Usual disclaimers apply. Not mine, copyright Jim Henson etc. etc. etc. Just for leisure and with deepest respect for this world.

"You're a lawyer?" Sarah exclaimed.
"Indeed, lassie," Cathbad replied, beaming with self-important pride. "Or, as 'twere, an advocate. Taught by the Toad. I ken th'lay o' the land, the rules o' the game, the law o' silly and un-silly alike, aboon and ablo', by crap and ruit, by th'sung o' the Ceilidh, by…"
"Yes, Cathbad, I am sure the lady is most convinced of your credentials." Jareth was acquiring his impatient look.
Cathbad merely shook his head overbearingly, waving off the Goblin King as one would someone who clearly does not understand the finer points of civilization. This, in Sarah's opinion, was absolutely warranted. All the same, she was secretly relieved about the interruption. She estimated that about a third of what the diminutive barrister had just said made any kind of sense to her. If repeated slowly.
"Rightee then," Cathbad was already on the move across the floor. As he reached her left leg, he proceeded to acquire himself two good handfuls of fabric out of her PJ, making as if to crawl up. Reflexively, she squealed and kicked out, sending him flying across the room. She watched, horrified, as he hit the wall above her bed, head first, producing a resounding 'bonk' that could have been described as 'satisfying'. He slid down the wall like a ragdoll, landing behind the bed.
She turned, wildly, towards Jareth. The Goblin King seemed unperturbed, save a single raised eyebrow. Evidently, he found the whole thing mildly fascinating, but not the least bit troubling. For a few seconds, there was only dreadful silence.
"Ach," came the lament from below the bed. "Weemen's kittle cattle!"
Jareth nodded his agreement: "That they are, my dear Cathbad." He was looking directly back at her, mismatched eyes aglint. "And how."
Sarah exhaled in relief at the sign of life – then sent a scowl in the Goblin King's direction, the exact nature of which she liked to imagine as 'withering'. Alas, if he felt any obligation to wither at that moment, he hid it exceedingly well.
Meanwhile, Cathbad reappeared from under the bed, surprising her by seeming none the worse for wear. Undaunted, he proceeded back to the edge of her trousers, grabbing another hold and planting his (for his size, quite impressively big) foot on her ankle with an attitude as if it had been a stirrup.
"Steady on, wumman!", and up he went.
"I would be grateful," said Jareth, "if you would refrain from abusing the counselor. Pictsies are sturdy, but all the same, it behoves a young lady to show restraint."
Sarah's scowl deepened. But for the sake of Cathbad she kept still, though it was impossible not to feel rather self-conscious. She wasn't used to being climbed. At least, she dryly reasoned, he is crawling up on the outside. She regretted that thought almost immediately.
The Pictsie, as Jareth had called him, was an astonishingly efficient climber. In roughly half a minute, he'd scaled her pajamas and stopped for a breather on her left shoulder.

Then he spoke up again:
"Give us youse hand up here, good dame?"
Sarah shrugged – threatening for a moment to throw Cathbad off balance, but he was surprisingly nimble – and reached up her right hand.
"Left, please."
Ok, the left hand.
Cathbad stepped onto it - why he couldn't have asked to be picked up in the first place was anybody's guess - and proceeded to give instructions with regards to where he wanted to be lifted. As it turned out, he was mostly interested in her nose, as Sarah found out when he unrolled a measure of string, with which he proceeded to measure its dimensions. He only stopped briefly to rebuke her involuntary grimacing ("I'll 'ave no cheatin' oot o'youse, young laady!").
The nose, finally, done, Cathbad proceeded to measure her face in more or less every conceivable way. The length of each eyebrow, the distance between them, the breadth of her mouth and countless others. The last one he did was ear to ear, a measure which meant that she ended up with a Pictsie practically stuck to her face. And he didn't exactly smell like roses.
Jareth, meanwhile, seemed to be having quite the riot. She eyed him sourly when the situation permitted – which meant whenever her line of sight was not obstructed by string, or Pictsie, or both. This happened far less frequently than she found ideal.
"Tha's a good lass!" Cathbad reassured her. "Almost done noo, jes' one maw' thing…."
A glint of metal, and she yelped as the Pictsie brandished something resembling most of all a small roasting needle, unceremoniously jabbing the tip of her index finger with it.
"Why you little…"
"Ach," he said soothingly, "No reason to do the waily-wailies, 'tis but a sample."
And with that, he unceremoniously jumped off her hand and landed on the floor running. Stopping and turning, he sampled the collected blood, licking it off his knife. Smacking his lips critically, he remained lost in deep thought for a moment. Then:

"Aye," he said. "I ken we 'ave a verdict."
"Yes?" The King inclined his head, expectantly.
"The lady's nae longer a bairn," concluded Cathbad, "so cannae be stolen as such, mind. She did, however, ger 'erself a good bite oot o'tha peachy."
No, Sarah's brain exploded. You are not going there. You are SO not going there Mr. barrister….
He put the bloodied knife under his nose and sniffed again.
"Indeed, an' a fine boquet it is…
Shut up, shut up, shut UP….
"…the peachy's in yon maiden's blood, or ye mae call me a big daftie."
Sarah silently did so.
"Thankyou, Cathbad."
To her surprise, the Goblin King didn't look smug, like she had imagined he would. Rather, his expression was curiously unreadable, as if he was looking inwards rather than outwards.
He didn't say what he thought, but she could have a good guess.
"You have no power over me." Except she had eaten in the Underground, and even she knew the sentence accompanied by that. On that, all the stories, all the books, were for some reason in merciless agreement. And still, because of the place they were, it had to be True when she said it. Another paradox. Another riddle without an answer.
The whole conundrum reminded her of the doors of the always-lying and the always-truthful guard. Except here, she mused, there is no way around it.
"But… I did what we agreed on," she attempted weakly, "I got through your Labyrinth. I found Toby within time…." She could hear the pleading in her own voice and stopped short, enraged with herself.
"Yes." Jareth was merciless. "You agreed. You agreed to the rules. You agreed to play, and then you did so, with fervor, granting power and authority to the Game, every step of the way. You Agreed to Play. Honestly, Sarah. Didn't anyone ever explain to you the cost of evoking favors of this kind?"
And he was right of course. No one had. Or rather, some of the books and stories had, but she had chosen only to listen to those who explained things to be the way she wanted them to be. Lovely and pretty and, most especially, Not Real, at least not more real than she wanted at any given time.
Note, once more, to the Book: Pixies bite. Bite. BITE!
"It was a good game."
There was something unsettling about the way he smiled. How had he got so close?
"It is a good game…"
It sounded like the purring of a very big cat. She remained frozen, like a deer in headlights, while he circled behind her.
"…which I certainly find quite entertaining, even enjoyable. If I didn't know any better I would be inclined to say you are enjoying it too…."
She decided it was as good a time as any to study her feet. The nail varnish is coming off, I really ought to put on some new…
"….aren't you, Sarah?", and with that he was back in front of her again, face slightly lowered so as to be level with hers.
"Bedad girl, yer' sittin atween the wind and the wau!" Cathbad exclaimed. He really seemed duly impressed.
"Excuse me?" Sarah said, as politely as she could. She could have cried with gratitude.
"On the horns, as it were, of a dilemma," Jareth smoothly translated, trying – almost successfully - to hide his annoyance. "And our good counselor most certainly is right, I fear." He didn't look like he feared it all that much.
"Speaking of whom, blimey, are you still here Cathbad?"
Most of the King's subjects would have quaked with terror. Cathbad however, seemed entirely unaffected.
"Aye an' ye best be payin' me as agreed or I'll give ye a face full o' dandruff." He butted his head forward by way of illustration.

Jareth eyerolled and produced what looked like a tiny flask. Sinking to rest on one knee, he handed it over to the Pictsie, who turned and eyed it suspisciously.

"An' it's proper Special Sheep Liniment?"

"Yes."

"No hiddlins."

"Nothing of the sort."

"I'll 'ave yer thumb on tha'!" Cathbad spat on his own thumb and reached it upwards. The Goblin King obliged. "And a fool I'd be to get on the wrong side of a lawyer, Cathbad Mac Feegle".
"Aye," said Cathbad happily, "Or I'll gie ye a sound kickin', ye scuggan! Right then. Offski!"
And with that, he disappeared.
Meanwhile, Sarah had had time to retreat and regroup.
"So you are saying," she said tartly, "that even though I didn't want Toby taken after all, and even though I had to get him back myself… I still owe you for the favor."
He seemed to be honestly considering the question before answering it. "You could say that yes."

"… according to your rules, of course."
"According to our rules, Sarah. You yourself helped forge them by heeding them."
No. That can't be, Sarah thought. That is simply too cruel. And with that, she exploded.
"Like you gave me any choice!" she cried. "All your sick games! They have a word in school for guys like you. Needy, that's what they call them!" Not that Sarah was involved in those conversations, or in any of the kinds events that sparked them - but she had overheard them, and he didn't need to know. Somewhere, the other, more sensible Sarah, was asking her exactly it was so important to Make Him Hurt. She ignored it.
Jareth's face darkened.
"So 'it's not fair' is it Sarah? And here I thought you were past that."
Suddenly, he seemed to grow taller, icier, wilder, more dangerous, filling up the entire room. It took all of her willpower not to cower. She noted, with astonishment, the strange sense of exhilaration it brought her. She was stronger now, much stronger. Did he, too, sense it?
In fact he seemed not to, or if he did, he didn't care.
"Be glad," he growled, "that it is me you are dealing with. The Courts, too, know of you, Sarah. So far, the Queen considers you of no interest. If I were you, I would pray that it stays that way. Beware of Her, Sarah. I shall say it only this one time. Heed me!"
Uh huh, she wanted to retort, like the Warning Rocks in your Labyrinth, but there was something in his voice which stopped her short. Like the way her mother had sounded once when she had scolded Sarah for going across the road alone at three. Sarah had seen something on the other side, she didn't even remember what, probably a butterfly or a dog or something. There had been a lorry. It had been a very close call.
Sarah struggled with Sarah, won and lost.
"Okay." the admission squeezed past her lips, barely audible, and she wasn't even sure why.
"So, what now? What do you want? Why did you come here?"
He shrugged. "You called me," he answered, simply.
"I did not!"
He looked around the room again. "Your… artistry says otherwise, dear Sarah."
Aha, so this, too, is all my fault again is it? This is getting old, Goblin King!
She was ready to launch into quite the lengthy protest, when the door downstairs slammed. She turned at the sound.
"Sarah?"
It was dad! She turned again, half expecting her visitor to be gone, somehow driven away by the familiar and so very ordinary sound of her father's voice.
But He Was Still There. And so much more terrifying with the presence of her father right below them. The presence that ought to have had the power to drive him away.
Instead he came even closer, mocking her hope.
"Open the window, Sarah," he breathed.
It was… what? A suggestion or a threat? She couldn't make it out. What was he talking about? He didn't need her to open any windows. She knew as much.
"You didn't answer my question," she demanded. "What happens now?"
"Do you want your father to find me up here with you?" He smiled with sharp teeth, and suddenly he looked different. Like a human. The kind of person you don't want to come home and find alone, with your daughter, in her room.
"No."
"I thought not. Open… the window."
She opened the window.
The storm of wings made her squeeze her eyes shut. They lashed her cheeks, like a hard caress.
Until later, Sarah mine.
She fell to her knees, and the world was a wind that roared inside a small, ordered space, turning it into chaos.
She lay in the middle of it all, making herself as small as possible, not daring to move.
"Sarah?" Her father was outside the door. "Are you awake?"
"I'm in bed," she lied, groggily (and why did she?). "Is Toby OK?"
"He will be. Just wanted to let you know we're back. Goodnight Sarah."
"Good night, dad," and for once she was grateful for her fathers recent reticence to even try to gain access to her room. She remained where she was, sprawled in front of the open window, feeling the cold for a few minutes more, sobering up. Already, she was thinking more clearly again.
The way he came. He could have gone that way, but he chose, even then, to play a game with her. To show her that firstly, he didn't give a shit about her parents, and secondly, he could make her do things.
She was getting furious again. There simply was no end to the nerve of that man. Goblin King. Whatever he was.
Wait…
The way he came!
She remembered, then, the straggling guest from three weeks ago. That got her to her feet again. Descending on the cupboard, she dived into the thick of it, rebuking herself under her breath for not hanging up her stuff properly, but especially of late it had somehow become a bigger project. There was simply more of it. And somehow all black.
Battling the pile, she found the old, romantic loose shirt with the small flowerprint, that used to be her favorite. It lay crumpled in the innermost corner, she hadn't worn it since she… well, Came Back.
She shook it. Out came the Sphere. It rolled along the bottom of the cupboard and out onto the floor with a small, bell-like 'clinnng'.
Gotcha!
Gingerly, she picked it up.
Through the mirror, huh? Liar, liar, tails on fire.
And she was briefly surprised by the casual amusement she felt.

...

He'd been surprised at her bringing up the matter of Toby's abduction. Originally, he had already decided to consider it a squared debt, but if she insisted on bringing it up herself… well, far be it from him to protest.
Likewise, it was frightfully lucky that she had been helpful enough to give him another way out. It could have been potentially difficult otherwise. He'd used the Sphere once, to get there. It was all the risk he was prepared to take with it. The more it stayed off grid, the better.
He wondered how long it would take her to find it. She would, eventually, of course. After all, Jareth liked them smart.
Still, he speculated now if it had been wise to leave it with her, all things considered. But done was done, and both she and it would be safe enough there for now. Though he was certain beyond a doubt that she would find it, he was equally certain she couldn't use it. Not this particular one.

He flew until he was sufficiently Elsewhere, then decided to land and take the back way on foot, past the Mudwiggles'. He walked leisurely, longstepped, enjoying the echo of his boots in the hallways, trailing the walls with caressing palms as he went. This was home. Ever-changing, unknowable, and yet so intimately familiar to him. He smiled genuinely as he went, since no one was looking.
Mr. Mudwiggle, as usually, was to be found on his front porch. At the moment he was busy sweeping it clean, using a small hand-broom which, on account of its size, resembled a somewhat short-handled toothbrush. Mr. Mudwiggle so happened to be a small blue caterpillar - or, as he himself modestly insisted, 'just a worm'.
" Well, if it isn't 'is Majesty 'imself! 'Ello! Long time since we saw ye 'round these parts, if I may say so."

"Good evening, Herbert."
"Long journey? Shall I ask the missus to put the kettle on?"

"Not that far, this time. But yes, thankyou, that would be most welcome."

"Phyllis! Put the kettle on, there's a good girl! So, 'ow's the young Queen doing?"
"Well, I think."
"Still 'avin' a temper on 'er?"
"She'll wise up."
"Ah, I see. All comes to he who waits, eh?"
Jareth grinned. "Assuming that he is just going to wait, yes."

Herbert shook his head, smiling pensively. "Our King was ever a man of action."
Phyllis served tea. A the Mudwiggles', tea always came with cucumber sandwiches: tiny, diagonally cut, and quite good. They tucked in. Afterwards, Phyllis got out her knitting, settling in her own customary corner on the left side of the front door – or Front Hole, as it were. Herbert, meanwhile, seemed to try to pick up the nerve to say something. He cleared his throat.

"Yes, Herbert?"

"Well…this is terribly embarrassing… yer majesty really mustn't think…"

"You are among my most treasured and loyal subjects, Herbert. Speak your mind and have no fear."

"Well," the worm squirmed a bit - which in his case was both a figurative and a literal occurrence.

"Me an' the missus, we've been followin' orders, of course. We've kept our eyes an' ears open. An'… well…"

"Spill it, Herbert."
"It's…. awfully silent inside the walls of late."
Jareth's expression immediately grew serious. "Silent, you say?"
"Yeah, 'sright. Silent."

"It's reshaping, Herbert. I've told ye!" Mrs. Mudwiggle suddenly spoke up, her knitwork abruptly coming to rest on her yellow-white belly.
Jareth's face snapped in her direction. "Reshaping, Mrs. Mudwiggle?"

"Don't be daft, woman," Herbert protested. "it's always reshaping."
Phyllis Mudwiggle contemptuously puffed an escaped lock of hair away from her eyes. Unlike her husband, she had orange hair, governed (mostly) by a sensible, wifely scarf. "There's reshaping and there is reshaping, Herbert. I wouldn't expect menfolk to understand of course," at this, she shifted her gaze briefly to include the Goblin King, "But mark my words, the Clandestine has been growing wildly recently. It's covering a lot of places, a lot of wall. Who knows what goes on under there."

"Aw, psh," Herbert waved her off, miffed by her intrusion into what he clearly perceived as his Royal Conversation. "You're always yakking on about the bloody Clandestine. It's a plant, Phyllie. A plant!"
"And what, pray tell, do ye actually know of plants, ye nitwit? Apart from cabbage and cabbage-juice and ye do know how to put that away., I'll give ye that much..."
Whilst the Mudwiggles bickered, Jareth stood, lost in thought, a gloved hand on his chin and a deep crevasse forming between his eyebrows. Then, suddenly, he kneeled, closing his eyes and putting his ear full against the wall. While he listened, his face smoothed out, as if he was asleep, or at any rate entranced. TIt made him look deceptively gentle.
Until the e yes snapped open. For a short moment, they were owls eyes, seeing incredibly far. Then they focused and changed into the ones his subjects were used to seeing. Certainly odd, rather than even, but distinctly humanoid.
The Mudwiggles, surprised, stopped their quarreling short, regarding their King apprehensively.
"Allright?" Mr. Mudwiggle queried.

Jareth nodded thoughtfully, still only halfway there. "Thankyou very much for your hospitality, Herbert," he said, eyes gazing inwards. Then he inclined his head, nodding at Mrs. Mudwiggle. "Phyllis. Thankyou."

"Oh, anytime, yer majesty, we always have tea at this hour anyhow, it's no bother at all," she beamed.

He smiled strangely. "Good to know, Mrs. Mudwiggle. Good to know." And his gaze changed, nailing both of them to the wall. "Keep listening, both of you."
"As yer majesty commands," agreed Herbert solemnly. But the King was already gone.

I am not entirely satisfied with this chapter, from the pure point of view of writing craftsmanship. Some of it limps a bit along. It has a lot of exposition in it, and I've tried my best to make that entertaining and more show than tell. I may put the editor's eye to it later on, but the basic information brought to light in it should remain the same, and hopefully make more and more sense as we progress. If it turns out not, do let me know.
~Ysolde