Well...I did promise to remove the AN as soon as possible. Enjoy!

Little Miss Sarah

Had no one ever tell you?

Eavesdropping is bad, it is not good

And will only leave you feeling blue

Marigold strode into the pavilion at the Castle's Garden, gliding smoothly at the stone steps. Today, she was wearing a frothy, lace-edged confection with puffed-up sleeves, in a light shade of pink that complimented her hair perfectly, allowing the light to play on its unusual tints of gold and mahogany. The new tweeny might have a harelip, but her hairstyling abilities were good – she had put up curls to frame the left side of her face, emphasizing the beauty mark on her cheek, and weaved flowers in her tresses, an intricate design bound to amaze and dazzle.

In her hand was a small parasol, tilted away from the harsh glint of the sun just so to protect her fine porcelain skin yet still allow anyone viewing the garden from the castle to see her undeniably unusual comeliness. She told herself that anyone would find her as a breath of fresh air after viewing the garish-colored flowers.

She was perfectly aware of her beauty. What was wrong with showing it to the ones not gifted as she? She was the perfect example of the unconditional benevolence of Mother Nature. And it was Marigold's duty to remind them of that.

The girl sat on the chair as delicately as her mother had taught her. Sitting, Ilona had said, is an art. Art needs grace. A princess must be graceful in her every move for she is a work of art herself.

Resisting a sigh, she carefully placed the thick book in her grasp at the table. The downside to being a princess, she decided, was studying. Why dabble at indecipherable, useless lessons when she can easily use the time in parties and dresses?

She scowled. Lightly, not allowing the lines to mar her forehead. Wrinkles were bad for the skin, Ilona told her. And princesses do not get wrinkles. It was unsightly.

Her mother was right. Princesses should be as perfect as can be.

In her opinion, princesses should not be dark-haired little waifs with no royal bloodlines to speak of whatsoever. They should not dally with mud-faced, rowdy servants with dirtied hands. And, more importantly, princesses should not look like miserable, drowned rats themselves.

Princesses should be like her, she supposed. Beautiful, intelligent, and mild mannered with gentle dispositions.

Cracking the book open, she prepared to read the next, incomprehensible paragraph.

A babble of unrestrained, boisterous voices reached her and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

It was them.

The girl with the scandalously fire-truck red hair and a horrible temper streaked out from nowhere; followed by a chubby, loud-mouthed brat Marigold had the displeasure of calling 'cousin.' They were running around like idiots, probably playing that despicable human game called 'tag.' What was the point of chasing after one another over and over again? It would only make a person hot and sweaty.

She came in last, in a more sedate pace, tugging along a whey-faced stick who only had eyes for her. The newest member of Sarah's rag-tag band was looking at her as if she was the sun, moon and stars herself, and as if he had never seen anything like her.

It was pathetic.

Marigold hoped that they didn't notice her. But her luck apparently ran down the drain because the rat ushered the stick to where the pig and the fire-truck were playing and headed for the pavilion.

"Hello, Mari-flower! Wanna play tag with us? Toby and Sophia would surely like it."

Marigold looked up from the book she was reading and let the contempt she felt shine through her eyes. The oblivious brat might not know it, but her friends hated the blonde as much as she hated them. Maybe more.

Sarah however, wasn't deterred. She was so glad that Mari-flower was there! Her friend looked so pretty, dressed up in gown fit for a princess with the pretty flowers in her hair. Pink was her 'favoritest' color. Sarah could've kicked herself. Of course Mari-flower didn't want to play, much as she wanted to, because her gown will surely be sullied if she did.

The dark-haired girl sat on a vacant chair and waited for her companion to acknowledge her.

Marigold's eye ticked faintly. She had hoped that ignoring the human would make her go away, but she was relentless. How could a mortal be so stubborn?

"Watcha' reading?"

"Nothing you could understand," the blonde said in a lofty tone.

Sarah leaned forward and squinted at the aged, leather-bound cover.

"Basic Lessons in Fae Magic Theory," she read aloud.

The blonde almost dropped the book in surprise.

"How-how could you read that?" she demanded furiously. It was written in Fae language, and as far as she knew, no mere Abovegrounder could understand it.

"Eldred's been teaching me," she replied proudly. Wistfulness colored her next sentence. "I do wish I could do magic, though. Eldred said that it might not be possible, me being human. But I'm still trying. Concentration is the first step, isn't it? The 'tapping into your inner magic' thing."

Sarah closed her eyes. Holding out her fisted right palm in front of her, she unfurled her fingers one by one. And to the other girl's astonishment, she thought that she saw a little spark of white light before it flickered away.

Marigold, to her own consternation, was horribly fascinated. It wasn't possible! How could a mortal do that?

"It's not just about concentration," she advised grudgingly. She hated to admit that she was curious, but she was! Curiosity really killed the cat. "You have to believe that magic flows in you. Like this," she held out her own hand and in a gesture of practiced ease, a small orb of light materialized in her palm.

Seeing the dark-haired girl's delighted face, Marigold scowled at herself. Deeply, this time, not caring if she do get permanent wrinkles. Why was she helping the human?

"I've been meaning to ask you, Mari-flower," Sarah said, in a change of topic. Then hesitated.

Her companion raised an eyebrow in a fair imitation of Jareth and did not say anything.

Mustering up her courage, the smaller girl asked, "Do you know about Jareth's other audience receiving chamber?"

"You mean, the Second, Smaller, and Messier Throne Room?"

"Yes, yes," her voice dropped to a whisper and she looked around furtively. "What does he do in there?"

"His duties at being the Goblin King, of course." The rat wasn't this daft, was she? Maybe she was. "They say that he uses some of the goblins for kindling, feeds their entrails to the bloodthirsty piranhas at the moat, kidnap children from Aboveground and turn them into horrible monsters, and-" she frowned at Sarah's pale face. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Sarah replied a little too quickly.

Marigold considered the shocked expression on the other's countenance. She couldn't possibly believe such rumors, could she?

A bright idea stuck her.

She knew just the thing to get the mortal in trouble.

"What, you don't believe me?" the older girl sniffed, pretending that she was offended. A princess had to be a good actress, after all.

"No, no," Sarah assured. "Don't cry, I believe you."

Marigold tried to let out a few tears, inwardly grinning. "No, I don't think you do. I-I thought you were my friend! Why won't you believe me?"

Little Sarah felt bad. How could she make Mari-flower cry like that?

"If-if you won't believe me, go see for yourself," the blond said slyly. "Go on, I think something's happening there right now. You have to do what I taught you and the door would budge open."

"What about you?" Sarah asked worriedly. "I'm sorry I made you cry."

"No, don't worry about me," she replied in a tragic tone. "I would feel so much better if you popped in the Second, Smaller, and Messier Throne Room, even for just a second."

Marigold smiled through her crocodile tears, knowing how she looked like a little lost angel which was offered another chance at redemption.

Hook, line, and sinker. Just as the humans would say.

She ignored the odd twinge of...guilt? that passed through her, reassuring herself that finally, she could do something about her situation.

The library doors banged open, and in entered the Goblin King.

He was in a decidedly foul mood today. First, was the catastrophe in dealing with the fool who dared challenge his labyrinth and failed. As expected. Then the mortal predictably tried to ask for the child back. Why wish away perfectly normal kids then change their minds when the big, bad Goblin King comes to collect the brats? He could never understand most humans – their fickle-mindedness hinted at brains made of fluff. Or none at all.

Jareth made for his precious stores of liquor. A quick glance around told him that Eldred was not present, and he could drink as much as he well damn please. No one could stop him at imbibing spirits until he was certifiably foxed.

Then, his glorified harpy of a sister had outpoured her litany of complaints at him. If it wasn't the food being too hot or too cold or not tasty enough, it was: Jareth, the servants's work gowns should be one-and-a-half inches off the floor, not two! Or: Jareth, the flowers in the garden are too flowery! Change them at once!

How in the world could flowers be too 'flowery'? They were flowers! And he didn't care if the servant's gowns were too long or too short, as long as they performed their duties well. As for the food, she had magic, for Underground's sake! She could change its temperature on her own, or add condiments to make it 'tasty enough.' No one should tell him how to command his own kingdom, for he manages it well himself.

But nothing could top the unfortunate goblin who spilled Bog Water on his expensive boots. The miserable cretin was not looking at where he was going, and, like the clumsy oaf it was, tripped over thin air, the vile contents of his mug flying everywhere. The other goblins immediately fell on their knees and lapped at the liquid with their own tongues. Needless to say, it had been a disgusting sight.

He had to throw away a perfectly good pair of boots custom-made for kicking his witless subjects. No punishment would be suitable enough.

The sharp tang of brandy did its job at calming him down. Propping his feet up on the table, he wondered if it was too early for a visit from 'Mr. Owl.' It was rather refreshing to be with someone who expected nothing from him, only his friendship.

How low had he sunk if his happiness depended on a mere little child!

"When are you going to tell me, Jareth?"

He sat upright, not realizing that he wasn't alone in the room.

Sarah was sitting on one of the massive chairs. She was so small that one couldn't help but overlook her presence. In front of her was a huge book, and the stuffed toy he'd given her on her first day in the Underground. She was looking at him, eyes owlish and unblinking. Waiting for his answer.

"Tell you what?" he asked back warily.

"About my new friend," she replied, walking to stand before him. "And where he came from. Are you going to turn me into a goblin if you get tired of me too?"

The opened door, the odd sense of being watched earlier…

He frowned.

"You've been eavesdropping."

She lifted her chin up in defense at the reprimanding note in his voice.

"Yes," she admitted. "And she sounded sincere."

"Who?"

"Alistair's mother. Why didn't you give her another chance?"

He had, but…

"You wouldn't understand." He refrained from adding because you're just a child. It wouldn't sit well with her.

"Then make me understand," Sarah looked at him in the eye, and her vulnerable expression reminded him that, despite how she acted, she was still very young. Just a little girl. "Tell me why a mother should be taken away from its child, from the person she had raised from birth and loved with all her heart? Why must - "

Jareth stood up, suddenly realizing why she was so upset.

"Dammit, Sarah! That woman is not your mother!"

Silence.

"I know," she whispered. Her gaze dropped to the ground, screening her eyes from his view. "I know."

"The world is not as good as you think, Sarah," his voice sounded harsh to his own ears. "Sometimes there are no rainbows at the end of the rain. No sun behind dark clouds, and all the other sayings you humans think of to raise silly hopes that would surely be dashed. People get hurt all the time. People do bad things, terrible deeds, and you have to look really deeply in order to see if they possess an ounce of good in them."

He wondered if she knew that he was talking about himself.

"I know that too, Jareth," she replied softly. "But given the choice, would you like to focus on the bad stuff and be sad, or focus on the good stuff and be happy, even without rainbows or sun shining behind the clouds?"

He had no answer for that.

"I wish you told me sooner," she continued. "About the Goblin King. Did you think that just because I was a child, I wouldn't understand? Don't you see? I trust you."

The implicit statement was filled with sincerity, spoken straight from the heart.

She stared at the bottle on top of the table.

"Mummy also drank before she tried to hit me." Her tone was blank; her eyes were unseeing as she clutched the stuffed animal closer to her. "Are you going to hit me too, Mr. Goblin King sir? Because I eavesdropped? You told me that people do bad things, and I have to look really deep to see the good in them. Won't you hitting me because I did something bad count as a good thing?"

She knew that he would never raise a hand on her because she trusted him. But he needed to trust her too, and keep no more secrets between themselves.

Her lack of reaction frightened him, an emotion he was not used to. He did not want to face her, to see the accusation blazing in her eyes, to hear the condemnation in her voice that he so rightly deserved.

More importantly, he did not want to see her hurt.

Not for the first time, he blamed himself for letting her get close to him, as he had never allowed anyone to do before.

Because when she hurt, he felt that he was hurting too.

Long after Sarah had left, he sat there, contemplating the full flask of brandy in his hands. He swirled the contents with the tip of his finger slowly. Try as he might, he couldn't take a sip whenever he brought the flask to his lips. Her lost expression swimmed into his mind's eye every time he did. He now realize how pointless it was: drinking and ranting inwardly, doing nothing to solve the problems at hand.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the doors open.

"That didn't work out quite as well as you would like, don't you think?" a voice remarked.

Jareth didn't look up to acknowledge the interrupter.

"Leave me be, old man," he replied. He wasn't surprised that the geezer knew what had happened already. His omniscience never failed to irk him. "Let me wallow in my solitude. Alone, and without the 'benefit' of your bothersome company."

Eldred sat on a chair next to him and examined the Goblin King through his spectacles and steepled fingers.

"My boy, are you not familiar with the human saying that 'no man is an island'?"

"I'm in no mood to cross words with you," Jareth growled.

"Frankly, I fail to see your dilemma. Why don't you go talk to her and discuss the misunderstandings between yourselves?"

"I already did that, and you know how well it turned out."

"In my opinion," the sage commented. "Both of your judgments were clouded by hazy emotions in the duration of your conversation. I'm certain that all will come to rights when you deal with this in clear, level-headed minds and consciences."

"Hmm," he said noncommittally. It annoyed him how right the old man always sounds.

"I mean it Jareth," Eldred said seriously. "Sarah is a precocious child, so like yourself when you were young. I know that I failed to see that in you before. Please don't make the same mistake I did with you, son."

Jareth met the elder man's eyes – so much like his own – and saw the remorse and guilt reflected in them.

He smiled bitterly, reminded of memories better left forgotten.

"Yes, Father."

Bet you didn't expect that! I've been bursting to tell ever since I introduced Eldred. And yes, it was Marigold who put the idea into Sarah's head to go eavesdrop at the throne room. Sarah is just a child after all. And children are sometimes curious to a fault, no matter how precocious. Next chapter would be about Hoggle, a grandmother, and a little bit of reconciliation. Please review!

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