Disclaimer: the Henson and Lucas folks own The Labyrinth.

"I am faced with two options," said the Goblin Queen from her perch against the edge of an oaken keg. Her arms were crossed loosely across her chest, and her feet were splayed wide in order to straddle the cloudy pool of beer that spread below the keg's tap. It was a pose that would've stopped Jareth in the middle of any activity and left him to stare, openmouthed.

Idly, she continued, "I can distract myself, calm down by cleaning this mess, and debate with myself the wisdom of keeping the goblins out of the booze." To the casual observer, Sarah appeared to be addressing the castle, but because she was still extremely out of sorts, Sarah was actually ignoring the castle and speaking to no one but herself. "Or follow the advice of a building – and the lead of goblins – and get completely sloshed. Hmm. What to do…"

The castle offered an image of drunken goblins falling asleep and pasted Sarah's likeness in the place of one of the goblins; the picture was rendered in red, green, and brown crayon. Unwillingly, Sarah cracked a smile when she saw that the castle envisioned her curled up like a tired puppy, her rump in the air and her chin resting on folded hands.

"How little you know me, dear," she murmured.

A sense of curiosity answered her. The best way to describe the sensation is to liken it to the feeling of staring down at the bright eyes of a kitten whose tail still stood at a right angle to its body. Sarah fought the urge to try to snatch the castle up in both hands and nuzzle it, cooing at it with baby talk.

Instead, she settled for sniffing, "No, no. I don't want you to think less of me."

A sun-bright, dry sensation invaded her mind then, bringing with it the image of Sarah with her favorite blue, lace-up-the-forearms, billowing, wide-necked shirt falling dangerously low over her shoulders. The Labyrinth's mental voice was smug; the picture it thrust at her was rendered in dynamic, almost proportionately correct ballpoint pen. The image expanded to include Jareth sitting on the floor against a wall, an amused look on his face; he stared up at Sarah as she stumbled forward and caught herself against the wall, leaning over him and casting him in shadow. The Labyrinth's much more experienced – and somewhat more accurate – imagination then showed Sarah leaning forward and Jareth's smirk widening and-

"Enough," she snapped, producing a crystal with a wave of one hand. With a speed and adeptness she didn't know she had – and not really certain what made her think she could do it – Sarah reached out, pulled the Labyrinth's suggestive picture into the crystal, and sealed it. "You don't know me, either!" she snapped at the Labyrinth.

Its response was the psychic equivalent of a lifted eyebrow and a knowing smile.

"Okay, that's it. I'm getting a mop."

Some hours later, Sarah stood up slowly, one hand clutching a stiff-bristled brush, the other pressing into her lower back. Idly wondering what time it was, she cast a weary look around the cellar.

In the corner, huddled snoozing around an empty barrel, was a pile of drunken goblins. Shortly after calling a dozen of them in to help with the cleanup, Sarah had realized that this was the wrong choice. Rather than risk their sneaking off into some shadow with the best wine, or sucking on a tap, or making a bigger mess while trying to do either, Sarah had told them to empty the one keg and stay still. To her surprise, they had.

The rest of the cellar was actually looking better, especially considering that all the effort had come from one individual. All the puddles standing below the taps had been mopped up and the leaky taps fixed with magic, the broken bottles had been swept up, and the four dusty forgotten mugs had been magicked to the scullery. What remained, then, was an unreasonably large growth of mold and moss. Half of said growth was piled in front of the cellar door, having been peeled off the walls and floor. Great long strips of the stuff had yielded to Sarah's hands, but everywhere there were green and black traceries left behind. These were what she was attacking with brush and bucket.

Sarah dropped the brush into the bucket, sloshing some of the blackened water over the edge. The ache in her back and a hunger that was sick of being ignored were doing their best to convince her to leave off work for the day. For her part, she was inclined to agree. The room was cleaner, she was calmer, and she was not a drunken mess in the corner. The resultant smug sense of accomplishment drew her shoulders back and brought a smirk to her face.

"Great gods, Sarah, I've taught you enough magic to clean the entire castle in an instant if you were so inclined!"

The voice behind her was exasperated, but Sarah figured that it was a good sign that he was talking to her at all. She turned slowly, still recalling their earlier quarrel:

"I'm worried, Jareth! For one of my friends!" Sarah was glad that his back was turned to her; her ears were burning, and she didn't want him to gloat about her blushing as well.

Again over his shoulder, Jareth answered, almost too quietly to hear, "And obviously no closer to counting me amongst them."

"But instead, you choose to take on a task usually given as punishment to rowdy goblins." Jareth was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. Flanking him in the hallway were a pair of whip-thin blond, ethereal beings who bore such a resemblance to him that Sarah knew who they were immediately.

I am not ready to meet the parents, she wailed internally even as she pulled on a genteel smile. Opting for a half-bow, half-curtsey that she used onstage when wearing trousers, Sarah addressed Jareth's parents, "My Lord, my Lady, I am certain that it's untoward to introduce myself, but as my advisor is currently being insufferable, I'm afraid that the task falls to me." The elder couple returned her bow – bending lower and holding it longer – from behind their son. "My name is Sarah Williams, and I am glad to make your acquaintance."

With a sigh, Jareth stood straight in the doorway. He drawled, "Your Majesty, may I present to you my parents, Lady Ahra, Mistress of the Fens, and her consort, Lord Brannich?" Behind him, his mother turned a gentle look of patience on her son, and his father was pulling a respectable poker face. But at the corners of the elder man's eyes, Sarah could see the same smiling wrinkles that indicated amusement in Jareth's face.

Before any of them could bow again or look awkwardly at one another and wonder if they should bow again, Jareth came forward. "I've invited my parents to dine with me in my private residence in the southern part of the Fenlands. Would you care to join us tonight?"

Sarah wanted to say no. She wanted it the way she'd wanted the goblins to steal Toby – that is to say with a childish longing and desperation born of weariness. Suppressing a sigh, she answered, "I'd be delighted, thank you." Her smile might've been a little brittle, but it was passable. With a nervous flick of her left hand, she said, "I must get myself cleaned up first – if that won't cause undue delay…"

Smirking, Jareth drawled, "Well…"

"Jareth, dear, don't tease your sovereign," chided his mother. Her alto voice was the auditory equivalent of a silk robe pulled on first thing in the morning; it was smooth, soft, and a little bit cool, but there was something about it that promised warmth, comfort, and security. Sarah visibly relaxed upon hearing it. "And my dear, don't ask permission of Jareth, even indirectly," she instructed Sarah, whose eyes widened. For all that the words were crisp, the tone – so like Jareth at his driest! – turned the words into a private womanly joke. "It only encourages more impertinence." The diminutive Fae glided forward on what Sarah was sure were a tiny pair of feet, holding out one spindly hand; Sarah bewilderedly accepted that hand. She wondered if she were to kiss it, shake it, or tuck it under her elbow.

Lady Ahra sandwiched Sarah's hand between her own and looked up into the girl's eyes. Unable to shake the feeling of being judged, Sarah struggled not to squirm. Without giving any indication of what she thought of Sarah, Lady Ahra continued easily, "And as to what I believe you meant, we are quite at our leisure and require only a room to sit in. We are very old and weary easily." Feeling the tracework of bones covered by gossamer skin that Sarah held, she could well believe it. "Your preparing for the meal will inconvenience no one save my son."

"Aye," Jareth's father finally added in a voice that put Sarah very much in mind of a Londonized Patrick Stewart. "And abominable of him to leave such short notice, too." The smile lines around his eyes and the long lines beside his narrow nose all deepened. "Left his honored parents but a few moments to cancel their own dinner."

"If we're to enumerate all my failures, let's not forget that I made Dewander stay home, as well," Jareth added with a smirk.

"Yes. A cruel older brother you are, dear," his mother drawled. "But if we were to enumerate your faults, we mightn't eat at all tonight."

With a gasp and a mocking glance in Sarah's direction, Jareth protested, "Mother! Not in front of the Queen! She doesn't yet know what a scoundrel I am." He grinned at Sarah and nodded upward. "Off with Your Majesty, then. We've lessons, you know."

Sarah didn't take the time to wonder at his playful mood; she bowed at the Fae of the Fen, who again responded with deeper genuflections. "Please, make use of the study or the smaller parlor while you wait. Jareth will attend to your needs while you wait." He smiled a little mockingly at her. She returned the look and added, "I won't be long." With that and one dropped crystal, she teleported upstairs.