As mentioned in the summary, this is Story Two in what I'm hoping will become my Labyrinth Fairy Tales series. "More Fair than Snow" is Story One (set in the same universe), and "The Beast Within" is a Beauty & the Beast frame, but set in a different universe. So much writerly thanks to Netag Silverstar for the suggestion to continue my fairy tale Labyrinth-based reinterpretations in related stories.

Part One: Wakeup Call

In which Sarah obtains some very useful information, much to her chagrin, and a quest is begun.

I fluttered around my apartment for the umpteenth time before I caught (and mentally kicked) myself. It was worse than when my stepmother set me up on blind dates.

Of course, this wasn't a date. No, no, it was not. It was simply Tuesday at 12:55pm, and the Winter Court's Falchion and I had an appointment at 1:00pm.

I wondered if he was the punctual type. Our freshly minted alliance had wiped the bittersweet aftertaste of our previous run-in when I was a teenager, and I realized I really didn't know all that much about him.

To distract myself, I started to run through the things I did know.

One: He used to be the Goblin King, with jurisdiction over the Labyrinth. I didn't actually know if he still was. Being the Falchion didn't necessarily preclude continuing that role, and he and the Labyrinth apparently had a nice little understanding.

Two: He took over the Falchion's mantle from his mother, via surprise attack in the heart of Winter. With my help. After hoodwinking me into becoming Summer's human Champion. Well, to be fair, I did technically volunteer. He just neglected to mention exactly what I'd volunteered for and I, despite my occasional heroine training, neglected to throttle him beforehand for all the details. What can I say? We were on a time crunch. I did finagle lessons on magic from him afterwards at least. Hence today's inaugural appointment.

Three: He had both fae and fallen angel lineage, and neither his mother nor his father had been lightweights in the power department. Not to mention that his father was literally known for being the unspeakably gorgeous fallen angel. Clearly, those genes ran true.

The doorbell rang. I looked at my watch. 1:00 on the dot.

Four: He was the punctual type.

I opened the door.

To say Jareth was a vision, sitting in my kitchen over a mug of tea, was an understatement. I did a surreptitious check for come-hither glamour remnants, but there was nothing. This was just him, from his perfectly sculpted John Fluevog boots to his I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-perhaps-you'd-care-to-roll-back-in-with-me hair.

He lifted an eyebrow. "You're shaking your head at me."

"Sorry. Just wondering how long it takes to get your hair like that."

He grinned. "Some secrets I'll never tell."

That got a smile out of me. "Let's talk about the ones you will tell, then."

"And where shall we begin your lessons, my Lady?"

"Let's begin by ditching the formal titles, unless you want me calling you 'your Grace'. Here, in my place, it's just you and me. Just Jareth and Sarah."

Something glittered behind his eyes. "Lesson one: for power players like we've become, it's almost never 'just you and me'. Someone's always paying attention."

I swallowed. "Well, why don't you tell me something about this power of mine then, your Grace?"

He took a slow sip of his tea. "I notice you didn't specify your Summer power."

"I didn't."

His lips curled up with a scintillating slowness. "What do you know about Sleeping Beauty?"

"Oh now, stop it. No games. Tell me something true."

"I'm trying to."

"Something true about my power is tied up with Sleeping Beauty? C'mon, what is this, Sarah and Jareth Run Through Major Fairy Tales? We already hit Snow White."

His mouth twitched in what was definitely suppressed laughter.

I drummed my fingers against the table. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"But why would it be like that? I mean, granted, it's probably amusing as hell from an outsider's perspective - especially if they're fond of fairy tales - but still."

He shrugged. "The universe works in mysterious ways and always has its reasons."

"Always, huh?"

"In my experience."

I sighed and took a sip of my tea. "So, Sleeping Beauty."

"Shall we begin with major plot points common to most variants?"

"Might as well." I scrounged back in my memory through Disney's version and Briar Rose. "So, there's some sort of death and doom occurring via a spindle around the age of sixteen, typically due to a wicked fairy's curse." I arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember a close encounter of the spindle kind."

His devil smile flashed again. "How do you know you're the titular character?"

"Educated guess. And I'm pretty sure it's not my mother. She's more the wicked fairy type."

"Indeed she is."

"What, my mother cursed me?"

"More that she was the agent of your misfortune."

I snorted. "Completely typical of her. So, what, she tried to kill me around age sixteen?" I paused. "Actually, there was that nasty car accident we were in, with her as the driver." The fingers of my right hand twitched of their own accord in painful memory. "If the halo of perfection hadn't already been stripped from her, that would have done it. Made for some great college entry essays, though. How My Mother Nearly Killed Me And How I Forgave Her (Mostly)."

Jareth's eyes tracked the involuntary motions of my fingers with predatory precision. "Mmm. And would that accident have perchance resulted in some linen embedded in you?"

I looked at him for a long moment. "From a new linen shirt I was wearing, with lots of lace at the cuffs." I took a very deliberate sip of tea. "And, yes, that fashion influence was yours, if you must know."

He smiled into his own tea. "About the linen?"

I stared at my hand, remembering. "My hand was crushed in the accident. I remember seeing a mangled mess of lace and blood before I passed out. They weren't sure if I'd ever get the full use of my hand back." I fanned my fingers back and forth, a physical reassurance to myself. "Thirteen surgeries later, the outlook was much more promising, but the doctors told me some of the material from the lace had probably been absorbed by my body."

"The doctors were right."

"So, why does it matter, the linen?"

"Did you ever encounter the earlier story incarnations, Talia or Perceforest?"

Something tickled the back of my mind. "I think once or twice, but I don't remember too many specifics."

"Well, the relevant detail is that the curse's instrument was a splinter of flax, rather than a spindle."

A splinter of flax? But why should that...oh. "Linen's made from flax, isn't it?"

"Quite."

"Fine, but even though I have this flax splinter in me, I'm not in a cursed sleep, as far as I'm aware."

He leaned forward then. "Aren't you?"

I stared at him. "You really need to stop doing that, your Grace."

"What's that, my Lady?"

"Throwing out these tantalizing little tag questions. It's irritating as hell."

"I like to think of it as endearing."

I snorted. "Whatever. So tell me exactly how it is I'm cursed, besides our current verbal sparring session."

"I believe your connection to the otherworld used to be much stronger."

"Otherworld? Not just the Faerie Courts?"

"Not just the Courts." He tilted his head in consideration. "You used to be a Dreamer."

"I heard that capital there. What's a Dreamer?"

"The details vary, but the essence is that you can shape reality by your dreams."

I blinked slowly at him. "Let's pretend for a moment that I believe that. How come no one noticed before I was sixteen?"

"Didn't I?"

I chewed that over, running through memories of angsty, petulant teenage times in the Labyrinth, trying to see them from this new angle.

Jareth pressed on. "Why do you think you took the heart of me at fifteen? I could see the magic bindings wrapped around you, and they latched onto me like honeysuckle."

I gave up on my teenage Labyrinth run and shifted my rapid-fire mulling to more recent events. "Alright, let's again pretend I'm buying this...how come no one else noticed at the Winter Court parlay? A stifled Dreamer in their midst?"

"They were looking on the surface. Your Summer power was a very helpful cover."

I eyed him. "You ever read the Dune series?"

He smiled, quoting, "'Observe the plans within plans within plans.'"

"I have to say, you're a damned sight prettier than Baron Harkonnen."

"If you can believe it, Giedi Prime's an even worse pit than my throne room after the goblins have had their annual Chicken Games. Hard on the skin, that climate."

"Uh...isn't Giedi Prime fictional?"

And there was the devil smile again. "Is it?"

"I told you that tag question thing was irritating as hell, right?"

"You may have mentioned."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "So I was an unstifled Dreamer before age sixteen? I don't remember reality bending to my dreams all that much." I felt a stab of unresolved resentment, which bled into my voice before I could stop it. "My mother, for example, neglected to take me away to live the glamorous life with her." I swallowed, regaining control of my voice. That was an old pain, better left alone. "There was also a distinct lack of requited feelings from my childhood crushes."

Jareth's laughter sparked between us like small stars. "I'd blame the latter on an appalling lack of taste on said crushes' part. And the fact that Dreamer powers, like many others, develop over time, usually hitting maturation in the early twenties."

"Huh, just like other advanced cognitive abilities."

"Quite."

"Okay, so I'm a maturing little Dreamer rosebud when I run the Labyrinth, and I take your heart because you've got a thing for Dreamerkind?"

"Something like that."

I arched an eyebrow. "Right. So then my mother is the agent of my curse via flax splinter and these Dreamer powers get put to sleep?"

"Indeed. You've been searching for them ever since, reaching as much as your subconscious would allow for that otherness that was once yours."

"So that's why I got an advanced degree in mythology? If only I'd had that nifty little answer for my parents. 'It's ok, Dad, Karen. It's just an unconscious expression of the gaping hole in me Mom left because we all tried to forget about her.'" I snorted. Well, actually...she'd been drinking before that terrible car accident and there was definitely some bitterness. She missed my hero worship of her after my Labyrinth run.

"At least your Dreamer powers weren't snuffed out. That never goes well."

"There's a story there."

"There is."

"You going to tell it to me one day, your Grace?"

"Another time, my Lady. For now, it's enough that your Dreamer powers are still there, if latent."

"Riiiight. And why would that be exactly? What good fairy mitigated my curse so that these powers didn't die off completely?"

He tilted his head, his eyes positively dancing with amusement.

"What? Oh, come on. You're the good fairy? What, your heart that I took saved me from certain death?"

"Is it so difficult to believe?"

I sighed. "Just a little convenient, I suppose." I paused. "Besides, I would have thought you were playing the prince's role with the whole waking me up aspect."

He leaned in, his presence filling the room in a sultry rush. "I'm multi-talented."

I drew back as if a venomous snake was about to bite me (thanks, subconscious, a little late to the party here). "I thought these weren't going to be those kind of lessons."

"And I believe at the time I asked you how you knew that for sure. Don't you want to know what you could be?"

"Of course I do." I ignored the surge of special-snowflake-validation that was threatening more than my good sense. "Small problem: You're not my one true love."

His devil smile was back. "That's often simply placeholder code."

"For what?"

"Unbinding via intimate relations."

I tried valiantly to keep my face neutral. I think I managed a good glare.

He shrugged, unfazed. "You asked."

I closed my eyes briefly, then shook my head. "I did."

"But don't let it trouble you. To be honest, I suspect Sleeping Brynhild is most apt for our resolution, given previous events."

Interesting. "So you, as the rescuing Prince, should be fording a ring of flames." I drummed my fingers slowly against my cup. "I suppose that whole channeling of Summer firepower could count."

He blinked slowly at me. "You know of Sleeping Brynhild?"

I smiled. "I took a class in Germanic mythology."

He inclined his head. "You never fail to pleasantly surprise me, my Lady. You'd have made a fine Valkyrie back in the day."

"Oh?"

"The underpinnings of your occasional heroine streak are quite similar to those of shield maidens of highest quality."

"Thanks. I think. So if Sleeping Brynhild is most apt, how apt are we talking? Did I piss off Odin and get cursed to mortal-hood, too?"

"Mmm...well, did you?"

"Not that I know of."

He shrugged. "Storytellers often hit upon partial truths."

I eyed him. "You didn't say it wasn't true."

"I didn't, did I?"

I closed my eyes, controlling my urge to strangle him. "So are you going to wake me up by removing my helmet and cutting off my chainmail armor? Is there a proposal with the magic ring Andvaranaut? Is there a dragon Fafnir you've slain that I should know about?"

"What do you think?"

"You're the informed one of the two of us."

He steepled his fingers. "Which is why I'm asking you."

"That makes no sense."

His eyes grew distant, as if he were somewhere else entirely. Twin spirals of magic built from his eyes, spreading in strange fractal curves. "It will."

"Your grace?" Nothing but those eerie sparkling curves and utter stillness from him. "Jareth?" My voice broke his reverie, shattered the spirals. Note to self: seeing and breaking spells was starting to become a thing with me. Useful.

He shook his head as if waking up. "Mmm?"

"You were somewhere else just now. Where was it?"

He blinked hard. "Ah. Apparently, the Falchion's mantle comes with an interesting ability to see down different time paths."

My eyebrows raised. "Time paths?"

"Possible What-Might-Bes. Useful, but distracting. I admit, I'm surprised my mother succumbed to our little plot, given this kind of foreknowledge."

My eyebrows raised higher. "Someone sabotaged her?"

"Perhaps. And how interesting if so. I wonder who."

"I'd ask if your mother had enemies, but I'm pretty sure there were too many to count. Better question: who benefits from having you as the Falchion?"

"And who benefits from you being the Summer Champion bound to the Falchion?"

I shrugged. "You know Court intrigues better than I do. We need more information." I sighed and took another sip of tea. "Tell me more about the Sleeping Brynhild parallels. Is there a real ring you need to make a proposal with? Any chainmail and helmet for me are definitely metaphorical."

His eyes looked distant again, those twin spirals building, then falling. "I believe there's a real ring."

"Is it called Andvaranaut? And is it cursed six ways from Sunday?"

That got a smile from him. "Names change."

"But curses just sit there festering through the eons?"

"Something like that."

"Great. Is there a dragon involved?"

"Could be."

I put my head briefly in my hands, muttering, "Somehow there's always still a dragon. That part's never bloody metaphorical." I blinked suddenly as an idea popped to mind. "Wait, are there any ranks in the Summer Court called the Dragon?"

"Not exactly in the Summer court."

I gave him my best stern librarian stare. To his credit, he didn't smirk.

He took another sip of his tea. "The base of Summer is bound in the Dragon."

"Is there a Winter equivalent?"

"Not as such. Winter prefers to diversify its power base."

"Seems sensible. I'm surprised Summer relies on one base like that. Easy point of failure."

"Executive decisions made for expediency have their downsides. Suffice it to say that the Dragon's defenses are, shall we say, formidable."

"Right. So...the Dragon has the cursed ring. That's probably not doing wonders for the Summer Court."

"True. I expect Summer's emissary will probably want to talk to you about that. It's the sort of thing Champions are asked to handle."

I sighed. "Of course it is. Because clearly, that's what was missing from my life. So how long has the Dragon had the cursed ring?"

"As long as there's been a Dragon."

My eyebrows raised. They were getting quite the workout in this conversation.

"The Dragon used to be the Summer Champion."

"Oh, fuck me, what? So the ring cursed the Summer Champion into the Dragon? Just tell me its name isn't Fafnir. Please."

"He likes to go by Filip these days. Or so I hear. Says it sounds more modern on correspondence."

"He's sentient enough to have naming preferences on his correspondence?"

"Oh, quite. His shape's changed, not his self."

"I see. Not really. But never mind. So we need to get the ring from him basically?"

"Well, the Summer Champion does, I suspect."

"And the Summer Champion can draft the Winter Falchion with her considerable charms?"

"What might those be?"

"Chief among them is the promise not to throttle you in the next, oh, thirty minutes for dropping all this on my head."

"However could I resist such luscious temptations?"

"Oy!" piped a small voice just over my shoulder. "If you two are done flirting, I've got some news from the Summer Court."

Jareth and I swiveled to look at the interloper. About six inches tall, humanoid, and made out of what appeared to be dancing flames.

Jareth recovered first. "You must be the Summer Emissary."

The flame bobbed what looked like a bow. "Calidus, my Lady, your Grace. Call me Cal."

I blinked and finally recovered control of my voice. "Hot in Latin?"

"You betcha, sweet cakes. Also fiery and impetuous."

I blinked again. "I...see."

"Flame sprite temperaments are fairly consistent," offered Jareth.

I resisted the urge to massage my temples. "Lovely. So, Cal, what's the scoop from Summer?"

"Well, it's like this…"

Thirty minutes later, Cal had gotten the story out in between fortifying sips of something from a sprite-sized metal thermos he'd brought. There was indeed the Dragon Filip (formerly Fafnir), a cursed magic ring that needed liberating by the current Summer Champion, and a rather pressing timeline. Also, just for added fun, Filip was located inside the supermassive black hole at the heart of our galaxy.

I had given up trying to hide my growing headache and was massaging my temples. Jareth, in a cheerfully sympathetic mood, had offered his services to my tightening shoulders and I, in a sinking fit of desperation at my official plight as being laid out by Cal (complete with the exact dire consequences if I failed), had let Jareth have his way. I had to give it to him - the man had skills.

I sighed. "Lurking inside a black hole? I mean, really, who does that?"

"Filip," said Cal. "Haven't you been listening?"

I choked down a growl.

Jareth's voice floated down into my ear as he worked a line between my shoulder blades. "Flame sprites are known, among other things, for their literal interpretations."

I closed my eyes. "So, to sum up: I have a ridiculously dangerous quest to the Dragon's lair in a place where current laws of physics don't apply, and imminent doom befalls Summer's foundation (and by connection, Winter and the whole mortal realm) if I don't hop to it chop-chop."

"We," said Cal and Jareth together.

"What?"

"We have a quest," said Jareth, eyeing Cal who was in turn giving Jareth the stinkeye. "I'm bound to you. And Winter suffers if this doesn't work out, so I have a vested interest as the Falchion."

"Whatever, your Grace," sniffed Cal. "I'm coming because it's part of my mission."

I blinked at him. "It is? Summer sure asks a lot of their Emissaries."

"We screwed up with the last Champion. We don't want to have a repeat performance."

"Good to know," I said. "Alright, so we have a crazy-ass time-sensitive quest." I'd never admit it out loud, but not having to do this alone made me feel a hell of a lot better. Even if my trusty companions were of unknown trusty quality. "So, where do we start?"

"Well," said Jareth, "we should likely plan how to get to Filip's lair."

"Right." I pursed my lips. "How does one typically get to Filip's lair?"

"One typically doesn't."

"Okay, how does one atypically get to Filip's lair?"

Jareth glanced at Cal. "I imagine Summer's Emissary would know more about that."

Cal shrugged. "I get his correspondence, but it comes through intermediaries."

"Like who?" I asked.

Cal and Jareth exchanged another glance. This certainly couldn't bode well.

"You really think we should see him?" asked Cal. "He's...whimsical."

"He also has very good advice if you know how to listen, and I think we could use some good advice." Jareth paused. "He additionally has a remarkably fine singing voice."

I'd had enough. "Who?"

Cal's shiver looked like a flicker if you weren't paying attention. "The Blackstar."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "That was Blackstar with a capital B and all one word, wasn't it?"

Jareth's eyes were doing that spiral magic dance of theirs again. "Quite. And I think we really do need to see him. He's our best shot at this."

I turned to Cal. "Why don't you like him?"

Cal's voice was soft. "It's cold where he is, no matter what your senses tell you."

I felt my brow furrowing despite my best efforts. "And that's bad for you as a flame sprite?"

"Bad for Summer folk in general, lady." He cast an envious glance at Jareth.

I tilted my head. "Why is a Winter Court member like the Blackstar a liaison to the base of Summer's power?"

Jareth's voice held a strange longing. "No one said he was Winter's."

"So what, he's a free agent who happens to give our Summer Emissary the willies and gets on with Winter's Falchion?"

Jareth smiled. "I don't think he and my mother much cared for each other. But he and I have done a duet or two."

Cal and I both swiveled to face him, but I was the one who spoke. "You don't literally sing with him, do you?"

"He really does have quite a fine voice."

I closed my eyes briefly at that blatant dodge. "You're really not going to tell me anymore about him right now, are you?"

The twin spirals of magic unfurled from Jareth's eyes for a moment before snapping back. "It's best if I don't."

I harumphed to myself. This seeing through time thing was starting to get really irritating. "Okay, Mr. I-Can-See-Through-Time-Paths-And-You-Can't." I paused. "Yet."

That brought Jareth's attention back to me. "Yet?"

"A Champion's gotta have dreams."

His laughter filled my chest like butterflies and made other things clench something fierce. He traced a finger along my shoulder. "I think you'll like him, even if Cal doesn't."

"Oy, you two," grumbled Cal, clearly put out at our impending Blackstar visit, "get a room."

Author's Note: Blackstar is in homage to Bowie's last album.