Author's Note: Apologies for the long absence, and my sincere gratitude to everyone who checked up on me. Long story short, life can be a real bitch, and horribly unfair. I'm home from college for the semester because something is horribly wrong with my leg(s) despite this summer's surgery. But, once again, I've begun trying to write instead of wallowing, so hopefully, Persephone will benefit and writing will be my silver lining.

Persephone 36

Artemis Afoul

"Can you think, can you think of any solidly horrible consequence of leaving the boundaries of the kingdom?" Sarah asked when the retching stopped and she could sit down again. She sipped delicately at a pale juice to distract her taste buds from the acid lingering in her mouth.

"Nuttin' solid, per say, no," Hoggle grunted, picking the raisins out of a sweet cake. "I's don't think you'll wink out of existence or anythin', I don't think anyways…"

"That's a relief," Sarah cut in.

"There's just nothing there. And you can't possible make..."

"That's your opinion…" she caught herself, "what do you mean 'nothing there?'"

"You's saw the edge of the outskirts when you started," Hoggle reminded her, popping humiliated grapes into his mouth. "There's wilderness, but it's barren."

Sarah shrugged. "What's wrong with that?" If she could survive in the Labyrinth as a wild thing while the king hunted her, barren wilderness couldn't be so unfriendly. She imagined herself eating grass if it came to it, disgusted with the taste and texture, but satisfied with her freedom. And she speculated, wildly she knew, that somehow she might find a way out, either in the form of a path home, back to her world and to Toby, or a path anywhere else. Sarah couldn't help believing that less repressive fairytales must exist somewhere in the Underground, even if the thought seemed too glass-half-full for her present tastes.

"Wrong with that?" Hoggle guffawed, cutting into her reverie. "You'd starve, be alone and unprotected from the wilds and the other kingdoms." He pounded his leathery fist down on the table, jumped when the dishes rattled and grabbed the edge to stop the china cacophony. "And you can't get out, so why wonder?"

"I think I can," she hissed, wincing at her own harsh tone. Her tongue still tasted terrible sour. She paused, gingerly lifting her glass from the table. "Hoggle, I have to think that I can."

"'Is Majesty says…"

"What does he say?" she snarled, emblazoned with confidence while safe inside. "What does he…"

"He says yous can't escape!"

Her breath escaped in a soft huff before her anger took over again. "Who says he's not lying? Or bending the truth? I can't just assume that this dubious statement is true and give up…"

Hoggle rolled his eyes, irritated and crestfallen at the same time.

"You just told me not to try to like him, not to try to get along! And there's nothing to like. He may be…well, dangerously handsome, but that's the wrong kind of allure…" Sarah paused, trying to think of any better asset in the king. She could recognize a certain strength required to hold his teetering kingdom together, and disturbing charisma. But she shuddered at the callous, possessive way he treated others. She shook her head. "He's too cruel."

"I know, I know."

Sarah couldn't stop the rising sense of universal betrayal. "Then what am I supposed to do?" she slammed her glass down hard. The platters rattled.

Hoggle grabbed the edge of the table, damping the vibrations again. "I's don't know."

"I have to do something," she said, catching his look. She saw her dismal expression reflected in his face. "And the last thing—the last thing—I'm going to try is cozying up to that man. Not when he's already done such horrible things to me. I can't imagine what he'd do," her throat constricted against her will, "if he had my permission."

"Can…," his eyes floated away. The raisin bread lay forgotten. He looked back at her, staring her down. "Can you's imagine worse?"

Sarah sighed. Her eyes feel closed. "Of course I can. I can imagine what he tried to do to me…and I know there's worse. I can imagine what he'll do if I fail, if he catches me. But I can imagine better too. And fear of something worse…that's a horrible reason to sacrifice all that's left of my life now."

"He's very angry. He'll be…"

"More aggressive, I know!" she flung up her hands, before wrapping her arms around herself. "But he's already angry. Who cares? He's always angry and he's always cruel." She sighed, "And when he isn't, he's just planning. I don't want to think about that what if."

Hoggle cleared his throat. "He will be worse if he's has to catch you's," he said slowly.

She shook her head, blinking furiously. "But it doesn't matter. More or less angry, he'll still…abuse me."

"Then you's should keep running. I wish I's could tell yous you'd make it."

Sarah patted the back of her friend's hand. Her eyes ached with hidden tears and exhaustion. "You can hope for me. And tell the others what I'm doing."

Hoggle shifted in his seat, avoiding her watery gaze. "Oh Sarah I…"

"It doesn't matter," she interrupted softly. "He already knows. I'm running against him."

x x x x

He retired late, feeling that strange, actual need for sleep after days spent herding his love to temporary safety, only to find Sophia waiting for him. Truly horrible hunting. The lady's-maid-without-a-lady fixed him with a ferocious stare. "What mischief is this?" she demanded before he had time to breath. "Running free in the Labyrinth? 'Tis utter, utter nonsense!"

"Do tell her that," he quipped.

She glared at him as he pulled off his shirt, not taking the cue for dismissal, hands resolutely on her hips. "And why did she fly?"

"Because she hates me." He threw the shirt to the floor. "Leave off, I'm tired."

The old woman daintily lifted the shirt by one corner and threw it at him. "Pick up after yourself. Why do you make such messes, such tangles, and refuse to clean them up?"

Turning to face her, Jareth didn't bother to catch the shirt. The white linen vanished in a crystal. "Get out, old woman," he muttered, headed for his bed chamber. "Tonight, I need to sleep."

Sophia rolled her eyes, raising her stout gaze from his chest and his face. "You could have told me the truth about her. I, who have cleaned and fed and clothed you since you were a boy with a snotty nose and a half-ruined eye. No sense lying to me my once-little majesty."

He stopped by the door, one hand lingering on the latch. He kept his expression neutral, cool, perpetually masked. "Why Sophia?"

The old woman shook her head in dismay, looking down her nose despite the height difference. "Because I would have wanted to help you. Just like the others. Too see you happy." She snorted. "And because you need help."

"You and my mother, and Adele, and Alexander," he pushed the door open with a mental shove.

"You never did listen. Not even as a boy."

Jareth sneered, baring his canines out of habit. He stretched himself across the door way, palms on either side of the frame, leaning lazily. "Why then, does everyone so prefer me to my primogenitured brother?"

"Because you can be both harsh and fair. The pressure to be so good, without real power, is too great, I know." Sophia smiled sadly and brushed her fingers against the Goblin King's cheek, seeing him boyish and fair instead of cruelly handsome. She remembered him as a child, constantly coddled and frustrated by a family thrilled with their heir and spare, almost previously unheard of in an extended family of blond daughters. Before descending into years of madness, his father ignored, and ultimately banished, his cleverer son, almost afraid to indulge the child with real political flair over violent, but driven Draco. Sophia herself had comforted the weeping mother the night Jareth became Goblin King. But Savionne had never let her second son see her tears. Only Lindel had run to her older brother's arms, crying and screaming. He scooped the little girl into his arms, heedless of her tears on his velvet coronation doublet. The elder brother stroked her hair and shamelessly promised to visit often before returning the princess to Sophia. When he walked into Navarre's throne room, he held his face like regal stone. "It is not your fault you never learned to love," she said simply, "but you must not take your inexperience out on her."

Jareth's eyes flashed, but he hung his head. "That is too bold."

The old woman shrugged and withdrew her wrinkled hand. She remembered the fleeting looks of real longing in his eyes, scattered across centuries of living. "What's said is said," she scoffed. "Think on it."

x x x x

Trusting Hoggle's word rather than the king's, and having found that the cabin door now opened, closed, and reopened, Sarah decided to rest and enjoy the little house's curious hospitality a little longer. With her dear friend standing guard, she finally allowed herself to sleep. Even nearly two days of log-like sleep didn't erase the dark circles under her eyes, but she felt better than she had since leaving the fair apple Daphnes. She breathed easier with Hoggle for company, thoroughly enjoying meals for his company and their sustenance.

"What about Gilda? And that girl…that Lyja?" she asked at breakfast on her third morning. The table at Hermes' house overflowed with oatmeal and French toast, complete with real maple syrup just like at home. She thanked the house for reading her mind as she poured syrup over her plate.

"Gilda, she's ah, she's still workin' in the kitchens, that's what I hears. And Lyja's, she's still in the tower. Where she belongs." Hoggle gave the sticky brown liquid on Sarah's plate a wary glance before continuing. "Everyone in the castle misses you something fierce. Theys worried too."

Sarah nodded, bringing a spoonful of oatmeal to her mouth. "Tell them I'm as well as can be," she said, blowing on the cereal to cool it.

"And theys routin' for you, of course."

"I know," she smiled between bites. "That means a lot to me."

For a few minutes, they sat in silence until Sarah scrapped the bottom of her oatmeal bowl and set the sticky French toast plate aside. The dirty dishes vanished as if they'd never been there. "Thank you," she said to the house. Hoggle grunted in vague embarrassment, but she rolled her eyes at him.

A moment later—"Sarah?"

She knew what he intended to ask. "Yes?"

The dwarf cleared his throat, pursing leathery lips. "When will you's go?"

Her eyes drifted towards the ceiling. "Tomorrow," she replied. "I want to get cleaned up tonight, and pick something without holes out of the closet, and get one more nights sleep. Then," she caught his eye, unable to avoid glancing at the scar through his lid, "then I'll make my run for it."

"Sarah…"

"Please don't argue with me Hoggle. I have to try," she shook her head, pushing away visions of the king's savage pleasantries. "I just have to."

x x x x

Sarah always hated saying goodbye, but this time, if she succeeded in her escape, her goodbye would certainly be forever. She couldn't form the words. Instead, she told Hoggle that she couldn't say adieu. Maybe someday she could steal her friends away to the wastes too, once she established her own life in the barren orange grasses. She hugged him tight and withheld her tears. He didn't shrug her off, but soon sent the girl on her way to avoid showing any emotion of his own.

With clean men's riding breeches, a calico shirt, and a satchel of bread, nuts and cheese over her shoulder, Sarah headed back into the woods. She oriented herself to the red Underground sun and renewed her quest for the outskirts. In hindsight, the first four hours went so well that she should have expected something to go horribly wrong. She left the forest and returned to an unfamiliar crumbled stone portion of the labyrinth. The walls seemed to creep higher and higher. Tormented faces hid in the stonework. Sarah shuddered at a decapitated statue, turned away, and fell.

This time, there was no shaft of hands to pretend to help. Her eyes watered as she fell, unable to blink. The dusty darkness invaded her vision as she landed. Sarah recognized the oubliette by the smell.

She inhaled sharp and fast, one hand over her racing heart. The trap door above her close, leaving her in total darkness. Sarah closed her eyes and opened them, then waved her hand in front of her face. She couldn't see any change. Biting her lip to contain the outburst, she rearranged her tangled limbs on the cold floor. Nothing broken, just very bruised, she sighed in relief. Pressing her purple and blue knees to the floor, she crawled around the space, feeling every nook and cranny with ginger fingertips. With the exception of cobwebs, the place was entirely empty, and no larger than her closet at home. Feeling round in the dark, Sarah soon became quite disoriented. She leaned back against the wall, resting her head on her hands.

Her eyes would not adjust to the darkness. Finally, she chocked back a sob, screamed, screamed, and screamed.

x x x x

The trouble with oubliettes, Jareth mused, was that they weren't the happy "little places of forgetting" they were made out to be. Certainly, he dropped many an escaped prisoner into the oubliettes surrounding the North Tower, happy to let "the hole's" darker nature solve his tedious problems as the Underground's jail keeper. Lonely death in an oubliette even seemed too kind for murders, but the punishment sufficed, whether accidental or incidental. Sometimes, he let criminals escape just for the excuse of it, amused at their false joy in escaping the inescapable prison. He half enjoyed calling the alert and sending his denizens scurrying to their homes in a panic. They never understood the joke, but he got a good laugh out of watching them hide from 'escaped' convicts. Indeed, when the goblins needed a firm hand he threatened and dropped them in too, sure to mark the location well and release them before they starved or went madder than they had been when they entered. For more often than not, the oubliettes introduced their victims to insanity, starvation, and dehydration, before death, though not necessarily in that particular order.