Disclaimer – I don't own Labyrinth. Don't sue me.

Chapter 6 – Truth, Lies and Deception

Sarah tilted her head, some small part of her sounding a warning, an admonition to be very, very cautious here. "How do I know that you're telling the truth?"

He frowned, his face…offended? "The Fae never lie," he said stiffly, stiffly enough that he convinced her. She remembered reading somewhere that to a Fae, telling a lie was a major faux pas. And besides, she thought as the glamourie entwined around her further, he would never lie to her, as trustworthy, honest and sincere as he was…

He wanted her help against the Goblin King? The man who was the stuff of children's nightmares and old, whispered tales… But when she had met him, he hadn't seemed to be so terrifying. Imposing, surely, but not as evil as the stories painted him. "I don't…" she paused, feeling her way, "I don't understand. Why was everyone so afraid of him? He didn't seem to be…evil…"

"Evil?" He cocked an eyebrow, shook his head. "No, he is not evil in the sense you mean; but he is a…disruptive force, capable of great destruction." He looked into her deep eyes again, all sincerity. "We are all so…" the eyebrow twitched again, "wary of him because he is different, because he does not…how do you say it, belong." He spread his hands, trying to explain a concept she had never before encountered. "There is a natural order in the Underground, but the balance is upset, and things are…changing…"

She frowned in incomprehension. Aethan sighed, and seemed to be picking his words carefully. "A thousand years ago, there was order in the Underground – the High King ruled, lesser kings ruled under him, and every being in the land understood his place. And then, Jareth questioned. He was not content with what he had, and his ambitions provoked what you humans would call a world war…"

She drew in her breath, remembering the Goblin King's arrogance, his power, easily believing that he could dare to reach so high…Aethan nodded sadly. "You understand, then. I feared that you, too, had fallen under his spell…"

Sarah bit her lip, remembering how close she had been to losing herself completely in him, in his charisma. In the ballroom, looking up into his eyes as he sang to her, she had believed everything he said, would have done anything he asked of her. The insidious memories crept up on her, the warmth of his arms, the faint, heady scent of sandalwood…

"Sarah. Sarah!"

She blinked, and then shook her head desperately, trying to dismiss the memories, the sensations, and the emotions – all so terrifyingly real. "That is his power, Sarah. He enchants and seduces the unwary, trapping them in his spell, charming them into accepting him until they would do anything for him, even turn against their own flesh and blood."

She was still shuddering, looking to him with trembling, vulnerable eyes, as if he were the only thing who could save her from the memories, from the Goblin King's spell. He held out a hand – a solid hand, solid flesh and blood, and so comforting – and she took it, gripping tightly.

"He changes things, Sarah," Aethan whispered, his eyes fierce. "Everywhere he goes, he brings change and upheaval to the very fabric of the Underground itself.  The children wished away to him," he paused, "his goblins and his followers – they are all contrary to the ancient, natural order. And if it goes on much longer…I fear for the entire Underground." He shrugged his shoulders, as if banishing ghostly memories, fears and anxieties, finally pinning her with those disconcertingly alien eyes.

"We need you, Sarah. There is no one else…"

She squeezed his hand, because she could feel the sincerity, the passion in him…she couldn't help but sympathise with him, another victim of the Goblin King. But even so…

"I'm sorry, Aethan, truly I am, but…" she trailed off, wondering how to put this gracefully. "But I can't help you."

For the smallest, swiftest moment, she thought she saw something ugly in his eyes. But of course not, she must have been mistaken…

He didn't protest. He didn't ask why. He only looked her in the eye for a long, long time, hiding nothing of his reaction, and then looked away, sighing. For a moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, but then she sighed and tried to explain what she didn't fully understand herself, what she hadn't allowed herself to understand before.

"I can't. When he took Toby," she paused, tried to marshal her thoughts, "it was because I asked him to. Everything that happened that night was a twisted reflection of my expectations, and when the end came, it was like…like it was the fulfilment of a bargain, an agreement we had made. He did nothing that I didn't ask for."

His eyes blazed. "But he would have made Toby into one of his creatures! Surely you know what would have happened if you lost."

She nodded. "I know. But that was part of our agreement – and we both knew the terms of it before we began…" She swallowed, truly sorry at what she had to say. "I'm sorry, Aethan, but it wouldn't be right. Jareth and I had an agreement, and we fulfilled it, both of us honouring the terms – and that was that. I don't think I should interfere in the Underground any further…"

He looked at her with terrible eyes. "But…that makes no sense at all. You're the only one who can help us, you must help us!" His grip tightened almost painfully, and she cried out at the pain. Instantly, he released her, and she brought the hand to her chest, cradling it between her breasts.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled tremulously despite the pain. "Not everything has to make sense." Her smile died. "I'm sorry, but I can't…"

She held his gaze once more, and this time watched those clear, completely open eyes finally admitted defeat. He bowed his head, a strangely formal, old-fashioned gesture. "Very well, Sarah…" A rueful smile curved his lips. "But if you should ever change your mind, then call me, and I will come."

And then he vanished, leaving her in the suddenly dark bedroom, alone with the ashes of her illusions and her disbelief.

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Coming back to the real world, Aethan opened his eyes, any sign of the emotion he had so liberally poured out for the mortal girl – Sarah – completely vanished with his return to his true self. Turning his head fractionally, slowly, to counteract the fierce, pounding ache that came from such a reckless expenditure of power, he encountered Huw's curious, expectant gaze.

Aethan sighed. He was so young, so eager to learn – it brought back painful memories of another young, eager student; a child, this time, with white fair hair and eyes so full of love and faith it was painful to remember…

Jareth. His youngest son, and the best and brightest of them all; unfortunately, he had also been the only one to inherit Aethan's gift for deception and manipulation in full. And that was what had led to Jareth's downfall, to his banishment…

And to his eventual rise as a completely new power, as the Goblin King.

"Well?" he asked Huw, eyebrow tilted. "You saw?"

Huw nodded. "I saw." He handed Aethan a gold, jewel-encrusted goblet – Gods of Earth and Sky – filled with rich, heady wine that tasted of summer, of grapes and rich earth and cool oaken barrels. Sipping the summer wine, Aethan felt the colour returning to his cheeks, felt the warmth flood through his veins, bolstering the strength in his limbs. Pointedly, he put the goblet down. Any more than a few sips and he would be intoxicated, an over-indulgence he could not abide.

"It seems," he began softly, not looking at Huw, "that she feels she has no responsibility to the Underground, that her involvement with it ended the moment she fulfilled her bargain with the Goblin King."

He turned his head again to look at Huw, who was frowning slightly, two furrows forming between his eyebrows. If he weren't careful, the boy would develop frown lines… "You could have told her her friends were in danger," Huw suggested. "She felt loyalty towards them, did she not?"

One corner of his mouth kicked up in a small smile. "My dear Huw. That would have been a lie."

Huw met his eyes ironically. "Nevertheless, there were other things you could have said, other lights you could have cast upon the situation…"

"I know," Aethan said seriously, and the small smile tilted ruefully. "But even my hypocrisy has its limits." He stretched, working the kinks out of his back. "She believes now, and that is more than enough – there are others now, with whom she will speak, others who will be far more convincing in their pleas."

Huw nodded reluctantly and rose as his lord did, heading towards the door. But then he hesitated, stopped and looked back. "My lord? What of this fool?" he asked, indicating the baron, sprawled on the day bed, face white and waxy with exhaustion now that his small part had been played.

Aethan glanced back, his face still, his eyes impassive and utterly indifferent. "Kill him," he said, before turning his back on the whole business and exiting the room.

*******************************************

Just as suddenly as they had formed, the mists fogging the scrying bowl dissipated, leaving the picture clear again, allowing them to see the mortal woman sitting up in bed, her face thoughtful, her eyes troubled. But this time, there was no longer any trace of his safeguards around her, no trace of the spell that had blinded her to the magic in her own world, no trace of any of his protection about her at all.

Jareth only sighed.

There were no signs of his protection. But, faintly, distantly, he could see the residue of another, powerful illusion spell in the room – a very familiar spell, one that he had learned as a very young child, made even more complex so as to work in the Aboveground. That spell, the bewildered look on Sarah's face, and the dissolution of his safeguards – it all spoke of Aethan. In fact it shouted of Aethan – he was sure his father could have erased all traces of his presence, had he been minded to…

The man's arrogance knew no bounds.

Eyes dark and uncharacteristically hard, he watched the confused woman finally give up the last of her illusions and begin to believe in magic, in the other world beyond mundane normality.

"The Fae never lie," she murmured softly, the last piece of evidence needed before she finally accepted the truth.

Listening to her, Jareth closed his eyes, the phrase finally convincing him of his father's involvement. He remembered the first time he'd ever heard his father speak it, long, long ago when he had been an innocent child learning statecraft from his father, in the garden of their ancient manor house in the depths of the summer country…

'The Fae never lie, Jareth. But truth is an illusion…"

Suddenly, he had no more desire to watch over Sarah; not knowing what poison his father had fed her. He knew that she had somehow refused him, else she would be in the Underground already, but it would only be a matter of time now, before she either came back out of a desire to destroy him, or out of curiosity or the sense of wonder which still, despite all her attempts to root it out, underlay the way she saw the world.

One way or another, she would soon be back, and Aethan would send her straight for his jugular…

Before he passed his hand over the water, dismissing the vision, he took the time to wonder just why his father had suddenly decided to focus everything he had on destroying him.

And then he stopped.

Stilled, tilting his head as he thought of something he had not taken into account.

Swore.

Hastily dismissed the vision and walked out, ankle length cloak flaring behind him as he hurried up the stairs towards the heart of the castle.

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Bran could feel him heading up the stairs, feel his aura flaring with his anger, announcing his presence to everyone within a certain distance sensitive enough to feel it vibrating in their bones. Something must have upset him, if he had lost this much control over his magic and his emotions…

He had known Jareth for nearly a thousand years, stood with him through revolts and rebellions, through invasions and infiltrations, through the good years and the bad and everything in between, and he knew that the only times the King was ever this discomposed were when Lord Aethan was involved in some way. Normally emotionless and indifferent, as true sidhe should be, Jareth had a tendency to become rather volatile whenever his family somehow impacted on his life.

It happened very rarely, of course, but somehow Bran sensed that this time was different, this time was absolutely crucial – especially when the mortal woman was involved, and they were in the middle of such a delicate, delicate matter already….

He turned the corner, met Jareth at the head of the stairs. The King's eyes were feral, his thin veneer of humanity almost completely stripped away. He saw Bran but didn't stop, headed at an almost run towards the throne room. "Get me the messenger," he called over his shoulder, "and make sure that nothing and no one listens in as we speak."

Bran bowed to the now empty corridor, his eyes grave and devoid of any amusement he might have derived from the situation, and then headed off to do his Lord's bidding.

*****************************************

Goblins scrambled and tumbled and fought on the stone floor of the throne room, squabbling over the chickens that somehow seemed to be ever-present, and making the hideous din and racket that was often the first impression many fae diplomats and ambassadors ever had of the Goblin Kingdom. Jareth allowed this practice because more often than not it suited his purposes, but sometimes, some things were too important to be mocked or made light of.

They could feel his anger chilling the air, and all sense of fun and play deserted them; it was very, very rare to feel their overlord's wrath, so rare that when they did feel it, they took it seriously – or as seriously as goblins could take anything. With one curt order – "Out! All of you!" – they streamed out of the room, almost running, and left all of their mess and clutter behind in their haste to be elsewhere. With one negligent wave of his hand, he produced a crystal, broke it in his clenched fist, and watched the mess disappear – and then sat down in his throne, feeling Bran's shields and wards go up outside the room, ensuring there would be no eavesdroppers, magical or otherwise, on this meeting.

When Bran opened the door, allowing the messenger to enter, Jareth was seated upright – not sprawling – on his throne, the very picture of a real king, not a dandified dilettante, not a shabby, backward ruler who had gone native and too closely resembled his subjects. He would not have appreciated the comparison to his father, but the messenger could not help but notice it. He had heard many things of the Goblin King, most of them ambiguous and contradictory, but the one thing that most accounts agreed upon was that he was, indeed, his father's son.

For his part, Jareth looked at the man who had come to him two months ago with hard, suspicious eyes. This was a very delicate, potentially explosive matter, and he remembered all too well the last time he had played for such high stakes… He wasn't at all sure that he wanted to become involved in this, but then again, he didn't have much choice if he wanted to break the deadlock that had strangled the Underground for centuries.

The messenger was just a man, a normal man, of the type that could be seen anywhere in the Underground, either in the lands of Summer or Winter, but what made him more than a mere man was the brooch he wore on his cloak, a cheap copper brooch that, underneath the disguising spell, was formed in the shape of a running stag, the personal symbol of the High King…

His voice cold, hard and authoritative, Jareth spoke. "We have been betrayed. He knows…"

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I would like to acknowledge "Be So Cruel" by Indy Croft, which was where I first got the idea of somebody deliberately turning Sarah against Jareth, in a different context to this, of course.

Also, many thanks to everyone who has reviewed; I greatly appreciate it.