This was written in response to the "time" prompt on the livejournal labyfic community.
Jareth prized the promise of space but tolerated the subliminal squeal of spaceship electronics, the way their messages and signals and—what was it Sarah called them—bitstreams rustled along the edge of his magic. It was almost like being teased by a wind that plucked at one's clothes and hair, relentlessly disturbing but not the sort of thing one might wave away with a flick of power. Humans missed so much, relying on machines rather than magic, though he had spent time enough convincing Sarah of such, long past.
He sighed, drawing himself up from owl shape to hover menacingly before yet another wisher.
This one was a boy whose eyes marked him, in the way of all shipfolk who traveled the faster-than-light paths Above, as older than his appearance. Jareth squashed a germ of fellow-feeling and gave him a frosty glare, folding his arms with cool arrogance.
"You really shouldn't have wished her away if you weren't prepared to face the consequences," Jareth drawled.
The boy eyed him with more self-possession than Jareth typically experienced from mortals (save Sarah). The boy opened his mouth, paused, then said collectedly, "I did—I do—want the consequences."
Jareth's boredom faded a bit, curiosity piquing him to ask, "You wished your sister to leave the Above, to become part of my kingdom forever?"
The boy nodded.
"And you don't wish to reclaim her?"
Again, the boy nodded.
"Then what did you call me for?" Jareth asked, feeling exasperation warm him.
"I—I wished to run the Labyrinth," the boy said, voice and gaze steady, though the way he clasped his hands behind his back revealed his nervousness.
Jareth pursed his lips. "You seem to have scrambled how matters work under these circumstances. Running the Labyrinth is how you seek to regain a sibling, which you apparently don't care to do."
The boy licked his lips, then blurted, "But if I run it, can't I—can't I get lost in it? And—and not come back?"
"Ah." Taking in the suggestion, Jareth glanced around the room for the first time. The typical spartan arrangement—bunks, plain walls, all belongings stowed neatly in latched bins—certainly did not hold true here. The cold metal of the room had been warmed by painted silhouettes of trees, a forest of shadows and leaves with the hint of mysterious creatures flitting just out of sight. Curious items—stones, twisted branches, terrestrial oddities—had been fixed securely to all surfaces. It was not a sight customary to the star-spanning steel worlds of shipfolk; the green bedding, the earthy brown flooring, all spoke of earthly concerns, of a world.
But not, Jareth noted suddenly, one with a sun or moon in the sky: it was a world Underground. He turned back to the boy with more interest. "It's not customary," he drawled, feigning resistance to the idea.
The boy stepped forward, then caught himself short. "Oh, please! I—" He regained self-possession and said carefully, "I might offer a trade."
Jareth tipped his head and gave him a curious look. "Oh?"
The boy squared his shoulders. Firm, unwavering, he said, "I could trade this ship."
Jareth turned a circle, imagining all this steel, this metal—these wires, copper and tin and lead—replaced by wood, the soft hum of spells replacing the irksome buzz of machines. A ship fueled by desire and magic, carrying his kingdom, his people, his goblins through limitless space Above. Turning back, he smiled. "Boy, you interest me."