Author's Note: I am about to do a very annoying thing- I am using my own language for the goblin language. It might be based on words from non-english languages, but in general, any resemblance it bears to an actual word is probably accidental. Oh, and the meanings will either be made clear in the story itself, or in the author's notes.

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"It's only a few days," Jareth sighed.

The goblin healer looked at him disapprovingly. "A few days means a lot in his condition, Sire. With all due respect, you put him in this mess; you should at least be there to see it through."

The Goblin King scowled at Arienne and slammed his hand onto the scarred desktop. "I am hardly going to run away," he protested, "The child can look after himself for a few days."

"A few days? He can barely sit up! Was I not the physician attending him, I'd say he was big enough to carry twins. The pregnancy is irregular; he has been bleeding; he is not capable of caring for himself for one day let alone two!"

"Arienne, enough! I never asked for war and I never asked to wear the medallion," Jareth snarled, tugging the chain around his neck, "Think you I like being weighted down with this mill stone around my neck? Gladly would I give it up! Gladly!"

When the King of the Goblins began to speak in the formally accented verse of the Aboveground, Arienne knew that he was reaching the limits of his endurance. It was a hard time for the male, he understood that even if he didn't care to think why- goblins were very good at forgetting what they were forbidden to think about. And the older generation that Jareth had ascended to were all but dead. They would not and could not say anything more than that they knew.

"Will you not tell the boy?" Arienne asked, slipping himself into the musical dialect. "It will not hinder you to be truthful for once."

"Truthful? Oh, yes. The annoying habit I had of protesting my fate when I was a child!" Jareth ranted, "Was that being truthful? Well, then, forgive me, my friend. I lost practice a long time ago."

"You speak as if you detest its outcome."

Jareth didn't choose to answer. Instead he took a deep breath, sat down and collected himself again. He leaned back in his seat, steepled fingers rising before his face. Not a barrier, but close enough.

Arienne softened his tone. "You were meant to be King. You were born to it."

"And then I was Unborn. Jra-gurgh. Isn't that what they called me? The Unborn? So close to my own name it seems fated."

"Jareth, I can only imagine..."

"I am tired, Arienne. This conversation is over. I leave for the Fairy Kingdom tomorrow to try to stop the little rodents I call my people from dying in a pointless war on the Flat Plains, and the goblins in my Castle will care for my bond mate and child. Are we clear?"

The healer's mouth thinned. "One day," he finally said, "One day you will hurt yourself and that boy by keeping your silence. And when that day comes, you will call for my aid."

"You will be dead before that day," Jareth answered brutally, "Your work here is done?"

Arienne bowed stiffly and took a bottle of green syrup from his bag. "Toby is to take that every morning before he has eaten. No dose is to be missed."

"I will leave instructions."

The two stared at each other for two seconds more than was necessary and then the goblin healer turned abruptly and left the room. The Goblin King leaned back in his chair and sighed again. The Griffith above him laid a gentle paw on his arm, its carved beak opening to cry a mournful sound of enquiry. The eagle's call... the hawk! Another form that Jareth hadn't taken for many years now. It used to be a favourite of his, back when he had been new to the powers of the Kingship.

It was as a hawk that he had kept watch over his Bog before Sir Didymus had agreed to take on the job. No one had dared disturb it, but sometimes some would go there surreptitiously to look for body parts or some of the simple pieces of jewellery that the nobles had worn at their death. Jareth had seen to it personally that no part of those bodies had come to light.

'Jareth, are you all right?'

He quickly apparated himself to his bedchamber, shaking his head at a pair of intense blue eyes. "Did you hear that?"

"Your thoughts? Yeah. They were a little loud and very morbid." Jareth said nothing, so Toby lowered himself back down on the mattress with a sigh. He looked up to find his lover staring out the window with a very hard expression. "Did you really kill those noblemen?"

Jareth's head swung around to look at him. The expression never changed. "Yes, I did. Why?"

"I thought maybe it was just rumour. Lying in bed, the goblins keep me company and well... they're very gossipy little things, aren't they? Did you know that Gringol, that old goblin who did the binding for us, was robbed last week? Apparently someone stole his collection of moths."

The Goblin King couldn't resist laughing. He knew the attempt was to cheer him up, and for all that it was frivolous to the things he should be thinking of, it did work. "It is just like you to think something like that ridiculous."

"Well, isn't it? I mean- moths! How many varieties can there be?"

"About a hundred and sixty-seven at last count," Jareth grinned, "But most of them are dry and brown; not in the least interesting, so I see your point."

Toby glared up at him and pouted. The pout was flicked away by the tip of a long white finger, which he then proceeded to nibble on for a while.

"It seems you are hungry."

Toby made a face and dropped the finger. "Don't mention food," he warned, "Or I will be very ill in your lap."

Jareth grimaced too and for a while they sat still, not quite sure what to say. Or rather, knowing what they had to say and not quite sure that they wanted it to be said. Jareth knew his husband had heard about the rumours of war. It would be just his luck that Toby probably knew he was making plans to leave the next morning. But he still needed to tell him.

"I know you're going away tomorrow. And I know that you've not exactly been very truthful with me. Why didn't you tell me about all this rubbish with the fairies?"

Blue eyes glared up at him, worry and concern so clearly felt. There also seemed to be an innocent belief that talking about things would help any problem. Quite charming, in Jareth's opinion. "I didn't see the point of worrying you," Jareth reasoned, "I am King; you are not. And no, don't you fly into a temper. You refused any position of power that I offered. Besides, you have to worry about other things and stress is the last thing you need."

Surprisingly enough, Toby didn't feel angry at this exclusion from certain parts of his lover's life. But there was sadness there that he wished Jareth didn't have to know of. "I don't think stress is really the excuse you should make. Look, I'm not a King. I don't know the first thing about goblins and fairies and all the rest so I'll stay out of it. And you know, I get that you don't want to share everything with me. It would be stupid if you did!"

"It would?" The Goblin King was very entertained. He might have thought the mortal to be insulted but he could feel only warm sympathy pouring out of the rather large golden body.

"Well, yeah! You're not used to answering to other people and suddenly I'm right there, a bit of a thorn in your side I guess. If you keep the running of the Kingdom to yourself, then I understand that." Toby noticed the twitch that Jareth's mouth seemed to have developed. He covered his eyes with his hand. "I've just made a complete fool of myself, haven't I?"

"No more than normal," Jareth agreed, accepting the whack to his shin with good grace, "Now, how do you feel?"

"Like a whale," came the quick retort.

Mismatched eyes looked expressively down at the bulk that Toby was stuck with for another month. But the words never came, for which Toby could only be thankful. He didn't really want to kill his husband for a misjudged remark. Especially since he was being nice to him.

"Does your back still hurt?"

The open expression suddenly became guarded. "A little," Toby allowed, "But nothing too special."

Jareth looked down skeptically at him. "You're lying," he said simply.

"Am not!"

"Yes, you are."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

Toby grinned and snuggled back into the bed. "Well, then, fine. It's agony and I'm about to die of back pain. That do you?"

A hand stroked over his stomach, barely gliding over the warm sweater that the mortal was wearing. The winter was a severe one and even though the pregnancy played havoc with his body temperature, the mortal was still cold. Jareth, of course, couldn't really be bothered one way or another.

"It moved again this morning," Toby informed him, "Kept going too! I almost tapped on my stomach and said, "Keep it down in there"."

"It's restless," Jareth agreed, "Do you know whether it's a boy or a girl?"

"No. Am I supposed to?" Toby looked panicked.

"No," Jareth soothed, "But sometimes there are feelings that the, ah, mother gets." He smiled sweetly at Toby's scowl. "An intuition, I believe."

"I," Toby snapped quellingly, "Am not a mother."

"No. No, you're really not, are you? Tell me, do you really want this child? Or are you having it because you think I need it?"

Toby carefully pushed himself up, ignoring the pull in his lower back as he arranged himself against the pillows. This was a serious question, so far as he could tell. And he had the feeling that Jareth had been meaning to ask it for a long time. "Jareth, part of my life is to have your children."

"Toby, please don't be vacuous. I have said this before- you are not here to be a walking, talking, baby producing factory."

"I know, I know. But Jareth, we made love. And I got pregnant. It's the way things go. Did I set out with the intention of having a child? No. But if we're having one, I'm happy about it. Hell, I'm excited! I can't wait for it to pop out and start bawling its head off. And not just because I'll finally be able to see my toes when it does, but... you know how everyone has this idealistic idea of having a kid look up at them and call them 'dad'?"

"No," Jareth said with a shudder.

Toby stared at him with a dropped jaw.

"If any child of mine calls me 'dad', I'll throw it in an oubliette," he growled.

The mortal shook his head and looked to the heavens for aid. "You idiot," he remarked feelingly, "And what do you want it to call you- 'father'?"

"Why not?"

"It's a little... cold."

"Not in the least," Jareth protested, "I think I'd like the respect of a proper title than some slang word for it."

Toby looked at his husband with a queer expression on his face, patting his knee in silent comfort. "It's going to be a long life," he pointed out, "Get as much rest as you can before baby makes three. Respect! Good God!"

Jareth glared at the mock-scandalized youth in his bed. "It seems you haven't learned that lesson yet either."

"Why? Are you doing to teach me a lesson for being disrespectful?" Toby was almost cracking up with the hilarity of it all.

Jareth simply quirked an eyebrow. "I will if you ask me nicely enough," he offered, a lewd smile lighting his eyes.

Toby sobered instantly. "Arienne warned us not to have sex any more, Jareth. That trick you pulled with the chains and the word games was too much. I was out of it for a week."

"Mmm... But I enjoyed it so very much," the Goblin King growled, licking over the golden neck.

Toby arched slightly and then winced. Jareth looked up as he felt the pain. "Back?"

"Back," Toby agreed, "Um, can I lie down now? And call Kyfrem? I don't trust you."

Jareth sighed. "I'll call Kyfrem," he promised, "Now, down!"

The Goblin King got up and made for the door, only to hear his name called in a rather timid way. He turned around.

"You know, right? That I appreciate what you did?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"That game of yours. You wanted me to stop hiding. That's why you waited for morning. That's why you forced me to say it. You wanted me to admit the whole stupidity, didn't you?"

Ah! Jareth had been wondering when this conversation would come up. He went back and let himself be pulled down and kissed. He opened his mouth and let Toby's tongue slide into his mouth. When they broke away, he was smiling a little with smug satisfaction. "That," he murmured, "Was exactly why I did it."

"You were pretty cruel that day. I hate those chains, Jareth. I can't stand being restrained and you know it!"

"I hate restraints too, my elf. And I hate those chains just as much as you hate me touching you with black gloves on my hands. But sometimes hate is the last push you need to send you spiraling into release. Strong emotions are passionate and physical. Hate, love, lust... they're all the same, really."

"So, let me get this straight, you're telling me that you wore those chains?" Toby looked shocked, his hands still cupping Jareth's face between them.

Jareth stiffened, angered with himself for giving so much away. "Yes," he said carefully, "Once. A long time ago. And I have never worn them since."

"But you've used them since, right?" Toby turned that thought over in his head. He was young, but he wasn't stupid. And he had a better understanding of Jareth than he admitted to. "Jareth, were you dealing with some of your own fears that day?"

"Not at all. I just don't like being restrained."

It was a lie and they both knew it.

So Toby persisted and asked, "Why?"

"I'm not ready," Jareth said simply.

"I see. Anything I can do to help?"

"Not really, my elf. I hear Kyfrem." Jareth smiled and nodded, gently removing himself from Toby's grasp to walk to the door and call for Kyfrem.

Toby watched the straight back retreat. It seemed that this always happened- Jareth retreated when he really wanted to be healed. Why? Why would someone proud of their strength and power retreat at the first sign of healing a weakness? Toby sighed. It seemed that whatever it was, he was going to have to help out. He didn't trust Jareth with a lot of things, and telling him the whole truth was one of them. So he would try to figure it out himself and he hoped he could do it soon, because the smile on that face had been touched with a grey sadness that he had a very bad feeling about.