Passing Notes

It began with a piece of paper slipped under her door.

Innocuously white and folded once in half, the paper held a significance nine year-old Sarah Williams didn't immediately understand. She thought it was a prank—Probably that stupid Ben Kirkson—and nearly threw it away.

Except…

"Dear Sarah, My name is Jareth. I'm eleven years old and live in the Underground. I saw you in a crystal and wanted to write to you. I enjoy singing and dancing. I also like to read and ride horses. What do you enjoy doing? Do you have any pets? The goblins keep chickens and we race them. My chicken is named Baeg. He is the smallest but he wins all the time. I hope you and I can be friends. Sincerely, Jareth."

The mystery of it, where it came from, how it appeared, and its contents, made the letter curiously precious. For several nights, after everyone else fell asleep, Sarah read the letter under the covers by flashlight, attempting to discern its riddles. Each night, she sighed with disappointment, unable to figure out where the Underground was, or how anyone could be seen in a crystal. She tucked the letter into the ripped seam of Lancelot, her teddy bear and keeper of all her confidences since her arrival at St. Mary's orphanage.

The second letter came exactly a week later, the third a week after that. After eight letters, Sarah started to fear she would need a new hiding place, but strangely they continued to fit in the back of Lancelot as easily as the first. She became adept at listening for the sound of paper sliding against wood whenever she was alone in her room, and excitement raced through her with each new insight into the life of the peculiar boy Jareth.

When a new letter failed to arrive two weeks in a row, a cynical part of her sneered that she should have known it was a trick. Ben Kirkson was probably having a great laugh at her expense, and he would rub in how he got her good every day. She was pulling the pieces of paper from Lancelot to throw them in the trash—

—and she heard it.

Jumping out of bed, Sarah scampered across the room, snatched the letter up and eagerly opened it.

"Dear Sarah, I was told I'm not to write you ever again. Talking with people on the other side of the Veil is not allowed. My tutor is a cross old witch who whipped me when she found out. But you're the only person my age I have to talk to. And I don't like my teacher much, so I'm writing you when no one is around now. The goblins are very good at being sneaky and think this is a grand new game we're playing…"

The letters suddenly took on an entirely new dimension; a secret shared.

"Merry Midwinter, Sarah. It snowed here last night like the goblins said it would. For all their lack of sense, they are very good at knowing what the weather will be like. I would suspect them of magic, but I learned first hand today they don't have the coordination for spells. Luckily, the only damage done was a rather shocking bald spot on the head of one of the chickens. Don't worry, it wasn't Baeg. He's smart enough to clear out when the goblins start experimenting.

I drew you some pictures as midwinter gifts. I hope you like them. Your Friend, Jareth."

After carefully putting away the letter along with the drawings of goblins and Baeg the chicken, Sarah found a fresh piece of paper, her favorite Lisa Frank pencil, and composed her reply. She perched in front of the window all the next morning, waiting for the mail to arrive. When she was called for lunch, she hurriedly ate, then resumed her place—only to see the mail lady walking away from the porch. Jamming her arms into her coat and hastily stomping into her boots, Sarah ran outside.

"Wait! Please, can you wait! I have a letter!"

The woman in blue and gray turned with a smile. "A Christmas letter? I would be happy to deliver it for you, sweetheart."

Crunching down the snow-dusted sidewalk, Sarah handed over the envelope with relief, which quickly faded when the woman's smile faltered. Sarah had seen that expression enough to know what it meant; an adult had Bad News and regretted having to tell a little girl.

"Honey, there's no address."

Sarah didn't understand. There was an address, clearly written just as she'd been taught; Jareth, The Castle Beyond the Goblin City, Underground.

"Get the address, dear, and I'll pick it up tomorrow, okay?"

Frowning, Sarah tucked the letter into her pocket and trudged back inside. If that wasn't Jareth's address, then how could she write him back? She didn't even know how his came to her; not in the normal fashion, she was sure. She read through each one again, looking for a clue but finding none.

Despite not being able to send her replies, Sarah wrote Jareth a letter for every one of his. She told him about Ben Kirkson—"He's such a bully!"—and about her fears of never being adopted. She told him about her favorite teachers, and the arrival of the new girl, who everyone picked on because she was so little and quiet—"…and I told Ben if he ever pushed Elsa again, I'd punch him right in the nose. And I can, too, because I'm taller than him now." She placed her letters in a folder hidden under her mattress since they didn't retain the same magical ability of not taking up space.

As the years passed, Jareth's letters told her the story of his life. Sometimes short, sometimes long, the wobbly cursive evolved into a graceful script narrating his fears and desires, his triumphs and failures, all of which changed and grew with him. When Sarah left the orphanage to go to boarding school, the letters followed. They slid into her dorm room at college, then found their way into her first, second, and third apartment after graduation. Eventually, she settled in a little house in a quiet neighborhood, and the first thing she did, before unpacking or buying groceries, was break the gold wax seal on Jareth's latest missive.

"Dearest Sarah, I find myself wondering what it would be like to have a companion. There's much here to amuse me, but little in the way of real friendship. I suppose this is why I continued to pen these letters. I like to believe you have become a good friend over the years.

Old Baeg passed today, but he's left his legacy in a son, who is just as fleet of foot. I've named him Lonan. The peach trees are sagging under the weight of their bounty, and I've eaten so much peach cobbler, pie, and jam, I'm sick of the fruit. The goblins are concocting new dishes to put them in, which is as intriguing as it is terrifying. A strange sickness is starting to overcome them, which results in them molting like the chickens if they so much as think about a peach. I hope the change in season finds you well. Your Friend, Jareth. P.S. The goblins send their gratitude on your choice of a permanent place of residence."

Sarah toted her bags in from the farmer's market and put everything away. The solitary peach she bought remained on the counter until it went bad and she threw it away. She wasn't particularly fond of peaches, either.

"My Dearest Sarah, I'm looking forward to spring already. The cold days and long nights take their toll on my patience since the goblins are indoors more often. Normally, I can tolerate their antics, but my temper is shorter this year. I find myself restless for new faces and interactions. Would it be too forward of me to say there's very little I would want more than to spend my midwinter with you?

How shall you celebrate the upcoming holiday? I hope it involves much warmth and laughter with loved ones. Our Darkest Night gala will be held next week, which I dread. I love the parties still, but always feel very isolated even with the merriment surrounding me. Rest assured that, despite my pensive disposition, I'll enjoy sharing all the sordid details of the gala with you in my next missive.

If you could have one wish this season, what would it be? Perhaps, if you say it out loud, I'll be able to grant it for you. Yours Always, Jareth."

Sarah smiled fondly. "Still think you can make wishes come true?"

She could hardly fault him for the romantic notion, though. After twenty years and over a thousand letters, Sarah was caught up in the idea Jareth really was the king of a realm full of goblins, fairies, and masked balls. That he continued to include the fanciful questions and stories only served to remind her of how rich his imagination remained after all this time.

Sarah pondered her one wish as she poured another cup of coffee. When she was little, it would have been to have a mother and father. Now…she wasn't sure. She may have grown up without a family, but she'd grown up. Perhaps she was more inclined to daydream, to favor the company of fantasies over friends, but she'd turned those castles in the air into books brimming with secret pen pals, adventures to lands unknown, and a friendship so strong even time and distance couldn't break it. A vivid imagination, her agent said; Just doing my part to keep the Nothing at bay, Sarah would joke.

Pushing aside the curtain over the dining room window, Sarah watched the snow drift to the ground. Beyond her front yard, the lights outlining her neighbor's houses were merry pinpoints of color in the darkness. Next week, those houses would fill up with savory scents and the sounds of holiday cheer.

"A real Christmas. That's what I wish for, Jareth. Tinsel on trees, the smell of gingerbread, and someone to give presents to."

Her words clouded over the window. With a droll smile and a shake of her head, Sarah let the curtain fall back into place. She cleaned up the kitchen, folded Jareth's letter and slid it into place with the others, still safe in the back of Lancelot, then went to bed.

As she slumbered, her wish sank through glass, crystallized in the icy air where it shattered, then was swept away by an errant wind.

The following week, Sarah began her Christmas Eve no different than any other day; she shuffled from bed and started a pot of coffee. As it percolated, she checked the tile by the front door, and was only slightly disappointed there wasn't a letter waiting for her. Sometimes, they didn't come until the evening. She made her way into the study with a steaming mug of liquid caffeine and pulled her hair up in a messy knot as she sat in front of her computer. She was in the middle of a new book, this one about a girl making foolish wishes and learning the power of words. She worked through the afternoon, then stopped for a quick lunch.

She still hadn't received anything from Jareth. Shaking away the gloomy feeling, Sarah got dressed, bundled up, and grabbed her purse. She needed more coffee…and maybe she'd pick up a few decorations. She didn't normally celebrate the holidays, but this year felt different somehow.

No one was out in town, and the grocery store employees impatiently waited for her to make her selections so they could close. When she arrived back home and slid out of her coat and boots, she checked for a letter again. Melancholy sank heavily into her heart. Surely he wouldn't forget. In all these years, he'd never forgotten. His Christmas letters were her favorite. He always included drawings with them; drawings which had improved as much as his handwriting. Beautiful in a way she could barely describe, the drawings were kept in a special red leather portfolio custom stamped with the same horn-shaped seal used on his letters.

A despondent sigh slipped out. Sarah tugged at her scarf, walked toward the kitchen—

—came to a startled halt. Her scarf puddled at her rooted feet, and the grocery bag thumped to the floor as her fingers went numb with shock.

"What…?"

What were all these trees doing in her living room? Not large ones, but tiny trees only a foot tall. Sarah took a wary step forward, then stopped. She dug her phone out of her pocket, intending to call the cops.

And tell them…what? Someone broke in and decorated?

Still, she kept a tight grip on her phone as she moved to inspect the trees. The one on the end table sparkled with white and gold ornaments in the shapes of musical instruments. On top of a short bookcase, blue and purple bells twinkled among miniature branches. Glowing ribbons of red and silver adorned the tree on the fireplace mantel, and small birds sat in the tree on the window sill. Dove gray and striped like candy canes, the birds nestled in the limbs as though sleeping. They looked so realistic, Sarah couldn't help reaching out to brush a finger over one.

A stir of feathers and a faint coo reeled her backward. The bird was…alive. It opened soft brown eyes, rustled its wings again, then settled back into slumber.

"They're Yule birds. I thought you'd like them, but they might be a bit much."

Even though they'd never met or spoken, his voice had looped over the pages of his letters for so long Sarah knew exactly how it would sound; crushed velvet tones smoothing through the dark silk of an accent she could never quite place.

"Jareth?"

He emerged from between the shadows cast by the glowing trees, and Sarah's heart faltered. She might know his voice, but never could she have imagined he would look like this. Tall and thin, he wore dark pants tucked into knee-high boots. His loose black shirt was a startling contrast to the wild shock of his pale hair. His lips stretched into a small smile, but when Sarah continued to stare at him, the expression fell.

"I'm not what you expected, I know."

Not even close.

She couldn't say that to him, though. Despite manifesting without warning in her living room, he was her friend.

Well, that might be a stretch.

"You…where…how did you…?" Too astounded by his presence and appearance, Sarah's mouth and brain couldn't come to an agreement on anything. So, she went with what she knew and whispered, "Jareth?" again.

He graciously ignored her stuttering and gestured to the decorations. "It's not exactly what you wished for. I'm afraid the tinsel…well, the goblins can't resist shiny things, you know. It all got rather out of hand. They thought it was edible and…" He glanced at Sarah before looking away and clearing his throat. "Actually, you're probably best off without the mental image. Anyway, I was told gingerbread is best warm, so I waited for your return."

The scent swirling from the kitchen reminded Sarah of icing on freshly baked cookies, frothy cappuccinos sprinkled with nutmeg, and cinnamon sticks soaking in hot cider. She wanted to investigate, but couldn't tear her eyes away from Jareth. Was he really standing in her living room, this man she knew better than anyone? It seemed impossible. She'd wondered what it would be like to meet him, of course. Would it be awkward the first time? Or would they laugh and chat like old friends? Would he tell her more about his chickens and goblins?

A hysterical laugh threatened, and Sarah quickly swallowed it down. It was all well and good to hold onto the childhood fantasy Jareth was really real. After growing up, though, logic coolly insisted he must be a teacher and goblin was simply a euphemism for unruly children. Clearly, logic had it all wrong, and to have it proven was too much for her to process.

"Perhaps I should have reconsidered this."

The uncertainty in his voice temporarily snapped Sarah out of her daze. "No, I'm sorry, I'm just…I need to sit."

She crossed the living room and dropped onto the sofa, watching as Jareth perched on the coffee table in front of her. He allowed the silence to fill the space between them, contemplating the magazines laying beside him while Sarah tried to pick a question to ask first. What was he doing here? Had he done all of this? How had he done all of this?

Magic, of course, you silly girl. The thought short-circuited her brain all over again.

"Midwinter might very well become my favorite time of year," Jareth finally said, letting the pages of Writer's Digest flutter closed. "The season seems to hold its own brand of magic, don't you think?" His gaze landed on Sarah when she failed to respond, and he shifted, as though to stand. "I should go."

Alarm shot through the cloud of shock. He'd arrived only to leave? Sarah reached for him, not sure if she was relieved or not he was solid. He cast a startled glance at her hand on his knee, but wrapped long fingers around hers to keep them in place.

"Please stay. I'm…I don't understand what's happening. I thought you were…I mean, I didn't think you were…You are though, aren't you? A king and everything?" She blew out a breath when he nodded. "I thought you were making it all up."

"You're my best friend, Sarah. I would never lie to you."

"But…real goblins? And this…" She waved a hand at the trees. "How did you know? I never told anyone."

Jareth's smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Real goblins. And heartfelt wishes are powerful things. Yours are more so, like the energy of an exploding star contained in a whisper. They're impossible not to hear." He smoothed the static from Sarah's hair after pulling off her wool hat, forgotten in her astonishment. "My apologies. In my excitement, I failed to consider how this might be overwhelming."

Sarah stared at him, her mind still frantically working to get a grip. The edges of his smile softened, and he squeezed her hand gently.

"There's gingerbread?" she finally whispered.

With a low chuckle, Jareth pulled her up with him and led the way into the kitchen. She half expected to see little elves hard at work on the counter tops, but there was only a plate full of brown rectangles.

"These are for your house. I'm told it's a traditional decoration here," Jareth said, not releasing his hold on Sarah as he picked up a piece of gingerbread. When he looked at her, a golden light entered his eyes. "You're pleased."

Sarah nodded, giving him a watery smile, unable to answer otherwise. He was right; this was overwhelming, and having recovered from her shock, she wasn't sure if she was going to giggle at the absurdity, or cry because of the thoughtfulness of it all. Tempering the swell of emotion, Sarah found bowls, the powered sugar and milk, and mixed up icing. She handed the spatula to Jareth, letting him construct the house while she dug around in the pantry.

"I've never done anything like this before," Jareth idly commented, frowning as he straightened a wall resting crookedly on the foundation.

"Privilege of being a king?"

"That and being able to conjure anything I want."

Right. She'd forgotten about the whole magic part. "Seems to me that sort of power could make a person fat and lazy."

Jareth glanced down at his lean form, and his charming smile made his strange blue-gray eyes twinkle. "Perhaps I'm not very good at it," he said with a wink.

Laughter and easy conversation filled Sarah's kitchen. When the little cottage was finished, she stepped back and gave it a critical look. Crumbled Heath bar sprinkled the roof, butterscotch morsels made the wreath over the door, and all she had for the window shingles were crackers. But icing hung mid-drip from the roof, and Jareth had even made a little path up to the door. It wasn't very pretty, but being her first gingerbread house, Sarah loved it. She snapped a picture of it with her phone, then turned to Jareth with a smile.

"What's next?"

Two full bowls of popcorn and a mess of thread later, Sarah sat across from Jareth, demonstrating how to make garlands. He attempted to mimic her work, but the fluffy kernels flaked apart between his fingers when he skewered them. He faired no better with the cranberries, which shot from of his grip and bounced around the kitchen before rolling around on the floor. Jareth's growl of annoyance elicited a chuckle from Sarah.

"Outmatched by puffed grain and raw fruit, Goblin King?"

His heated glare briefly landed on Sarah, then with a slightly smug gleam in his eyes, he held the needle up. He slid the fingers of his other hand down the thread, and popcorn sprouted in the wake of his touch.

Sarah gasped. "You can't do it like that!"

"Why not?"

"Because…well, just because."

"Sarah, I want nothing more than to spend as much time with you as I'm able, but this is more galling than picking leaves from the bog with a dull stick."

"It's not that bad." At Jareth's obvious exasperation, Sarah contemplated her garland, only half done, and wrinkled her nose. "It is kind of boring isn't it?" She leaned toward Jareth and whispered, "Will you finish mine?"

They bundled up and took the completed decorations outside, where Jareth waved aside the need for a ladder. As he floated the delicate strands around the trees, Sarah watched with an appropriate amount of awe, refusing to freak out at the easy display of magic.

"You're kind of handy to have around. I have a few ceiling corners I can't reach with the duster." Jareth's eyes narrowed playfully, and she laughed. "I'm teasing. But if I ever get a tree bigger than a foot tall, I know who to call to put the star on top."

The comfortable silence that fell between them was broken occasionally by jovial greetings along the street. Blue shadows stretched from beneath the trees, and the snow glittered in a rainbow of colors across the lawns of brightly lit houses. Sarah wrapped her arms around herself and thought Jareth was right; this season did have its own kind of magic.

"I've never decorated for Christmas," she said, softly.

"Why not?"

"There's never been any reason."

"And what's so different about this year?"

He asked questions, Sarah was starting to realize, not because he didn't know the answers, but because he wanted to hear her say them. "You made my wish come true."

"The trees and the gingerbread were a trifle."

"Not those. You. I wanted someone to share the holiday with, and here you are."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and the smile he wore instantly banished the cold. Before she could examine the warm feeling gathering around her heart, a gleeful shout drew her attention across the street where a group of kids pelted each other with wet snow. Sarah chuckled at the merriment, but Jareth seemed mildly alarmed.

"I thought this holiday of yours was about being nice. Why are those children attacking each other?"

"Haven't you ever been in a snowball fight?"

He shook his head, and Sarah packed the snow at her feet into a ball, then launched it. It smacked into Jareth's chest, exploding into white clumps, which he stared at for a long moment. Sarah shifted uneasily when he looked at her with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

Dozens of snowballs suddenly swirled up and hovered threateningly. A laugh of amazement broke from Sarah, even as she cried, "That's not fair!"

"All's fair, Sarah. But I'll give you a head start."

Tripping through drifts and slipping over slick patches of grass, Sarah shot across the lawn, swinging around the corner of the house and aiming for the back yard. A snowball whizzed by her and smashed into the ground. With a squeal of laughter, Sarah skidded into the wooden gate leading to the back of the house. She struggled with the latch, only to find it frozen as unhurried steps crunched behind her. She turned to face Jareth—

—and her humor evaporated on a cloudy breath.

In the deep blue shadows cast by the moonlight, she truly saw him for who and what he was; the Goblin King, frightfully powerful and otherworldly in a way she couldn't comprehend. Reality caught up with her and brought biting doubt with it. She thought she knew this man, but he wasn't a man at all.

The change in her expression stopped Jareth a few feet from her. The snowballs continued to float around him, icy moons caught by the force of his will.

"Sarah? Are you well?"

"Why are you really here?" she whispered. "Someone like you…Why would you come to grant my wish?"

The snowballs fell from their orbit as Jareth took another step forward. Sarah raised a hand to keep him back, and a doleful sigh came from him.

"When I was ten, I looked into a future crystal and saw what I might become."

A cold wind sprang up. Darkness whirled around Jareth until only the silver glint of his eyes and the streaks of hoarfrost in his hair were visible.

"Can you see him?" Even his voice changed, cool as silk and rife with danger. She thought his otherness was frightening, but this creature before her was the monster found in stories used to scare children into behaving and warn adults about the dangers of night. "A king spawned from the loneliness of a child, a nightmare born from anger. He would terrorize your dreams and haunt your waking hours. They tried very hard to make me into this."

"Who?"

"Those who would use a child-king for their own purposes, who wanted to turn my kingdom into something dark and dangerous."

She remembered those letters from when they were kids, the ones telling her of terrible people appearing in the goblin city to wrest control from its young king. She remembered how angry she felt for him, how she had always silently wished she could be there, standing by his side and facing the bullies with him. His fear had led him to create the Labyrinth, a formidable structure surrounding the city to keep him and his subjects safe.

So the Goblin King didn't fit into her tidy adult world, but Sarah had grown up with the boy Jareth, not the king. While the instinct tucked in the depths of her brain screamed for her to cower, Sarah's heart knew the difference between the illusion looming before her and the person she'd become so familiar with over the years. She stepped forward and reached for him. When her fingers brushed the cloak of darkness, it broke apart and sifted away.

Jareth smiled gently down at her. "The idea of turning into that horrified me. I sought you out, breached the Veil in order to form a connection."

"Of all the people in the world, though…You could have picked anyone to write that first letter to."

"It had to be you. No matter who I became, it was always you. The abandoned child who grows up still believing in all her dreams."

"But you never got any replies."

"The exchange wasn't important. It was knowing I would tell you of my days, of my thoughts and actions, truthfully at all times, that steered my future away from what I'd seen. We've had our share of loneliness over the years because of my decision, and I sincerely apologize for it. But you must know you've been the best of friends simply by receiving my correspondences."

"I haven't felt alone since your first letter."

Jareth searched her face intently, and wonder lit his eyes at whatever he saw. "You've kept them, haven't you? Why?"

"You made me feel important by sharing your secrets and stories. Those pieces of paper…they were my most valued possessions. They still are."

Cool, leather-clad fingers slid over her cheek, and Sarah held her breath as Jareth leaned forward. "You are extraordinarily important, Sarah. Even when I was no longer in danger of becoming a villain, I continued to write because you're very special to me."

Warmth unfurled around her heart, and Sarah wanted to close her eyes and sink into it. But…

"There's one more thing to do." Wrapping her fingers around Jareth's, she led him inside, sat him on the couch, then disappeared into her bedroom. When she returned, she hugged a black leather binder to her chest. "Merry Christmas, Jareth."

With a curious expression, Jareth removed his gloves to accept the gift. From her perch on the arm of the couch, Sarah watched as he carefully turned the pages, as though they were rare manuscripts.

"You wrote back." He sounded surprised. "Every letter, you wrote back."

"I would have sent them to you, but you never included a return address."

Jareth chuckled. "You wouldn't have been able to afford the postage." The little clock on the mantel chimed midnight, and Jareth's laughter dwindled away, leaving a hint of wistfulness on his lips. "I'm afraid I must say farewell."

Sarah rose with him. "Will you come back tomorrow?" Surprise silvered his eyes, and she lightly touched his arm, making sure he was real one last time before he left. "It's just…It'll be Christmas day and…This feels like a dream, and I really want to believe it's not," she whispered.

"Your imagination is beautifully vast, Sarah, but even you couldn't conjure me."

She smiled and rolled her eyes at the conceit in his words. Then she sucked in a surprised breath full of smooth leather and cool starlight when he wrapped her in a warm embrace.

"Til tomorrow, Sarah."

He faded beneath her, leaving her with a light dusting of glitter on her hands and promise pressed tenderly against her cheek.

A/N: For UndergroundDaydreams' holiday challenge. Mine was to include pieces of paper, tiny trees, a traveler, and an 80s movie reference. The Yule birds were from dA references also given to me for inspiration, which I thought were adorable (I've put a link to them on my author's page). Also, I'm not entirely sure where my traveler is in this story, but I do have people who travel...does that count? :) Happy Holidays!