AN: Yeah, an update is out quickly. This is partially because like I said yesterday, I had this already nearly done sitting in my files, but also because I finally finished my enlightenment essay! Five AM, I finished and then I had to get up to submit it, so I decided to reward myself by not writing my NaNo, and instead posting a chapter of this.

Disclaimer: I don't own all the things that I said I didn't own in the last chapter, i.e. yesterday. (I can't believe it was only a day between chapters. That has to be a record for me!)

A pair of boots thumped loudly through the castle as its owner made its way towards the throne room. Goblins scurried to get out of the owner of the boots way and gazed with a mixture of respect and awe at him. And why shouldn't they? He was tall, by goblin standards, standing at 6ft 3, and he was well dressed in silk and metal and leather. He had a look of keen intelligence in his eye which was matched only by his strength. Strength he had tested time and time again on the battlefield, and he had the scars to prove it. He was Trygg, Commander of the Kings Guard. He was also a complete bastard, whose saving grace was his absolute loyalty and devotion to his King.

Trygg was on his way to see Jareth. He was actually on his way to complain. He felt he had the right to considering that the Imps were running riot through the Labyrinth and had been for the past three hours. They had already managed to completely dismantle three of the armouries, completely devastate the rooms where his men slept, somehow managed to tear down an oubliette (and lord knows how they managed that?), and were even now in the process of wrecking the obstacle course that he had spent days setting up.

Now Trygg wasn't an unreasonable Goblin. He understood that Imps would always be Imps and it was in there nature to destroy things, but when he had discovered that the Imps had destroyed dinner well, that was taking things too far. Why hadn't Jareth reined them in? He didn't have the answer but he was going to make the Goblin King put a stop to it, before they broke something irreplaceable.

Trygg reached the doors of the throne room, which were guarded by two of his own. They offered their salutes before one reached out and knocked firmly on the doors. There was no answer, but then there didn't need to be. The knock was more out of courtesy than anything else. The King could if he wish call out and bar entry, but it wasn't like the throne room was the Kings Privy Chamber and it was generally assumed that the King would be elsewhere if he didn't wish to receive visitors.

The door was held open for him by one of the guards and Trygg walked in. The first thing he noticed through the gloom of the room, was the complete disarray of it; Overturned barrels, chicken shit, feathers, straw, liquids that seeped and dripped and the reek of alcohol. Considering that the Imps had been absent from the room for several hours, there was no excuse for its state. The second thing that Trygg noticed was that the King was not on his throne.

There was a gasping noise from the other side of the room and Trygg whirled around, hand going to the hilt of his sword. What he saw shocked him for there was Jareth, sitting, head in hands on the floor, surrounded by squalor. There was clear evidence of tears on his face and choking, rasping sobs escaped from him. His whole body shook with every tear, and it was clear that he was completely unaware of both his surroundings and Trygg's presence in the room.

Trygg shifted uncomfortably, all thoughts of complaint gone far from his mind. He eyed the door behind him, wondering if he should just leave. The King would not want anyone witnessing his breakdown, and Trygg was feeling tremendously guilty intruding on him. He wanted to help him, but he was acutely aware that he probably wasn't the best suited for the task. He thought that he should just leave, but then, how would he stop others from intruding on the Kings privacy. He couldn't tell the guards that the King was crying. Jareth would be mortified if that got out, and it was Trygg's job to protect the Kings dignity and name as well as his person. He eyed Jareth on the floor, and then the door again. Maybe he could sneak out, dismiss the guards and stand watch himself, or maybe he could stay inside and hope that Jareth wouldn't notice him, until he had composed himself. The guards wouldn't let anyone in so long as they thought that Jareth was in a meeting. But how would he explain himself at the end? He eyed the door again and made his way towards the door but stopped. His hesitation cost him, as he chanced to look back at the King just as Jareth raised his head.

For a moment their eyes locked, Trygg's hand inched away from the door, and Trygg could see the depths of pain and suffering that Jareth was feeling, before a cool mask drew over his face. It was an ineffective disguise as his face was still blotchy and there were tracks from his tears, and both of them knew it.

Jareth was horrified when he noticed his surly guard standing at the door. Horrified and embarrassed. He was the all powerful Goblin King. He didn't cry, at such things like losing his...

He quickly cut off that train of thought as tears began to well in his eyes again. He tried to put on a cool veneer, although he could see that Trygg wasn't fooled for a second.

Not bothering to get up, as if sitting amongst filth was the most normal of consequences, he said, "Was there a reason you came here, Captain?"

He winced. He intended his voice to sound somewhat threatening. Instead, all that came out was a weak, rasp. Where was the power of illusion gone...oh, right.

Trygg, knowing he was caught, stepped further into the room and offered his King a bow. If Jareth was going to pretend that nothing was wrong, then who was he to say otherwise? It wasn't as if he was good at comforting someone anyway. No, he resolved to put it firmly out of his mind.

It was much harder to do this, when he looked at Jareth and could see the carefully disguised evidence of his grief.

"The Imps, Your Majesty, have got out of hand. I'd like you to do something about them, if it pleases Your Majesty of course." The last part was added on hastily, as if he needed to remind himself that he couldn't order the King about like one of his underlings.

The King nodded and got to his feet, wiping his knees as he did so. He only succeeded in spreading the dirt and then looking at his dirty clothes in dismay. Trygg wondered why he didn't just use magic to fix it.

Jareth meanwhile was faced with a problem. He couldn't tell anyone that he didn't have any magic. He'd be helpless, defenceless. His subjects were only loyal out of fear. The moment they realised he couldn't do anything to him anymore they would turn on him. Likely enough, he would be tossed into the bog of eternal stench, and as reliant on his magic as he was, he wouldn't be able to stop them. No he would not allow that to happen. He would just have to keep it secret, starting with Trygg.

Trygg meanwhile was eyeing Jareth carefully and against his own decision he found himself asking, "are you alright Sire?"

Jareth glanced at him and smiled weakly, and Trygg wondered when he had become so bad at hiding his feelings, "I'm fine, Trygg."

Trygg nodded slowly. Well he tried, if the King was going to continue to deny that anything was wrong he wasn't going to say anything. He'd done his duty.