"It's better this way, Hoggle." Sarah had her hands wrapped tightly around her chipped mug of beer. She had taken one sip, just to be polite, but had no intention of drinking any more. Cold beer was one thing, but hot beer was something else altogether. Hoggle had insisted it was just the thing to warm them up, settle their nerves. Apparently refrigerators weren't too common Underground. Still, Sarah thought actually heating the beer had been going a bit too far... She sighed.

"I'm not Hoggle," said Hoggle, "but if I was, I'd be inclined to agree with ye. Except -" he waggled one fat finger in front of Sarah's nose, "youneed to come below so a certain person -" Hoggle looked around furtively, as though afraid of who might be listening. "-can protect you." He grimaced and took a hearty swig of his steaming beer, followed quickly by a satisfied belch. "Ah, that's the stuff. Almost as good as that ye can get at The Dead End."

Gi choked on her own beer and stifled a smile. "Why Mr. Vine, does a certain person want to see Sarah after all?" She gave Sarah a sharp glance, which her friend avoided by studiously investigating the whorls of steam ascending from her mug.

Hoggle looked surprised. "Well of course 'e does. He din' mean what 'e said 'bout bein' glad she was tired of him..." he clapped a hand across his mouth, the exposed part of his face turning a dull pink.

Sarah's head snapped up, which made her groan. She rubbed her neck while she stared at the little man. "Jareth thinks I'm tired of him? And he's glad?"

Hoggle leaned over the table, eyes wide and fearful. "Shhh! Ye don' know who might be hearin' what we say." He sat back down and cautiously took another gulp of beer. "I don't know any Goblin King, but if I did, I'd think 'e just wants you to be happy." He looked at her curiously. "Are ye happy now?"

Sarah gave him a small smile. "Hoggle, you are, without a doubt, the absolute worst liar I have ever known." An image of a toothy-grinned, fluff-haired, drop-dead sexy man popped into her head and winked. Her smile became a grimace. "And that's saying something. Trust me."

Hoggle looked hurt. He drew himself up and glared across the table. "I happen to know that Hoggle is an amazing liar. He can lie the pants off a bog-wight, not that 'ed ever do such a thing..." He took a pull on his beer as though to console himself, and continued, "and o' course he's much better-looking then me, no doubt. Not that I'm any judge of such things." He shook his impressively full head of hair. "If I told ye once, I told ye a hundred times, I'm not -"

"You're not Hoggle. I know. I get it." She eyed him critically. "I do think he must have had Santa Claus in mind, though. I mean, come on, a red suit?"

Across the table, Gi giggled and drained the last drops of her own beer; a lusty belch punctuated the sudden silence, causing Hoggle to smile at her in a thoughtful way.

"I like a gal as can hold 'er own," he said to Gi, who blushed mightily.

Sarah just stared at them both. "Is it possible that we can get this discussion back on track? Today maybe?" She shoved her mug away and got up to switch on a light. "And why is it so damn dark in here? I hate winter! And I hate this apartment!" She slammed a hand against the wall. Her neck still hurt, and her head was beginning to feel foggy again.

Gi and Hoggle exchanged a pregnant look, then turned backed to Sarah.

"I can get rid of the vine on yer ... yer... whazzit called? But it'll probably jus' come right back. Terribly stubborn stuff, it is. Once it gets a foothold anywhere, it's almost impossible to get it out. Be-lieve me. I know." Hoggle looked wistfully at his now-empty mug. "Any chance o' a refill? No, no...never mind." He climbed to his feet. "I best be off." He jabbed a finger at Sarah. "Stay inside while I'm working, ye mind?"

Sarah nodded. Everything was beginning to look a little gray around the edges, and her head felt as though she had personally downed three mugs of the beer, though in truth she'd barely touched it. "I'm going to lie down for a few minutes." She started for the small bedroom she shared with Gi, then stopped. "But Hoggle? I mean... Mr. Vine? Please wake me before you leave for good." She disappeared, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Hoggle looked at Gi, then at his feet, then at Gi again. He seemed to making-up his mind about something. "I could use a bit of help, if ye don't mind," he said carefully, hopefully.

Gi's face lit up with a grin like the sun after a storm. "Let's go," she said, and reached for his hand.

They got as far as the front door. Hoggle tugged on it, but it wouldn't budge. Gi helped, and at last they forced it open, only to be confronted with a thick curtain of mistletoe covering the opening.

Gi poked it experimentally. "Now what?"

Hoggle's face had drained of all color, and he was muttering under his breath. "Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad. This is really, really, really..."

Gi poked him instead. "I said, now what?"

Hoggle wasn't looking at her. His gaze seemed lodged somewhere in the mass of tangled greenery. "...really, really, really, really, bad..."

Gi leaned over and kissed him -full on the lips. His eyes grew wide and snapped to her face. "Wuh...why'd ye do that?"

Gi grinned. "Because I wanted to. And because I need your help."

Hoggle groaned, but his insides were quivering like a Christmas pudding. A warm feeling was creeping around the back of his neck, making him feel very strange. "Of course you do." He patted her hand, which made him feel even warmer. He swallowed hard, and muttered just beneath his breath, "Somebody always does."

The Goblin King was in a private garden -his favorite, which also happened to be the smallest, and featured three reflecting pools, two comfortable lounging benches, one magnificent statue (of himself, naturally) and absolutely none of the Sacred Vine. Because of that last fact, this particular private garden was also the one place in all of his kingdom where his magic was the strongest. And because of that pertinant fact, the little garden was also the single most dangerous place to practice any magic. The smallest spell might be magnified beyond his abilty to control it; a larger spell might bring the whole castle down around his ears. Anything could happen.

Scrying was safe enough. Usually. Oh, reception was murky enough at the best of times. Labyrinthaceae interfered with reception as a matter of course. Such things were to be expected. But in this little garden, King Jareth could pull forth images of Sarah so crystal-clear that it took no great leap of the imagination for him to feel her cheek, cupped in his palm; to smell the confusingly floral scent of her thick hair or the heady musk he might inhale from her neck, when their dancing had been especially vigorous. It wasn't as good as the real thing, but it was a damn fine second. It had sustained him before. It could do so again. (Or so he told himself, not in the mood for any disagreement.) And of course, his hands were not broken, even if his heart was feeling rather bruised about the edges.

So he really should have been enjoying a peaceful moment or two, but alas, the life of a king is often fraught with unexpected disturbances. No sooner had he reclined on his favorite bench, positioned his neatly-folded cloak just so beneath his head, and carefully placed his gloves to one side, when there came the unmistakable sound of a furry throat being cleared not an arm's length behind his head.

He closed his eyes briefly, for patience's sake. "What is it, Sir Didymus?"

The little fox, Royal Knight of the Labyrinth (and defacto head of the Order of the Sacred Vine), bounded forward and sketched a deep and heartfelt bow. "Forgive my intrusion, Sire, but I have news of the most urgent nature." His whiskers twitched with eagerness.

Jareth's eyes were still closed. He wasn't in the mood for enthusiasm just then. "If it's about the vine," he said wearily, "I already know. Hoggle will deal with it."

The small knight shook his head vigorously, his eyes gleaming with purpose. "Oh no, Your Majesty. That's not it at all. Not at all!" He gave a couple of lusty yaps with a small yip or two tossed in for good measure. Really, it was most wonderful to be back in service.

The king opened his eyes and turned his head slowly toward his subject. "And this doesn't concern goblins, correct?" There was nothing short of mass-extinction that could make anything concering goblins into the sort of emergency requiring his immediate attention. Nothing.

Sir Didymus shook his furry head again. "Oh no, Sire. No sir, no. No indeed. No. No." He continued shaking his head, deciding to also throw in another bow or two for good measure. Just to be safe.

Jareth waited a moment, but when it became apparent that the little fox was not going to continue without further prompting, he gave a deep sigh and propped himself up on one elbow. "Well then?"

The knight stopped bobbing like a cork in water, and planted both paws firmly on the crushed-velvet cushion. "It's the Prince, Your Majesty. The Prince wants your help."

The Goblin King sat all the way up now, curious despite himself. "Hmm? Young Tobias? How have you seen him?"

Sir Didymus broke into a wide grin. "Why the whole castle has seen him, My Lord. Everyone!"

"Everyone?" Suspicion was flapping about like a wet blanket all over the Goblin King.

The little fox nodded. "Oh yes! Everyone! Prince Toby is Underground. He's in the castle, and he wants you to help him get back to Milady Sarah..." he paused, trying to remember something, then finally finished, "...for Christmas. He wants to surprise her for Christmas, and he needs your help! It's a noble desire, don't you think, Sire?"

But the bench was empty, his liege having abruptly disappeared in a swirl of half-seen glitter.

Whistling happily to himself, Sir Didymus turned back to the castle.