A/N – You've all been wonderfully patient. And now I present…(drum roll)…plot movement, leading to the certainty of some Jareth and Sarah interaction sometime in the future. Next chapter, in fact. (awed gasp)

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

Chapter 11

In all the years he had served the High King, the messenger had never seen his lord quite like this. When he had first entered his service, the main impression he had gained of him was that of a quiet man, a restrained man who might once have had the potential to be great, but… The potential, the fire, had been tamed, all but smothered by the centuries of enforced idleness.

That was how it had been, then.

Now, something had energised him, had put colour into his thin, white face. Ever since he had begun to intrigue – the messenger didn't know the whole picture, didn't want to know the whole picture, because there were others who were not so loyal – his lord had come alive.

"Well?" the High King asked. "What says the Goblin King?" There was genuine curiosity in his voice, now, and a kind of suppressed eagerness – an odd thing to see, in one normally so self-contained. His movements were quicker, more confident and less tentative, and he had more assurance than the messenger had ever seen him display. One could almost believe that he was a King, now…

The messenger, newly returned from the Goblin Kingdom, sat down carefully at his lord's bidding and accepted the offer of wine. It was rich and heady; summer wine, many seasons old, from the High King's own cellar, poured by his own hand. He was generous, this King – gracious and generous, genuinely good and well-loved by all his subjects. Well, and why should he not be? He had no power, and he had not had to make any of the hard decisions that came with it.

Although if everything that he hoped for came to pass, then he would indeed have to learn how to make hard decisions…

"My lord," he said, repeating the message word-for-word, "he says that you have his support in this matter, and that he will render what aid he can…"

"Is that what he said?"

A self-mocking smile flashed briefly across the messenger's face. "His exact words, my lord."

The High King nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Lucan." He looked the messenger over, seemed to notice the worn, unshaven face and the rumpled, spattered clothes, and sent him away with a gracious, if distracted smile. "No doubt you're looking forward to a bath and some rest…"

Lucan drained his wine and set the goblet back on the table, then bowed to his lord and took his leave. It had been a very long journey indeed, and he was glad to be home.

Dante tapped his fingers on the polished wooden table, thinking on the message Lucan had brought him from the Goblin Kingdom. Disappointing, in a way, although he had never expected Jareth to support him unconditionally – no, he was too much his father's son for that, no matter his feelings on the High Kingship.

But what aid he could – what did he mean by that? What could possibly cause the Goblin King, the most fiercely independent of all the petty rulers, to hold back and hesitate about a matter on which he felt so strongly? Was he wary of crossing his father? No, they had spoken of this before, and Jareth had talked of moving beyond any fear of his father's manipulations –

Filial duty and respect, then? Who knew how deep that relationship still ran, even now?

No, it would have crippled him as a ruler, if that were so.

So it was something else, then. Something significant enough to cause him pause, but not dangerous enough – yet – to cause him trouble enough to withdraw. And this change of heart had occurred recently, even within the last few days…

His spies had not brought him word of anything particularly noteworthy in the last week: the Mountain King's mistress had been found with another man – no surprise, for he had arranged it; one of the Unseelie King's clerks had been found out as a Seelie spy, tortured and subsequently sent back in a sack – a fine example of Vane's dedication – Dante suspected that he also knew of the other two but deliberately left them alone; and a minor Seelie baron had been found dead in his own home. No one knew why, but there was suspicion of Aethan's involvement in it – and why should he take an interest in such an insignificant pawn?

It was not in his usual style.

He was up to something.

"You're giving this too much importance," Bran said, leaning back against the wall, watching his lord stare into the distance towards Winter – towards the mortal boy who had almost become one of them. "You're playing into his hands."

"Whose?" Jareth said shortly. "Vane's or my father's?" He was sprawled carelessly on the throne, one leg thrown over the side, tapping his riding crop on his thigh; but despite his posture he was by no means relaxed.

Bran's heavy-lidded gaze noted the absently tapping crop and the narrowed, miscoloured eyes, saw the signs of tension and restlessness – but at least that dangerous temper had been brought back under tight control, and Jareth was now thinking clearly and not emotionally, acting and not reacting.

"Both of them, I should think," he replied neutrally. "They both seek to control you through these mortals." He paused. "A futile hope, of course…"

Jareth stopped tapping, lifted his head to meet Bran's eyes. Neither of them looked away for a long, long moment, and then Jareth closed his eyes and lowered his head, allowing his hair to veil his features. An odd gesture, uncharacteristic of him – seeing it, Bran breathed out in a quiet, resigned hiss.

"Once again, Brother Raven," Jareth said lightly, self-mocking now, "you disapprove. You always did." He straightened his posture, stood up in a long, smooth, graceful movement, and then turned away to look out the window, away from Bran's eyes. "What then would you have me do?"

Bran continued to stare thoughtfully at his back. "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?(1) You know what I would have you do." Though he couldn't see it, he knew Jareth's smile twisted, and the eyes were no longer laughing.

There was a long, fraught silence, and then, "No." The Goblin King turned back to face his second-in-command. "Find another way."

Bran measured the steel in those eyes, in that voice, and then he bowed his head to honour his lord's command. "As you say," he said quietly, and then turned on his heel and left the room.

Jareth watched him go, absently tapping the riding crop against his thigh once more, before turning back to the window.

Sarah sat still, trying to absorb all the information that she had just been given, but all she truly understood was that Toby had been taken as a pawn in a huge political game of chess, and that Aethan was reluctant to upset the precarious balance of the Underground to get him back. At least, that was what he had said – she was beginning to understand that what Aethan said and what Aethan truly meant were two very different things, despite all that he had said about the Fae never lying.

But there were levels and layers of truth – she had known this, on an instinctive level, since her trip through the Labyrinth – and some things were truer than others, some truths more…open to interpretation than might be thought at first glance.

…Everything that you have asked, I have done…

…You asked that the child be taken, I took him…

…Turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you…

Would Jareth have put her wishes above the balance of the Underground, had she asked it of him?

Aethan had tempted her into calling him to preserve the balance, as a counter-weight to Jareth who wished to upset it. She could only imagine that Lord Vane had done the same with Toby, taken him as a balance against Jareth and Aethan both.

Or perhaps, given this prophecy… Did he mean to use Toby as a threat, or as an actual catalyst?

And Sarah, in the middle of this tangled, impossibly complex mess, wanted only one thing – she wanted her brother back, just as she had ten years ago. The only difference this time was that there was no impossibly handsome Goblin King to distract her. The clear simplicity of her goal lent her an objectivity that Aethan and Huw, blinded by history and the limitations of their games, could not share, and it was her single-mindedness and willingness to think differently that drove her to speak out, to suggest what the other two would never have dreamed of even thinking.

"Why don't we join forces with Jareth?" she asked bluntly.

Aethan and Huw, who had been quietly discussing something while she struggled to assimilate all their information, giving her time to recover, turned towards her in some surprise. Aethan's surprise, however, lasted only a moment before it was replaced with speculation, and then with bland curiosity – but she had been watching him, saw the expressions flash across his eyes in quick succession, and knew she had his attention.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked politely, trying to put her off before she could begin.

She ignored him. "I know you wanted me to be a balance against Jareth, but when Vane took Toby, circumstances changed, didn't they?" She paused, trying to put her racing speculations into some kind of order. "You don't think that Vane is interested in maintaining the balance anymore, and you're worried that his idea of an 'upset' will be far worse than Jareth's ever will."

Aethan's face remained stubbornly impassive.

"I want my brother back, you want to remove this threat to the balance from Vane's hands, and I doubt Jareth would be comfortable with Vane holding a potential threat to his Kingdom either – so why don't we join forces to get him back?"

Aethan watched the mortal woman with great interest. There were so many holes in her logic it was almost painful, but she was correct on one undeniable point – Vane meddling in the Underground would be far, far worse than Jareth meddling. Vane's revision of the status quo would not include a Council of Lords, or anything but a poorly disguised dictatorship –

How strange, that he should still place so much trust in his son even after so long as enemies.

And then, afterwards, they could resolve the rest of the conflicts between them – the matter of the High Kingship being the main, but by no means only one – in peace.

Sarah smiled – just a little smugly – and Aethan wondered how she could possibly have read the decision in his face. "Very well," he said calmly, "I will send a message to the Goblin Kingdom, requesting a meeting."

"Won't you need to explain the circumstances first?" she asked, puzzled.

Huw paused, taken aback, and then laughed. "He knows," he said dryly, if not unkindly. "If there's one thing that's certain, it's his knowledge of your whereabouts – yours and your brother's."

"Oh," she said, paling a little. "Do you mean…?"

"You and Toby are his only real vulnerabilities. He has had his eye on you constantly since you returned to your own world – and had you remained there, it would have indeed been nothing more than an eye. However, now that you have crossed over…"

He stopped.

She did not pick up on his abrupt silence, wrapped up in another revelation – that while she may have forgotten or blocked out the Goblin King, he had most certainly not forgotten her. That was very well – she did not need to know of Bran's extremely pragmatic approach to whatever he considered a threat.

Aethan interrupted the silence, sending Huw off to fetch paper and ink. When he had gone, he turned to Sarah, examining her slightly flushed countenance, the brightness of her eyes. Jareth must have made quite an impression on her – but then, she had been only fifteen. The only wonder was that she hadn't given into him, given him everything he asked for and anything he didn't. Instead, it seemed, she had achieved quite the opposite – from what he had heard, Jareth had been the one offering everything.

And even then, she had rejected him.

Quite a remarkable woman…

No, he did not think that they would have to be on their guard against assassins. If Jareth was idealist enough to want to restore the High Kingship, he was foolish enough to let this one vulnerability live, despite all the mischief that could be done by any who held her or her brother. They were safe enough – for the moment.

(1) "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?" - from X-Men the movie. This is one of Magneto's lines, in the confrontation with Xavier at the beginning.

A/N – I am not quite sure about this chapter. It seems to be a little abrupt, a little awkward, but… Oh, well. Please tell me what you think – any and all feedback will be gratefully accepted.

Thanks to all my reviewers. And a special mention to Draegon-fire, who was spot on in her analysis. (Rewards (her?) with a big grin – am too broke to afford even virtual cookies).