Toby woke up the next morning with a sudden start. That in itself was peculiar for him. He was used to a gradual sense of the sky lightening, of feeling the sheets too warm under him and of the thought in his brain that he needed to start the various mundane duties he had planned for the day ahead.

A warm shape lay somewhere close by; there was the distinct sound of quiet breathing. A slight sniff and a muffled sigh accompanied the breathing as he shifted to get a better look.

The room was in darkness and no wonder! Someone- and he could only assume it was Luka- had left the curtains pulled across the window. Toby padded out of bed and twitched aside the curtain.

The first shock was that the sunlight hit him hard across the face and screamed that it was well into late morning.

The second shock was that the sunlight hit someone else in the face in the bed behind him and the growled expletive was not uttered in Luka's voice at all. Toby had heard himself called a brat before, and the only one who dared call him that was Jareth.

The third shock was when his memory returned.

"Shut the bloody drapes!"

He turned very slowly, praying that it hadn't happened as he remembered.

Jareth pulled a pillow over his face and continued to mutter into it, finally throwing the pillow across the room as he pulled himself upright and levelled a death-glare at the man who dared disturb his sleep. "I asked," the Goblin King bit out, "For the curtains to be shut."

"It's you."

"I am well aware. Close the drapes."

"But it's morning."

"Yes. Now close the drapes and let me GET SOME FUCKING SLEEP!"

Toby hurriedly drew the curtain, too winded to disobey. Besides, those dual-coloured eyes were bloodshot and underscored with the smudged bruises of someone who gets little rest. He had a vague memory of Jareth joining him very late at night.

Jareth, for his part, was now indisputably awake. He could have forced himself back to sleep but therein lay even less rest. "How do you feel?" he asked abruptly.

"I… need to dress."

"Your clothing is in the cupboard in the left corner of the room. I had it moved last evening."

"Thank you. I thought you were going back to sleep."

Toby, Jareth noticed, sounded very awkward. And no wonder. The mortal probably had very hazy memories of what had or had not happened the night before. And besides, he was meant to be 'educated' for a year by the male that had loved his sister. It was, in so many ways, almost indecent for those who thought in those ways. The question was whether Toby thought in those ways.

He absently threw off the covers and got out of bed. He twitched the curtain aside and stood for a while in the window, staring unseeing out over the Labyrinth, sensing the state of his Kingdom while he had slept. The orchards seemed a little worse for wear but he didn't sense anything extremely wrong.

Toby sneaked a look around and blinked in surprise as he saw that the fae was still half-dressed. While Jareth could certainly have dressed when they were done, his brief suspicions were laid to rest at the sight. It made him relieved, which in turn made him more disposed to be friendly.

"I am sorry I woke you," he ventured.

Jareth shifted but said nothing. He didn't even turn around at the words.

Toby raised an eyebrow but shrugged and went on with his dressing. He had made the attempted to 'meet him halfway'; if Jareth did not respond, it was not his problem. He concentrated on the tasks at hand, finally disappearing into the bathroom.

Jareth went back to bed.

"Your Majesty, I was wondering…"

Bloodshot eyes opened with a baleful stare. "Never," the Goblin King seethed, "Call me that in this room. In fact, try using my name for the rest of the year. That can be your first lesson."

Toby took a deep breath and fought the urge to scowl at the prone figure. "Yes, Your… er, Jareth."

"Good. What do you want?"

"I was wondering what I was to do today," Toby began, "But since you are sleeping, I'll undertake to occupy myself. If… that meets with your approval?"

Jareth shut his eyes. He refused to answer; he didn't want to. It was no concern of his what the mortal did when he was not with him. And damn everyone that said it was a bad habit, but he was going back to sleep whether it killed him or not! Two weeks- two- of being polite and concerned and extroverted against his every whim and fancy and now he needed that solitude like oxygen.

Toby waited for an answer. In vain, as it appeared. He excused himself, making no sound as he left the suite, dressed simply in shirt and breeches.

A goblin met him in the hallways and bowed deeply, almost prostrating himself at the mortal's feet.

"Sir, if you be wanting for anyt'ing, tells us and we will get it. Anyt'ing at all," the goblin vowed.

"Gibil!" came a shout.

A goblin guard in his polished armour was walking purposefully towards them, face grim as if the poor servant was committing some terrible act. "Get up," the guard snarled, kicking at the other, "Show some respect!"

Blue eyes crinkling just a little in frown, Toby took a step back. "What is going on here?" he demanded, arms folded across his chest.

The guard snapped to attention and the servant went flat on his face on the floor.

"He were being dis'pectful, Sir," the guard said carefully, "Say one word and it's the lash for him, Sir."

"Lash! What did he do?"

"He ain't to be's near you, Sir."

"Why ever not? I assume he has work here."

The guard looked at him as if Toby had suddenly grown an extra pair of arms and was waving them around singing a bawdy drinking song at the top of his lungs. "No 'spectable servant comes near the King, Sir. Or his guests."

"Is there a problem?"

Toby turned thankfully enough. "Your Majesty, I was trying to untangle things myself. It seems this poor guy is to be whipped."

The Goblin King was not attired. In fact, he was wearing what he had been wearing to bed, which amounted to very little when all was said and done. Toby noticed that both guard and servant would not look at the King above his bare feet, but kept their eyes and heads down in a show of humility. He had never learned of any of this from his tutor!

"Names," the King snapped.

"Gibil," squeaked the servant, visibly quaking.

"Mally," the guard said expressionlessly.

"And what is the crime?"

"He approached your ward, Sire, without permission."

"I am not aware that it was a crime worthy of the lash."

"In the private wing, Sire," the guard dared to offer, "It is."

Jareth seemed to look around and then heaved a bored sigh. "Go away and sort it out yourselves. I don't care."

The two vanished as fast as they could, leaving the two taller males still standing. Jareth heaved another sigh and shook his head, stretching like a cat in sunlight before turning to blink his eyes at his companion. Said companion was expressionless, tight-lipped and very stiff. Again. Just like he had been since they had met.

"For pity's sake, get the rod out of your spine," the Goblin King snapped, "If you have something to say, say it, man, and be done with it."

"It would not be seemly."

"Then forget what you believe is seemly and tell me what bothers you."

"Forgive me, Jareth, but I choose not to."

Jareth was beginning to look as angry as his ward. "It is an order," he said quietly.

Toby dipped his head in acknowledgement and spoke up, "As you wish. I find it a little hard that Gibil is to be lashed for a kind concern. He only offered his assistance whenever I was to need it. And your refusal to make a decision means he will be lashed."

"And that seems unfair." Jareth thought about that and shrugged. "I have never counted myself to be fair. Come with me, I think it is time we talked about what you can expect here."

A flip of his wrist and a fully dressed Goblin King was walking past him, black cloak draping him from the back. Toby followed meekly enough, seething inside at the necessity of obeying someone else and wary about what was to come. He was not unduly surprised to be led into the tiny dining room that Jareth had always used with just his close family and friends. It was morning, they had neither of them eaten much the last evening, and while Jareth never ate much anyway, he seemed to have a morning ritual.

Breakfast was laid out on a side table, where one could take whatever one wanted and a cool jug of the milk and juice mixture was already on the table, waiting to be poured.

"Serve yourself and be seated," the fae offered, "If there is something else you would like, you can order it." He pointed to the silken rope near the side table.

"Thank you. I think this will be sufficient." Toby looked around in surprise at the variety of dishes, wondering why a Goblin King that did not do more than drink in the morning would order such an abundance of rich foods. Helping himself to a roll of bread and a particularly soft kind of cheese, he sat down and accepted Jareth's offer to pour him a glass of veraag (the flavoured milk).

"You do not eat much?" Jareth asked, eyeing the simple repast. "That is a pity."

Toby nodded vaguely and glanced up expectantly. "You were going to inform me of certain things," he prompted.

"Oh yes. As you are probably aware, the King of the Underground is called the Goblin King simply because the goblins were the first and one of the few to accept him as supreme ruler."

"My tutor did say."

"Good. Then he has clearly done the job for which I hired him. For the most part, they are a biddable people."

"Tutors?"

"No, goblins. I could tell them to jump off a cliff and I believe they would do it. Very biddable. However- and it is a very large however- they have their own customs and rules which they pass down from generation to generation without any care as to what their master feels on the subject. Call them rules of etiquette, if you prefer."

"This would be what the guard was talking about?"

"Yes, that would be it. A goblin may approach me in any part of the Castle but no goblin in my private wing is to ever be seen unless I call for them. Yava says that it has a practical use: the Goblin King cannot always be a King, and therefore the private suite is for him to act as a normal person. Personally, I never feel any difference between my wing and another, so I cannot tell you. But that is the way it is."

Toby chewed slowly before swallowing and looking up. "But why the lash?"

"It is their punishment of choice."

"I understand. Have you never thought of changing such a ridiculous custom?"

"I did," Jareth said ironically, "At the start of my reign. I spent a lot of time in my library but days could go by without my seeing another living soul. I would receive letters late; I would not be summoned when dignitaries or acquaintances arrived. Yava eventually told me why- no goblin could approach until I summoned them."

A small glimmer of amusement began to show at the corners of Toby's mouth, reflected upwards into his eyes. Jareth smirked a little and shrugged, lifting his glass to sip. Strangely enough, he was quite interested to see a sense of humour make its appearance. The mortal was always so stern and stiff, or calm and polite. There never seemed anything spontaneously warm about him.

"That sounds… vaguely frustrating," Toby remarked.

"Believe you me, it is! The same for those piles of food on the table. Their excuse- 'it is not seemly for the Goblin King to live as a pauper.' I choose to ignore it now. My only order is that the food left over is to be distributed to the servants in the Castle that have not eaten due to early morning chores."

The spark of amusement began to grow. "And how many times has something like this morning's event happened?"

"Oh, not often," the fae admitted, "Once I realized the goblins were too stupid to change, I used the custom to its full advantage. But a few goblins, such as Gibil, do obstinately take my original orders as law and approach. But only with my guests or if I am in a good mood."

"How often is that?"

"I am a very good at acting my displeasure," Jareth said, his eyes dancing as he answered the question so indirectly.

Toby understood and relaxed, forcing himself not to stop the smile from breaking through. After all, the Goblin King was hardly going to eat him, or turn into a monster in a children's fairytale. And since he seemed to be making some kind of effort, Toby schooled himself to do the same.

It was the polite thing to do.