn't something you reminded the Goblin King of when you insisted upon being his equal.

"I know." The predatory light faded slightly from his eyes, though by no means banished completely. "But don't think for a moment I shall forget about her."

Darius chuckled. "Not for a moment, Jareth bach," he assured his friend. "She's a grand wee lassie, e'en for one o' the Fír – the Humankind."

Jareth laughed at Darius' light teasing. "That she is, for a mortal," he agreed.

Darius smirked, remembering a song that was quite appropriate for Jareth at the moment. Music was a part of the Labyrinth, a part of life and magic itself – it was everywhere, in everything. Jareth preferred recent mortal music, loud and brash and bold, whereas Darius favored the ancient songs of his homeland of the Isla – the Faerie Scotland.

"Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing wer't thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine."

Jareth smirked, thinking of Sarah as Darius' broad tones swept over the castle. The cat-hawk loved to sing just as much as Jareth himself, something they both indulged in as often as possible.

"Wistfully, I look and languish
In that bonnie face of thine.
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish
Lest my wee thing be nae mine.

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing wer't thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.

Wit and Grace and Love and Beauty
In ae constellation shine!
To adore thee is my duty
Goddess o' this soul o' mine!"

Jareth could only make out about three-fifths of the song, but what he heard was more than enough to grasp its meaning, which was good enough for him. At the end, he joined in with Darius at the last chorus, his European tones blending nicely with the cat-hawk's Highland burr.

"Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing wer't thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine."

A/N: Well? What do you think? I know, I know, I'm starting yet another story when I have so many others demanding my attention ... but this sort of grabbed me. It's more serious and well-written than anything else I have, that's for sure. And yes, "Bonnie Wee Thing" is a traditional Scottish song. They sing all the time in the Labyrinth, really; it's part of their lives and their magic. Music - such a wonderful thing.

Review, please. OR I SHALL NEVER UPDATE! No, not really, but still review, okay?