Nineteen minutes

Sarah was no longer cold, now wrapped in Jareth's velvet bedspread beside a roaring fire, but her hunger and headache had returned with full force. Though the table with food and drink was some distance away in this vast room, delicious smells were wafting over and her stomach growled in response. She let her head fall back against the couch with a groan—there was no way she was eating anything here. She'd read about eating food offered by the fae and knew better than to be tempted. Or at least, knew better than to give in to temptation, because the delectable aromas reaching her definitely were tempting.

The only obvious sources of light were still her candles and the fire, both of which were burning dimly, so Sarah was surprised by the realization that the room was growing lighter. The room's corners were still shrouded in darkness, but the space around her was bright enough to see the vivid pattern on the couch. It was familiar. Very familiar. Because it was her couch. She leapt to her feet, unsure whether this was meant as an insult or not, and that was when she saw him.

Jareth was standing in the shadows, across from her, his eyes boring into her with an intensity that would have alarmed her, had she not been so full of fury. Dressed in greys and whites with a feathered cloak that swirled and billowed around him, the Goblin King stepped forward into the light with deliberation. Though she couldn't put her finger on why, the entire effect of his entrance struck Sarah as familiar and, like the couch, it unsettled her. Feeling unsettled made her even more wrathful.

Dropping the makeshift cloak of his bed cover, she took several quick steps towards him. He smiled lustfully and said in a drawn out groan, "At last." He didn't seem to take in her savage anger until she was only a few paces away, then his expression changed into one of startled uncertainty.

"You arrogant, manipulative, scheming, conniving, machiavellian—" She'd had time, sitting on that couch, to come up with a list of adjectives for him and was ready to unleash them.

"Now, Sarah," Jareth, uncharacteristically disconcerted, backed up a step, then another and another, while Sarah continued mercilessly.

"—opportunistic, duplicitous—"

"There is no need—"

"—underhanded, treacherous—"

"Name calling really is—"

"—lying—"

"Now that is not accurate."

"—son of a bitch."

"That isn't even possible." With this, Jareth seemed to rally his dignity and stopped backing up. Sarah, having run out of breath, paused her advance just out of his reach and stood with fists clenched at her sides. If looks could kill, her gaze would've stricken Jareth dead where he stood. As it was, he was still alive, but very much caught off guard, which was an uncommon experience for him.

Sarah, not ignorant in the art of verbal warfare, noted his rattled state and, before he could regain himself, she pressed her attack by demanding, "Where is Toby?"

The Goblin King collected himself by straightening his shoulders and arranging his features into their usual arrogant condescension before answering, "In my Labyrinth, of course."

"You're making him challenge it," she said with a scowl, "To rescue me." He inclined his head in assent. Sarah stood a bit taller and commanded, "Take me to him."

He arched a slim eyebrow at her impertinence. Rather than reply, Jareth looked past her to the velvet cover pooled on the floor before the couch. He said drolly, "I see you found the bed."

Though not prone to violence, Sarah—exhausted, hungry and frustrated that he'd recovered from her verbal assault so quickly—wanted nothing more than to slap him. She was restrained by the certainty that he'd disappear before her hand could reach him. She settled for giving an indignant scoff.

Seeming to sense her violent thoughts, he drifted around her just beyond arm's reach. With a caress of his gloved fingertips along the back of the couch, he turned back to her and said with a slight smile, "I went to some lengths to make you feel at home." Pointedly ignoring both his statement and the exact replica of her couch, she repeated her demand.

"Take. Me. To. Toby." With each word she took a loud step towards him.

The only sign that he'd heard her command was a flicker of dark emotion that crossed his face and it was immediately replaced by amused tolerance. "It appears you haven't partaken of the food and drink I had laid out for you. Perhaps we should eat first and then talk?"

"I'm not eating with you," Sarah declared with outrage, "I'm not talking with you. Or anything else!" She gestured comprehensively toward the bed. "You will take me to Toby."

If he was offended by her indignant refusal, he didn't let it show, but rather continued to gaze at her with a patronizing smirk and said lightly, as though he'd made an amusing discovery, "You are quite willful." He turned to the fire, which flared brightly in response to a motion of his hand, and stood gazing into it.

Sarah, impatient with his evasion, murmured threateningly under her breath, "You have no idea." Louder she said, "I want you to—"

"—Take you to your brother," he interrupted in a bored tone. His back was to her, a striking figure against the firelight, only the edges of his cloak moving as they trembled in a faint air current. "You did mention that. Several times." He turned and leveled a stern look at her, all tolerance gone. "You seem to have a severe misunderstanding of the situation. As this is not your dream and you are not the challenger to my Labyrinth, I am not obligated to abide by your expectations."

Sarah glared at him, unsure what to do given this information. If she couldn't command him, if her expectations had no sway over him, then what? What would be her line of attack? As her silence drew out and uncertainty weakened her glare, Jareth's mouth slowly curved into a smile. He elegantly settled onto the couch, draping his arm along the back and gazing at Sarah with an air of supreme confidence. All trace of his earlier discomfort and anger had vanished and Jareth was clearly once again feeling himself the master of the situation.

"Though its appearance assails the senses, this is a remarkably comfortable piece of furniture. I see now why you appreciate it." He gestured to the space beside him invitingly, "You must be weary." Sarah only crossed her arms across her chest and frowned at him. "The allotted thirteen hours will pass quite slowly if spent standing." He shrugged elegantly at her stony refusal and mirrored her pose by crossing his arms comfortably across his chest. "I'd intended to pass the time with you more ...actively engaged, but the firelight dancing over your skin is rather captivating. I've no objection to spending the next thirteen hours in silent contemplation of it."

"I don't plan on being here for the next thirteen hours," Sarah growled. She turned partially away from him, the better to think. To get to Toby, she had to get out of the castle, and to do that she had to get out of this room. A room with no doors or windows. A fireplace must have a chimney, she thought, looking at it consideringly. She was seriously debating with herself whether she would actually be able to shimmy up it, when a movement from Jareth caught her attention.

He leaned forward and said softly, earnestly, "Sarah, just for the moment, forget about your brother." Like his commanding entrance, this phrase caught at something just at the edge of Sarah's memory, with an unsettling effect. He said something like this twelve years ago, hadn't he? How could he possibly think she could?

"I can't just forget him," she spat, her brows drawn together with angry incredulity, "He's my little brother."

Jareth settled back with a disappointed sigh. "No. You have proven to be invariably focused when it comes to Toby. Perhaps it was not to be expected that you would…" he cast a glance toward the bed, "...entertain any other considerations." The look he settled on her next was somewhat regretful. "I had hoped a familiar object," he swept an arm to indicate her couch, "some of your favorite foods," here he waved vaguely in the direction of the delicious aromas, "might help you to acclimate."

His disappointment bothered Sarah. Some part of her, the absurdly romantic part that noted the elegance of his profile in the firelight and was drawn to the proud curve of his upper lip, felt a ripple of something like guilt for not meeting his expectations. The rest of her, however, grew uproariously angry that she should feel anything toward Jareth but fury and hostility. It was the rage-filled majority that spoke when she declared, "I won't need to acclimate." Needing space to think clearly, she spun on her heel and stomped away, "I won't be here long."

"No... not long at all," he called after her. Then suddenly from immediately behind her, he added silkily, "Only forever."

The triumphant smirk in his voice and the sheer arrogance of his declaring victory within the first hour of the challenge was too much. Her simmering frustration boiled over and she whirled to strike him, her right fist aiming at his face. As quick as she was—and despite her inexperience with such aggression, she was quick—Jareth was quicker.

He caught her fist and held it tightly, pulling it—and the rest of her—close to his chest. As she struggled to free herself, he tut-tutted, "Such a temper," and, after a moment watching her, released her.

Sarah stepped several paces back, shaking her hand as if to coax circulation back into her fingers, but really trying to shake off the tingling sensation of his touch. Her mind scrambled for some kind of loophole to the current situation.

"I'm not a child—"

"—Which I am excruciatingly aware of—"

"—so you can't hold me captive." She finished, ignoring his hungry look, and pointed out, "You take children, not adults."

"Minor detail." he waved a hand dismissively, "Compared to the lifespan of the Fae, even the most elder of your species is a child."

Sarah didn't have an immediate rebuttal and they stood in silence, the fire glimmering dimly behind him and giving an occasional crackle. Though his face was mostly in shadow, she could easily make out the fineness of his features. Jareth was also using this silence to study her, his gaze roving over her face as though he was committing it to memory. Her heart fluttered traitorously when his glance dropped to her lips repeatedly. After a long moment regarding each other, she spoke softly, in a tone that was just short of a request.

"I want to see him."

Jareth frowned, then smiled toothily and produced a crystal sphere from nowhere, rolling it along the fingers of one hand. The light from the fire caught in the crystal, so that it appeared to glow from inside. "That can certainly be arranged." He made to toss it to her, when Sarah's exclamation stopped him.

"No!" He looked at her with startled confusion and she explained with a scoff, "I'm not accepting anything from you. I know how that works." Sarah had done her research years ago—she would not be accepting a gift, food or otherwise, from anyone in this world.

Jareth seemed to be genuinely confused by her refusal. "Clearly you don't," he said slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly dimwitted goblin, "It will show you your brother."

"I want to see him in person."

He drew the crystal back and looked coldly at her. "Not possible. He's meant to earn your freedom back. He can't earn it if I bring you to him."

"But this challenge isn't fair," Sarah insisted, "He's just a kid—"

"He's not much younger than you were, when last you were here."

"When last I was here, I was just a kid."

He smirked, and gazed down at the crystal in his hand as if looking back in time. "Sarah," he chided condescendingly, looking up at her with a teasing expression, "You were old enough to bear a child; you were far from being one."

"Well, I certainly wasn't an adult."

"You had every appearance of one." His gaze dropped down to slowly take her in, "Though you were not so ...voluptuous as you are now."

Sarah wasn't heedless of the compliment, egregiously salacious though it was. Her gaze unwittingly drew down to her clothes. Her dress certainly wasn't skimpy, being suitable for work at the bookshop, but it did expose more leg and hugged her curves more than she would have liked at this particular moment. It was, however, nowhere near as form fitting as those ridiculous pants he wore. She realised a moment too late that she was staring at his generous bulge and that he'd noted her gaze with triumph. She made a noise of disgust and turned away, but found herself now facing the table of food—which was suddenly much closer than it had been before—and her stomach responded with a loud and unladylike growl.

Jareth, having hidden the crystal with a twist of his hand, glided to the table gracefully, the feathers and shreds of his cloak billowing about him, and pulled out a chair chivalrously for her. When she refused to move, he half shrugged and elegantly lifted a spoonful of soup—creamy tomato, Sarah's favorite—to taste it with a teasing glance.

"Mm. I can see why you enjoy it so much." He then made a show of tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it into the sauce of a pasta dish and ate it with a similar noise of delight. "You really do have excellent taste. Won't you have some?"

As hard as it was to watch him eat, with her stomach protesting audibly, she couldn't look away. This had less to do with his seductive manner and more to do with the tantalizing aroma of the food, though Jareth was unaware of this and continued sampling the dishes provocatively for what he thought was her benefit.

All of her favorites were there, though some of the combinations weren't exactly well suited—chinese stir-fry sat next to fettuccini alfredo, a mountain of chocolate mousse pie towered over tuna noodle casserole, a stack of pancakes with bacon was paired with a crisp salad. And presiding over it all on a raised dais, though she hadn't noticed it before, was a bowl of peaches. Jareth, noting the way her brow furrowed on seeing them, pursed his lips with a mischievous smirk. He plucked a plump one from the bowl and strolled toward her, holding it out in offering.

"Perhaps I can tempt you with one of these."

"No thank you," Sarah said icily, "I remember what happened last time I accepted one of those."

He grinned, "So do I. It was quite…" He paused, as if searching for the word, and traced the tip of his forefinger across his mouth thoughtfully before finding the word. "Enlightening."

Sarah had noticed that if she was silent long enough, he would elaborate and this time was no exception. A curious lift of her eyebrow was all the encouragement he needed to continue.

"Up until then, I was under the impression that you viewed me solely as an antagonist." Sarah gave a small exhalation of air in agreement. She certainly had. And still did. Mostly. "But when you cast me in the role of the charming prince—"

"—Now wait just a second!" Sarah interrupted testily, "I didn't 'cast you' as anything!"

"Oh, come come come, Sarah," Jareth exclaimed, just as testily, "It was your dream. I was merely playing the part you chose for me."

"Playing the part I chose for you," Sarah repeated with disgust and added dismissively, "That's ridiculous." She was trying hard to put conviction in her voice that she didn't feel.

"Is it?" He asked, then moved closer to ask silkily, eyes on her lips, "Is it really so ridiculous, Sarah?"

As a girl, Sarah had adored the tale of Cinderella—a beautiful, long-suffering heroine who is magically swept into a dazzling world of wealth, who captivates the handsome and charming prince, and who runs away from it all at midnight—the splendor and luxury, the potential for happiness, supposed 'true love'—only to have it come find her again and sweep her off to a happily ever after. Much of that peach-induced dream had felt familiar. And when she'd first laid eyes on him in the ballroom, she'd known he was the prince, the 'true love' she'd been searching for. The words he sang to her, the way he held her as they danced, the earnestness with which he'd gazed at her… it had all felt so perfect, as if it was exactly as she'd always expected. Until something had shifted and everything had felt so very wrong.

Remembering this all, Sarah let out a long breath and shook her head ruefully. Not for the first time these past few weeks, she was frustrated with herself. If that hopelessly romantic part of her was a flesh and blood person, Sarah would have given her a sharply judgemental look and a biting rebuke, but as Jareth was the only available target for her frustration, she frowned and turned her back to him. She was tired of him being right. Jareth, not the least bit troubled by her response, smiled smugly and resumed his tale.

"When you cast me in the role of the charming prince and eagerly searched for me, I realised your feelings toward me were not quite so animus as I'd believed them to be." He paused for a long time and when he spoke again, his voice had a faraway quality, as if part of him had traveled back in time. "You were such a radiant little thing. All that innocence and nubility, wrapped up in one creature. And your eyes," he half-laughed, "the way you looked at me..." He shook his head as if still surprised by the memory.

Sarah had listened to him intently, her romantic side exulting in every word and oblivious of any reproach her more sensible counterparts offered. She kept silent, her lips pressed into a straight line as a small battle waged in her heart between being flattered and being irritated.

"It was then," he continued, "that I knew I wouldn't be satisfied with simply keeping your brother." He stepped closer and leaned in to breathe, "I wanted to keep you too."

With that covetous statement, in which she was referred to as an object to possess, irritation won the battle. "Yes," Sarah said sarcastically, turning to face him, "I'm sure I would have made a delightful goblin." He chuckled and, looking deeply into her eyes, corrected her.

"Only children—young children—become goblins. Once enough of the innocence of childhood has faded, say nine or ten years of age, humans don't make much of a transformation." He reached up to wrap a strand of her dark hair around a pale gloved finger, admiring it. "You were never in any danger of that." The intimacy of his touch should have pushed Sarah to move away, but there was something tender in his expression that caught at her breath. Memories from her dreams floated to the surface of her mind, drawn up by the warmth of that look. His gaze and hand moved to trace along her jawline, "You would have remained much as you are now." His other hand reached up to trace the curves of her temple and down her cheek, and Sarah felt desire begin to coil tightly in her chest. The Goblin King continued quietly, "Toby would have changed, but he's far too old to do so now," his gloved finger tips brushed her bottom lip and she parted her lips unconsciously, "You will both stay much as you are now."

Sarah was still clear-headed enough to recognise the implication in his statement—that Toby would fail and they'd become permanent residents of his realm. She replied saucily, "Well, of course. Soon, we'll be standing back in the entryway and you'll be winging your way out the front door." She was challenging him, pushing back against his presumptive declarations, and was irritated when he grinned in amusement at her defiance.

Wheeling about to move a few paces away, gesturing as he spoke, Jareth replied, "After which I'll no doubt be forced to watch you both from afar, ignored or rebuffed with silent contempt." He laughed aloud at the idea, causing Sarah to clench her fists in barely contained anger, before he added in the same amused tone, "Forced to watch as Toby's gift wreaks havoc on your world, possibly destroying all of you in the course of it, and certainly robbing my world of potent magic." At mention of Toby's powers, the air went out of Sarah's lungs. In her fury at being duped and trapped, she'd forgotten about Toby's new ability. Jareth came back to her, watching her face searchingly, then smiling, "Luckily, I've arranged to have a more agreeable conclusion for everyone involved."

"A more agreeable conclusion? One where we are held prisoner here for the rest of our lives?" Her eyes were flashing and her words were sharp and bitter. If he thinks we'll just roll over and accept defeat, he's going to be very disappointed, she thought pridefully as she returned his smiling gaze with a sternly defiant one.

"After the completion of Toby's inevitably unsuccessful challenge, you both will be citizens of my realm, not prisoners. You'll be afforded all the rights and privileges any citizen would have—freedom of movement and such," he waved his hand glibly as if the rights and privileges granted the citizens of his realm should be readily apparent, leaving Sarah to briefly wonder what the 'and such' entailed, "At which point Toby will begin his training under my guidance," he leaned forward and took her chin between his thumb and curved forefinger, causing a little thrill to run through her body, "And you, my precious thing, will be free to turn my world however you see fit." It was obvious—from his expression and his other hand slipping lightly onto her waist—he felt confident just what this 'world turning' would involve. Sarah's ever present romantic groaned lustily at the suggestion, but she proudly hid it with a bitter response.

"And in the meantime, while we await Toby's inevitable failure," her emphasis laden with a sarcasm which appeared to escape him, "I'm trapped here. In this room. Like a prisoner." If her sarcasm had gone unnoticed, her bitterness certainly couldn't. He dropped his hands and stepped back with an conciliatory expression.

"Like a prisoner, no. Like a hostage, however..." He let the end of the sentence remain unsaid, but his look clearly stated that she was exactly that.

With an exasperated sigh, she again spun away and began to stomp off. Under her breath, she murmured the beginning of a thought, "This is so…" Wrong. Infuriating. Impossible. Several descriptors for this situation came to mind, but it was the one she wouldn't have said aloud that Jareth, who had sprung forward to silently follow her, murmured against the back of her neck.

"Unfair?"

Sarah stopped and stiffened, indignation and desire warring within her. Though he'd already caressed and touched her several times since his arrival, this intimacy was different. The warmth of his breath on her neck, unexpected, sent shivers down her spine and warmth radiated down her body.

He knows just what to do, damn him!

Not trusting that she could hide her arousal, she didn't face him when she coldly said, "Even without my help, Toby will beat your Labyrinth. You are underestimating him."

"On the contrary," he murmured, sending more shivers through her as his breath caressed the back of her neck, his lips a hairbreadth from the delicate skin there, "I learned quite a while ago not to underestimate a challenger." He ran a gloved finger down the side of her bare arm as he said softly, "I made that mistake with you. I don't intend to repeat it." Sarah barely suppressed a visible shiver and was about to step away, when his next words drained away any warmth of desire and froze her in place, "I've made it impossible for him to beat my Labyrinth." He was now brushing aside her hair and leaning in to the curve where her neck and shoulder met, seemingly oblivious of the chilling effect his word were having on her. "Unlike you, he won't find assistance," his lips brushed against her skin briefly, "No rebellious gardeners or chivalrous knights. All the Labyrinth's denizens have been instructed to impede his every step." He had now moved to her other shoulder, "It is doubtful he has even found the entrance yet. And if he does manage to make it in, he'll find the dangers are more numerous and the hardships more grueling than any previous challenger faced." Sarah's heart clenched at the idea of Toby facing more dangers than she had—what she had faced had been quite enough. That Jareth had arranged for her brother to have a more difficult ordeal than hers infuriated her. He's just a kid!

"I've had twelve years to plan every detail of his run." The tips of his gloves traced a line down her back as he leaned to drop a chaste kiss on her shoulder. "I will not be defeated again. You and your brother will stay ...forever."

At that final declaration, Sarah's outrage broke though her paralysis of disbelief. With an exclamation of fury, she spun and struck at him again. And again, Jareth was faster.

In one smooth motion, he grabbed her assaulting hand by the wrist and this time he pulled her fully against him, at least he would have if her free arm wasn't pushing against him to buy herself a few inches. His other arm clasped around her waist tightly as if leading her in a dance rather than restraining her attack. After a long moment of conflict—with Sarah sputtering angrily, trying to wrench herself free, and Jareth holding her immovably, his gaze bearing down on her with an intensity that filled the air—she realized the futility and stopped struggling. Leaning as far back as his grasp would allow, she scowled at him. "You are—" He interrupted to offer some options sardonically.

"Powerful? Compelling?" His smirk grew and he dropped his voice to add huskily, "Irresistible?"

"Cruel."

Her word dropped like a stone into calm water, causing ripples of emotion to cross his face—emotions Sarah couldn't quite read. Though his grip on her wrist remained strong, his arm dropped a fraction of an inch, and she felt some of his intensity drain from him as his eyes lost much of their usual sharpness.

"Only when necessary." He said it quietly, as if it was a private admission.

His response was unexpected and after a hesitation, she asked quietly, "Why is any of this necessary?"

Jareth didn't reply. A new kind of intensity began to fill the space between them as he looked into her eyes, willing her to understand. The silence stretched, counted not in seconds but breaths, and the memory of dozens of similar—though more willing—embraces, came to Sarah's mind. This close to him, breathing in his scent and feeling the warmth of his body seeping into her skin, Sarah found the line between passionate fury and passionate desire becoming blurred.

Her free hand, pressed against his chest to keep distance between them, felt the rhythm of his breath and the heat of his skin radiating through the layers of thin, ruffled material. The urge to strike him was morphing into one of pulling him closer. She began thinking how easy it would be to stop resisting, to let him pull her in, to grab a fistful of the fabric and pull him even closer until there was no space left between them. Her resistance softened almost imperceptibly and he incrementally drew her closer.

Jareth's gaze dropped to her lips and drew up again hungrily. There was an unspoken question in that look and Sarah's heartbeat quickened. They were close enough now that the warmth of their breath, now both coming shallow and quick, mingled. All it would take was a tilt of the head and a few inches of leaning in, the slightest movement would grant permission and Jareth would respond... Sarah suddenly realised that she was leaning in and jumped back—as much as anyone captured in a strong embrace can jump—with alarm. This is not what I want, she thought feverishly, which was contradicted quickly by an insistent, Oh yes I do. That damned romantic part of her was aching to surrender, to take what the Goblin King of her dreams had always promised but never given. But that part was swiftly overruled by the resounding thought, This will not help Toby.

Jareth, having felt her grow soft and yielding before coming to her senses, did not release her but jerked her back to him with a savage fierceness. The jolt caused her free hand to lose its resisting position and her breath was forced out of her as their bodies collided. He had moved so suddenly, a show of almost brutal strength, that Sarah barely had time to put up a fight before he changed gears and was all tenderness again, murmuring her name and releasing her wrist to gently bury his fingers into her hair and pull her closer still.

With her arm pinned between them, her hand angled awkwardly against his shoulder, pushing away was impossible. It didn't help that part of her wanted this closeness. The strength of his body, pressed against the length of hers, the warmth of his breath on her skin. The romantic inside her nearly swooned.

When he'd pulled her to within an inch of his lips, he stopped, waiting for her to close the distance, willing her to give in. She was still clear headed enough—but just barely—to recognise this for the battle of wills it was and was determined to wait him out. He was holding her so tightly to his chest, she thought he must be able to feel her heart fluttering frantically and she willed it to slow down. He whispered her name, his breath warm and spicy. Rather than having the seductive effect he no doubt intended, it reminded Sarah of her own breath—the product of four cups of coffee, eight hours without food and an entire day since it had last seen a toothbrush. It was a thoroughly unromantic thought and absurd enough to break the tension. Sarah, inwardly mocking herself for feeling self-conscious—Why care if your breath smells bad? Maybe it'll chase him away!—turned her head away.

"Please stop," she said softly.

Jareth watched her for a moment longer, but when she didn't meet his eyes, he loosened his hold, letting her step back and out of his arms. She didn't retreat altogether, but stood an arm's length away, looking at him from this safer distance and thinking hard for the right words that would convince him to let her go.

Jareth watched her like a man dying of thirst in sight of water. Seeing his expression it occurred to her that, despite his claim that her expectations held no power over him, perhaps he wasn't entirely immune to her. Maybe if I just ask?

"Jareth," his name had a visible effect, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, "Please. Let me go. Toby wouldn't have sent me here if you hadn't been driving him to do it. You tricked him and it's not...:" she hesitated to use the word, but continued with a sigh, "it's not fair."

"I never said I was fair, Sarah." He said it without a drop of remorse, all smouldering intensity.

"And what if he does fail and you keep us forever—what then? You think we'll actually trust you? How could we after your deceived us so cruelly?" Jareth looked away unfeelingly, as if such matters were unimportant. Sarah quickly moved to his line of sight, "If we don't trust you, how would that work? Toby wouldn't willingly train with you." Jareth's attention was caught by that and he narrowed his eyes at her. "And what about us?" She stepped closer, saying earnestly, "How can I love you, if I can't trust you?" She knew it was a bit of a chance—maybe it wasn't exactly love he was interested in, but if he'd really been watching her for years, he'd know sex and love didn't exist separately for her.

Her words hung in the air between them, naming the invisible barrier Jareth hadn't understood was there until this moment. After his look of comprehension came one of irritation and his cloak billowed as he stormed off to think a short distance away.

Sarah, having been running on adrenaline and anger, both of which had faded, felt drained. Her head began to throb and she just wanted to sit down. Finding a chair behind her, she sank gratefully into it, resting her elbow on the armrest and her forehead on her hand, pressing at her temple. Thus occupied, she missed seeing the flash of consternation that passed over Jareth's face when he turned and saw her seated, and wouldn't have understood its significance if she had. He recovered and when she looked up to the sound of him clearing his throat, he was back to his usual imperious expression.

"All of this could have been avoided years ago if you had accepted my offer."

"Your offer?" Sarah dropped her hand and repeated scornfully, "Of pretty baubles full of empty dreams?"

Jareth's shout shook the room, "I offered you everything!" Then less violently, "Everything you could possibly desire!"

Sarah shook her head stubbornly, but didn't meet his gaze, which was full of long suppressed pain, staring instead at the floor before her and continuing to rub her temple. This wasn't getting anywhere. If he would just leave, she could put out the fire and try the chimney. Once her head stopped pounding, that is. "All I want," she said tiredly, "All I desire, is my brother's safety. If you won't call off the challenge, then let me help him." She looked up at him, "Please."

He gave a quiet sigh and shifted his weight from one boot to the other, his cloak fluttering, before replying softly, "There are rules. Rules that must be obeyed."

"Even for the King?" Sarah looked skeptical.

"Especially for the King," he said grimly, and turned away. He apparently agreed with her that their discussion was going nowhere, because he walked in the direction of the nearest shadowy corner. Before stepping completely into the darkness, he looked over his shoulder and said, "It's possible I was in error, deceiving you as I did. But what's done is done. Perhaps you will come to understand my reasons… with time." And with that, he had stepped into the darkness, fading from sight, his last words ringing through the cavernous room.

Thirty-five minutes

Hoggle had been ordered to remain in his home for the next twenty-six hours by a very good natured Jareth. Having defied his monarch once before, he didn't dare even question his command. It was only recently that he'd been given all his rights back.

After Sarah's departure, he had found himself frequently the target of Jareth's fury; sent to the bog or oubliettes over the slightest thing-there were too few roses on a particular vine, a fairy had sprinkled dust on His Majesty's boot, Hoggle had made the immense offense of passing gas (when he thought he was alone, but happened to be watched by the King). This was not even counting the occasions he and his friends returned from visiting Sarah-in the early years when she still called for them-somehow Jareth always seemed to know about the visits and would punish everyone accordingly (which meant the bog, so it wasn't that bad of a punishment until Jareth got wise and changed Sir Didymus' orders, so that they didn't just need the fox's permission-which was always eagerly granted-but also the King's permission, which was not so easily obtained). Those visits had long since ended, but Jareth's wrath had taken much longer to ebb.

So, in light of this, in his cottage Hoggle was determined to stay. After an afternoon of cleaning his already tidy home, he was about to sit down to a hot bowl of stew when there was a knock on the door.

Hoggle almost never had company. Sir Didymus and Ludo didn't leave the confines of the Labyrinth. Jareth never bothered to knock. Or use a door, for that matter.

Hoggle determined to ignore the knocking. Whoever was knocking was no one he knew. And most likely was the reason Jareth had ordered him to remain inside and talk to no one. But whoever it was, he was persistent. After a few unsuccessful knocks, a boy's voice called out.

"Hello? I'm sorry to disturb you… but I… well, I need your help. Can you show me the way into the Labyrinth? Please?"

Hoggle rolled his eyes and made a dismissive noise. If he ignored whoever that boy was long enough, he'd go away.

But it seemed it might take a while for that to happen. The boy circled the cottage and tried to peek in the curtained windows, before resuming his knocking with more vigor.

"I know you're in there, I saw you moving around. Please. I need your help."

Hoggle lost his patience and broke Jareth's command by yelling, "Go away!"

"Please! It's really important! I need to get through the Labyrinth. Or I'll never see my sister again."

"Well, you should of thought of that before you wished her away." That shut the boy up for a while. But then Hoggle heard the door creak and from how the boy's reply came, Hoggle knew the boy had seated himself on his front steps and was leaning against his door. He wasn't going away. Hoggle groaned and covered his face with his hand.

"You're right," said the boy, "I should have. I was so mad. But if I don't get to her, he'll keep her here forever."

"That usually is what happens. Now go away. I won't help you."

"All I need is for you to tell me how to do it. You don't even need to leave your house. There has to be a door to the Labyrinth somewhere… and…" the boy hesitated, "I have this feeling that you're supposed to help me."

Hoggle didn't reply. He was supposed to help them, the pathetic wretches who showed up at the hill outside the Labyrinth. It was why his home was here, outside it's boundaries. But Jareth had been very specific. Stay inside. Speak to no one. The last command of particular importance because, if asked the right question, Hoggle was bound by magic to answer. And he had a sneaking suspicion that this boy would shout the right question through the door, if he didn't get rid of him soon. Hoggle wasn't a cruel person by nature… but desperate times call for desperate measures. He tried to think of what Jareth would say to this boy, something that would chase him away.

"Give up now and do us all a favor. Your baby sister is better off as one of us." He cringed as he said the last words—he never really liked to count himself as one of Jareth's lot (despite the facts of the matter) and he certainly didn't think life as a goblin was an improvement to any circumstance. But, despite the effort this statement had caused Hoggle, the boy seemed unperturbed. He gave a deep sigh that Hoggle could hear through the door.

"She's not a baby, she's a grown up. Just turned 27 last month." Hoggle was briefly shocked into silence. The Goblin King did not take adult mortals. The hair on the back of Hoggle's neck stood on end; he had a bad feeling about this. He tried to sound more confident than he felt.

"You're lying. Jareth only takes babies. Young children, maybe. But adults? Never."

The boy's cryptic reply sounded distant, as if he was lost in his own thoughts.

"I think he had unfinished business with her." Continuing on in the same distant tone, he changed the subject fairly abruptly. "I didn't get her a birthday present. I meant to, but I just… didn't get to it." There was a long pause, during which the boy seemed to gather his thoughts back to his current mission. "So, I guess my present will have to be rescuing her." Hoggle had moved to the other side of the door and he jumped a bit when he heard the boy stand up. "And to do that, I need your help. How do I get into th—"

Realizing he was about to ask the right question, Hoggle burst into action to interrupt him. "I told you to go awa—" Hoggle flung open the door and stopped short.

The boy was a stranger to him, lanky and fair, but his eyes! He'd seen those eyes before. Unable to place it immediately, he grew gruff again and tried to sound as intimidating as possible. "I already said I can't help you. Go away." He was unprepared for the look of recognition that slowly dawned on the boy's face.

"I know you! I know who you are! You're Hoggle!"

It was an indicator of how rarely anyone pronounced his name correctly, that a little ember of fondness for this boy began to glow deep in his little dwarvish heart. However, it wasn't until later he could trace it to that moment, because currently his confusion and fear were competing for his attention.

"It is you!" The boy continued, "You look just like the bookend! She used to tell me stories about you—she'd hand that little bookend to me at bedtime and tell me about your adventures."

At this point, the confusion was beginning to fade and fear was taking over. Hoggle tried to slam the door shut, but the boy stopped it easily. Still talking, a new kind of realization was washing over his young face.

"She told me about how you helped a girl rescue her baby brother from an evil king… That was me. Oh my god! That was me." The boy dropped his hand from the door and turned to sit on the step again. Hoggle, who was beginning to suspect he knew exactly who this boy was and who the Goblin King had taken was, didn't bother shutting the door. "I used to beg her to tell me that story. It was my favorite one. She was telling me about it my whole life. I just never realized..."

After a few moments of silence, during which the boy surreptitiously rubbed at his eyes, Hoggle gathered his courage to ask.

"Who are you?"

"Toby Williams." The boy didn't turn around. Hoggle was almost certain, but he had to hear it.

"And your sister?"

"Sarah."

Hoggle reeled for a moment, then seated himself beside the boy with a thud. His trepidation, now that his suspicions were confirmed, grew into horror.

Sarah.

Sarah was here, in the Underground. Jareth held her prisoner. And there was no knowing what he intended for her. When she had defeated him, his fury had been palpable. The entire kingdom had suffered his wrath for months afterward.

Now he had her. If she survived the allotted thirteen hours, she would be lucky. Hoggle's horror crystallized into determination.

Toby was watching him now. "I always thought she'd just made you up, but you're real. And you really knew each other. You were her friend."

"Yeah. She was the first friend I ever had."

"I have to get her back. You helped her when she had to rescue me. Will you help me get into the Labyrinth?"

Hoggle looked at Toby with a determined look on his little dwarf face. "I'm not jus' helpin' you get into the Labyrinth. I'm helpin' you get through it." He stood up and looked in the direction of the castle. "We're comin' Sarah."

A/N: You know the phrase milling butter? That was what I did with this chapter. I hope the result is satisfying. Though I know it will have a glaring absence of lovemaking for some of you-I'm looking at you, Peach Dreams! But fear not. I am not a troll and wouldn't promise romance without delivering romance. At some point. In the future. Like the epilogue.

Mwah-ha-ha-haaaa!