I'm sorry everyone. I got very busy, packing for college and having to cram everything together, and I had to do those scholarship applications…. I'm sure that a reader's worst nightmare is an author who's also a student. I'll try harder!

Thank you again for the lovely reviews. They sustain me. X3

Now, a couple things about this chapter. One: Jareth is left handed. It's not much, but I wanted to explain that little bit. It wasn't that important, but I recalled how in "the old days" being left handed meant you were a little… off. Or you were closer to the devil or something. It depended on what era you were living in, I suppose. At any rate, Jareth's dominant hand is his left. Two: The throne room scene was difficult. I wasn't quite sure what to do. And also, Jareth needed some alone time to sort everything out in his head. You can't do that with eager-to-please goblins swarming around you, chattering and gnawing on things that ought not to be gnawed on. It's all very chaotic. At any rate, Jareth, now that he's "returned" so to speak, has in his possession all of his powers. He just doesn't know how to use them with any degree of reliability. If he wants a drink, he has to think of it as a drink in a cup, or else the liquid will just spill everywhere. Magic is fickle.

Now, I can't promise speedy updates, but I shall try, if only to keep my story near the top of the page. It's going to be a bit hectic these next few weeks, but don't fret. I always finish my things.

Also, as far as chapter titles go... I'm naming them after songs on the Best Of Bowie DVD. I try to keep them relevant, but... sometimes I'll probably just like the song.

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Chapter 4

They moved forward as one bumbling mass, and apologized in quiet murmurs that were drowned out by his angry yelling. A few of them sustained serious bruises as their would-be king flailed violently to get them off of his limbs, to get away. But even so, they persisted, apologizing to their beloved lord and master, as they grabbed hold of first his legs, and then many tiny hands caught him as he tripped and fell, and more small, gnarled hands restrained his arms, and lifted him off the ground so that he rested on top of the goblins holding him up, despite his screaming and ranting for them to halt immediately and despite his useless thrashing about. The ones not occupied with carrying him toward the door wrung their hands and squeaked their deepest apologies to him, wincing at every order he bellowed angrily that they simply could not allow to be carried out.

The Goblin City waited beyond the door. And it desperately needed its King. Even if its King was ignorant of it and angry and bitter at them, even if he kicked them around for years afterward- they could not let him remain from his throne any longer.

His struggles against his subjects halted abruptly when the goblins pushed open the door and it opened to reveal the corridor of a stone castle. Even restrained by goblins, his throat hoarse from demanding to be let go, he quieted suddenly at the rush of feeling that slammed into him, emanating from that portal doorway. He stared at it even as the goblins walked carefully forward, making sure to not drop their ruler. The walls of stone on the other side were damp, dripping, and plant life grew on it. He shuddered slightly as he recognized the many-eyed fungus he had seen the night before.

As the goblins shuffled through the doorway and his body slipped through the veil between the worlds, he shuddered and cried out quietly, involuntarily. It felt as if his heart would burst, as if every nerve in his body were electrified and ultra-sensitive. His mouth and eyes opened wide, his back arched and the goblins beneath him yelped as they tried to keep hold of him and keep him from falling to the ground before they could get him to his throne.

They could not think ahead, or about "maybes", but they knew instinctually when mortals would make a break for freedom. They were unwilling to risk losing their king, mortal though he may be, and so kept a firm grip and trudged forward with him on their backs.

He, meanwhile, was shuddering slightly and breathing harder than normal, his eyes darting to every little crack in the wet stone, trying to absorb it all.

And was it in his imagination, or did that breeze actually caress his face?

The goblins exited the corridor, and he had to squint his eyes against the harsh light. When he adjusted, he felt another little shudder go through him, and a twinge of pain accompanied it.

The rest of the castle was in ruins.

Parts of it had collapsed, and the parts that remained standing were decaying and overgrown with plants. Curious goblin heads peeked out from behind various piles of rubble, and when they saw him, they squealed and ran, scampering over the ruins and inevitably causing more rocks to tumble from their places in the walls.

Goblins did not know anything, he thought blearily. The pulse he felt from first entering the realm had left him feeling weak, yet invigorated. Every breath of air he took into his lungs felt as if it might kill him, but left his blood pounding.

"Heres, heres, you stupids!" one of the goblins hissed and smacked another goblin carrying him in the head. They muttered, but turned and entered another room, this one in slightly better shape than the other parts of the ruined castle. A goblin that looked like it might have a beak for a mouth skittered forward and peered at his face.

"Wes been keeping the throne room nice fer Your Majesty!" it said excitedly, and as he looked around the room (what little he could see, being carried on his back and having a rather nice view of the ceiling where various molds grew) he could see that indeed, most of the walls were intact, and there was little fungi or plant life on the bottom half of the wall. He made a sound of acknowledgment to the goblin, who proceeded to look as if he might weep with joy.

"Now put me down," he ordered. He had figured out that the goblins were loathe to disobey him, save for the carting him out of his apartment, out of his life, but he was going to try again. His heart jumped as the goblin glanced around and wrung its hands.

"Well, Yer Majesty…" it started, and glanced over to the side before continuing. "We… why don't wes let ye have a sit down fer awhile, Yer Highness!" and here the goblins carrying him moved forward again, and he cursed loudly. The goblins laughed, much to his fury.

He threw his head back and saw it. It was upside down in his vision, and it wasn't decorated in jewels or any ornate carvings. But he knew what it was and he felt his stomach flip as he approached it.

"What are you-" he started.

"No no, sire, it'll be alright."

And the goblins hoisted and pulled him onto the throne, which had been kept as clean as possible under the care of unsupervised goblins. At touching it, he thought he really was going to die. He convulsed and nearly gagged. It felt like every cell in his body was on fire, and he screamed. This in turn caused the goblins to scream themselves, and flee the room, leaving him there, thrown sideways on the throne, back arched and mouth and eyes wide in shock and pain.

After a few seconds, the pain shut off suddenly, and his body went limp, limbs sprawled out over the throne. His world went dark immediately after.

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Jareth groaned and shifted, prying his eyes open slowly. He turned his head, wincing as the muscles in his neck screamed in protest. The room was empty. Slowly, he moved into a sitting position and massaged sore, stiff muscles with one hand. What had happened?…

Oh, yes. Goblins.

He looked down and saw the throne he was still on. He sighed and stretched, leaning back into it, with arms flung carelessly above his head.

A Goblin King, hm?

There were worse things, he supposed.

He opened his mouth to yell for the little bastards that abandoned him there after ripping his old life away from him, but choked as his throat made clear, in no uncertain terms, that there would be absolutely no more yelling.

He groaned again and put one arm over his eyes in a dramatic gesture of "woe is me". He wanted nothing more than a large mug of hot chocolate. Or cider, maybe. Tea. Anything, so long as it was hot and so long as it soothed his angry throat. Was that so much to ask for? After all this, was it so much?

He blinked at the feeling of something smooth and warm resting in his free hand. Lifting the other arm off his eyes, he tilted his head to look at his hand.

In it, rested a perfectly clear, perfectly smooth and round crystal. Feeling something tighten in his gut, a feeling he was coming to associate with anything about this ruined place, he brought it up to his face and gazed into it.

It showed nothing.

With a growl of frustration, he threw it, and it shattered against a wall. He flung himself back against the throne, like a petulant child or a frustrated infant who can't get the circle block to fit in the square hole, and very nearly pouted.

When he heard the sound of liquid dripping, the near-pout vanished and he sat up suddenly, alert. There, directly in front of him, was a spilled cup of dark liquid- it smelled like spiced tea, he thought- laying on the floor, the liquid splashed against the wall where he had thrown the crystal and dripping down onto the floor where it pooled.

He paused, blinked, and looked at his hands.

"What…" he whispered to the room. He narrowed his eyes and focused on his left hand. 'I want some coffee,' he thought loudly. And predictably, another crystal appeared in his hand. He grinned triumphantly and poked the crystal with his free hand, popping it.

Dark espresso splashed out of his hand and soaked his pant legs.

He cursed as loudly as his abused throat would allow, and stood up from his throne, shaking coffee off of his hand.

"This is ridiculous," he growled to the air. The magic, for that's what it had to be, seemed determined to work against him.

This wasn't what he had in mind all those years ago, as a bored lonely boy. The goblins weren't worshipping him, cleaning up the sticky liquid that was now all over his throne room floor, there wasn't any beautiful women to lavish him with praise and drape themselves across his lap, and his castle was in absolute ruins.

This was not what he had wanted at all.