Chapter Fourteen

The old goblin folded the letter he'd just read, indecision plaguing him for the first time in a long time.

For so long, he'd held himself aloof, not distant so much as above the rest of his hoard. It was the goblin way. While the king was their ultimate ruler, Ragnoc was immediately in charge. Very few of the goblins in his hoard even knew his real name. Ragnoc, much like Jareth, was more an amalgam of the name given him by his parents, along with the name he'd earned from his most important conquest.

All this musing aside, Ragnoc had a duty to attend. The week prior to her death, the Lady Mother had presented him with a box containing twenty letters which he was to prepare and mail once a week, until they were gone or she advised him otherwise. At one point, she had fixed him with a long, unnerving look. Apparently satisfied, she told him that both she and the friend she was writing understood that it was his duty to inspect the letters as he saw fit. That had been the last time she'd spoken with anyone aside from the little prince, her lord husband, or their murderer.

The first letter Ragnoc had simply addressed, sealed, and mailed through the muggle postal service. The second letter was to go out the day after her death. He'd hesitated for a moment, and then opened it. She had given her leave to inspect them as he saw fit, so he did. When the young woman replied, Ragnoc read it as well, wondering if he should contact her and inform her of the Lady Mother's death. After a brief consideration followed by a quick scan of the next letter in the box, Ragnoc decided to mail it and wait. She'd said to send them all until otherwise advised. He would follow her direction as best he could. In the meantime, her words helped him feel much closer to her, the Lady Mother, as well her friend.

Not only that, he got a view of both the young prince and King Jareth that he wouldn't have had before. While goblins, especially Aboveground goblins, were not known to be loving or emotional, they had fixed ideas on the treatment of children, and most especially, the royal family. Ragnoc was quite honored to have this insight.

He'd known His Majesty for many years, but as a subordinate, never as closely as the familial view from these letters. This understanding could only help the Goblin Nation to serve their ruler better. Of course, Miss Sarah's letters provided tips and hints at things that muggles liked which, in turn, suggested various investments. It was for the good of his people and his customers, and Ragnoc would never ignore such opportunity when it came his way. He saw it as a tribute to the Lady Lily and quietly added Miss Sarah Williams to the very short list of humans who could be considered "Friends of the Goblin Nation".

Now, however, the elderly goblin had been given another duty. The last letter in the box had been addressed to him. He shouldn't have been surprised. Still, it wasn't often that a goblin received personal correspondence from a witch or wizard, even an important goblin such as Gringotts' director and leader of the Aboveground hoard, second only to the king. For one thing, it was impertinent for any wizard to think he'd want to exchange personal mail with them. A letter from the Lady Mother, however, especially a posthumous letter, was an honor, and Ragnoc opened it reverently.

Lily Potter had indicated in her letter that she would be killed, though of course she wasn't sure when. It was a small thing, comparatively, but Ragnoc was glad she hadn't known how little time she had. She'd also told him that by now, he'd had time to get to know her friend Sarah. If he were younger he might have blushed, but with his world experience, he simply chuckled. She had been wily-a very worthy mother to their prince. The letter instructed Ragnoc not to reveal Lily's connection with the goblin kingdom, although Sarah apparently possibly had some association to King Jareth. She deemed it His Majesty's choice and responsibility to reveal his own secrets. All of that aside, he was expected to write Sarah as compassionate a letter as he could manage after he read her final missive. It was not a duty that Ragnoc looked forward to. He'd never shirked a responsibility before and he wouldn't now, no matter how much he truly wished he could. With that in mind, he pulled out his finest parchment and quill and began to write.

KT KT KT KT KT

Like every other letter from London, Sarah waited until she was alone to read it which might or might not have been a very good thing.

Something about this latest letter filled Sarah with dread. OF course, it was slightly different than Lily's usual notes. The seal was a different color, for starters. It just felt ominous.

Sarah had already cleaned her little apartment from top to bottom. Frankly, that enterprise had been wasted at the outset. The place was already remarkably clean for being the home of a single twenty-three year old. Sadly, the bulk of her social circle included a fox, a dwarf, and a beast of unknown species. Those were the only souls to visit with any sort of regularity. Anyone else, she met at the town watering hole or at work. Seldom if ever did her coworkers come to her place. A single visit from the Goblin King had killed any possibility of dating and fueled a vast number of romantic and erotic fantasies. Now, if she could only work up the courage to wish him over again...But for now, she had a letter to read.

As Sarah numbly reread the letter a third time, the meaning of the words began to truly sink in. Lily was dead. Not coming back. Little Iarfhlaith was gone, too. The letter said they'd both been attacked. Apparently, there had been a quiet send off…

Sarah couldn't move, couldn't think. How long she sat there, before wadding up the letter and throwing it across the room, she didn't know. Nor did she realize when she began to sob, somehow slipping off the chair and onto the floor, her tea cold and untouched on the end table. She could hear herself mumbling denials, but it was distant, as if someone had taken her over. Lily couldn't be dead, she just couldn't. The two of them had plans—so many plans. They were to meet again for shopping! Every year they would, no excuses. And that sweet little boy...he was going to be in her pre-school class. He wanted to, and he'd promised. He had promised.

Strong arms came around her, lifting her, murmuring sweet words of comfort. Vaguely, she recognized Jareth's voice. Perhaps she should have been shocked, but she couldn't be, really, could she? This couldn't possibly be real, any of it. Lily and her baby prince were in hiding, not dead. Jareth was a king, he didn't cuddle and comfort bratty former Labyrinth runners, no matter whether they won or not. No, it was all a horrible dream and she would wake up. Not until after Jareth stopped singing, though, she hoped. But after that, she would wake up for sure. With those thoughts calming her, Sarah relaxed and pressed her ear to his chest letting the sound, feel, and scent of him calm and soothe her.

KT KT KT KT KT

It hadn't been a wish, precisely, that had alerted Jareth to Sarah's need of him. Instead, it had been a promise he'd made years ago even as he fought to stay in character and remain the taunting enemy she needed to drive her closer to maturity. The song, though, had been written for decades, never to be sung, or so he'd thought. When the music and magic swirled from her after Sarah had taken a bite from the hallucination-inducing peach, something in her dream had called to him.

Her innermost desire had called to him in the most primal way and he'd found himself singing his own dream to her. As he held her and looked into her eyes, he sung his vow to be there for her in her times of greatest need. In that moment, Jareth had known that she was meant for him, as unlikely as it seemed. When Sarah turned from him, he tried to smirk, but it had hurt, as if she'd gripped his heart and squeezed. She'd been so young, so innocent. Nevertheless, he made his promise in magic and music just as his parents had several millennia before. It didn't matter if she understood or reciprocated…well, yes it did, but he had no control over that. The years would be on his side this time and he would be patient, as all of his kind must be, given the longevity of the Fae.

"Falling in love…" Jareth let his voice trail off into a low humming as he rocked her in the chair he'd adapted.

Sarah's emotional devastation had called to him just as he'd conjured a crystal to view the first major salvo in war against his son's kidnapper. There had been minor strikes, of course, but this one should be much more than a simple nuisance to the "esteemed" headmaster. No matter. Severus would be only too glad to fill him in as they watched the events from a recording crystal later.

"Jareth?" Sarah's voice was small in the quiet room—a thready sound, cracked and broken.

"I'm here, precious," he murmured, brushing a tears from under her eye with an ungloved finger.

"She's gone," she whispered. "So young…she was my friend. We knew each other, almost instantly. She was happy, beautiful, peaceful and loving."

Her eyes had slipped closed as she melted against him, still mumbling about her friend. "She must have been truly special to earn your friendship," he murmured, rocking the chair slowly. At least he knew now what the trouble was. Perhaps later, much later, he'd find out more about this friend of hers. His heart ached for his own lost loved ones and he wished he could have spared her such pain.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Her question was muffled against his chest and he barely heard her; it took a moment to puzzle the words out.

"I don't think so, precious Sarah." At his response, her brow furrowed and she clung tighter to him. "I'll leave a crystal for you, shall I?"

Tilting her head away, she looked up at him, though he could tell it took great effort. No doubt he looked like a bleary smear to her.

"You'll sing my song in it?"

Jareth tried to hide his start of surprise by shifting her closer to him. Did she realize? Could she know? More important than eating the peach his magic had called up, he'd passed through her—as an illusion, yes, but it was his magic even so. Not only that, she had caught the dream crystal that he'd thrown, letting it dissolve on the palm of her dominant hand. It was a long-held Fae belief that accepting magic into the right hand knowingly would lead to a life imbued with that magic. Could it be that his magic and her dreams had become so interspersed?

This was not the time to ponder such things, no matter how distracting the thought was. It was difficult, but Jareth forced himself to put the matter aside as he pushed to his feet. Sarah automatically slid her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

"I'll sing it for you now if you promise to sleep. Would you like that?"

"Promise…"

The search for her bedroom was a short one since her little apartment only contained four rooms, counting the bathroom. A flick of his finger turned down the comforter and he slid her beneath it, exchanging her dress for a nightgown only after her body was covered. He wanted to see every inch of her—there could be no doubt about that—but only if she wanted it as well. Anything less would be puerile and meaningless.

Stretching out on his side next to her atop the blanket, Jareth couldn't help but smile as she turned toward him. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead and once again began to sing.

"There's such a sad love…"

As she began to doze, he faded away leaning in for one last kiss pressed lightly against her parted lips. When she awoke, she would find a crystal beside her. If she touched it, he would begin to sing their song to her, stopping when she desired. Every time he came to her, he left a little more of his heart behind with her. He only hoped that, one day, she would accept his whole heart into her keeping.

She had her dreams and he had his. Perhaps they weren't that different after all.

KT KT KT KT KT

"What do you think would happen if Dudders wished?" Iarfhlaith asked Jasper. They could still hear the sound of Ma'am's heels clicking as she walked away after checking that Iarfhlaith 's cupboard was locked.

Today was the other boy's third birthday, so there would be a cake to go with the huge mound of presents stacked in the sitting room. Needless to say, Iarfhlaith and by default, Jasper, were not welcome. Who knew what excuse Ma'am would give, not that it mattered.

The pixie appeared to ponder the idea for a moment. "Hmm, what if he wished? Well, I doubt anything would happen really. He isn't magic and he doesn't believe in magic either. So that's two strikes against him. If a wish was going to be answered, it would be yours, of course. The wizard wards probably keep your wishes inside. His Majesty might know you wished but not what or where. His Majesty wouldn't feel fat-boy's wish at all."

Jasper always, always called Dudders "fat-boy" and he always said it with disgust. While it was Jasper's studied opinion that the other boy could try to resist being such a spoiled little prat, Iarfhlaith wanted to reserve judgment. Well, he had wanted to reserve judgment, until the spoiled little butterball had walloped him good, pushed him in the mud, and then cried to his mummy that the freak—freak was apparently Iarfhlaith's nickname—had tried to bully him. That bald-faced lie had earned Iarfhlaith a handful of swats from Ma'am and another sound thrashing from the huge man also known as Sir. In addition, he hadn't gotten lunch or supper that day and the next morning's rations were slim to say the least. The only good part about his punishment would be that he had also been confined to his cupboard, with short excursions to the potty twice a day.

Thank heaven for Jasper. No matter what the people in the house thought, Iarfhlaith would not go hungry. The incarceration would also give Iarfhlaith time to heal and rest.

Not only that, his enforced quietude had given Iarfhlaith time to realize that it didn't matter whose fault Dudders' behavior was because the end result left Iarfhlaith with a nasty, mean, spoiled, bullying nightmare which he would have to navigate as best he could, and it wouldn't be easy.

While the two discussed the situation, Jasper continued to help him with his magic. In time, he might be able to influence Dudders away from him and on to more constructive pursuits. A boy could hope, couldn't he?

"How long do you think it will take to get around these wizard wards?" Iarfhlaith asked finally. The noise from the party beyond the cupboard swelled as the sound of childish screams and noisemakers filled the air. "It'll be time for my next birthday soon, won't it?"

"It will," Jasper answered solemnly. "I wish I had better things to say, Prince. We know that the wizard wards are all over this street and the next one, or the bathrobe lady's house wouldn't be under them."

Iarfhlaith sighed and looked away. His eyes prickled but he forced the emotion down. He was a prince, not a crybaby—a prince in a cage according to Jasper, but Iarfhlaith couldn't argue that, especially from within the locked cupboard.

All at once, a solution occurred to him. "Can you feel them? How far away from me can you go?" He fought down his excitement, but this was important.

"Why…" Jasper's voice squeaked and he cleared his throat. "Why would you want me to go away from you? You won't be safe! Aren't I doing a good job? I'll do better, Prince, I swear…"

Instinctively, Iarfhlaith thrust his hand out, palm up, capturing Jasper in the center of a calming crystal. The little pixie's eyes got round as saucers and he plopped down on the bottom of the crystal sphere, fluttering in place as it dissolved.

"Are you better now?" Iarfhlaith asked cautiously.

"You did it," Jasper whispered. "Not even three and you already conjured a crystal." Shifting suddenly, Jasper sank to the floor in front of Iarfhlaith, kneeling prostate. "Your Majesty," he intoned, his voice ringing with awe.

"Jasper, stop. Daka does it all the time. You're…my friend, my pixie. You're you. Just don't… don't do that."

"Sire!" Jasper gasped shooting up to hover in front of Iarfhlaith. "Not even most Underground born princes can call up crystals until they get lots older. Only your father, King Jareth, has done it since long before even King Oberon."

"Oh." Iarfhlaith considered this for a moment, though it didn't really make a big difference to him. His daka had said he'd do it and he had. "Well, that's what I need you for. How would I know that? And without you, I probably still wouldn't do it for ages."

"So…so you're not kicking me out?" Jasper asked cautiously.

"Of course not! Why would I do something that stupid? You think I'm stupid, don't you?" he asked, insulted.

"Um, what?" Jasper fluttered forward to look closely into Iarfhlaith's eyes. "I don't think you're stupid. Why would you think I mean that?"

"I'd be lost, hungry, alone, and maybe dead without you, Jasper. You know that. These people don't want me to live. If they did, they might feed me more often…Anyhow, I just came up with an idea I thought we could try."

"Oops. Sorry?"

Rolling his eyes, Iarfhlaith waved the whole thing away. He would never really understand the pixie's thought processes. Or maybe he would, after he was his Daka's age.

"I figured we could try to see how far you could go because there's no way I can get anywhere alone. They don't let me. But when we go outside, you can fly around and see if you can find the edge of the wards. Then we'll know where we have to go to get away."

"Oh wow! That's brilliant!" Jasper gasped. "I'll start tonight, after you go to sleep. I can put a spell to make the cupboard door stick. It'll go nicely with that squeaky board right in front of the opening."

"I don't know why you're worried about it, Jasper," Iarfhlaith grumbled. "I don't know what that fat man thought he wanted with me in the middle of the night anyway, but you took care of it when you put his foot through the floor."
"It doesn't matter what he wanted," Jasper countered. "Nothing good happens in the middle of the night. You should know that by now."

"You're right, I should."

He'd been scared to death that night. The big man's footsteps were louder than anyone else's, especially at night. Iarfhlaith often wondered if Jasper had spelled them that way. But when they'd come to a stop in front of his cupboard after the others had gone to bed, Iarfhlaith had been terrified. The pixie had waved his little stick just as the door had opened and the man had fallen through the floor, shouting the house down. After the damage had been repaired, both to the floor and eventually, the man, a loud, high echoing sound was heard whenever anyone trod on the boards around his cupboard after eleven at night. It didn't matter how many carpenters looked at it or even replaced the floorboards, the sound remained.

"Good." Jasper crossed his arms, a serious look on his face. "We have a plan."

Iarfhlaith grinned. "Yes. A plan. It might take awhile, but we're that much closer, aren't we?"

A/N: My apologies for such a long wait. PC issues wait for no man. I hope to have another chapter up very soon. It's high time we saw Dumbledore suffer just a bit, isn't it? I know this is a slow-paced fic, but that's just the way it is. I never know till I'm done how long a story will be.

I do want to thank all the readers who've added me to alert or favorite. A huge thanks to the reviewers, also. If I didn't answer your review, I apologize. I had the hard drive replaced which meant I didn't know who I'd answered and who I didn't. Anyhow, thanks, and btw, I don't own the folks from HP or Labyrinth. Just so you know…