Chapter Eleven

The Labyrinth was oddly serene. No one moved through the endless maze, small animals hunkered down into their burrows, the forests and hedge maze laid still in the absence of a breeze, and the Goblin City was silent.

To the goblins, this was a fate worse than death. Silence was unnatural and unwanted. They thrived on chaos, and the preternatural lethargy that had swept the kingdom was like a plague of biblical proportions.

In a corner of the castle, far from the throne room and its echoing chamber, a small group met in secret, whispering and hissing for change.

"It must be stopped," the leader of the goblin troupe snarled. He was a squat fellow with a bulbous head, tiny ears, and a hooked nose.

"Stop the silence," the maudlin group murmured in agreement.

One stepped forward, a tall, sludge-green, foot soldier. "This never happened under King Jareth; he looked out for us. Not at all like this bastard, who couldn't care less!"

The leader nodded glumly, remembering happier days. "We need someone to overthrow the current king, and the only person we're all going to agree on for the job is Jareth. Byron," he called.

A lanky goblin appeared before the others, obviously reluctant to receive orders and yet still comporting himself with an air of arrogance. "Yes?"

"Bring us back our king," was the simple command.

Though most runners would never guess by looking at them, goblins actually possessed a great deal of magic and were quite powerful when determined enough to keep their focus. Byron had never had trouble focusing, but then he hadn't been born a goblin. The wished away always seemed to lose themselves after the change in species, completely forgetting who they had been and what life had once been like, but Jareth had helped him to retain his humanity. Often, he wondered if it had been a fool idea on both their parts, he could never completely be a human anymore, but nor could he fully be a goblin. On the best of days, he felt like he was being pulled apart by two different horse teams.

But that extra something made Byron the best candidate for missions in the Above, doubly so when it came to Jareth, for no one knew Jareth better than Byron. The hardest part would be figuring out how to reveal himself; humans saw what they wanted to, and if they didn't believe in goblins then they simply wouldn't see them. Occasionally, Byron could assume a human form, but the circumstances had to be just right for him to pull it off perfectly.

He sighed, rummaging through his belongings for anything that might be of assistance. At the moment, Byron was conflicted; the Aboveground had never bothered him, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to see Jareth just now. He'd been bitter, at first, after it had happened, resenting the Goblin King for the way things had turned out, but Jareth had been sympathetic in those days and had done everything in his power to make Byron's life as easy as possible. The bitterness had turned into a wary affection, but there would always be a lingering feeling of betrayal.

He'd always kept his distance from the Goblin City, when possible, but Jareth's forcible eviction from the thrown had brought Byron running. He hadn't believed the rumors of a runner winning until it was too late, and Jareth had already been gone by the time the frantic goblin had reached the castle. For centuries, Byron had known that the blonde egomaniac was at the castle, and that thought had comforted him; perhaps nothing in the Labyrinth made sense and it was a strange world that he had never wanted to join, but Jareth had made things bearable for him. Now he was gone, lost to some bizarre power and never to be heard from again.

Unacceptable.

Byron might not have liked the Goblin King nine times out of ten, but that one time meant the world to him. This wasn't about getting a king back, it was about retrieving the only thing that made sense in Byron's life.

Another thing not often well known about goblins was that they could change their size at will. Usually, Byron found it best to stay relatively tall, so as not to get trampled by anything, but, not knowing whether Jareth would be able to see him or not, he chose to traverse the Aboveground in the smallest form he could achieve, no bigger than a young child's palm. It was the perfect size for mischief and hiding.

His first stop was a rather nondescript hotel room. Finding Jareth would be a snap, but retrieving him alone was something Byron wasn't sure he could do. He needed help, and who better than the ever-faithful Didymus? Why he was Aboveground, though, confused Byron; it had been centuries since Didymus had been part of the human world. Perhaps he was missing Jareth too, the goblin reasoned; they had been awful close, even before Byron's transformation.

In retrospect, Bryon would never be able to quite pinpoint what it was that made him hide in one of the air-vents. Perhaps it was natural caution, or the goblin's love of all places dark and dusty, but he would always be glad that he'd done it.

"Look," a rough voice growled out, one he had no trouble identifying as the gardener that Jareth had loved to tease, "I'm not asking for a lot. You just do your best to keep Sarah away from Jareth, and I'll do my best to keep him busy. They'll grow apart, we'll meet our time mark, and then it will all be done."

A sigh rent the air and, though he couldn't see the source of it from behind the narrow slats of the vent, Byron was sure that it had come from Didymus. "I am still not sure that we're doing what is right," came his weary response.

"Now's not the time to get cold feet, Didymus!" Hoggle snapped back. "We've worked too hard to let it end here. Trust me, when it's all over and you look back on this, you'll know that it was worth it. It bothers me that Sarah's gotten caught in the crossfire, believe me it's the last thing I wanted, but we can try to explain it to her later, once the Wise Man's no longer involved."

Byron reared back in surprise. The Wise Man? Nothing good ever came of that old wretch, he thought acerbically. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he recognized a conspiracy when he saw one, and anything involving the Wise Man was shady, at best. Jareth was obviously in some kind of danger. Had the ancient one learned of the goblins' plan for rebellion and decided to take countermeasures?

Byron let out a disappointed sigh. Didymus might have been having a change of heart, but it would still be dangerous to ask him for help. It looked like the tiny goblin was going to have to find assistance somewhere else.

Jareth's home was oddly small, considering his overwhelming love for all things opulent and gaudy but, somehow, the woodsy little cabin suited him. Bryon sat in a rhododendron near the front door, considering his options. There weren't many avenues open to him; he could try confronting Jareth outright, but if the ex-Goblin King couldn't see him then he would need some other way of drawing attention. That would be hard, Byron mused; goblins were good at making trouble, small disasters even, but something in their magic was specially designed not to get them caught.

Getting into the house was simple enough, but navigating it was another matter. A strange presence filled the cabin, a tenseness that was waiting for release and it set Byron on edge. Dark shadows loomed throughout the empty lower floor, a lone cat being the only living creature he came upon. The great beast watched his progress lazily, a disconcerting familiarity hovering behind his feline eyes. There was something remarkably uncomfortable about the entire situation, and the tiny goblin only hoped that the Wise Man hadn't beaten him to Jareth.

A/N: Yep, shortest chapter ever. No J/S, but Byron is important, trust me. This makes a really sad Christmas present, I know, so I'll try to make next chapter longer than usual. Anyway, have a very happy holidays everybody, and I'll probably talk to you all again before New Years.

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Disclaimer: Not mine.