** Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth, Sarah, Jareth, or other recognizable characters or prior events. This story is of my making but I am making it within the world of Jim Henson's design. Please don't sue me. Thanks! **

"Come on, Sarah! We've been here for weeks now and you haven't come out with us once!" Katrice, a pleasantly plain girl with a bright smile, nearly whined at her roommate. "It's Beltane, and you flat out refused to go out with Tagh and I to the Imbolc festivities."

"I am busy, Katrice." The girl Sarah replied to her friend as she poured over the books in front of her. Many of them were old and faded or fading. "I have to study."

"Study for what? You could have written your thesis on Celtic myths, traditions, and bloodlines without even coming here. And now that you are here you're refusing to even enjoy it!" Katrice pouted.

"Oh, like you are you mean?" A smooth and seductive voice whispered in the young girl's ear, which caused her to jump and screech. "So sensitive, my little Kat."

"Murtagh you jerk!" Katrice turned and gently smacked the man who had snuck up on her. "How did you even get in here without me hearing you?"

The man's eyebrows shot up in amusement. The girl in front of him was astonishingly amazing, with her soft curves and even softer eyes. Her red-brown hair was pulled up with pins and curls but it did nothing other than to make her look more innocent than he already knew she was.

"Sorry, milady. I will endeavor not to cause you such distress." Murtagh replied with a smile as he brought the girl's hand to his lips and gave it a single, soft, kiss.

"Can you two not be so mushy in front of me?" Sarah cut in. Her voice barely masked her bitterness. But why am I bitter? "I really am trying to study."

Murtagh looked over his love's shoulder and set his eyes on the ever elusive Sarah for the first time. He nearly dropped his jaw to the floor when we looked upon her face. The champion! His face lit up with a rakish grin. This is too good.

"Now Sarah, judging from the paleness of your beautiful," That word earned him a light smack from Katrice. "skin I can tell you haven't set foot one outside this apartment for some time. Am I right?"

Sarah sighed and thought about it. When exactly was the last time she had left this apartment? She hadn't needed the library recently, and she had interviewed that nice old man around a week and a half ago. Katrice had done the shopping… When had she left last?

Sarah knew full well the answer. She hadn't left the apartment since her interview with O'Connor. The gentle old man had given her much information on local lore and folk tales. He had spoken of many things that had enraptured Sarah and she had nearly two whole notebooks of information from her short time with him.

"About two weeks." Came the short reply.

"That's it! Katrice, please my love, go pack a bag for Sarah." Katrice nodded and gave Murtagh a kiss before she walked past him to fulfill his request. "Sarah, I must insist you come with us. Is your thesis not on my heritage?" Sarah nodded to him. "Well, how can you possibly expect to write about it correctly and give it the justice it deserves unless you experience it?"

Sarah contemplated this idea for a moment as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Murtagh watched her and waited, he really didn't want to have to expend energy to plant the suggestion further into the girl's mind so he dreadfully hoped she would see some sort of mortal reason in his words. He wasn't entirely sure as what he knew of this woman she was a firebrand.

"I suppose you're right. But I cannot be gone too long, I have more interviews next week and a few trips to a few sacred places." Murtagh's smile grew and he nodded. "I am sure a day out of the house will do me some good. And you are right, how can I claim to have studied the culture if I continuously ignore invitations to experience it?"

"Quite right, Sarah." Murtahg laughed. And experience it you shall, Champion. Experience it you shall.

Far away, in another world, a blond man looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was as wild as it had always been. His skin was still perfect, his ever changing royal marks a dark midnight blue and silver to match the jacket he wore over a bright shirt. His trousers were tight, black, and helped him appear taller than he actually was. The boots that came to his knees helped as well, with the little bit of heel they had.

Not that Jareth, King of the Goblins, needed to appear taller. He would already tower over the mortals, should he deign to visit them on their Beltane celebrations.

Brother? A voice resounded in his head and without. The fact that this voice was soft and had no body to accompany it let Jareth know his brother was speaking to him from the Mortal realms.

"Yes, Murtagh?" Jareth replied calmly as he turned to survey his chambers. He still had to finish his offering to the mortals before the celebrations began. What was a day in the mortal world would feel like moments to him, as it always had to any immortal.

Especially since she left him.

Are you going to be watching the hills tomorrow? Murtagh's voice was mischievous. Jareth instantly knew his brother was hiding something, yet he could not seek it from here.

"I always do, brother."

Good. The mortals seem to be especially interesting this year, brother mine. And I would hate for you to miss what could be a rather changing Beltane festival. And with that last thought Jareth felt the tinge of his brother's magic fade away. Murtagh rarely actually came to the Kingdom to speak with him, so he was quite used to the feeling of his brother's magic.

"Interesting Beltane? Those poor mortals." Jareth's smile was wicked as he turned to the form that stood in the middle of the room. It had the shape of a woman, although no arms or legs. Beside it lay an array of cloth from silks to wools to cottons. He refused, like many Fae, to stoop to using the fake chemically made cloth from Above. He would stick, as always, to the natural cloth for his gift.

The Goblin King began to juggle crystals that he pulled from the air. The cloth rose from the table and began to drape itself on the form. Jareth closed his eyes and thought deeply, his inspiration being a very particular mortal female.

"Let us begin."