Ok, here's the second part of Promises to Keep. Sorry it took so long. I'm still not quite happy with it, but if I waited until I was, the story would never be continued.

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. Songs belong to Trans-Siberian Orchestra (TSO), everything Labyrinth belongs to Jim Henson, and David Bowie belongs to Iman. :(

"Somewhere the wind carves moments in the snow
And if he sees her, he never lets it show
He just drifts behind her erasing every step
Tinsel and garland are whispered through trees"

- Ornament, TSO

Jareth

My return to the castle had resulted in my immediate imprisonment. Seems that while I was gone, the top general in my army falsely declared that I had been assassinated and proclaimed himself king. I had been stupid to not keep check on the kingdom or at least keep in contact with my advisor. I had been too wrapped up in Sarah, often quite literally, and thought nothing of them.

I was kept in the dungeons, chained to the wall of a small cell. Iron spiked cuffs permanently bit into the skin of my ankles, wrists, and neck. The iron effectively nullified my magic and made me constantly sick. The toilet was a hole in the corner that transported waste to the Bog. Luckily, my ancestors had the foresight to make the transportation magical. I'm sure the stench that would have come through a direct line would have been completely unbearable and would have broken my will to survive years ago. It was bad enough that I had to smell myself, which wasn't very rosy considering the lack of any water to wash myself. The little water I got was with my meal, and I always made sure to savour every last drop as it made its way down my dehydrated throat.

My confinement was a dark and solitary one. My only contact for all these years was a goblin maid who brought me one small meal a day.

It was an especially dreary day when I asked her to cut my hair. My once beautiful, platinum locks had turned into a dirty, knotty mess. A semi-dull kitchen knife was all she could get, but it did the job. I nearly gave up hope that day after she explained that the entire kingdom, except for the king and the top commander in his army, believed me to be dead. Even worse, he was not hated. There was a mutual toleration between the king and his subjects. He let them do whatever they wanted, and they obeyed him willingly. No one wished for my return. Did Sarah?

I named my goblin maid Caoimhe. In the language of my forefathers, it meant 'gentleness.' Caoimhe had never been given a name, and I thought it suited her. I eventually began looking forward to her afternoon visit to bring me food. After centuries of the hearing the constant chattering of goblins, the silence was deafening. It was wonderful to hear someone else's voice and to have my thoughts taken, albeit briefly, away from Sarah. It hurt so much to think of her... and I thought of her all the time.

I never forgot Sarah. Even as I felt myself wasting away in the dungeon of my castle, she was always at the forefront of my mind. In my dreams, we were living our happily ever after. And that gave me hope. I would survive this. I would escape and return to her. Damn this whole place to hell. I didn't want my throne back. It meant nothing to me. Not anymore. Only Sarah. Sometimes I wondered if she still remembered me. Had she given up and found someone new? Was she happily married with a houseful of children? I wasn't a fool. I knew all these years in her world was too long to wait for someone. But it pained my heart too much to think about it. So I didn't.

It was sometime during my sixteenth year of imprisonment that Caoimhe confessed that she wanted to help me escape. She told me I was her friend and that she couldn't stand to see me waste away like I was. But only the king had the key to the cuffs, and no one knew where he kept it.

Sarah

If wishes were fishes, the sea would be full.

Lord only knows how many times I wished for Jareth's return. I only wished for him by name. At first I didn't think to call him by his title. Weeks later when I did think of it, I was too afraid. If something bad had happened, and he wasn't the Goblin King anymore... well, I didn't want some psycho Aos Sí showing up on my doorstep. Hoggle once told me to ask the right question; I knew that I had to make sure and ask specifically for Jareth. But he never answered.

Hoggle... I hadn't been able to contact any of my friends either since Jareth left. Of course, I had stopped calling them just over a year after my return. At the time, I assumed that they just didn't want to answer. But as time went on and Jareth never came back, I started to wonder. What happened to him? I would not believe he had changed his mind. It was not possible. Not the way he loved me during his visit. Years later, the memory of the wonderful things he did to me during sex still made my toes curl. And every time we climaxed, he would always whisper 'I love you' over and over into my ear. No, he would come back if he could. Something had to have happened. But I tried not to think of it. It just hurt too much.

I did try dating a few times, more for Emma's sake than mine. No other man could ever even remotely interest me. But I wanted Emma to have a father figure in her life. Dad and Karen lived a few hours away. We visited when we could, but I was afraid it wasn't enough. Emma was seven when she asked me to stop trying to replace her Daddy. She always was so smart and observant for her age. But she was right. She knew I was doing it for her and she didn't want me to. Neither did I.

I had always wondered about Emma's magical ability, i.e. if she had any at all. A part of me knew she did. I, however, had no idea how to help her develop it. Emma knew her Daddy had magic, but we never talked about it much. So I was quite surprised one day when I was standing in the living room and watched as my seven-year-old daughter clenched her hand like she was holding a glass and stared at her hand. A few moments later, the glass of water appeared, and she drank it as if it were an everyday occurrence.

I had been stupid to not attempt teaching her magic, but I then knew I could ignore it no longer. There had to be rules. Only in the house and only when no one besides myself could see her. And she was not to try anything new without me present. Glasses of water were one thing, but Emma had inherited my imagination and I worried wondering what she could come up with.

She was quite perceptive also. Toby had not remembered anything from his visit Underground. Emma, on the other hand, quite confidently remarked to me during a visit to my parents that Toby had a faint scent on him - "like magic." I asked what she meant, and she said she wasn't sure. She just knew the scent. I wasn't surprised anymore. Luckily, she knew to keep all this secret, though whether it was innate or my constant reminding, I'll never know. My daughter was always smarter than she should be, especially when it came to magic. It disconcerted me greatly knowing there was little I could do to help her learn.

Career-wise, my interior design clientele was growing. I still did waitressing on the side, though. I started working for a small design firm when Emma was six. I loved my job, especially since it paid so much better. I was able to buy a nice three bedroom house a few blocks away from my old flat. Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to move very far. What if he comes back and can't find me? It was a silly thought, but one I couldn't shake. But Emma didn't want to move far either.

Author's Note: Got inspired to write this last December while listening to TSO's cd "Christmas Eve and Other Stories" - specifically, the songs "Ornament," "Old City Bar," "Promises To Keep," and "This Christmas Day." The story won't follow the storyline of the songs, but they certainly contributed to my melancholy mood while writing it. I certainly recommend listening to them if you haven't.