Dawn came sluggishly, dragging the last hints of night's deep blue and black gown from the sky. Jareth reluctantly opened his eyes as a shaft of brazen morning sunlight slipped through the heavy velvet drapes and slanted over his face, casting his pallid skin into a flaming golden sheen. Wincing he shielded his eyes with a hand and lay back against the pillows.

"The morning comes far to early."

As soon as the fog of sleep had lessened its hold on his mind Jareth remembered. Lucas. His pleasant mood evaporated like a mist and he sat up, lowering his hand.

And what now? He had banished all thoughts of his father from his mind before sleeping and had very nearly forgotten the entire bizarre ordeal until now. Now, the occurance hit him full force like a ton of bricks shattering his peace of mind into oblivion. What could be done? His shoulders sagged with the burden of newly resurfaced guilt that, like a cancer, had silently built up while he expected it to lie dormant. Now remorse reared its ugly head again. I didn't really kill him... it wasn't my fault. His own voice echoed in his head, sounding weak and uncertain despite the definative statements. His eyes closed as a momentary flash invaded his head. The forest, the sword practice. God how he hated swordplay! Then the bushes alive with noise. Then it was over as quickly as it had come, but nevertheless leaving a bad taste in Jareth's mouth. With a long suffering sigh, he slid from the warmth of the covers and off the huge canopy bed shivering at the iciness of the stone floor. The king glanced distractedly in a mirror a moment, long enough to comb his slender claws through the sleep tousled locks surrounding his face. He dressed quickly, not brooding over his garb in his usual habit. Slipping into a large padded chair before the dresser's mirror and the desk he mulled things over again while combing out his thistly mane of blonde.

I must have some sort of plan, I cannot simply let this go on... but Jareth hadn't the foggiest notion of what he should do, or even what he wished to do. Better to let the initial shock fade first. But the Goblin King had one point clearly mapped. He would not cower before his father as he once had. Jareth was king now, and nothing, but nothing would change that save for his own death. And that even was a prospect that seemed to him, more appealing that facing his father again.