The Unraveling

by KBates

Summary:

It isn’t everyday that a 30 year old associate litigation lawyer gets kidnapped and tasked with saving the Underground. Catch: she has to work with her former arch nemesis. Oh and she’s dead if she doesn’t succeed.

The air in the room shifts. Jareth’s smirk fades—replaced by something colder, darker. His gaze fixes on her with razor precision.

“That,” he says, voice low and steady, “is where you’re mistaken, precious thing.”His tone is no longer amused. “I’ll tear through every last fool on that tribunal and set their precious chamber to ash before I let them put a hand on you.”

Notes:

AN - sorry guys, I’m having trouble connecting with my dark Jareths (tragedy, I know). I wanted to practice with a sarcastic, anti-hero Jareth for a while. This will be 4 or 5 parts max.

Future trigger warnings: slightly dubious consent (but is it really?), lots of sex, some violence, dark elements, dark romance.

Chapter 1: An Angry Mortal, an Amused Goblin King

Chapter 1 : An Angry Mortal, an Amused Goblin King

(Sablerock castle)...

The wind hammers the windows of Sablerock’s highest tower, making the shutters clatter with sharp, brittle force. Outside, the Frozen Sea heaves beneath a curtain of mist, crashing into the cliffs below. The environment inside is completely different. The room holds its breath. No one speaks.

Then a voice breaks the silence, dry and amused. “Delightful as it’s been to abandon my responsibilities and be dragged here, I must say, this little tribunal is starting to bore. Will someone speak, or shall we keep pretending to be statues?”

A fist slams the table. A chair scrapes back. “If it were my choice, Goblin King, you’d be rotting in a cell, waiting to die.”

His grin sharpens, a hit of teeth. “Ah, good to know the Winterlands still cling to their charm, Vaelrik. Shouting and threats in place of reason. Where I’m from, we call that poor manners.”

Vaelrik turns to the figure at the head of the table. “I didn’t come here to be mocked. The Goblin King has had more than enough time to fix what he’s broken. If this tribunal refuses to act, I’ll settle it myself with a blade.”

A tired sigh cuts through the room. “There will be no duels today, Winter King,” the woman at the head of the table says, her gaze locked on the Goblin King. “Sit down.”

Jareth leans back, eyes glinting like a boy who’s just set fire to something for fun. “Well, now that Vaelrik has had his dramatic moment, I do wonder about what he said. Are you planning to have me beheaded, dear Elarien?”

“You already know the answer to that,” the Wolf Queen, Elarien replies, her voice clipped, her brow tight with irritation.

“Do I?” Jareth says, feigning surprise as he swings his gaze back to Vaelrik. “Killing me wouldn’t fix this quandary that we find ourselves in—but it would certainly make it worse. Then you’d also have the joy of finding someone foolish enough to take the Goblin Throne. Or, and hear me out, you could accept the truth that I’m doing everything in my power to undo the curse... and let me get back to work.”

“Let me speak for the tribunal, Goblin King,” Elarien says, her voice cool and measured. “We’ve waited long enough, and every attempt you’ve made to lift the curse has ended in abject failure.”

Jareth presses a hand to his chest in mock sorrow. “That’s a little harsh. If I had feelings, Wolf Queen, you’d have broken them clean in two.”

“Jareth.” Her voice tightens, patience worn thin. “Vaelrik isn’t wrong. We need to act.”

The silence returns, heavy and expectant.

Jareth raises a finger. “Apologies for cutting in, but if you all pause too long, I start assuming it’s my turn to speak again. If you’re so eager to act, by all means, act . I’m not the one stopping you.”

An older voice cuts in. “If only it were that simple, Goblin King. You’re the one who cursed the realm with your reckless nonsense—so you are the one who needs to fix it.”

Jareth tilts his head. “Minor detail Lord Halvern,  but if we’re being precise, Elarien should’ve said you must act, not we. Would’ve saved me some confusion.”

“Enough games, Goblin King. The fate of the realm is in your hands.”

He stands, brushing off his embroidered doublet. “ Lovely . Glad we cleared that up. Shall I return to my kingdom now and carry out your orders to act ?”

“I’m afraid the burden isn’t yours alone this time,” Vaelrik says, voice sharp as ice. “The tribunal has decided your unfortunate little accomplice should face trial as well.”

A flicker of something passes over Jareth’s face before he smooths it away. “I’ve said this more times than I care to count, but let me be clear— I had no accomplice. ”

“Call the mortal what you like, Goblin King. Accomplice, victim, it doesn’t matter. You dragged her into this mess, now let’s see if you can use her to drag us out.” Elarien gestures toward the doors. “Bring in the mortal.”

–

It had been a terrible day for Sarah Williams—though terrible didn’t quite cover it. One of the partners at her law firm had once described his ketamine laced mushroom trip as “soaring through a rainbow while being slowly beaten to death with a bag of blunt spoons.” That , Sarah thought grimly, was closer to her current reality than she’d like.

She had been woken with a hand clamped over her mouth and a blade at her throat—by strangers who clearly weren’t interested in conversation. They’d tied her with vines that writhed like they had a heartbeat, dragged her barefoot through a doorway that did not exist in her apartment fifteen minutes before, and tossed her into a basement that reeked of blood, and long-forgotten screams. Jeffry Dahmer’s dream hotel room. 

Then came the stairs. A spiraling, endless climb up a tower that seemed built for the sole purpose of breaking spirits and knees. When they finally shoved her through the doors at the top, she expected more dungeons. What she got instead was worse, it was a courtroom in a high budget medieval fantasy. Or a council chamber, maybe. Her limbs ached. Her wrists were bleeding. And right there, lounging like a bored devil in a throne, was him.

The Goblin King.

Jareth.

Exactly as she remembered him. Ageless. Infuriating. Smirking like a man who’s broken every rule and been praised for it. He meets her glare with a raised brow, offering nothing but a shrug, as if to say, This isn’t my fault?

If the tribunal expects a flicker of guilt or concern from him, they’re wasting their time. Jareth doesn’t so much as blink. His gaze, flat and cold, settles on Elarien. “As I’ve said— repeatedly —for the last fifteen summers, the mortal has no part in this. And unless the tribunal has suddenly developed collective amnesia, the Mortal Covenants are clear. We do not harm mortals who haven’t trespassed. So tell me, are we really so desperate we’re willing to start another war just to feel important?”

Vaelrik lets out a bark of laughter. “She hasn’t been harmed.”

Jareth arches a brow, voice laced with scorn. “Do not overtax your wits, Vaelrik or your head might unravel. The girl’s lip is split. Her wrists bear blood. If memory serves, the mortal Covenants state in plain language that no mortal blood shall be shed within our dominion. But by all means, carry on—let us see how deep a hole the tribunal can dig.”

“Enough.” The Wolf Queen rises, her cloak sweeping behind her like a shadow. Her voice carries the weight of command, each word deliberate. “Take the mortal, Jareth. You will find a solution, or this realm will fracture beyond repair. ”

Jareth laughs. “Ah yes, let me drag the mortal into the heart of a dying curse. I’m sure that’ll solve everything. Why not toss her a sword while we’re at it?”

Elarien doesn’t flinch. “You jest, while the seams of the Underground are tearing apart. The tribunal is finished waiting. She stays. She helps unwind the knot you tied—or you can both watch the foundation splinter beneath your feet.”

“If I may speak,” says a woman seated at the far end of the table, her voice clear and lilting, like glass on the edge of breaking.

“Of course,” the Wolf Queen answers swiftly, cutting off the Goblin King before he can launch into another remark. “You are a member of this tribunal, Lady Thaliora. Your voice carries equal weight.”

“Thank you, my Queen,” Thaliora replies, her tone light, but laced with unease. “But if the mortal truly is as useless as the Goblin King claims… what then? We may not have the means to send her back.”

A small smirk tugs at Jareth’s lips as Sarah’s eyes widen further, equal parts panic and fury. “In that case, I suggest Elarien keeps her here at Sablerock. A charming houseguest, permanently under lock and key.”

The Wolf Queen tilts her head, silver eyes narrowing in quiet calculation. “If the mortal serves no purpose in saving our realm, Goblin King, she will be executed. Cleanly. Without further delay.”

Jareth exhales, slow and theatrical. “I do hate to be the one constantly citing the rules of our allegedly civilized society, but there's that rather lengthy section in the Covenants— no mortal blood shall be shed, remember?”

“For someone with ice in his veins, you seem oddly preoccupied with this mortal’s well-being,” Vaelrik cuts in, his voice booming with smug satisfaction. “As it happens, I’ve already spoken with the Keeper of the Covenants. Since Sarah Williams was granted certain powers by you, there’s an ongoing debate as to whether she qualifies as mortal at all.”

–

(Jareth’s study, Goblin Castle)...

Grimbel Thatchspine gapes at his king, mouth ajar. In all the years under Jareth’s rule, not once had he been caught without something to say—but this came close. He’d expected fury. A rant. Perhaps even a few broken crystals. What he hadn’t prepared for was this eerie silence: the Goblin King slouched on his desk chair, staring blankly into nothing, while a bound mortal woman glared daggers from the far wall.

Grimbel clears his throat. “Sire forgive me, but you seem somewhat... lost in reflection. Which is troubling. You rarely reflect. Or stop talking. However, it is my duty to inform you that even mortal prisoners require extensive paperwork as per the Covenants.”

Jareth doesn’t move. “Grimbel, unless you’ve come to recite another tax report or declare war on punctuation, I suggest you keep your observations to yourself.”

The goblin presses on, undeterred. “But sire there’s a mortal prisoner in your study. Shall I summon the guards?”

Jareth exhales, long and slow. “No, Grimbel, that won’t be necessary. She’s not a prisoner. Prepare a guest suite. Get her something resembling food. Whatever it is we pretend to do for visitors.” He gestures vaguely toward Sarah without looking at her. “Miss Williams will be staying with us—for what I can only assume will feel like an eternity.”

“But—”

“That’s quite enough, Grimbel.” Jareth waves a hand without looking at him. “Do shut the doors on your way out.”

–

This isn’t happening.

Sarah stands stiffly against the cold stone wall, her wrists aching, her mouth dry. Her mind loops like a broken engine—half trying to convince her this is some elaborate hallucination, half ready to punch someone in the throat. Preferably him .

The Goblin King doesn’t speak until the heavy doors shut with a final, echoing thud . He stays where he is, perched lazily on his chair, like this is a normal day for him.

“I’ll remove the vines,” he says at last, voice flat with disinterest. “Try not to give me a reason to regret it.”

The vines uncoil from her wrists and fall away, leaving behind angry red welts crusted with dried blood. She doesn’t flinch, but her fingers twitch as she rubs the marks, testing the pain. A second later, the ones across her mouth vanish, and she draws in her first full breath in what feels like hours.

Her eyes lock on a jug of water sitting on a polished, too-fancy mahogany table a few feet away.

“Am I allowed to drink some water?” she asks, voice biting, “or does your hospitality end at not tying me to the furniture?”

Jareth rests his chin on one hand. “Well, someone’s back to talking. I was almost enjoying the peace and quiet.”

“You want quiet? Don’t abduct people.”

“I didn’t abduct you,” he says smoothly. “The tribunal did.”

She glares at him, then moves stiffly toward the water. Her hands shake slightly as she pours it into a metal goblet, before drinking it in one gulp.

“So what now?” she asks. “Do you lock me in a tower? Put me in a dress? Make me dance until I go mad?”

Jareth smirks. “Tempting. But no. You’re far too cranky for dancing. And I don’t like repeating myself.”

“I’m not here to play your games.”

“No,” he says, leaning back, “but you’re in the middle of one. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be playing at all.”

“Because you don’t play with mortals?” 

“I do play with mortals,” his voice takes on a darker, more sensuous tone. “Just not you .” 

After downing another glass of water like someone who’s just crawled out of a desert, Sarah sets the goblet down with a loud clunk and turns to face him. Arms folded. Eyes narrowed.

“I have about a million things I could say right now,” she says, fighting to keep herself calm. “So let’s just start with the obvious: What. The. Fuck? ”

Jareth smiles—sharp, slow, and irritatingly pleased. “ Straight to the point. I appreciate that. Here’s the short version: you scribbled a little line into your favorite bedtime story years ago, and it’s caused a bit of an inconvenience down here.”

He gestures vaguely toward the floor, like “down here” is both the room and the entire realm.

“By inconvenience, of course, I mean a catastrophic curse currently tearing the Underground to shreds. I’m trying to fix it. The tribunal got tired of waiting and decided to throw you into the mix. Think of it as their version of creative problem-solving.”

Sarah’s eyes narrow further. “This is about that line… the one where the Goblin King gives the girl certain powers?”

“Exactly.” He gives her a half-hearted nod. “Though, if we’re being honest, they took it far too literally. The tribunal’s not exactly known for its brilliance. They’re more of a committee of magical overreaction.”

“So I’m just collateral damage.”

“Oh, much worse.” Jareth leans back in the chair, his smirk growing. “You’re an unnecessary variable. You don’t belong in the plan, and frankly, I don’t need you here. But the tribunal insisted, and here we are.”

Sarah stares at him. “Unnecessary variable? I was tied up in a dungeon. This is a hell of a lot of trouble for someone you claim isn’t needed. ”

“Trust me,” Jareth says dryly, “you’ll find this realm is full of pointless suffering and unnecessary decrees.”

“Something doesn’t add up,” Sarah says, arms still crossed. “You’re telling me that because I added one stupid line to what I thought was a completely harmless book, you were forced to give me magical powers. And that’s what cursed your entire realm?”

Jareth takes a few moments to answer. “Well… no. Not exactly.”

“Let me ask another question. If I didn’t force your hand, then the line on its own had no power. Correct?”

He pauses. Not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because this wasn’t how he expected this to go. He’d braced for tears, for screaming, maybe a well-aimed punch. Not a calm, surgical cross-examination.

“I happened to hear the line” he says, brow creasing slightly, “and I thought, why not? ”

Sarah blinks. “You thought giving a fifteen-year-old magical powers, just for kicks, was a solid idea?”

“I’ve spent centuries outwitting mortals,” Jareth replies, tone dry. “It gets rather dull. You were... a change of pace. A little chaos. Something new.”

She stares at him in disbelief. “So because you were bored , you handed a teenage girl magic she didn’t ask for, and now your whole world is unraveling.”

“Essentially, yes.”

She throws her hands in the air. “Brilliant. So now, after doing nothing wrong—I get kidnapped, tied up, dumped in a dungeon, dragged in front of a tribunal, and handed over to you like some sort of magical guinea pig because, what, you’ve run out of ideas? ”

Jareth shrugs. “Yes, that’s the gist of it. Welcome back, Sarah.”

“Oh, and one small detail I almost forgot,” Sarah says, her voice sharp with disbelief. “If it turns out I’m not useful in fixing this disaster I didn’t cause, they’re going to kill me. Perfect .”

The air in the room shifts. Jareth’s smirk fades—replaced by something colder, darker. His gaze fixes on her with razor precision.

“That,” he says, voice low and steady, “is where you’re mistaken, precious thing .”His tone is no longer amused. “I’ll tear through every last fool on that tribunal and set their precious chamber to ash before I let them put a hand on you.”

–

AN - don’t you just love a Jareth who’s willing to burn it all down? 

Chapter 2: The Lone-Martyr Curse-Breaker

Notes:

AN - more practice
Future and maybe present trigger warnings: slightly dubious consent (but is it really?), lots of sex (at some point), some violence, darkish elements, darkish romance.

–

Chapter 2: The Lone-Martyr Curse-Breaker

 

(A few weeks later, Sarah’s rooms, located at the far end of some distant hall)...

“I’m afraid that will not be possible,” Grimbel says, adjusting the cuffs of his robe like they might somehow shield him from the mortal’s temper. His tone is stiff, but his yellow eyes flicker with unease. “His Majesty is quite preoccupied. He’s studying the curse and is not to be disturbed. However,” he adds quickly, “he did instruct me to ensure you’re treated as a respected guest. Which is why I strongly suggest you consider attending tonight’s festivities.”

Sarah halts mid-step, her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw throbs. She says nothing at first. Then—

“Let me get this straight.” Her voice is cold, rising like a slow building storm. “I get abducted and dumped into this realm. Jareth tells me my life depends on reversing some nightmare curse he caused, then vanishes for three weeks while I rot in this ridiculous castle, forced to make small talk with drunk faeries who have more jewelry than sense and no concept of privacy. They’re having sex everywhere, Grimbel. You might want to disinfect the furniture, the walls, the floors and just for good measure, the chandeliers.”

Grimbel swallows hard. “But, Lady Sarah—”

“I’m not here to drink Goblin wine or join in whatever unhinged, five-dimensional orgies you all think pass for entertainment,” Sarah snaps. “I don’t care what orders you were given. If Jareth doesn’t fix this curse, I’ve been told I’ll be sentenced to death. So either you take me to wherever he’s hiding, or I will scream, break something or set this place on fire. Probably all three or maybe something even worse. Let me warn you that I’m feeling creative today.”

Grimbel takes a cautious step back. “I have very specific instructions not to let you near him. He was... extremely clear. His exact words were, ‘Grimbel, I know competence isn’t your strongest suit, but do keep the mortal out of my general vicinity or suffer the consequences.’ And frankly, Lady Sarah, I’d really prefer not to suffer the consequences.”

She steps toward him, her jaw clenched with fury. “Out of his general vicinity? What am I, some kind of leper?”

Leper? her inner voice chimes in. Really? You’re going full medieval now?

“Of course not, Lady Sarah,” Grimbel says quickly, his voice slipping into the careful tone he usually reserves for the King’s more theatrical moods. “You’re our most valued guest here at the Goblin Castle. Not, erm… a leper.”

“Forget whatever orders Jareth gave you, Grimbel. You’re taking me to him, or I’ll make a scene so loud half the Underground will hear it. And I will follow through.”

The goblin clears his throat. “Yes, well... I was there the last time you caused a scene. Rocks fell all over Goblin City. The bell tower still rattles when the wind hits it.”

Sarah doesn’t blink.

Grimbel exhales through his nose. The damn mortal was more stubborn than a mule. “Fine. Give me an hour. I’ll see if he’ll agree to an audience…but I make no promises.”

“Good,” Sarah says, turning on her heel and heading back into her room without looking at him. “Oh, and Grimbel?”

“Yes, Lady Sarah?”

“If I’m not standing in front of him in exactly one hour, I’m setting the ballroom curtains on fire.”

Grimbel winces. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

How this mortal manages to sound exactly like his temperamental King is beyond him. Truly, the resemblance is uncanny, and deeply concerning.

–

(Exactly one hour later, The Hall of Arms)....

Well… you asked for this , Sarah reminds herself, arms crossed as she stands outside towering  double doors that lead to the Hall of Arms. Grimbel had walked her through a maze of dim corridors and down several steep staircases, uncomfortably reminiscent of the dungeon she’d woken up in, before stopping in front of what he’d called The Hall of Arms. Then, without a word, he’d vanished. 

Taking in a shaky breath, she steps inside.

The air is heavy, sharp with the scent of iron and old smoke. Thin rays of light filter in through narrow, slitted windows, catching on dust and cold steel. It is also very, very quiet–something the rest of the castle is most certainly not. Every sound, her steps, her breath, feels unbearably loud.

Weapons line the walls. Blades, spears, axes… and other things. Instruments she can’t name, twisted and strange, the kind of tools that make her stomach tighten. Some look like they were made for war. Others look like they were made for torture. 

For all her bravado, Sarah realizes that this isn’t her world. And Jareth clearly belongs to it.

The Goblin King stands hunched over an enormous table that doubles as a map. He wears a plain white shirt, open halfway down his chest, and black leather breeches tucked into worn boots. His hair is untamed, and his face is all sharp lines and cold, lethally focused.

Figurines of horses and castles are shoved to the edges, forgotten pieces in a game long abandoned. In their place, books of every shape and thickness sprawl across the surface of the table, some open, others stacked or half-sliding off parchment rolls. Candles crowd between them wherever space allows, wax bleeding onto pages.

“I’ve no idea how you managed to convince Grimbel to risk my wrath,” Jareth says without looking up. “But I must say, I’m impressed. He’s not exactly known for his courage, or for thinking on his feet, or thinking at all . Still, you poked something resembling a spine out of him. That’s a rare accomplishment.”

Sarah stops just inside the doorway, her arms still crossed though her grip tightens slightly. A cold ripple moves up her spine. His voice is familiar, smooth and weary as ever, but here in this room, it sounds different. Like the words are sharper, and his stance, less human. 

Jareth lifts his head slowly, his heavy gaze trailing upward until it meets hers. His voice, deep and resonant, cuts through the stillness like a drawn blade. “Tell me, Sarah, how are you finding my hospitality? I understand you’ve declined every invitation to our nightly gatherings. Not the most sociable behavior from a guest.”

Keep calm. Don’t bite.

“They’re not my kind of parties, Jareth. It’s been three weeks.”

He raises a pale brow. “So it has. Did you seek me out to state the obvious?”

“Of course not. You haven’t. You just—” she steps forward, fists tight at her sides, clearly frustrated. “You just left me surrounded by drunk, debauched, degenerate fae, all wasted out of their minds. And then you vanished.”

Jareth watches her, expression unreadable, the faintest curl of a smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips. “The Goblin Court has never been praised for its restraint,” he replies, voice cool and edged with dark humor. “But ‘drunk, debauched degenerates’ feels a tad dramatic, even for you. They’re idle nobles, Sarah, it’s part of the job description.”

He turns back to the books strewn across the table, flipping one open with deliberate disinterest. “If the parties offend your delicate sensibilities, you’re welcome to find a more productive use of your time. You have free run of the castle. Wile away your days however you like. I have a realm crumbling beneath my feet and a curse no one seems clever enough to undo, so forgive me if I don’t have time to play host.”

Eyes flashing, Sarah takes a step toward him. “I was kidnapped, Jareth. I’m not here on an extended vacation.”

Letting out a long sigh, he waves off her concern. “I’m fairly certain the tribunal would insist you were summoned, and not kidnapped . Subtle difference, but important all the same.” His voice flattens. “Regardless, you’re here with me and not with them. And most certainly not in chains. Do whatever it is mortals do with their free time.”

Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep—the fuck—calm.

“I have a life, and more importantly, I have a job. I can’t just disappear off the face of the earth. I haven’t been given any explanation what-so-ever. And I haven’t seen you for three fucking weeks. ”

“Now this part, I believe I’ve already explained” Jareth says, his voice colder now, clipped at the edges. “There’s a curse tearing this realm apart, and I’m attempting to stop it. Apologies if I haven’t had the time to give you an orientation of your new residence.”

Sarah stares at him, rage crackling just beneath her exhaustion. He’s still as smug as ever, still infuriating, still impossible to reason with—and to make matters worse, he is the only thing she’s familiar with in this world. She’s well aware that they have to arrive at some semblance of truce if she wants to return to her life.

“Save the infuriating act for someone else, Jareth. I’m not going anywhere.” No matter how hard she tries, she can’t keep the anger out of her voice. “I’d like to know more about the curse to start with.” 

The air shifts. Candles flicker.

Jareth looks up, the movement sudden and sharp. His eyes lock on hers, focused and cold, every line of his body drawn tight like a predator ready to pounce. He smiles at her reaction. Silly Sarah, you’re no match for me.

She stops herself from stepping back, though every instinct screams at her to run. The hairs on the back of her neck rise like a warning, and blood roars in her ears. Adrenaline floods her veins, preparing her body for flight. 

“Sarah, darling,” Jareth drawls, his voice smooth as velvet, uncannily calm. “I don’t think you’ve quite grasped the seriousness of the circumstances in which you find yourself.” He straightens slowly, rolling his shoulders back with a fluid ease that belies the tension simmering beneath it. “The tribunal has placed you under my... shall we call it personal care ?”

She doesn’t flinch. “Yes. To break the curse.”

His lips curve, slow and razor-edged. “We’re no longer in that neat little corner of your modern mortal world, Sarah. Here, I have the authority to command you to do whatever I deem necessary—so long as I can argue it helps lift the curse.”

He steps forward. She instinctively steps back. His smile widens, displaying a hint of sharp teeth.

“And between you and me,” Jareth murmurs, his voice dropping lower still, “as long as I persuade them I’m making progress, the tribunal couldn’t care less what happens to you. Perhaps you should consider your good fortune that I am granting you an extended vacation, as you put it, instead of the alternative.”

They move together, one step at a time. A silent, circling game. One advancing, one retreating.

“You want me to grovel at your feet and thank you for treating me like I don’t exist?” Sarah asks, her voice fraying at the edges. Despite herself, a ripple of fear runs through her.

Jareth laughs, the sound low and cruel, with a bitter edge. “That would certainly be a start.” He lowers a gloved hand, fingers cool against her chin as he tilts her face up to meet his eyes—cold, steady, and utterly unmoved.

She meets his gaze, lifting her chin up. “I’m thirty years old, Goblin King. You don’t intimidate me.” Not exactly the truth—but not quite a lie either.

“Don’t I?” Jareth murmurs. “I don’t think you’re being entirely honest with me, Sarah. Take a look around.” He turns his head slightly, not taking his eyes off her for long, gesturing subtly toward a set of iron manacles bolted into the stone wall. “Do you even know where you are?”

Her stomach turns. Are those handcuffs on the fucking wall?

“Hall of Arms,” she replies quickly, repeating what Grimbel had told her.

Jareth smiles indulgently. “And do you know what exactly that is?” 

It’s the patronizing tone that does it—the deliberate superiority. Her temper flares again, overriding the chill still crawling along her spine. 

“Not exactly , Jareth, but I’m not illiterate,” she bites out. “I can figure out that the Hall of Arms is some kind of war room or strategy chamber. As for the wall mounted handcuffs and the assorted collection of torture devices—yeah, that part’s a mystery.”

“Time becomes something of a luxury during war,” Jareth says, eyes never leaving her face. “This space allows for strategy and effective persuasion , all in one place. Why waste time drafting battle plans in one room and breaking someone's will in another?” He glances at the manacles again, almost idly. “It’s a multifunctional design.”

“I have no idea how to respond to that, Jareth.” This time, she is entirely truthful.

He laughs languidly, but his eyes are cold. “Of course you don’t.” His gaze lingers on her for a beat too long. “Go back to your room, Sarah. You’re trapped in a world that doesn’t care whether you cope or not. My advice? Try to enjoy yourself. Drink the wine. Dance with something that might bite. Or play with a whole new set of toys you’ve never played with before. If I manage to undo the curse, you’ll wake up back in your safe little bed and chalk this up to some beautifully twisted hallucination.”

Go back to your room, Sarah. Sarah exhales, slow and steady, forcing her body to stay still. She rolls her shoulders back and lifts her chin. “No.” She resists the childish urge to add, and you can’t make me.

“I found your tactless bravery mildly amusing the last time around. This time…” His eyes sweep over her, unfalteringly slow, enough to raise the heat in her cheeks. “This time, I won’t hold myself back from retaliating . Proceed with caution.”

Sarah doesn’t flinch, though her fists clench at her sides to keep her hands from shaking. “That’s a really vague  threat, Jareth,” she replies, thankful that her voice is steady. “But I don’t believe you. If you wanted to hurt me, you would have already.”

Jareth’s expression doesn’t change, but something in the room does. The air tightens. His gaze turns glacial. “You’re not proceeding very cautiously.”

Sarah presses on, ignoring the warning in his voice. “I don’t know why you’re so intent on avoiding me. Maybe it’s that oversized ego I bruised when I was fifteen, or it’s something else. Either way, I don’t care. If your tribunal thinks I can help, then that’s what I’m going to do, because I need to go home.” She meets his gaze head-on. “I’m not going to drown my sorrows in Goblin wine or fuck my way through your parties, which, by the way,  you seem to avoid as well.” 

There is pin-drop silence for several long moments. And then—

His movements are too fast for her eyes to follow. In a heartbeat, he’s in front of her, forcing her back until she stumbles into the cold stone wall. One arm braces beside her head, caging her in. For a fleeting instant, something raw and unguarded flashes in his eyes but it vanishes just as quickly.

Sarah’s breath hitches. Her pulse hammers against her ribs, hard enough to hurt. She locks her gaze on his, refusing to look away, though the air between them feels heavy enough to ignite. Each breath comes too shallow, too fast, betraying her resolve.

And then—just as abruptly—he steps back. The distance between them snaps into place, as if nothing at all had happened.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jareth says, his tone cool, the mask sliding back into place without a flaw. “If that’s all, I’d like to return to my duties.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. “I’m not going to be dismissed that easily, Jareth. I’m not one of your underlings. Let me help. It’s my life on the line too, not just your precious realm.”

His lips curl in something that’s not quite a smile. “You do have a talent for overestimating yourself, precious thing,” he says, voice jaded and mocking in equal measure. “Tell me, what could you possibly know about curses?”

“I’m one of the youngest Senior Associates at my firm because I work really fucking hard and I don’t quit,” Sarah says, her voice steady. She gestures toward the table piled high with books and scrolls. “I can help you go through this. I may not know anything about magic, curses, or whatever other strange faerie nonsense you deal with, but maybe having someone with a completely different perspective will help.”

Her gaze sharpens. “You could even try stepping out of your lone-martyr curse-breaker routine and work with a team for once.”

Jareth exhales slowly, the sound halfway between resignation and reluctant amusement. His shoulders loosen just a fraction, though the look he gives her is equal parts weary and assessing. “You’re annoyingly persistent.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He sighs again, longer this time, as if the very act of humoring her costs him. “Very well… I will consider your offer.”

“Great. First step, we move the hell out of this depressing torture hall. Don’t you have a library somewhere in this castle?”

Jareth lifts a brow. “The Hall of Arms has a large table. The libraries do not.”

Libraries. As in plural. Perfect.

“I’m guessing there are several smaller tables we could use? There’s no law carved in stone that says breaking curses requires a table big enough to seat an army, is there?”

An amused laugh escapes him, low and edged. “No, there isn’t. But this part of the castle is quiet, and it guarantees minimal interference.”

“I’m not going to push it,” Sarah concedes, keeping her tone even, knowing too many demands too soon won’t work in her favor. “But you might consider working out of one of your libraries. I haven’t seen you anywhere in the castle for the past three weeks, so I’m guessing you’ve been holed up here trying to single-handedly break the curse.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “That hasn’t been going so well for you, has it?”

She lifts a hand before he can speak. “That’s a rhetorical question, Jareth. It hasn’t worked. Maybe a change of scenery wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

The Goblin King studies her for a few moments, expression unreadable. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought flickers— what in the seven hells did I just agree to?

“I shall consider your suggestions,” he says at last, voice cool, “but I will also ask you to leave. My patience is not infinite.”

“Would never have guessed,” Sarah replies with a victorious grin. “As a gesture of goodwill, I’ll attend the dinner festivities tonight and try to be a more sociable guest . I might even try to have fun.” And learn more about you, she leaves unsaid.

A slow, fleeting smile curves his lips, gone almost before it fully forms. “How magnanimous of you. We shall, of course, do our best to respect your… puritanical sensibilities. No one will force you to drink Goblin wine or partake in the scandalous excesses you seem to find so very offensive.” He leans back slightly, his gaze narrowing in mock consideration. “Though, given your gift for creating trouble without even trying, I can’t promise you won’t end up as the evening’s main entertainment.”

This time, she refuses to bite. “I work in real estate litigation, Jareth. I’ve been threatened in more creative ways than I can count by every kind of sleazebag you can imagine. My sensibilities aren’t nearly as puritanical as you seem to think.”

With that, Sarah Williams turns sharply on her heel and leaves, his gaze following her like a weight pressed between her shoulder blades.

–

"I've been threatened in more creative ways than I can count, by every kind of sleazebag you can imagine. My sensibilities aren’t nearly as puritanical as you seem to think.”

Jareth watches the mortal leave, something sharp and unwelcome twisting in his chest. It takes him longer than he cares to admit to name it—anger. Not the cold, measured kind he knows so well, but a deep, simmering fury at the thought of her being threatened so easily, and so often.

The steady voice of his Captain cuts through his thoughts. “Perhaps the mortal could be of some use, Sire.”

A short, dry laugh escapes him. “Were you standing there for the entire exchange, Ulna?”

“The mortal woman has turned our realm on its head. Forgive me, Sire, I was curious.” Ulna steps out of the darkness, the shadows seeming to cling to her as she moves.

Jareth’s gaze flicks to her. “As aggravating as she is, you know very well the curse isn’t her fault.”

“Nor is it yours, Sire.”

“Then I suppose no one is to blame for the unraveling of the Underground,” Jareth says, his voice low with mockery. “Somehow, I doubt the tribunal would share that view. Come now, Ulna—you’re not that naive.”

“The blame does not rest with you entirely , Sire.”

“I’ll concede that much.”

Ulna moves with a measured blend of grace and stealth, the shadows seeming to weave themselves around her. “Does she know about her mother?”

The Goblin King exhales, a flicker of fatigue in his eyes. “I don’t believe she does. But enough of the endlessly fascinating subject of Sarah Williams. Vaelrik and his merry band of imbeciles will be gracing us with their presence tonight.” 

“Then I shall keep to the shadows.”

“I know he’s a dim-witted, loathsome brute, Ulna, but try not to kill him. It would turn our precarious predicament into something truly unmanageable.”

–

AN : yeah, Sarah works in real estate litigation in New York and New Jersey - not the cleanest business. She’s got an interesting skill set that J may find handy. In more ways than one. She’s also 30 - not easily intimidated, but not extremely experienced either. She’s 30, flirty, and thriving. (I love 13 going on 30).

I’m off on a short vacation again – this time with my H’s friends. My H is all ‘omg, I can’t believe we travel internationally with a nanny, what is the world coming to?’ While his friends are the type to have not one, but two nannies per kid. I’m all - if you want to do a nanny-less vacation, do it with people who are also nanny-less. Not people who’ll day drink and night drink, have 3 hour lunches, and 7 course dinners, and not worry about baths, meals, entertainment etc.

Hope everyone’s having a nice summer, in spite of all the craziness going on in the world.

Notes:

So, my nanny’s back, we went on vacation, came back, school started–and so did a million other classes. The world is whirling headfirst into chaos. And I have never been so politically apathetic in my life. My brain is literally like ‘don’t read the news. Look at the Gucci website instead. Oooh bags.”

Turning incredibly vapid during troubled times is an idiotic strategy, but that’s where I’m headed, it seems. How’s everyone else faring?