Jareth returned far too early the next morning, flying through the window and transforming in the centre of the room. The candles had been lit, at least, and the light was welcoming after flying through the cloudy sky for the better part of an hour.
He blinked owlishly for a while and wiped the rain off his face. Then he managed to get his soaked cloak off his back and sat down.
The goblins were still goblins. It was the best he could say for them. Some were still stupid and some were still smart. Some had been cleaning up the mess in the Castle now that the King was away and wouldn't be bothered by the dust. Jareth wasn't sure if that was the single most stupid thing he'd ever heard, or the smartest.
No more wishes were in the offing, however. There were no scribbled messages pinned up in the post office reporting from the Aboveground. Apparently no one was close to meeting the wish requirement.
The Goblin King was a little sorry for that. It meant he would be stuck in Oric's palace for the better part of a week. Any less and he would insult his hostess.
Who had yet to show her face.
Jareth narrowed his eyes and waved a hand to shut the open window. Carefully, of course. He wouldn't want to ruin the much-admired coloured glass panes.
He had very little contact with the Allorn Queen as a general rule. This business of marrying their kingdoms had been alarming enough to make him draw further away. He had no idea what mad scheme she'd taken into her head this time.
"It could be anything," he murmured to the ornate lamp. He switched it on to take the pressure off his tired eyes.
It was possibly nothing to do with him whatsoever. Jareth readily admitted to vanity but he was usually well aware of his position in the multi-world dimensions of the known universe. It was quite surprisingly how often he found himself in the thick of things.
A very flattering state for the third son of the second wife of a Dross minister.
Jareth smirked to himself and tugged off the heavy ring on his index finger.
"Jareth?"
The Goblin King looked up and nodded. "Have you slept?" he asked curtly.
Robert nodded and didn't approach.
Jareth finally sighed and beckoned him in impatiently. "What's planned for the day?"
"There is a mass in the Diaman at late morning. A hunter's catch at early evening and various smaller things in the palace all day," Robert supplied.
Jareth nodded tiredly. "Which would you like?" he asked from sheer habit.
"I thought you might like the hunt," Robert said unexpectedly, "We'd be free to hunt how and when we want."
Jareth showed a mild surprise but he accepted it with a sleepy blink and a tug on a wet lock of hair. "It sounds tempting," he admitted, "No poetry this time?"
"There is. I don't think you'll enjoy it."
"What about you? Will you enjoy it?"
Robert fetched a glass of elixir. "You're wet from the rain. I should have warned you about that," he said quietly, "None of the poets are any good."
Jareth raised an eyebrow. It occurred to him that he hadn't heard Robert give an opinion on anything for a long time. At least, not without some severe provocation on Jareth's part. The thought made him smile, putting a little brightness into the gloom.
"What about the weavers?" he smirked.
Robert actually shuddered. "I'd rather not. Weaving is… rather boring." He looked doubtfully at Jareth.
Jareth looked impassively back at him, sipping on the tasteless liquid in his glass. Just long enough to see Robert start to worry. And then he shook his head and said, "I'm not interested in the damned rugs either," very peaceably.
Robert breathed a sigh of relief and took the half-empty glass back.
If he were conscious of those mismatched eyes watching him, he gave no sign. Instead he put the glass down on the table and went into the bedroom for a towel and a dry robe.
Jareth watched him anyway, turning this strange change of pace over in his brain. Evidently his little explosion of honest frustration had borne fruit. Robert seemed better disposed to him- much friendlier. He could see Robert look through his clothes for something thick enough and warm enough. This show of familiarity and even concern was almost alien to how Robert had been scant few hours before. Had something been decided when he was away?
Robert came back and proceeded to slide a comb through the tangled wet hair, trying to get the worst of the water out of it.
Jareth felt just a little foolish and promptly took the comb away from him. "I can brush my own hair," he pointed out.
Robert didn't seem perturbed. He went down on his knees and busied himself with Jareth's boots, much to the Goblin King's chagrin.
Jareth resigned himself to the fact and it was certainly nice to be looked after. Slavery as a concept was illogical to him, but the focused attention was not necessarily unappreciated. Or unwanted.
Deft fingers undid the buttons on the front of his breeches and if Jareth had only been in the mood! He sucked in a breath for self-control in any case, waiting to see if Robert would show any sign of revulsion or submission. Fate, if only he were in the mood!
The comb was taken away and his shirt attacked next, the wet linen peeling off like a dead layer of skin. It was transparent enough to be that.
Jareth managed to get the towel for himself, and to stand up, or there would be no telling what Robert's sudden warmth would put it into his head to do.
Robert didn't seem to notice the tug of war. He got up and put the wet clothes into the bathroom, coming back with a smile to find Jareth fastening up the robe and sliding into bed.
"Do you need anything more?" he asked softly.
"You've all but put me to bed," Jareth yawned, "That's far enough."
Robert ignored that altogether. He'd done a lot of thinking before falling asleep and if Jareth wanted to be trusted, Robert was duty-bound to try. Trust, like love, wasn't an emotion one could conjure up, but the cynical fact was that Robert could act it. Peshawa were taught to act, to supply a desired reaction even when it wasn't natural.
"Are you cold?" he asked instead.
The blue eye slitted open. "Not as such."
"There are more blankets," Robert explained, "Or I can get something hot for you."
Jareth opened the other eye, now more suspicious than relaxed. Robert was lying through his teeth; Jareth could tell. The Peshawa was a good actor but he had one thing in common with the Goblin King- he didn't like lies. What he was doing was a lie. Probably he had talked himself into this good mood. But it was still an act and Robert was trying very hard to keep it up.
Too hard.
Jareth wasn't angry so much as suspicious. These kinds of lies were almost pitiable. "I believe I can do without boiled leaves." He still didn't like lies though. "Body heat is always welcome, however."
There. The normal flinch.
Robert was furious when he felt it happen. He'd known it was coming when Jareth used that tone of voice. But it was still so… unappetizing? No. Shocking? More than that. Degrading. It was still so degrading.
He took a hesitant step forward and Jareth held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright. I don't want it. Leave me to sleep. You're free to go do whatever you like this morning."
Robert left with the odd sense of relief and self-annoyance sharing space in his brain. He went back to his room and his skin was hot. Sliding into cold sheets and feeling the tingling chill cool him down was quite enjoyable.
Jareth waited until the door shut before conjuring up a crystal.
Sarah was up. Dressed, too. And thinking deeply from the looks of it.
He got out of bed and dressed properly, leaving the robe on the floor before venturing out to her room. The use of high amounts of magical energy was forbidden in Beinheir. Changing to his owl form to visit his kingdom was understandable; apparating around the countryside would earn him a thinly humorous reprimand. So he walked it. In bare feet and an obvious lack of formality.
He knocked on the door and waited.
Sarah didn't open it right away, but he opened it hurriedly, with a terminally cheerful air.
He'd been hiding something, Jareth guessed. Better not to show he knew, however, so the sharp features never changed from their amiable expression. "Good morning. Still up?"
"I couldn't sleep," Sarah admitted, holding the door open, "What're you doing here so early?"
"I had business," Jareth said mildly.
Green eyes looked him up and down. "Did it involve taking off your clothes?"
"Now, Sarah. Is there any need to pry into my personal life?"
"I don't want to know," Sarah declared, "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."
"You asked." Jareth chuckled quietly and sat down in the rocking chair, swinging it backwards until he could put his feet up on the delicate table. Then he proceeded to use a smidgen of magic to conjure up his cigarette case and lighter.
"Smoke?" he offered.
"Those things will kill you," Sarah warned.
"They might find it hard. We're immortal on a normal basis."
"Except to diseases. And that thing can give you cancer."
"Cancer?" he repeated, not sure of the reference.
The younger man nodded at him and wrapped himself up in the blanket on the couch. "It's a disease. The human body is made up of cells, right, and…"
"I've heard all this, yes. Get to the point," Jareth interrupted.
Sarah rolled his eyes but obliged. "Sometimes those cells change and start attacking the body. Or diseased cells start growing really fast, giving you a tumour. It's like an infection but very deadly. Smoking on Earth can lead to lung cancer."
"Ah." He inhaled a long swallow of smoke and exhaled it. "That's a frightening idea."
"That's what humans think too." Sarah watched the cigarette lifted and lowered. "You're not going to stop smoking, are you?"
"No," he said, "However, I think a little research into it will do us all some good. I suppose I should send a goblin Aboveground."
"Goblins? Will they understand it?"
"No. They are almost the silliest creatures known in these worlds. They only need to find a doctor who can see them and then I can send my physician up."
"You have a physician?"
"Of course. The Underground doesn't cater to my kind," Jareth shrugged.
"Your own personal doctor?"
"Yes, Sarah."
Sarah shook his dark head in a mock daze. "When I think about sitting in an overcrowded emergency room when Toby broke his leg… I could have just called you! Personal doctor, indeed!"
"But Sarah," Jareth mocked, "I might have tried to steal Toby away again."
Sarah scowled at him and stuck his nose in the air. "You're not funny."
"I try my poor best."
"Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"
"Hence the reason it is called sarcasm," Jareth soothed, "Calm yourself, Lannon. I'm not laughing at you."
"Oh, yes, you are."
Jareth shrugged again and considerately kept his amusement to himself. Sarah was always an interesting conversationalist. Especially when he was snappy.
"Jareth, I've been doing a little thinking," Sarah said slowly, "And I suddenly realized that you've never once asked me if I wanted to do all this rubbish."
"What rubbish?"
"This formal, royal stuff. Going to balls and being introduced by my real name."
"Didn't I?" he murmured, "I beg pardon. My mistake."
Sarah sighed and folded his arms. "You're not going to be serious, either. Fine, fine, don't be serious. It's not like I'm trying to have a serious conversation with my father."
"Sire." Jareth drew on his cigarette. "I am your Sire and Robert is your Dam. Your kind doesn't usually use the terms 'father' or 'mother'."
"Great. I sound like a thoroughbred," Sarah growled.
"It is rather funny you should say that," Jareth chuckled, "Your pedigree being what it is. Nobility on your maternal side; I suppose your paternal side is still a bit crass, but it is respectable. Another two generations and your grandchildren will be unquestionably Royalty."
"Grandchildren? Sorry. You're not getting kids out of me. I'm never going to have kids."
"That sounds definite."
"Gee, I don't know- get into a relationship where somebody else can do anything they want with me, and then produce kids so they can tag along on this screwy ride too? No thank you. If my Dam taught me anything, it's that Peshawa and kids don't mix."
"Stop worrying, Sarah. You have had a few bad experiences with the label, yes. But it only wants a little bit of common sense and an open mind. Being a Peshawa is not the end of the world." Jareth was resigned to repeating this argument many times over. "Robert is not the best example of his race."
"Are you putting Dad down again?"
"I never put Robert down," Jareth retorted, "It's unsporting and completely uninteresting. The man can't fight back."
Sarah was almost confused. "I don't get you," he finally said.
"I'm an amazingly simple person," Jareth commented.
"Jareth, be serious."
"Sarah, I came for a mild talk with someone interesting. I'm getting a lecture."
"Welcome to fatherhood," she said kindly, "Do you want me to pretend to respect you a little longer, or can I start stealing the car and sneaking out of the house?"
Jareth raised an eyebrow and then sighed in mournful contemplation of his previously quiet life. Well, perhaps not quiet, but uncomplicated. Simple. He had never bothered much with children before. They were usually terrified of him and as thankful as he was to be handed over to the goblins. Sarah was a little bit of an exception to the rule.
Sarah took his silence as an invitation to proceed. "You're a little confusing. Do you love Dad or don't you?"
Jareth blinked. "This is a little unexpected," he said distantly.
"It's a simple question."
"There's no simple answer."
"Either you do or you don't."
"Sarah, I'm not having this conversation with you," Jareth sighed, "Not least because it isn't any of your business."
"Of course, it's my business. You're my parents."
"Whether or not your parents are happy and can live with each other, yes- that is your business. Whether or not your parents can raise you right- that is your business. Prying into their feelings concerning each other is not a part of your right to be involved."
"Isn't it?" Sarah asked seriously, "I'm beginning to think it is. Dad can't protect himself from you. I know he's unhappy. You must have seen it. All this 'Yes, Sir' and 'No, Sir' is killing him. And then you come out with a sympathetic statement like that one that makes me wonder why you'd run the risk of making him unhappy if you cared about him."
"It's not a question of love, Sarah. It's a question of possession," Jareth explained gently, "He is mine."
"From the little I can tell, he wasn't married to you."
"But he was given specifically to me to do with as I wished. To use and discard to be precise. But is there any use to treating a living being like that? I'm not an idiot. Robert came with a lot of advantages for me. Treating him shabbily is bad strategy."
"Advantages?"
"Birth, position, culture," Jareth counted out, "The look of a rich household for housing a Peshawa. All sorts of things. Scandal, too, and not all of it was bad publicity."
"Okay, I get that. But why be nice to him if you're not… nice to him."
"I'm sympathetic, but I do what needs to be done."
"That makes no sense."
"I'm not obliged to have it make sense for you," he warned.
Sarah knew better than to fall for that. He laughed a little and cuddled further into the blankets, making sure he could feel the letter crackle inaudibly under his bottom so he knew where it was. The heavens forbid Jareth found it! Sarah would be in fifty kinds of trouble if Jareth found out Sarah was encouraging a nameless letter writer.
He'd probably also blow a fuse over what the letter said, encouraging the Princess to take back a little liberty from the Goblin King.
Jareth was working too hard pinning him down to approve of a little flitting.
"How did you enjoy the first night?" Jareth was asking, ignoring the previous topic altogether in favour of something lighter, something less thought-provoking.
"It was nice. I was dead hungry, though," Sarah complained, "They didn't serve any food."
"Oh." Jareth sighed and raised a hand to get the lock of hair out of his eyes. "I should have remembered that. It's a dance, so they don't actually serve a meal. The servants bring it round beforehand, but I did give orders not to approach our quarters unless it was necessary."
"Feeding me isn't necessary?" Sarah squeaked.
"A lot of women only nibble at a meal once a day," Jareth laughed, picturing Sarah's heart appetite against the women he knew, "I suppose the servants made a mistake."
"I'm starving 'cause they think I'm some kind of damned bird! Oh, that gets my goat. There'd better be breakfast because I'll eat the couch otherwise. Stop laughing, Jareth. You'll wake everyone else up."
The Goblin King wasn't laughing aloud. He was, however, enjoying the heart-felt grumble with a wide grin on his face, his eyes dancing merrily at the vision of outraged anger before him. He took pity on the poor thing and summoned up a crystal. "Here," he said, tossing it to him.
Sarah caught it and it turned into a peach. "Oh, no," he swore, putting it down, "I'm not eating that."
"Scared?" Jareth teased.
"You'll drug me again."
"Do I have a reason to put a spell on you?"
Sarah thought it over. There was no reason to drug her or put a spell on him. Besides, even if he did, what outrageous designs would his 'Sire' have on him? The most Jareth would do, would be to put him to bed or dress him in something ridiculous. Jareth wasn't the kind to play practical jokes like that.
Sarah ate the peach.
He almost inhaled it, he was so hungry.
Jareth gave him another when one vanished so quickly and they talked of inconsequential things until the hour before dawn.
Robert came for Sarah, then, and while the younger Peshawa went to change, Robert made the surprisingly personal decision to gently touch the Goblin King's forehead and neck to check for any illness.
"I'm fine," Jareth grumbled, "Stop fussing."
Robert dropped his hand but didn't move away. He even stepped in close and touched the Goblin King's shoulder. "I made a mistake," he said simply, "If you still want it, I can do it."
Sarah heard the murmurs from his bedroom but couldn't- for the life of him- make out what it meant. He came out a moment later and Jareth saw them out and then left for his own bed, determined to get some sleep before his over-taxed brain shut down on him. It seemed he would be in dire need of it in these few festival days.