Disclaimer: Not mine and all that

I'm followed a very good suggestion to spread the story into smaller chapters, so there should be a few more chapters coming in a couple of hours after i have a bit of a play with them:)

There will be really new chapters that will come tomorrow sometime and are already written, so don't be disappointed -i'm not just doing a re-write.


Chapter 1

Jareth extended the meeting as long as he dared get away with, but eventually even he had to let his councillors leave. They were all casting concerned looks as they left, though he pretended not to notice. Jareth was not known for making meetings longer than they were needed, especially ones involving paperwork. He had his reasons though.

He wasn't certain, though he was fairly sure, that someone had been following him, watching him. He wasn't one to jump at shadows and in truth there were few places he could go where he wasn't followed and stared at by someone. This felt different though, intrusive and unfamiliar.

He wanted to tell the council, wanted to alert his security, but he could just be paranoid and he knew his people's feelings towards him, so he refused to go to them for help unless he had solid proof of his suspicions.

At the same time, Jareth was also distinctly unenthusiastic about being alone, hence the overly extended meeting.

Jareth left the meeting quietly and paused under a large oak tree, looking for someone or something, anything suspicious. He frowned as he saw a slight shimmer of magic ahead of him, he squinted at it as he ducked down slightly. It turned out to be someone's clock hanging on a fence, obviously an expensive one for it was embedded with multiple spells for warmth and safety. Jareth frowned at himself, he was being completely ridiculous.

It was at this point that the, newly promoted, weapons master nearly tripped over him. Jareth had just enough self control not to blush at being found in such an undignified position.

"My apologies Sire," Sir Hugh said, knowing better than to enquire about the nature of the King's business.

Jareth stood, brushing his clothes off as he did so. Almost instantly a bullet thudded into the tree close to Jareth's head. Jareth froze, staring at Sir Hugh with surprise, his weapons master, highly trained, immediately threw them both to the ground, covering his King with his own body.

Hugh was speaking into his earpiece yelling for backup, though it was unnecessary as everyone in the vicinity could hear the gun shots. He continued to hold Jareth below him until the area was fully secure, regardless that his King was fighting him, fighting to get back up. He was a Knight of the Labyrinth and furthermore the Weapons master, the protection of the King was his primary duty, regardless, or in spite of, Jareth's wishes. Eventually once it became clear that the assassin had departed, Hugh had his men escort the King back to the main council building, while Hugh started organising a man-hunt.

Several hours later and there was little trace of the assassin, though the search was still ongoing. The council had immediately got to work, the head councillor Fenrook almost immediately giving a press release, before the rumours got to out of hand.

It was late afternoon when the King met his council again, though this time soldiers of all shapes and sizes lined the walls.

"I don't know anything, I didn't recognise him," Jareth nearly growled, perilously close to whining. They'd been gently interrogating him for awhile now.

Sir Hugh had been growing more suspicious as the afternoon wore on, he should have known something was wrong since he had been forced to sit in an interminable meeting this morning. It was now obvious that King Jareth had been keeping things from them, had not only recognised the assassin, but had fought Hugh to get up, had stupidly almost run towards the shooter.

He wasn't a fan of the King's, in truth there were few who were. But he had never felt until this moment that the King had picked up on this, would sacrifice his safety rather than trust in Hugh and his men.

The rest of the council knew he was hiding something too; Jareth had been too shaken by the attempted assassination to present much of a front to a twelve-strong council, trained to look for any hint of deception. They didn't know why, but the growing assumption was that Jareth must be at fault, that the aggressor had a valid grievance against their King that Jareth didn't want to admit too.

Jareth saw their growing disdain, their assumptions and immediately knew he'd been right not to trust them, been right to hide the truth. He couldn't trust them, never could. They proved it once and how many times must he be taught a lesson such as that before it sunk in? He quickly sank back into his usual manner around them, sneering at their assumptions. Nothing had changed, he'd been a fool for the brief amount of trust he had shown them and yet, in that moment he'd instinctively felt safe.

Sir Kingston, head of foreign policy, watched in amazement as the atmosphere shifted and solidified against Jareth. He himself had always been one of Jareth's main detractors, but the King was still the King and he was withdrawing from them all, keeping his secrets close. This was not the time for accusations. Jareth had been ready to tell them what was going on till this point. Sir Kingston could hardly blame his withdrawal; this was not an atmosphere conducive for the revealing of confidences.

The King of the Goblins had very few supporters in truth and he knew it, it had been different once, before the war, though he was the only one left who remembered. But since then his hopes and dreams had remained secret kept under lock and key from those who thought him evil and absurd. He'd let them make what they would of him, had almost gloated at their misunderstandings. But things just got worse and the rift between King and subjects had grown ever greater. They'd thought him evil and he'd done his best to live up to their expectations, had in truth hated them more than they hated him.

They'd left him to be tortured once, left him alone with a crazy woman. He'd believed in them for months, expected rescue. He'd never received it.

Instead, in his absence, the goblins had gone to civil war. Forgotten him like he was nothing and he still hated them for it. He still wore the scars, had to wear gloves to hide them.

This time was the same, no one had asked, no one had enquired. So Jareth had continued bleeding. They didn't care; they'd proved it today, and in the past. If he trusted them, if he told them... and anyway it wasn't until he stood up that the pain from blood loss really penetrated and he finally let loose a soft gasp of pain.

There was silence from the council, they'd all heard it. The pained gasp resonated across the room, those with goblin blood felt it in their bones and even the non-goblins fell to silence and stared. Frozen with surprise the council stared at Jareth in shock. Fenrook, the head of the council was the first to react, an awful suspicion entering his mind.

"Sire?" he questioned. Protocol was forgotten as he moved across the room. Jareth stared at him in silence, cool eyes hiding everything even now.

Fenrook pulled away the long grey coat to reveal what he suspected, Jareth was bleeding, had been shot.

Jareth blinked, too shocked to react to the unexpected accusation. He looked down at the wound.

"It's just a flesh wound" he stated. The council leader stared in amazement, speechless for the first time.

"A flesh wound?" Fenrook repeated. Snapping out of his shock

"Someone get a healer. Now!" he ordered "Sit down!" he snapped at the King. Stunned and feeling distinctly unwell Jareth obliged, not protesting as his coat was removed and a firm goblin hand tore his favourite shirt to shreds. Within minutes a healer had arrived and taken over.

"You need to drink this, it should help with the light headedness" the doctor said. Jareth looked in disgust at the drink he was given. It smelled awful.

"Drink it!" ordered Fenrook angrily. Jareth glanced up at the anger, unsure for its reason, his own anger building up in answer. The concern he saw in the councillors eyes shamed him though, so for once he surrendered.

"It's just a flesh wound" he repeated as the doctors rough hands gently washed the wound, uncomfortable to be stared at so intently by his council. The drink was helping, but even so, for a moment he let down his guard, leaned back on his chair and rested his head wearily. Shock was finally setting in and the coldness of the room caused him to shiver. Foreign magic touched him, and he opened his eyes to watch as the doctor tried to close the wound.

"What is that?" Jareth said as the doctor then pulled out a green paste.

"Ash root and dandelion, it should minimise any scarring," replied the doctor absently. Jareth blinked slowly, it took a second for the sentence to process his sluggish thoughts.

"I'm allergic to dandelion" Jareth managed. Watching as the paste was spread across the wound.

Jareth's soft statement caught the doctor by surprise and sure enough, within moments the King was struggling to breathe.

Within seconds Jareth could feel it affects, his throat closed up, he could barely breathe. Adrenalin surged up and he panicked, pushing away hands that were holding him down, holding him still. He felt a prick on his arm as he struggled to breathe, there was a soft voice in his ear calming him, instructing him and for once he listened.

"Talk to him, calm him down" ordered the doctor to Fenrook, searching his bag desperately for what was needed. It was a struggle to hold Jareth still long enough to inject an antidote, but within moments the King was breathing almost normally again though sweating as if he had been running.

Shockingly Jareth actually smiled at them "Bloody doctors," he grimaced; the adrenalin was wearing off and shock setting in no doubt. The doctor stared at him catching his breath, the whole room stared, for shock was not just setting in with Jareth. A different doctor and Jareth could have died, an allergy to dandelion was rare, there were not many doctors in the city who would know what to do and have the required antidote on hand.

"Why have I never been told this?" the doctor said angrily to Fenrook, who was still standing next to the King, still holding his shoulder. Fenrook shook his head helplessly

"I was not aware of it," he replied glancing down at his King, who he was beginning to realise that he knew almost nothing about. He should remove his hand he thought absently and yet he did not yet wish to break contact, he'd never even touched the King before, he thought dimly, and yet he's thought himself an expert on the man.

The doctor was furious, medical records on Labyrinth citizens were held in the healer's consortium, available to all licensed doctors at any moment with just a thought. They updated themselves magically. Every citizen but one it seemed.

Jareth stood, needing to move to get rid of the energy created by his panic. And the council got yet another shock. Bare-chested he turned, surprised at the gasps behind him, until he remembered, the scars were showing. Humiliated he turned to face the rest of the room, hiding them from sight.

The doctor came up behind him, and forgetting both himself and Jareth's position he traced the scars gently. He'd never seen anything like it, never seen a victim of torture before and this was clearly what the King was. The scars were old, and had clearly never been treated, not if they were looking like this.

"What happened to you?" he asked gently. Jareth snorted moving away "They did," he replied nodding towards the council staring at him. At the doctors horrified stare he elaborated

"A souvenir from the war," At their blank looks he continued "The Goblin war" he prompted.

"Goblins did that?" Sir Kingston said unbelieving. Surely no goblin would ever betray the blood-link between the Goblin Nation. Outsiders couldn't possibly understand the ties between the King and his people, but anyone with goblin blood owed fealty to their King, would protect him instinctively. There was no older or deeper magic than those bonds and it was unthinkable that someone had broken them.

Jareth ignored the question; he'd been shot, had an allergic reaction and now was left feeling humiliated and weak in front of his own council. It had not been a good day, and he still felt light headed and ill. To make things worse he could feel a headache building up between his eyes and he was being bombarded by shock and fear from his Labyrinth that would need attending to. He rubbed his eyes as thunder cracked overhead somewhere in sympathy.

The doctor herded him back to his seat quickly and efficiently and Jareth, tired and ill, obeyed his directions. That he was reaching the limit of his endurance was clear to them all. The doctor set back to work removing all traces of the green paste and washing the wound again, it was just a flesh wound and the magic was healing it well even without the paste. Even so he used a substitution potion, clearly the last thing Jareth needed was more scars.

"Are you done yet? I want to go home" Jareth asked tiredly.

"You'll need a guard," Sir Hugh answered gently "There's still an assassin out there somewhere"

Jareth flinched and pursed his lips; he only knew one man who would use a muggle weapon against him and be able to hide murderous intentions from Jareth's labyrinth.

"He's gone," he answered softly "It was just a reminder"

"A reminder of what?" asked Fenrook sharply, his anger building as Jareth simply shook his head.

"Sire," Fenrook insisted. He was the council head and had every right to know about threats to the crown and he was getting tired of feeling completely in the dark. But Jareth had had enough too.

"I'll handle it" he insisted, standing again he pushed away the doctor's hands "Thank you for your assistance Doctor..." he paused unsure

"Ben Davidson, Head of the Healer's guild Sire" the doctor answered.

"Then I'm honoured by your personal attention" Jareth added with a polite formal smile. He wasn't sure he could stretch to put his coat on, so he draped it over his shoulders and headed for the door. He was very sure he couldn't get back to the castle in owl form as was his usual practice, or that he even had enough energy to move himself magically, so he cheated. He didn't normally do this, especially not where others could see, it was an advantage he liked to keep to himself, but he was so tired now. So he asked the Labyrinth for a favour and the door opened not to the courtyard but to his own quarters at the castle and he'd slipped out and gone by the time anyone could react.