Chapter Five: Fallout

The next few days were curious to say the least. Where Sarah had begun eating meals on her own in the kitchen, she now met Jareth in the dining room. She was at odds of how to handle the situation: she was embarrassed by her dismal escape, grateful for his help and confused by their new rapport. The morning after her escape attempt Jareth had walked into the room and paused in the doorway, clearly surprised to see her there:

"Good morning," he said with a nod of his head, recovering quickly.

She replied the same with determined confidence, having decided to make no mention of the night before. He took the seat across from her and eyed the array of breakfast food with an arched brow. "I asked Hoggle to help me," she explained, "Instead of waiting for you to conjure up something. Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, thankyou." Still, there was an odd quietness to their conversation, an unexpected hush after many days of obstinate noise. They ate fresh fruit and croissants with jam.

"The kitchen's well stocked," she commented, "I didn't think French pastries would be a thing here."

"I've developed a liking for the tastes of humanity," he answered over his mug of tea. "I thought you might appreciate variety."

Sarah nodded around a mouthful of pastry. It was light and sweet, a contrast to the obvious weight in the air between them. She didn't ask about his leg, as it was clear that he'd healed it himself. Clearly her ministrations last night had been about fixing something more than just than a bite.

He asked politely what she was planning on doing today. "I'd like to work on the gardens outside my window," she ventured.

"I can have them blooming in a heartbeat," he told her.

"I know, but I'd like to do it myself. Gives me something to do, you know?"

Jareth nodded. "I'll have the goblins –" he stopped short at the warning in her eyes. "That is, I'll ask your friends to supply you with whatever is required," he amended slowly.

Sarah thought life would have improved from then on, but they seemed stunted by the things Jareth wouldn't say. Their conversations were polite enough, almost to the point of boring…and she could tell it was because he was distracted by something. With each passing day his eyes grew darker, his expression more pinched and pale no matter how he tried to pretend otherwise. She began waiting longer for him each night, as he disappeared after breakfast and returned for meals with her. But by the fourth night he simply didn't show, nor did he appear for breakfast the following morning or any day after that. Sarah didn't know what to make of it. Was he mad at her or just busy with his kingdom? But then why wouldn't he tell her? Why would he share anything with you? You distinctly told him you weren't going to be friends, she thought to herself, pushing around the crumbs of her toast one morning. That was a mistake in tactic, she admitted, considering she was trying to make headway in this ridiculous investigation for the Queen.

Rather than waste her time worrying about it Sarah threw herself into gardening. She found plenty of supplies in a little brick shed nearby that had definitely not been there before. It was tough going, working with such neglected plots, but she relished the distraction it provided. If she was digging up earth she didn't think about the dark shadows under Jareth's eyes. Ripping out dead roots took too much effort for her to waste energy missing her family. Clipping back bushes that had managed to survive stopped her wondering why Wick hadn't spoken to her yet. Some days she worked alone but mostly she had company: Hoggle, Didymus and Ludo would help by making her laugh and smile. It was a busy couple of days, if not always enjoyable, and soon enough her garden was flourishing with flowers and plants that would hopefully last the winter. Sarah glowed with pride, settling back on the fourth day to survey her handiwork. She sipped at a glass of water and was wondering what to do next when a voice spoke behind her.

"It seems you've discovered a hidden talent for gardening, Sarah. I'm impressed."

Jareth's unmistakable voice made her turn quickly; it was a sound she hadn't heard for days. "Maybe I'll be your groundskeeper," she replied dryly. "Seeing as my cooking didn't seem good enough to keep you around." As she took in the sight of him, her words finished themselves without much fire. She'd never seen Jareth looking so grim. He was thinner than ever, a whiter shade of pale. His clothes looked slept in. There was nothing but tension in his frame and exhaustion in his eyes. "You're a mess," she commented quietly, uncertain of this unkempt version of a once frightening King.

"Likewise, precious." He looked pointedly at her jeans ripped at the knees, her shirt stained with mud and earth, her face smeared with dirt and sweat. "And as for your grounds keeping offer, I'm here because I have a different task for you."

"Like what? Scrubbing kitchen floors?" she teased.

He smiled ruefully. "Actually, it's something I think you'd rather like."

"I'm sure," she muttered, allowing him to take her arm as he whisked them away from the garden. When her head had stopped spinning she took in the large mahogany doors they stood in front of, somewhere in the depths of the castle. She realised they must be in his private quarters, as she'd never seen this area before. "I thought I wasn't allowed around here," she commented.

"I've made an exception for this place." He pushed one door open and stepped back, gesturing for her to go through. With a wary glance at him Sarah slipped into the room and stopped short in awe. It was a cavernous stretch of wall-to-wall books, thousands upon thousands of them filling every surface of the room. Great ladders stretched up to high shelves where heavy tomes and scrolls were crammed by the dozen. Stacks of books lay scattered in piles around the floor, heaving under their own weight, threatening to spill. The air was warm with the smell of paper and wood, leaving a pleasantly dusty tingle in her nose. She loved the smell of books. She turned to Jareth with a smile on her face. "You've been holding out on me."

"This is my private collection," he answered simply. "But I'd like it if you would be so kind as to read through it." He strolled over to a stack and picked the top book off, rifling through its pages. The smell was intoxicating. Sarah swore she could hear the book almost purring. "My duties leave little time for leisurely pursuits and I'm afraid the books are suffering for it. They need to be read."

"Why? Do you want me to take notes on something?"

"No, Sarah." He smiled, the tension leaving his face for just a moment. He was better looking when he was relaxed, she thought idly. "Books are semi-conscious in my world. They have something of a soul. And they're withering under my neglect. Now that I have you, you will read them for me. Stoke their fire. Breathe life into them again."

"They're…alive?" Sarah whispered in wonder, reaching out to take the book he was proffering to her. She felt a tiny shiver in its pages as she flicked it open and smoothed out the paper, browning with age.

"In a way. But the point is, I require you to read them."

She cast a look around the room, overwhelmed. "Which ones?"

"Any of them. All of them. As many as you wish. Just read them."

Something loosened inside Sarah that had been coiled tight for a long while. The gardening had been a hectic distraction but this…this was a gift, she could tell. Books had always been her refuge, her passion, and he'd handed her a world of stories to discover. It would be a much kinder distraction, soothing her anxious soul. She tentatively placed a hand on his arm.

"Thankyou Jareth," she said. The genuine gratitude in her voice surprised them both.

Jareth's eyes were riveted to her. "Perhaps you'll forgive me my absence now, hmm?" he remarked quietly. "Desperate as you are for my company, I know."

She couldn't help but smile at the teasing wink he gave before vanishing, leaving Sarah in her new favourite place.

It was difficult to see the castle from their position in the gardens, but Sarah couldn't stop staring at the tallest tower, pondering. "Where does he go?" she asked Hoggle, blowing hair from her eyes.

"How should I know? I ain't his watchdog," replied the goblin dismissively. "You playin' or what? It's your turn."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Sarah returned her attention to the board beneath them. They were playing an Underground game similar to chess but with less pieces and bizarre rules. The first few times they'd played, Sarah had suspected Hoggle was just making it up as he went along. Now she'd gotten the hang of it and was quite good when she was paying attention. Not so much today, though. The weather was getting chilly with the first stirrings of winter. They lay spread out on a picnic blanket in the sun, near the web garden. Didymus had exhausted himself playing some kind of ball game with Ludo and the pair was now snoozing happily together. Though it was a comfortable enough scene, Sarah couldn't help being frustrated. They'd been making tentative reparations to their rapport, but she hadn't seen Jareth since he'd given her access to his library. He left at some unholy hour in the morning and returned long after she was in bed, no matter how she tried to catch glimpses of him. She couldn't understand why he was avoiding her now.

"Sarah," Hoggle complained. "Make yer move."

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Sorry Hoggle, I can't concentrate today." Studying the board, she made a move to take one of Hoggle's pieces, only to be quickly countered and lose two of her own. It didn't faze her in the least. "You have to have some idea. You know everything that goes on around here."

"Hoggle don't stick in his nose in business that ain't his," the goblin replied testily. "I don't know where yer got this idea that I'm a busybody."

Sarah grinned. He liked to pretend that he was uninterested in anything not concerning him, but Hoggle had changed in his two years trapped in the castle. Without much to do, he'd become something of a gossipmonger. She was sure he knew something about Jareth's disappearances.

"Guess you're not as up to date as I thought you were," she teased. "I thought that if anybody knew anything, it would be my clever friend Hoggle. Didymus said so too."

Hoggle was staring at the board, but his lumpy ears twitched in her direction. "He did?" he sniffed, feigning disinterest.

Snatching a quick glance at the tiny goblin to be sure he was still sleeping, Sarah smiled. "Of course he did! I asked him about Jareth and he said the only one to ask about anything happening around here was Hoggle. He said 'Hoggle's the goblin for the job, my lady'," she finished by feigning the squeaky little voice of their friend.

She could see his chest puff out with pride, but still he was reluctant. "Well, if I did know anythin', and I wasn't sayin' nothing, it's only because yer ain't gonna like it."

"So you do know where he goes?" Sarah prodded. "You're not falling behind the times?"

"I ain't fallin' behind anythin'!" Hoggle huffed indignantly. "I know what Jareth's doin' with them awful monsters. Just didn't think yer'd want to know is all."

"You mean the goblins?" Sarah asked. "What's he doing with the goblins?"

"He's fixin' things, ain't he? Goes out to the hordes every day and comes back late. Tryin' to stop a rebellion, after – well, never you mind. That's where he goes, all right? Now stop pryin'."

Sarah felt her spirits drop, thinking back to what Jareth had said after saving her: despite the damage you have just caused to a relationship that has taken centuries to build. Despite the fact that my hordes will be out for blood because I have once again intervened in what should have rightfully been theirs to take. "Of course. It's my fault," she murmured, cheeks burning with shame. "They're rebelling because he saved me." She thought of the Queen's entire reason for needing to dethrone Jareth: Sarah distracted him and the goblin hordes were too dangerous to lose control of. The day suddenly felt not quite as peaceful.

"Like I said, never you mind what he's up to," Hoggle said, a little softer now. He patted her hand. "It's the King's business, nothin' you can do anythin' about."

He was right, of course, but still she looked back at the castle and wondered if she would ever stop causing trouble no matter what she did.

"Wiiiiiick," Sarah called in the most whining, grating voice she could manage. "Wick! Wick. Wick. Wick the Elf. Wick my Elf friend. I want to talk to you. Wick. WICK WICK WICK!"

She'd decided to take drastic action since her friend still hadn't spoken to her. He could hear summons', she knew that much. So she'd taken to repeating his name over and over at night before bed, hoping to pester him into seeing her, if at least just to tell her to shut up. So far this theory had not been proven correct, but she was nothing if not persistent. Flicking through the pages of a picture book on Fae wildlife, Sarah rested on her bed while calling out the usual mantra. To her disappointment a lot of Jareth's books were written in some kind of Fae language; it took a while to seek out sections in English. But the book had beautiful illustrations of different animals in vibrant ink - she was gazing at what was clearly an actual unicorn in sheer disbelief when Wick finally answered her.

"Forgive me for the intrusion, Miss," came his voice from her vanity mirror as he stepped carefully out of it. "I couldn't help but hear that you required my services?"

Sarah's face had been split in a triumphant smile, but now it fell as his Servant Self appeared. "Oh. Hey. I was kind of hoping for the other you, if that's okay." She set aside her book and patted the bed for him to sit.

"But I'm working, Miss," Wick replied, refusing her offer. "I apologise for the disappointment but I'm sure if you tell me what you need, I could help as I am." He bowed low before her, his sharp teeth flashing in a kind smile. Apparently his Two Selves had separated themselves a little more since their last meeting. "I am your humble servant."

"I don't need a servant, Wick. I need a friend. So cut the bullshit and get back to your True Self." She couldn't stop herself from snapping at him. It had been almost two weeks after all, and this was how he finally answered her? He was not much use to her like this.

"You don't like me this way?" he enquired, his large eyes fresh with hurt.

Instantly Sarah was flooded with guilt. "No, it's not that! I'm sorry – look, I just really need to talk to you and I can't get the information I want if you're busy being loyal to the big scary Queen." She softened her voice, smiling at him. "Can't you just take a little break for me? Please?"

Wick thought about it for a moment. "I suppose I could take a small break. As long as her Majesty thinks I am here working."

"Yes! Just go back to her and give her a report on me. We'll make something up before you go. She'll never know."

"As you wish, Miss. One moment please." He closed his eyes for a few moments. Nothing visibly changed, but when he reopened them again Sarah could tell instantly he was different. He scowled at her. "Do you have any idea how irritating it is to hear you calling me every night?" he grumbled, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

Sarah laughed. What bizarre company she kept. "Well why didn't you answer me then?" she replied, sitting up. "You couldn't have been that mad at me."

"I was busy! The Queen's put me in charge of messages, since the last Elf was apparently useless to her. Do you know how many messages a Royal gets in a day?"

"I'm sorry, Wick." Sarah patted his arm. "Really. I'm sorry for snapping at you, and for pestering you, and…I don't know. Just being stuck in this crappy situation and dragging you into it."

He placed a hand over hers, smiling reassuringly. "It's all right, Sarah. I'm sorry too. I should have left you a note, perhaps. But I'm here now. So what do you need to know?"

"I need to know what's going on between Jareth and the Queen. About the goblins. And me."

Wick's eyes widened even further than usual, a soft flush of uneasy pink touched his cheeks. "That's official royal family business, Sarah. I can't tell you that."

"Sure you can!" she persisted, edging closer to him. "Look, you want me to get out of here right? Back to my family? Well, the only way I can do that – considering that I might have been wrong about Jareth – is by getting closer to him. But he won't let me. He looks like hell, and Hoggle told me he's been fighting with the goblins. I need to figure out how to get through to him, Wick."

She made all this sound as if it were a tactical plan, a way of tricking a confession out of the Goblin King. But Sarah was desperate to know what grief she had caused him and how she might possibly try to fix it. The guilt had been itching at her for days.

Wick considered her plea carefully, tapping a long finger against his pointed chin. "So what you're saying is," he began slowly, "If I tell you what you need to know, I'm not betraying the Queen. I'm helping her. Because you'll be able to catch out the Goblin King." He smiled to himself. "Yes. That's what I'll tell her if she finds out. Right." He seemed to have justified the plan enough that he no longer felt guilty. "So what would you like to know, exactly?"

"Anything you can tell me. Like, what's happening with the goblins now? Why are they rebelling?"

Wick lay back on her bed casually, tapping a booted foot. "That's a small question with a big answer. I suppose it began when you first entered the Labyrinth at fifteen."

"You know a lot about that?"

"Not particularly," he shrugged. "But you always hear things when a runner defeats the King. And there was an awful lot of talk about you, especially."

"Why? What was so special about me?"

Wick studied her. "No one was sure, to be honest. But there were rumours that the King was interfering with the Labyrinth's running more than usual, because of a human." Sarah pointed at herself in silent question and he nodded in reply. "It was said that he forbid the release of a few of the nastier goblins into the puzzle, though they'd always been allowed before. That was the first time he irked them, by going against tradition. He wouldn't let them touch you, but wouldn't give a reason. He even had the bigger hordes moved to the Outlands, away from the City while you were there. It was a big source of scandal at the time."

So he'd changed some of the rules for her, so what? Sarah didn't see why that should cause such a fuss. When she said this to Wick, he shook his head at her. "You don't understand the way it's supposed to work, Sarah. The goblins outnumber the Fae – and most of us, for that matter – almost a hundred to one. The only way the King remains in control of them all is through mutual respect. It's perfectly all right for him to do what he pleases with them so long as it's done in a respectful way, as far as goblin etiquette goes. But he started taking away their rights when he changed the rules, and in the two years since then he's only gotten worse."

"But they're just monsters," Sarah replied. "How can monsters have a code of conduct?"

"That depends on your idea of what a monster is," Wick told her. "To you, they're hideous beasts with big teeth. To them, you're just their natural prey – the same way a deer is to a tiger. Nothing unnatural about that, is there?"

"I suppose not…" Sarah admitted, resting her chin in her hand. "So what else has he done to them?"

"From what we've overheard in the Royal Palace, he wasn't there when the bigger breeds slaughtered the weaker. He was spending a lot of time away from the castle, which they resented and took advantage of by killing off the goblins that had been formed by humans won in the Labyrinth."

"Where was he going?"

"I don't know," Wick said. "Nobody knew for sure. But there were rumours, of course, that he might be going Above. To your world."

Sarah's stomach fluttered. "He…he's been coming to my world? Why? For how long?"

"They're just rumours, Sarah. Ideas. Nobody but the King knows. The person with the strongest suspicion is the Queen, and you know what she thinks."

This did nothing to quell Sarah's unease. It was one thing hearing from Jareth's mother what she suspected; it was another thing altogether to hear the fallout in detail. "So – so he sent them away, right? When he learnt what they'd done?"

"Yes, he banished all goblins from the castle grounds, another thing that had never been done before. They've been refused any right to seek audience with the King outside the City. And then your brother made his wish, and the King struck his deal with you, which snatched away any promise of a prize in the goblins' eyes. Add to that the fact that you wandered directly into their nest and he pried you out of their open mouths and well…can you see why they might be ready to rebel?"

"Yes," Sarah murmured, "I can see why." She felt like a little girl who'd run amok and made a mess without even knowing it. "But he's fixing things now, right? That's why I haven't seen him around?"

Wick met her eyes. "But you know how well that's going, don't you?" he asked in a voice that left no question.

She pictured Jareth's haunted expression, his long days away, how tired he must be. Her silence was answer enough.

"There are other rumours too," he continued sombrely. "Goblins attempting to breach the City Walls, or to cross the Outlands borders into the Western Realms. There's quite a large population of Dwarves over that way. Goblins love them because they remind them of human children." He shuddered. "There's not been a single runner to survive the Goblin City in weeks, even if they do make it through the Labyrinth. The King is losing control, Sarah. Something has to be done soon. Even the Queen is worried. Why do you think she's making you do all this? We can't force abdication on a ruler without sufficient proof."

"And just how the is word of one little human against the Goblin King going to be sufficient proof?"

"Don't you know?" he asked, raising a brow at her and frowning.

"Know what?"

"The Queen armed you with a Proof Spell. It's a piece of magic that captures evidence. As soon as the King speaks the words 'I love you' to you, in any way, his mother will know and we can start the process of arresting him." He tilted his head, as if inspecting her. "It's on you right now."

Sarah searched herself for a mark or a sign that she'd had a spell cast over her. Wick found this amusing.

"You can't see it, Sarah," he told her with a wry smile.

"She had no right do that to me without asking."

"She's the Queen of the Fae Domain," he replied soberly, "She'll do whatever she must."

Sarah flopped back onto her pillow with a huff. "I'm starting to think I don't like Fae as much as I thought I would. Ten-year-old Sarah would've loved this, all the magical fairy drama. But now…" she rolled onto her side, met Wick's understanding gaze. "I think the mystique's wearing a little thin. They don't seem to have an issue with taking what they want."

Wick had a funny expression on his face, a half grin with a twinkle in his eyes. "But you don't mind when the Goblin King does it, do you?"

She shot him a hard look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I noticed you're calling him Jareth now."

"So?" she sniffed defensively. "He saved my life. I think that puts us on a first name basis." She gave his leg a little kick. "Don't go getting ideas now, Elf boy." Her teasing smile faded as she thought of something. "Wick…what happens to him? When – if – the Queen arrests him?"

It took him too long to answer. "I'm not sure," he said eventually, not quite meeting her gaze.

"Wick."

"I can't tell you, Sarah. I don't know. Maybe he'll be exiled, or given another position…"

"Exiled? Bit extreme, don't you think?"

"He's breaking a very sacred law, Sarah. You don't understand."

She still couldn't fathom how loving a human could be such a terrible thing. "It's not his fault," she protested. "It's not like you can help the way you feel about someone."

"So you do think he has feelings for you?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying, that if someone did feel something towards someone else…why should they suffer for it?" Then, in the same beat: "What if I left? You could take me home. Would that help?"

"You've been gone for two years, Sarah. It all started when you left."

Her frustrated sigh lingered in the air between them. "So I'm doomed to condemn him, is that it? I was the one who wished Toby away the first time. He'd never have met me if I hadn't been so selfish. It's my fault; but he's the one who gets punished for it."

"You're the one that made me tell you all this, Sarah. I don't have the answers. I just know what I know."

"No, you're right. Sorry. This is just…this is so much more complicated than I thought it would be."

"He's just a nasty Goblin King," Wick said, sounding a little too much like he was making a point. "He's the arrogant, bored king of a dirty old maze who used you for entertainment. Your words, if I remember correctly. Why do you care what happens to him? Do your job and you can return home."

His curious expression and the meaning in his voice caused Sarah's cheeks to flame. Her back stiffened as she stared at Wick defensively. "Because it's more than a job, Wick," she snapped. "It's his life. I'm not a Fae. I don't like using people for my own ends."

Wick opened his mouth to reply when he suddenly caught a look at the clock on her wall. His eyes widened. "I've been here for too long," he said worriedly. "She'll notice."

Sarah grabbed his arm as he made to leave the bed. "You'll help me though, won't you?" she asked him in a quick breath of air. "I need to know what goes on with the goblins, Wick."

He patted her hand once before getting up and heading for the mirror. "I'll help you, Sarah." He stepped from the floor to her stool to the mirror in one fluid movement. "Fates protect me, I will," he mumbled as he disappeared.

Sarah smiled with relief but it didn't last long as she picked up her Fae book. A Queen put a spell on me. A King will be punished because of me. My friend wears souls like outfits and I'm sitting here reading a book about actual unicorns.

Her ten-year-old self would definitely have been in heaven right now, but all Sarah could feel was confusion. "He chose to be Goblin King," she told herself firmly. "It's his own fault if he loses his throne over a crush. And it's not like he's a good guy, exactly."

He's the arrogant bored king of a dirty old maze who used me for entertainment.

It's not like you can help the way you feel about someone.

Sarah's own words haunted her, mingling into a jumble of nonsense that forced her to leave the bedroom in search of some distracting goblin company.

In hindsight, it might not have been the brightest idea to give her the library. Not only did it place her directly in Jareth's private quarters and leave her scent lingering in the hallways but it also afforded him a fresh kind of torture. He'd tried not to watch her with his crystals too often, aware of her rights to privacy. But since the escape incident he'd found himself performing slightly more regular sweeps of the castle to reassure himself that she wasn't off doing something foolish again. It was during one of these particular searches that he'd discovered a new way for her to drive him mad. Sarah was in the library often, as he'd expected her to be, but he hadn't realised that the simple sight of her reading could stir such affection in him.

Some days she would sit at a table surrounded by a wall of books, absorbing information in a passionate frenzy. Her eyes would fly across the pages as if she was dying of thirst and the words were a lake. He watched her reactions to stories. When something was shocking she gasped, her mouth a perfect open circle, and he thought of ways she might do that in reaction to him. When a story was confusing her brow furrowed in a delightful crinkle. He did not like when a tale upset her. She would blink and reread a paragraph to be sure of what had happened. And then she might cry out in anger, or disbelief, or anguish. Once she actually flung a book across the lounge and seethed in indignation. In her most peaceful moments she would lounge by the window with her feet tucked up beneath her, a thick novel in her lap.

It made little difference if sunlight or moonlight illuminated her – she was always beautiful. What made his soul ache was the serenity of her expression: her eyes would be heavy lidded, her mouth forming silent words and her tongue darting out just a little in concentration. He knew he could have denied her nothing in those moments, if she only knew he was there waiting to serve. It became a delicious type of self-punishment, to fall for this creature whose wings he had clipped and know she would never let him heal them. Perhaps he was a masochist.

Late one evening, six weeks after she'd arrived, Jareth found himself heading towards the library in person. His day had been exhausting: hours of conversation with the Dwarf Council over several ongoing border crossings by his goblins. The little scabs didn't understand that next to children, dwarves were a tempting source of prey to the hordes. What was a little skirmish or two compared to the total chaos of losing a whole town to a rebellion? He felt irritated and old, dirty with the stink of bureaucracy. Without quite realising it he had arrived in the library and found himself standing before a startled looking Sarah. She sat on the lounge in leggings and a baggy shirt that had ridden up at the waist. Her mouth made that lovely o shape in surprise. Yes, he was definitely a masochist.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Did you want something?" she asked, a finger keeping the place in her book as she tucked up her legs.

It took Jareth a moment to answer. He wasn't sure what had brought him there. "I need some information," he lied. "Political readings. I won't bore you with the details."

The o disappeared from her mouth and she shrugged. "Suit yourself." He chose a random direction to head in and her voice called to his back: "I'd look in the North corner though, if I were you. There's a bunch of political stuff on the middle shelves."

He turned back to her with an impressed expression.

"You think I don't know my way around a library?" she teased with a wary smile. "I used to work in one, you know. Before…" she trailed off.

"Before you became a live-in bookworm," he replied, changing direction though there was absolutely nothing in the North corner that interested him. Still, he spent a few minutes pretending to browse before selecting a few books at random and taking a seat at the heavy wooden table. He longed to sit right down on that lounge and drag her legs into his lap, but keeping his distance seemed a wiser option. An hour passed by in total silence, her reading with rapt attention and Jareth feigning interest in the books he'd snatched. The first was a discourse in Fae politics that he discarded instantly with vehemence. The second was about the ramifications of fairy migration and the third turned out be a mildly interesting memoir of an ancient Elf artist famous for his political work. He was starting to become genuinely intrigued when he felt a pair of eyes on his back.

"Did you need something, Sarah?" he asked drily without taking his gaze from the page.

"Did you inherit the throne from your father?"

The question startled him. His fingers curled around the book tightly. "No," he answered curtly.

"Did you apply for the job then? Was there an ad in the paper saying 'Goblin King Wanted'?"

He snorted despite himself and set down his reading materials, turning to face her. She was studying him with a look on her face like confusion dipped in pity. It made him itch uncomfortably. "Why the sudden interest?"

Her book was closed with a soft sigh and laid gently on the floor. "I'm just trying to figure out why anyone would want to be in your position. The hours suck, your employees are monsters and you look terrible." She took a moment to stretch languidly; the skin of her waist was bared to him as she reached upwards and yawned.

He tried not to lick his lips at the sight, momentarily foggy-headed when he heard the soft footfalls of her gentle weight and suddenly found her standing beside him. "Really, Jareth," she said quietly. "You should sleep more. You look like you need it."

A multitude of smart replies sprang to mind, but not one of them made it beyond his lips. Was she concerned for him? "I have reading to do," he answered mildly, inhaling the raw scent of her as she reached across and picked up the book he'd discarded.

"No good?" she enquired, flicking through the pages though it was in a language she didn't understand and he didn't want to. "You gave it the flick pretty fast."

"I find Fae politics a little too barbaric for my liking," he stated.

"Says the King of the Goblins," she quipped with a soft laugh, putting the book down. "There's a lot of stuff here I can't read. I'd like to learn the language, one day." She padded towards the door and he watched her go with regret. She paused in the doorway, turning back to him. "Thanks for the company, by the way. I love my friends but…it's nice to have another human around, you know?" She smiled. "Well, as human as you can ever be."

"I can understand that," he told her. "Perhaps I will join you again. I've made little progress in my research."

She nodded, yawning. "Good night, Jareth."

He smiled a genuinely soft smile. "Good night, Sarah."

He'd imagined that life would be more pleasant once he was on good terms with Sarah. Indeed, she no longer seemed to despise him outright and she'd abandoned her churlish attitude. But as the weeks wore on it seemed that the Fates were only intent on tearing him into smaller and smaller pieces. A part of him was in constant unease – no, fear, that's what it was – that his mother would find out about Sarah. There was only so much he could do to protect her. Another part of him was being rubbed raw by duty – endless meetings, debates on ethics, reprimands by Councillors, useless attempts to cajole the hordes back into submission…he was beginning to crack under the strain. He barely had time to eat and sleep, no matter which way he rewound the clock. The only thing keeping him together was his time with Sarah, and even that was limited. He would join her in the library under the pretence of research two or three times a week.

Still, these meetings were never guaranteed to be enjoyable. Some days she was so immersed in her reading that he might as well have been invisible. Other days she was far too curious about his research and the goblins. He loathed speaking of his work with her – not only because of its unpleasant nature but because he didn't want her to know the uproar she'd caused. What would she make of the damage she'd done, and the things he had to do to make up for it? He was certain it would ruin any softened opinion she might have formed of him.

Their newfound companionship was not safe from arguments, either. As they grew more comfortable around one another they let their true personalities come into play. Sarah was passionate and stubborn, which he'd always known, but now it showed on a level he found intellectually stimulating. They had heated debates about literature and society. She'd found Wuthering Heights in his collection one day and had argued incessantly that Heathcliff and Cathy deserved each other only so far as that they deserved no one better. Heathcliff was a dangerously possessive beast and Cathy a spoilt, mulish woman in her opinion. When Jareth had made a passing remark about similarities between Sarah and Cathy, she'd flung the book at him and stormed off.

Having briefly studied a degree in Sociology, Sarah also seemed to think she could match him in battles of socio-political thought. While her ideologies weren't necessarily naïve, he had more than a few decades of experience on her that often sent them careening into fights if he didn't watch his tongue. Which he didn't, of course, and neither did she, and quite often he found their impassioned arguments more thrilling than anything he'd experienced in a long time.

These moments turned to embers though, burning hot and then becoming ash on the wind. And what were left behind were quiet evenings of peace, like seedlings sprouting after a fire. He began to live for these times, when she would greet him with a smile and offer snacks because he'd missed dinner. Eventually he abandoned the pretence of research and instead began delving into the literary world he'd once belonged to. Sarah didn't quite agree with his initial choice of reading materials:

"I thought you were going to start reading for fun," she stated, breaking the comfortable silence he'd been enjoying.

It took him a moment to answer. Tonight she was scanning maps of his world. Apparently the best way to do it was sit cross legged on the wooden tabletop and spread them out before her in a mess. He'd looked up to see her black hair falling across her intent face and felt the urge to sweep it out of the way. "What do you mean?" he asked eventually.

"I mean, how can you think that that manipulative shit is fun to read?" she asked bluntly, gesturing at the book in his hands.

"You can't reduce Machiavelli to simple issues of manipulation," he replied.

"What else would you call it? He laid down the guidelines for being a sneaky son-of-a-bitch just to get a little more power."

"And you don't see how that might resonate with someone like myself?" he retorted, though the book now felt wrong in his hands.

Those sharp green eyes were studying him from beneath the fan of her hair. He watched her fingers tap a thoughtful rhythm on her knee. "I might have thought so, before…" she murmured. He wondered if she'd even intended for him to hear it. With surprising lightness she spun and hopped down from the table, disappearing into the stacks. She returned shortly after with a book, which she slid across to him after taking up her position on the tabletop once more. "You need something with emotion, with soulful meaning. You really want to spend all day being a ruler and then all night reading about being a ruler? Try some of that." She gestured at the book and resumed scanning the beautiful cartography of his world.

He examined her recommendation. It was a collection of poems by Walt Whitman, a dusty old volume he'd read many times, but not for decades. "You think me more familiar with words that gain power than the power of simple words," he said quietly, thumbing through the pages of a book long forgotten. It hummed softly at his touch. "'O you whom I so often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you; As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me'." He did not look up while he recited this, running the pad of his thumb along the spine of the book. The words fell easily in a low cadence from his lips; his memory was long and Sarah invoked poetic thought within him any time of the day. Only when he was finished did he dare to glance up, find Sarah staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. He grinned to take the weight out of the air. "That was always one of my favourites," he said lightly, succumbing to a foolish desire to ruin the moment. "It works wonders on women, especially those who know nothing of human culture and believe the words are my own."

Sarah's mouth opened slightly; her tongue darted out and licked her lips. "Yes, I can see how it would work quite well," she commented stiffly, returning a firm gaze to her maps. "Maybe you are better suited to Machiavelli."

He chose more imaginative material after that, indulging in more Whitman and Tennyson, Frost and Sylvia Plath. The resurfacing of some ancient Fae poetry held some interest for him, trying to remind himself of a time his people had had more open souls. Sarah preferred her novels, though her taste was difficult to pin down: she leapt from fantasy tales to romantic frivolity to word-heavy Dickens within a week. Between the two of them they made good use of the library, awakening enough books that the room began to hum softly with each visit. Sarah adored the gentle purring of thousands of stories; she said she could make out melodies on a quiet enough day. When he told her that she was indeed hearing the song of The Dream Reality books, she grinned in sheer wonder. The music of the books and the look on her face shifted a part of his soul that had turned to stone so long ago. They began to spend time sitting on the lounge together, eyes closed and listening for the music. In those moments when the firelight chased shadows on Sarah's face and the songs made her smile dreamily, Jareth knew that he was doomed to love her indefinitely.

"I was writing a book," she told him one particularly chilly morning as they ate breakfast.

"Oh?" he arched a brow in query. Talking of her old life always made him mildly nervous. Would she realise all she'd given up one day and renew her hatred for him?

Sarah scooped up the last of her oatmeal and paused with the spoon just at her lips. "I want to work on it again," she told him. "Do you think I could have some stuff to write with?"

It was an innocent enough request, yet he felt unexpectedly overwhelmed by it. She was asking him for more things to occupy her time with, which seemed to him that she was beginning to accept her life here and wanted to settle into it. "Your wish is my command, precious," he responded, wondering when exactly she'd stopped protesting his pet names for her. "I'll have Hoggle bring something to your rooms." Perhaps it was because he'd started treating her friends as more than servants. He'd been making more of an effort lately to let them treat the castle as home and not a workplace. She seemed to be less inclined to bicker with him as a result. Her excited smile was more satisfying to him than any of the delicious breakfast he'd consumed that morning.

"Keep goin' now, Sarah. Trust me, you ain't gonna trip."

"Is it really necessary for me to be blindfolded?" Sarah said with a hint of excitement and impatience. She had a scarf wrapped softly over her eyes and was being led back to her room by Hoggle.

"Jareth wanted to surprise you. I'm just doin' as I'm told."

"He did ask you for help, though, didn't he?" she slowed her steps, concerned that Jareth might be treating her friends like servants again. She could almost hear Hoggle rolling his beady little eyes.

"Yes, Sarah, he asked me for help, all right? Don't get yerself worked up over nothin'."

"I thought you'd like being treated a little better," she replied with a sniff, feeling his hand urge her back into her original pace.

"Hoggle ain't used to be treated like nobody other than just Hoggle," was his reply. "Cept you, of course. It just takes gettin' used to when the Goblin King suddenly wants to be yer friend."

"I know, I get it. Sorry. Are we nearly there yet?" as she asked she felt him stop in front of her.

"We're here. Go on through the door." There was an excitement in his voice too, now.

Sarah stretched out a hand and felt her way through the doorway and into her room. Why she'd had to be blindfolded the whole way was beyond her; it was probably just because Jareth thought it would be funny to watch her stumbling around. She felt Hoggle's hands pushing her forward and positioning her in front of what she could make out as her desk.

"All right, off yer go," he instructed, and when she removed the blindfold she gasped with delight.

It was the most beautiful typewriter she'd ever seen in her life. She'd written most of her book on her clunky old computer, but she would happily start all over again just to use this machine. It was the colour of an inky night sky and painted with intricate golden vines and flowers. The keys were bright gold and made a satisfying clicking noise as she tested them out. The letters pressed onto the paper looked like delicately handwritten cursive. She'd expected pen and paper but to be presented with something like this…Sarah was starting to think she might believe the Queen's suspicions about her son. First he'd given her the library, and then she'd noticed that her garden had kept blooming right on through this snowy winter when it should have wilted weeks ago. Now this gorgeous gift…her smile dimmed.

Jareth had changed a lot in the past few weeks, in more ways than one. He'd been looking more and more unwell as his job wore him down. Wick supplied her with information on riots among the hordes and more escapees wreaking havoc in the Dwarf colonies. She'd learned how furious the Queen was becoming, how desperately she needed Sarah to hurry things along. But the more time she spent with the King the more she found herself enjoying his company. And the more she realised that, the harder it was to think about betraying him. It would only cost him his job, she'd been telling herself, a job that wasn't doing him any good anyway. And yet why did she sit in that library most nights and wait for him to join her? Why did she listen to the books' songs and snatch glances at his handsome face, and feel overwhelming guilt?

"Don't yer like it Sarah?" Hoggle asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She forced a smile at him. "I love it, Hoggle, I do," she assured him. "It's beautiful. I'll have to thank Jareth later."

Her friend didn't seem convinced, but he left her to it when she took a seat in front of the typewriter. She tried to recall how she'd started her story at home, but looking at the glittering gold flowers and the silvery sheen of the letters only brought her thoughts back to Jareth and how kind he'd been lately. Was it an act? Was he pretending to appear chipper though his work was exhausting him? Or were the nights he spent with her the real Jareth, the Fae temporarily unburdened by duty, the man he might have been in kinder circumstances? Sarah sighed heavily and tugged her shawl around her shoulders more snugly, upset by the idea that she might be learning who the real Jareth was and worse, that she might like him.

He was late but hopeful. Sarah seemed to read at all hours of the day and night, so he passed by the library to see if she might make his night bearable after a cruel day. She was fast asleep on the lounge, her head resting against the arm, legs stretched out in front. Her book had fallen onto her lap. Oh, how he wished he could feel that level of peace. But he was a slave to the wishes of others and had no time for his own. Smiling softly at the tender sight, Jareth carefully took the book from her and made to place it on the floor when he glimpsed the cover. It was a collection of poems in Elvish. He'd recommended it to her a few days ago because there were translations in the margins, scribbled by his own hand what felt like a lifetime ago. He wondered what she thought of them. They were tales of heartache and hope in a desolate world of the author's own creation, but he knew it was based on the Elvish struggles for equality and that the poems were a metaphor for the author's lost community. He'd been fascinated by the works as a young Fae, open minded like his father and questioning the ethics of his people's decisions. He flicked to a page and read his own translation in his graceful looping cursive.

Jareth's eyes travelled between the book and Sarah, his body making a decision as he found himself sliding onto the lounge with Sarah's feet in his lap. It was wonderfully intimate to feel the downy fabric of her socks beneath his fingers. For a moment he simply watched her breathing deeply in contentment. He felt the urge to peek into her dreams but resisted, settling instead for lightly resting one hand on her calf and perusing the Elf poems with the other. He read for a while, transported back to a simple time in his life. But soon the pull of sleep was too enticing, with the fireplace's heat and Sarah's warmth beside him. His head tipped back onto the lounge and his eyes closed, for once dreaming of absolutely nothing.

He was woken a few hours later by the call of a wish in his mind. Dread resumed its familiar weight inside him as he heard the usual whispers of those wishing someone away. Sighing as if he'd lived a thousand years, he was at least relieved to find that Sarah was still asleep. She would be none the wise of his stolen nap at her feet. Easing his way out from under her he conjured a blanket. The fireplace would burn all night with his spell, yet still it afforded him a little comfort to perform the simple task of tucking her in. He brought the blanket up to her shoulders and settled it carefully, brushing hair from her face. She smiled briefly without opening her eyes. Tormented by the mere sight of her enviable contentment Jareth vanished, resigning himself to what was waiting for him in the Labyrinth.