Chapter 4. Hiding in plain sight

Cursing to him-self all the way back to the castle Jareth pretended to be interested in the conversation that his cousin insisted on having. Devon spoke of court intrigue, and rumors and the latest gossip that had been passed about. His cousin was making an effort to keep Jareth abreast of what had been taking place in his absence, and effort that Jareth did appreciate. There were few in the Fae courts he could think of as ally or friend. Devon was more than that; he was a councilor and a cohort as well. They had spent most of their youths in each others company. Taking fencing lesions from the same master, and had shared a good deal more than most who were tied by closer blood lines. Devon in many ways was more like a brother to him. Taking Devon's warnings seriously was not a problem… taking his suggestions in this instance was.

Jareth soon lost himself in deep thought as they road, his mind was on the orb filled with the dreams of a young girl. His jaw tightened, just thinking on the girl was enough to set his nerves on edge. He was accustomed to getting his way, be it with Goblin or Fae, male and female. Never would he have imagined anyone would be so impertinent as to actually refuse him his desires. Yet she had; that dark haired, green eyed little mortal. She had to be the most difficult female he'd ever encountered. From the moment he'd entered that house that night she'd plagued him with the demands that he return her brother… Just thinking on her was exhausting.

Devon had stopped speaking long before they reached the castle. He was watching Jareth, carefully. Observing and making not of his cousin's mood and body language. He was worried by what he was witnessing. Jareth had never been one to spend a great deal of time obsessing on encounters. He was not flighty; no more so than any other Royal, but he was never that fixated either. When they arrived at the stables, Devon dismounted and followed Jareth into the castle like a shadow. It wasn't until they entered the King's private study that he was aware that Jareth had not even noticed him follow. "Brandy?" He asked as he moved toward the snifters and the carafe holding the libation.

Jareth looked at him for a moment quizzically, as the memory of what they'd been doing came to him the King's face relaxed. "Yes, please." He touched the bridge of his nose and pondered how it was he was becoming so forgetful. When Devon held out the snifter to him he took it with little reservation.

Devon took a seat in one of the large leather winged back chairs before the fireplace that leapt to life. "How I do appreciate the comforts of your home." He mused putting his boots up on an ottoman. "To your health, cousin," he toasted the preoccupied King.

"And yours, cousin." Jareth raised his glass but didn't put it to his lips. His mind was drifting again.

"What was her name?" Devon asked quietly, watching Jareth like a hawk.

"Name?" The Goblin King repeated looking at the man seated so comfortably in the study. "Whose name would that be?"

"The donor of the dreams," Devon sipped his brandy slowly, knowing a good brandy should never be rushed. After his sip, he swirled the liquid and watched it go around the glass in his hand.

Jareth made a face; "Damned if I remember." He lied and placed his untouched brandy down. Clasping his hands behind his back he began to pace in front of the fireplace.

Blue eyes that had seen more of this elusive Fae than most others darkened. "Do you really believe me a fool, cousin?"

Jareth paused his pacing, looked as if he were caught in his own web of lies and sighed. "Sarah." Try as hard as he could, he couldn't say the name without it sounding like a verbal caress.

The other looked at the Goblin King and with one brow cocked upward asked, "Doesn't that name mean…. Princess?" Jareth nodded, seeming to become lost in a thought with a wistful smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Devon, suddenly wanting to play devils' advocate asked in a low growl; "Was she pretty?"

The question unnerved Jareth a bit, and he shrugged. "No more so than any other mortal girl. Average I'd say."

Feeling as if he'd won a point in a very strange game, Devon snorted. "I very much doubt that. I can not see you Jareth King of the Goblin Realm obsessing over an average girl. So, she was pretty."

Closing his eyes, her image came sharply to the forefront. That perfectly oval shaped face, the eyes a shade of emerald green unlike any other he'd ever known. Lips that were bow shaped and full ready to be kissed. He recalled them parted in surprise and wonderment as she'd traversed a crystal ballroom. He had longed to kiss those lips, and that too had surprised him. Everything about that little girl had surprised him. "No," He confessed. "She was beautiful." The dull ache he'd felt when she rejected him had returned with a vengeance. 'Too young to understand what was offered and much too young to keep.' He thought bitterly to himself before remembering he had indeed taken her first kiss from her; a kiss stolen in the night, as he had stolen her dreams and imprisoned them in the orb. Slowly he began to pace before the fireplace again, no longer aware of it or it's warmth.

Devon sipped his brandy again, as the other began to pace again he gave voice to his observations. "You're obsessed with this donor and her dreams… why?" At first the man asking the questions didn't really think they would be answered. The look on his cousin's face was stubborn and unmoving, yet in the beautiful mismatched eyes was a flicker of something, something unnamed.

Jareth placed a hand to the mantel, and one to his forehead. "I suppose it does only seem natural that I am still fixated upon her… she is after all, the only challenger who ever reached the castle and win back a child."

Whatever Devon had been expecting Jareth to say, this was not it. He sputtered as the last sip of brandy caught and lodged in his throat burning like wildfire; "She what?" he barked.

Closing the pained eyes, the Fae King bowed his head. "She reached the castle and won back the wished away child." An instant later he opened his eyes and reached for his brandy downing it in one gulp.

Devon lowered his feet to the floor and steadied his own hands. "Cousin, no one at court has heard of this…." His voice was conscientious and cautious. "How is that possible?"

Jareth sent the crystal snifter into the hearth, "I know… it took a great deal of doing, but I kept it under wraps…." He sat down looking very tired. "The Goblins didn't want it brandied about, fearing repercussions. Seems the little buggers like having me as King… so we formed a conspiracy of silence…" He pinched the bridge of his nose once more. "I had to tamper with the memories of my subjects who came into contact with the girl… my subjects who were not Goblin that is. Goblins know when to keep their tongues, Fae and Elf, not so much."

"She came into contact with your subjects?" Devon leaned back once more.

"Indeed she did," Jareth wore a faint, almost wistful smile now remembering the girl's adventure. "She tamed a beast, turned a coward into a brave little traitor, and even charmed a certain diligent knight, just to name a few of her exploits."

Devon snickered, "Didymus? How is the old cur?"

"Old." Jareth said sadly. "I regret having to tamper with his memory most of all…" He leaned on his elbow and placed his chin in his cupped hand. "I should have liked to allow him to keep his memory of the girl…"

"Wait, if this girl, this mortal bested you, how did you end up with her dreams?" Devon asked narrowing his eyes at the cousin he'd been sent to observe, he knew full and well he was not going to report any of this to the courts.

"She had to pay a price for winning, cousin." A strange far away look overcame the King, "I offered her, her dreams." He could feel the pull of the orb even now. He shook himself free of the pull, his voice shook with disappointment and the pain of rejection still fresh even after a year. "Sarah turned me down… she refused her dreams… so since I could not have the boy, and she was unwilling… I…" He ended not willing to go on.

Devon closed his eyes. "I understand." He opened his eyes and looked at Jareth. "I never heard a word," he vowed quite solemnly. He exhaled and groaned. "What are you going to do with the orb?"

"I shall put it aside, as you've suggested…" he lied, and he knew it was a lie. Looking at his cousin he was just about certain that Devon also knew it was a lie, however it was not something the other Fae seemed inclined to question at the moment.

Devon sipped his drink once more. "I hear Lady Brockton is holding a poetry reading," he changed the subject smoothly. "I do believe we should attend, don't you?"

"It would be a pleasant distraction," agreed the Goblin King quietly.

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Jareth lay on his bed in the murky darkness; the orb containing Sarah's dreams in his bare hands the only lamination in the room. Placing the orb to his own brow he sighed heavily. Devon was right the orb was a dangerous distraction, almost addictive. He knew it would be best to place it in a wooden cask and deposit it in one of the many treasure caches. "Damn you little girl; why must you inconvenience me so," he asked as he lowered the orb to view it. "Why can't I free myself of you?" His face looked worn, nearly as worn as it had when she'd refused him in the destroyed remains and ruins of the Escher stair room. The orb containing the dreams grew warm and one of the many flickering dreams rushed forward to be viewed. The dejected King mused that it was strange indeed that the dreams of the very creature that'd rejected him were the only thing that seemed to give him comfort.

"I never thought you could win," he lamented as he watched. "How I would have treasured you. I'd have taken such pleasure in fulfilling your dreams," His hand with the egg sized orb dropped to his side, leaving him in the darkness as he buried it under a cover. "I am so tired of regrets," He moaned softly. "You stave and near exhaust me, still." Rolling over he let the long kept tears that had welled up spill silently onto his pillow until tearless he finally gave in to sleep.

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Devon was not alone in his bed; he was entertaining yet another wench. He'd not used the same one in the time he'd been here. He preferred not to become too attached to any one wench, as there was no future in it. He looked at the creature who had given him her body willingly; her eyes told him she was willing for more. Devon stood up shamelessly ignoring his naked state. He tossed her garments to her callously. "Thank you, Marta that was amusing and pleasurable. You may go now." He dismissed her as coolly as his heat had been while he'd been moments ago.

"I could stay," she offered slightly offended at being dismissed.

Devon placed a hand under her chin and gave her a smile. "Thank you, no."

She struggled into her shift, "Yes, Lord Devon." It didn't take much to see she was disappointed.

Devon watched her go, and looked at the mess they had made of the bed. He smiled as he wandered back to snuggle into the havoc of the pillows and blankets. He stretched and was thankful the girl was gone. Once his sexual appetite was fed, he was through with the wenches. The candles in his chamber lowered their flames and soon he was in the dark, wondering what his cousin was doing. He whispered a prayer to the Goddess that he'd be wise enough to follow through and put the orb away. However he doubted that any man would not be attracted to the lure of the orb. "Poor man," he sighed getting comfortable and allowing sleep to claim him.

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It was barely dawn when Jareth awoke finding the orb flickering away beside him. He rose from the bed, cranky for having slept in his day clothes. He left the orb where it lay, and went to his private bath. His valet, a handsome young elf with skin like alabaster greeted him and helped him undress for his bath. Sinking into the warm waters he felt the pains and aches ease.

"Rondo," he addressed the Elf quietly. "I should like to make some changes to my wardrobe. There are some garments I've grown tired of and have no wish to wear again. I shall give you a list, see to it they are gone."

"As you wish, my King," the lad nodded peacefully.

Once he'd left his bath, draped in the soft, long, and wide drying clothe, Jareth sat in his bed chamber and looked about it as well. "I think I'll do some redecorating." He announced to no one in particular, except perhaps to himself. He was of a habit of talking to himself when ever he felt he needed to convince himself of a plan of action. Picking up the orb and casually tossing it up and catching it a few times he mused. "This chamber bores me now." He looked at the pleasantly appointed chamber. "I'm no longer in the mood for such puerile and juvenile furnishings." The large comfortable four poster in English oak bed that took up the center of the sleeping chamber vanished. In its place was something dark and evil looking, and much larger. The new bed was ebony, with a head board and posts that were ornately carved depicting something that looked like Dante's descent into Hell. The heavy silks that had covered the other bed were replaced with heavy satin and velvets in black and red and deep burgundy brocades. He sent the mahogany accessories to his original set way and replaced them with the pieces that matched the new bed. He even darkened the walls from their cream color to that of ecru, darkening also the wooden frames and beams in the room. The room was very male now, and somewhat sinister but enticingly so, and had a sexual energy it had not displayed before.

Still draped in the long thick toweling, he strutted about the room to change some of the artwork he'd had up on the walls with paintings of a darker nature, more primitive and primal, some were rawly sexual. He decorated table tops with sculptures that left nothing to the imagination. Except for the night stand next to his bed that had but one thing upon its smooth polished top. It was a piece of dark smoky colored soapstone, a carved ornate stand into which he set the orb. Standing back to observe his handy work, he was almost simpering as he observed the changes. No one looking at the dark stand would think anything of it, and as he'd turned to orb so it was dormant, it looked just like any other crystal. He had dozens of them in and around the castle. It was after all one of the manifestations of his power, so having a crystal beside his bed would not be seen as unusual.

Stalking over to the armoire and pulling the doors open wide he inspected his garments. If he were going to make this work, he'd have to change everything about himself. He would no longer wear the tortured soul romantic poet shirts, although the breeches and his boots could be salvaged, most everything else was going to have to go. He magically piled all the discards, and called his valet in. "Get rid of these, I never want to see them again. Call for my tailor and my leather master, I've work for them." He announced as he pulled black doeskin breeches up his slender hips. While the valet went in search of the two men sent for, Jareth slipped into a high necked black linen shirt that he rarely wore, topping it with a tight brocade vest in dark burgundy red.

Looking in the mirror he approved the changes, until he looked up at his beautiful wild and free mane of hair. Schooling his face, and thinking of the greater good, he took his bare hands, ran them through his locks of hair, and tamed the look to something a bit more reserved and aloof. The long hair at the back of his hair he tied back in an elaborate leather thong. It was in this manner that he appeared when both the tailor and the leather smith arrived.

He stood before them with more poise and self possession than either man had ever witnessed. "Master Tailor," He addressed the little man with a measuring tape hung loosely from his neck. "I'm in a mood to change my attire." He barked out his desires and sent the man away looking for bolts of fabric from which to work. Jareth gave his attention to the leather smith who'd been standing silently. "I have always appreciated the Goblins leather skills." He motioned the man to come closer; on the table was an unrolled parchment with sketches of items the King wanted. "Do you think you could make these for me?"

The Goblin Leather Smith was a large Goblin, with the kind of face that gave on nightmares even in the daylight. He sneered a wide toothy grin. "Some of these items look evil…" He studied the parchment, and then looked at the King with a wide evil smile. "Decided to start acting, thinking and appearing like a Goblin, not just wearing the title?"

Ordinary Jareth would have cuffed the Goblin or worse, but seeing as he was making an effort to be more of what his people expected of him, he refrained, "Any objections?"

"Not a one," growled the leather smith; "Perhaps only a suggestion."

"And that would be?"

The large Goblin rolled up the parchment and tucked it into his tunic for safe keeping. "Read the chronicles of Zoltaire, you may find inspiration there."

Jareth had heard of Zoltaire, one of the last real Goblins to rule. He knew some of the history on this being. It was said that Zoltaire had an enormous appetite for life, and a libido to match. Smirking back at the leather smith the King nodded, "A good suggestion."

The leather smith bowed, "I will return in one hour with some of your order, Sire."

"Some of my order?" The King questioned. "How is that possible?"

Again the Goblin grinned frighteningly. "What you ask for is already made…"

"Anticipating my wishes?" the King joked.

"I have been making new armor for King," he quipped quickly. "Thought King may one day wish to be more than pretty face." He swaggered to the door; "One day has come."

An hour later true to his word the leather smith was holding some interesting garments for the King to try on. Boar-skin leather, soft as a glove and feeling like a second skin breeches, they laced up each thigh revealing the kings well developed buttocks muscles. Open vests in a almost bolero style, harnesses and an evil looking strap for the masters tool of arousal. The Goblin took great pride in introducing his King to the garments and some little gifts he's brought in homage…he called them toys. There were whips and floggers, paddles and canes, in leather and metal wood and reed. Jareth looked at the leather smith and murmured, "I'd best read these chronicles you wish me to read swiftly."

The Goblin leather smith chuckled, "I would."

Devon wandered into his cousin's chamber and halted in his steps. The change of décor startled the handsome golden haired Fae. "Gods in Hades what are you doing?"

Jareth turned, looked at him and shrugged; "Making a few adjustments."

Devon raised his brow as he looked about the transformed rooms of the Master of the Castle. "It's a giant step. Are you sure this is the direction you wish to go?"

"It's the only direction I can go," Jareth said joining his cousin in inspecting the changes. "It has to be a complete change or my plan will never work."

"Plan?" Devon looked at Jareth with troubled eyes. "What plan would that be?"

Jareth motioned the other to be seated on one of the many heavy chairs. "I'm planning on heading off any more court gossip about me. I'll be attending court more often, as you suggested, Devon. And I'm going to begin having my own court functions again. You were right; I've sulked too long over…" He halted, and shifted back to the subject. "My leather smith said something, he asked if I'd decided to look, act and think like a Goblin instead of just wearing the title… and he was right. I've only been play acting up to now."

"Playacting?" Devon shook his head; "Cousin, you are one of the Royal Fae; you are not a Goblin…"

"I am the Goblin King, and perhaps it's time I started to seriously behave as if I knew what that meant." Jareth stated firmly.

Devon took a long ragged breath, "Jareth, do you mean to tell me you're going to allow this Kingdom to return to some of its former practices?"

"Indeed," Jareth lounged back in the chair, looking more incredibility sexy and alluring than he had before. "I'm going to study the texts and chronicles of former Goblin Kings…" He motioned about the now overtly male room. "This is just a beginning."

A wicked smile came to Devon's handsome face, "I think it will prove not only interesting to see how this transformation goes over at Court, but is should be most entertaining to see you put into practices the … old ways." He looked about the room once more, and nodded. "Yes, it's a nice start… and if you keep the motif going throughout the whole castle… it could be wickedly delicious." He leaned back in the chair, his head rolling to one side as he looked lazily over at Jareth. "I approve… not that you really need my approval."

Jareth snickered, "I don't, but I rather appreciate your support, cousin." He had seen Devon look about the room critically and then accept. He had looked right at the orb and not recognized it for what it was. Hiding in plain sight was the addictive orb that had occupied him for an entire year and then some. Jareth knew that he could view the dreams in private and that would have to do… He had a transformation to put the last touches on. That was going to take all his concentration during waking hours; he'd leave the dreams of the girl for his sleeping hours. "Devon, I invite you to extend your visit," Jareth said thoughtfully. "I'd rather like your input on some ideas I've got in the works."

"As I've little else to do, not having a Kingdom of my own, I accept." Devon said generously. "What would you like to do first?"

Rising from the chair Jareth motioned the young Fae Lord to follow him. "We've some investigating to do in the castle library. I'm told the scrolls of Zoltaire are still kept there. My leather smith suggested it as… good reading."

Devon chuckled, wickedly.

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The master of the library was surprised when he saw the King enter the chamber of scrolls. In the entire time Jareth had been King, he'd never once stepped foot into this part of the castle. "Is something amiss?" it was as he came closer that he noticed the change in the King's attire. "My King wishes something?" The old scribe was a Hobgoblin, and more than a little elf blood flowed in his veins. He was tall and his skin was yellowed like aged parchment. His black and slivery eyes narrowed as his lips thinned when he spoke.

Jareth looked at the man and found he'd forgotten the name of this scribe. "You've a name?"

"I am called the Scholar Lutin, Sire." He bowed to his King reverently.

"Lutin," Jareth placed a hand to the scholar's shoulder. "I require the scrolls of Zoltaire."

Once more the scholar scrutinized the attire of the King, his black and slivery eyes slowly moving up to the King's face. "Thee wishes to become more Goblin." It was a statement not a question, and the face of the old scholar began to fiendish joy. "I shall be only too happy to bring to you the texts you require, my King." He ushered the monarch toward a large circular table in the center of the great chamber. "If you would make yourself comfortable, I shall go get the scrolls… is there any order in which you should like to receive them?"

Taking a seat in a high back, throne like chair, Jareth looked at the scholar. "Lutin, why don't you be the judge of that." He challenged.

"I am most honored," growled the old Hobgoblin as he turned and wandered into one of the catacomb chambers where scrolls were stored.

Devon leaned toward Jareth, "You've never stepped in here, have you?"

"Never," the King sighed looking somewhat ashamed. "I've had too much fun over the last few centuries. Now, I think it's time I got down to the real work of being the Goblin King."

Devon glanced about the chamber. "I can just see the High King's face now when he hears you've decided to behave like a grownup." He looked back at Jareth and smiled. "It's going to give the old boy a headache."

"I'm not well liked in the High Courts," stated the young Fae King. "I never cared about that before… and I find now I'll be able to use that dislike and distrust to my advantage."

The other inquired; "How so?"

"I want these changes that I'm making to seem as if they were coming along all along. The fact that no family of good reputation wishes an alliance with me is a benefit. I want it to be seen that I am sinking into the Goblin mire." He stated harshly. "I want the Fae touch to recede from the Kingdom, and to do that I need to emerge myself in the Goblin ways. I have to return the castle to its former Goblin Glory. I won't be able to do that if I've got Fae families wanting an alliance with one of the High Court Royals…"

"I see," Devon stated becoming serious. "As my lands are within your realm, I'd like to know if your changes are going to affect the status of land rights?"

"No," Jareth tapped his hands on the table in a strange rhythm. "The High Court would send investigators and muck things up if I challenged the land rights. Besides I've a good many… Fae of questionable back grounds within the Kingdom, and I have no desire to make them refugees once more. They came here for sanctuary, and it was granted… It's the castle itself that will be most changed."

The other young Fae relaxed a bit. "That's good to know."

Jareth gave him a cocky smile. "I have no wish to piss off the High Court," he said swiftly. "I just want to take back some of the rights and powers of the Goblins."

"You mean beyond the business of pranks and peskiness and gathering the wished away and unwanted?" Devon inquired softly.

"Indeed," Jareth continued to tap on the table. "The Goblins at one time were as great a warrior as we of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Both our races have become less than we were when we were at war."

"You don't mean to start a war, Goblin against Tuatha Dé Danann, do you?" A moment of panic showed on the handsome face, as blue eyes darkened.

Stormy mismatched eyes met the darkened blue. "No, but I will allow my Goblin forces to go forth once more into the mortal plane and wreak a little havoc." He tapped harder. "It's time we stopped allowing the mundane to think of us as pretty and sweet little creature with no substance."

"Half the mortal realm does not even believe in our existence," scoffed the young Fae Lord. "And what part do you wish me to play here, cousin?"

"I should like to elevate your status to King's advisor." Jareth stated, "Give you a title of Baron… yes, I like that. The Lord Baron Devon Tuatha Dé Danann, High advisor to the Goblin King"

Knowing such a title would force him to stay in the Goblin realm more than he had before, Devon snickered. "You play a dangerous game, cousin."

"They are the only games worth playing, cousin." Jareth quipped in reply. "Do you accept?"

Devon nodded, "I should like to see the face of the High Court when your proclamation is announced."

"You shall." Jareth said coldly. "For you shall be at my side when I deliver the news my self."

Devon's head fell back as he laughed.

Lutin found them laughing wickedly and smiled at a quiet thought. "I am so glad my master is in good humor." He said placing the first arm load of scrolls down. "I've more scrolls and text for him to make himself familiar with."

"Lutin," Jareth place his gloved hand on the scholar's sleeve. "I need a currant map of the Kingdom and one form the time of Zoltaire, is that possible?"

"Of course, my King," the Hobgoblin rushed to another catacomb chamber selected two parchments and raced back to where the King was seated. "Your scrolls Sire."

Unrolling the first, Jareth found himself looking at the lands and markings set down as they were at the time of the great Goblin King and the Great Goblin Age. He smiled as he shook his head, "I want this framed," He ordered. "I'll be using it in my private offices." He then opened the other scroll and frowned. There in several paces things had been marked with the name Sarah. He looked over at the scholar with a scowl. "How is it possible that this name is on my map? I erased her from the memory of those she touched."

"You can erase her from memory, Sire," agreed the scholar coldly. "However you can not erase her from fact. I am only a scholar, but I must and do keep accurate records of the King's exploits. Whether they are successes or failure," he pointed to the map Jareth had unrolled in front of him. "If it pleases you, we can place an enchantment on the scroll that only you and a few select others will ever see the name that is there."

Jareth crossed his arms. "How is it you even know of the girl, you had no occasion to meet her, did you?"

The odd old scholar sighed, almost as if bereaved. "Alas no," he said at last. "I live here within this chamber, I never leave the castle grounds, I am bound to the castle… no I had not met the girl. I did however follow your Majesty's encounter from beginning to end and record it was is my duty."

"You must explain that to me some time," Jareth replied. "I take it I am not allowed to tamper with the memory of the Royal Goblin Court Scribe and Scholar."

"No Sire, you are not…" admitted the old one. "It was found long ago that Goblins like their history unvarnished, and an enchantment was put into place so that who ever was the historic recorder would not be…swayed…shall we say?"

"It was a good precaution." Jareth agreed. "Are you alone here?"

"No Sire," the old man smiled at his King. "I have my family, a wife and two sons who are in training to be scribes to your court."

"A family business," Devon merrily quipped.

"Indeed," agreed the scholar. "I apprenticed to my father, and he to his, and so on and so forth back to the first King of the Realm." He stated this fact with more than a little pride. There has been no one else in any other Goblin blood line to serve as the King's Scribe, Scholar and keeper of the History."

"But you're not a Bard," protested Devon.

"Bards don't keep strict history;" Informed the tolerant old Hobgoblin. "Bards have been known on occasion to shall we say embellish the truth. And while that may work for the Humani, and the Fae, it does not work for Goblin races."

"Weave the enchantment that is needed, Scribe." Commanded the Goblin King in a voice that was suddenly very authoritative; "This information goes no further… I will allow only my Lord Baron Devon to have knowledge of it outside of your staff."

"As you wish," The scholar bent over to bow to his King.

"See to it that this map is also framed." Jareth handed the parchment to his Scribe.

"Separately or together?"

Jareth paused, thought then pronounced; "Side by side in the same frame." He waved the scribe off and placed his hand on the first scroll to be opened. "This is the role call of the Goblin Clans and septs. It also has the first listings of refugees from other mystical kingdoms and races." He said as he read over the role. "Fascinating, it has a list of all the races that were here when the Kingdom was first claimed."

Standing up and reading over the King's shoulder, Devon saw something that caught his attention. "Look, some of these clans were much higher back than… they seem to have lost favor when the first Fae Kings took charge. I wonder why."

"The first Fae King of the Kingdom was a Tuatha Dé Danann warrior… I don't believe his successor was." Jareth said in a monotone. "Lutin, do we have a King's roll?"

"Yes, Sire," he was coming into the chamber with a wide scroll in his hands. "I anticipated your need of this. It has the dates of each King's ascent, and his departure whether by death or other means." He shrugged, "Goblins died, Fae… just left."

"No Fae King has ever passed the crown on?" Jareth asked incredulously. Lutin shook his head. "Unbelievable," muttered the King.

"Few," Lutin murmured at the King's ear; "Were ever as acclimated to our ways or as tolerant of our ways as thee, Sire." He straightened up and shrugged again. "We are not well liked."

"I like the Goblins," Devon said a bit defensively. "I live here by choice, not by decree."

"Those of your race who choose to come here have unspoken ties to the Kingdom, my Lord." Lutin acknowledged.

Jareth had opened the second scroll while his cousin was speaking. His face changed as he began to read the exploits of the great Goblin Age. "My, my…." He muttered. "What a rowdy bunch they were."

Devon looked away from the scribe and back to the scroll being read. "Oh, I'd have loved to have seen that!"

"There are woodcuttings," the scribe piped suggestively.

Motioning the scribe closer, the King growled in an aroused tone. "Bring them."

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Hours later the King and his cousin took a meal break. They sat in the King's private dinning room. "I'm going to have to arrange to change this as well," Jareth observed as he sipped a goblet of ale. "To Fae, needs to be darker, more primal."

"Too bad," Devon sighed. "I was always rather fond of this room." He leaned back in his chair and smirked. "So you're intending to pattern the rest of your reign after that of Zoltaire?"

Jareth nodded, "I shall take the next month to rearrange the palace and the kingdom. Then I shall descend on the High Court with a full entourage in tow, and deliver the first of my proclamations to the High King." He pointed to his cousin decisively. "It's time for the High Court to take the Goblin Throne seriously once more. And it's high time the Goblins came back into their own…"

"And you're just the man to lead them," his cousin toasted him. "To Jareth Tuatha Dé Danann Huukec Mec, Warrior King!"

Jareth inclined his head, accepting the praise and toast; "Long may I reign."

Devon had been giving thought to a problem. "You have interlopers on the boarders; do you intent to… punish them?"

"I will give them a choice, join me or be destroyed." The King stated in an icy tone. "No more will we tolerate the disrespect shown our throne."

The handsome newly appointed Baron looked pleased. "I could do with a little war," He said in a dark tone. "My sword has too long been clean."

"There's been too much peace," agreed the King. "Warriors get fat or lazy when there's no conflict. There are no advances when there's no struggle. I mean to drag the Goblins back up to their former glory."

"What is on the agenda for this afternoon?" Devon asked. "Will you need my aide?"

The Goblin King shook his head as he ate his mid-day meal. "No cousin, you are free to your own devices…. I'll be redecorating the throne room and public rooms…. It's time to get rid of the froufrou… and get down to Goblin basics. This is the Goblin Kingdom, not the Fairylands of Avalon."

Devon nodded, and still lamented the changes that were at hand. "I will miss the soft elegance."

"I won't," Jareth sneered. "I look forward to the more primal… something feral… to feed the darkness that is encompassing my soul."

"From dungeon to tower?" the other asked.

Jareth nodded, "I'll be stopping back at the library Lutin has a few descriptions of the chambers as they were in the days of Zoltaire… I wish to embellish upon them and make my own dark mark."

"This should be interesting." He mused. "Do you intend to change my bedchamber as well cousin?"

"Not until your departure to your own home," Jareth said with consideration. "However when you stay with me next the room will not be quite so," he cleared his throat. "Charming," he said the word with a good amount of distain.

"As long as it's comfortable, I'll have no complaints," Devon assured him.

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Jareth had studied the notes, and had taken down things he wanted to remember. He knew it was not going to be an easy job, but it was one that had to be undertaken. He wanted the Kingdom to be taken seriously and getting rid of all the Fae touches was the first step. He started at the steps of the castle, and looked at the entry doors. He'd never taken the time before he'd never really noticed the glamour enchantment that had been in place. Raising his hand he broke the spell as only a Fae King could. Before him were now two ornately Goblin carved doors in dark woods. It was at that moment he looked at the walls of the castle. "Let's get you cleaned up and see what we have." He muttered and focused on the weathered and worn walls. The grime fell away revealing the heavy outer walls were constructed of a ancient form of mud cement and had carvings and runes gored into the entry way arch. It was beyond impressive, bordering on damn scary. The faces of the carvings were faces frozen in terror and pain. Jareth smiled, and looked at the excitement gave him a glow. "Devon, get out here! You've got to see this." He bellowed.

Sticking his head out his chambers' window, Lord Devon, clearly naked and busy shouted back. "I'm indisposed, cousin."

"Just look down!" Suggested the Goblin King.

Devon looked and gasped. "Good Goddess," he looked at the arch about his window. "Has this been there all along?"

"Indeed," Jareth crossed his arms over his chest, and gazed at his castle with newfound pride of ownership. "I'm going to love being King."

Devon turned back to the little housemaid who was his afternoon's playmate. "King for more than two centuries, and now he decides he loves the job." He scoffed.

The female in Devon's bed smiled at him playfully. "What do you love, Lord Baron?"

News of the new title had already been passed among the serving staff. Devon lowered himself back upon the willing partner. "That's not a word I brandy about, my little elf." His voice was serious. "I've no desire to become acquainted with it."

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Jareth and Lutin stood before the castle with drawings and blueprints and hand written notes in hand. "And that tower there, the one that is so isolated, what material was it in originally?" the King asked.

"Ivory, if the notes are correct… mastodon Ivory, hand laid and inlaid with opal joiners. There are scrimshaw etchings and carvings in the tower. And the tiles on the little turret top were opal, may still be for all I know." Lutin went over the records. "The grime of years of Kings who didn't care cover it."

"I'll take care of that." Jareth closed his eyes and focused his center. Eyes still sealed he asked. "How's it look?"

Lutin gasped in awe, "Magnificent…what a shame something so lovely has such an evil and tortured past."

The Ivory tower stood blazing in the Goblin sunset. Jareth opened his eyes and turned to his scribe. "Evil and tortured past?"

"That tower was where Zoltaire kept his…." He sought for a word.

"Concubine?" offered the King.

Lutin shook his head in refusal of the word. "The woman was no concubine… she was used and tortured and broken… she was…" he used the Goblin words as they had the strongest meaning. "She was the Tagaan or Rhuukarlaan."

Jareth looked at the tower, a sneer on his lips. "Slave of Bondage," moving closer he felt an urge to explore. "And the only means of entry is that widow?"

"Yes, that is why there have always been a company of Harpy guards here." Lutin said.

Jareth transformed into the shape of an owl and soared up to the window and in becoming a man again once within. The room in the tower was of a fair size but had little in the way of accommodations. A bed, big enough for two, but not luxurious in any way shape or form, a table that looked sturdy but not fancy and a few chairs. A side chamber held a bathing area and privy. Focusing the King returned the chamber to the state it had been in with its last occupant. The walls were covered in glyphs depicting the Goblin Zoltaire and his taste in sexual torture. Jareth touched the glyphs and took a deep breath. "Who was she, this Tagaan or Rhuukarlaan? And what did she do to deserve such harsh treatment…I wonder?"

After returning to the ground he turned to the Scribe. "You may return to your library, I'm going to have the Harpies come to the throne room for a formal meeting."

Lutin nodded, "I would suggest a change of costume…Sire… One should be fiercer than the guest."

Jareth nodded as he made his way back to the castle. "I agree, and I know just the outfit to put the Harpies bitches on notice."