When they settled for the night they were on the edge of the dark wood. She would have preferred somewhere else, for she still had memories of being chased through the forest by the Fire Gang, and the very dim memory of a cursed peach. Sarah couldn't help but suggest that they keep moving; although she was completely exhausted she had no desire to let her mind wander to the troll she had killed. Still, when Hoggle insisted this was the safest place she had to relent. She was glad when they agreed that a small fire might at least keep some of the night-time creatures away from their camp.

"Your Majesty, do not worry about taking watch. We will wake you if needed. You should get some sleep." Sarah simply nodded, too tired to fight. She had no real intention of sleeping, but when she lay down and closed her eyes she found herself almost immediately back in the square with the dead troll. She was covered in his blood, could feel it congealing in her hair and she cowered back from the body.

"Sarah." The voice made her still, but when two hands closed around her arms she fought to free herself from them.

"Don't touch me!" She shouted at the Goblin King, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see the bloody stain on her reaching out to color him. She did not want to see herself, the monster that had killed a creature who could not fight back.

"Shh, Sarah."

"Let me go!" She reached out, pushed as hard as she could at his chest, and then realized what she had done and her eyes flew open. She expected to see blood staining his white shirt, painting the whole world in crimson but he was not stained and the world was just the warm yellow stone. She looked down at herself, and found there was no blood, no stain. Her hair was clean and hung loose down her back.

"What horror did you see?" His voice was neutral, his face empty, and so she told him. When she started to shake in the middle of her telling, when the blood started to seep back into her vision she was surprised by the gentle, leather-gloved hand that covered her eyes. She had not even felt him move, but with the darkness over her vision she could feel the panic, the horror easing. She could distance herself enough to speak without feeling the shame.

"I killed him, I slit his throat and he died and he was helpless."

"If you had not killed him he would not have lived long in this place. It would have been a crueler death to leave him crippled."

"I could have stopped him with the urn, held him captive by the sound. I could have spoken to him that way."

"Did you know that?"

"No, of course not. I didn't know until he threw Didymus into it. But I could have."

"Then you were a little cruel. You also chose to show mercy. Why? He would have felt no remorse over eating you alive."

"Because it would have been wrong to leave him just crippled. I know what Didymus did, and I rather doubt anyone here can do what doctors in my world can. Maybe magic-"

"Magic could have healed him, yes." She was silent for a long moment after that. Jareth's hand no longer covered her eyes, and if she was not yet entirely over the incident, she at least was no longer seeing blood where there was none.

"Would you have?"

"Shown mercy or healed him?"

"Either."

"No."

"If I had asked?" Pain and fury warred in his eyes, but she saw too a glimmer of respect or even pride—that she had caught some truth, despite his words and actions.

"Perhaps, but it no longer matters." She was silent, the weight of that answer heavy on her.

"His blood is on my hands." She looked up after the King was silent for a long time, and was surprised by the mild disbelief in his expression.

"You mourn the death of the troll." It was not a question, and somehow he made it sound shameful. "You need not, the creature would never have given up once it had your scent. Especially once you bested it with your clever mind."

"He was trying to protect his home! I don't mean to destroy it, so we could have worked together."

"Do remember, Sarah; this place is not what it seems. Certainly the beast may have been driven from its den by the threat to the Labyrinth-"

"Perceived threat." She interrupted, and his mouth quirked but he inclined his head.

"-perceived threat to the Labyrinth, but it is not a creature of reason. It would have hunted you across the realm until something bigger stopped it. Now, it is dead and you are alive."

"How many people have you killed?" He did not answer and the mis-matched gaze was measuring, though his face remained blank. "How many?"

"Thousands, I suppose. I have never counted." His voice was unconcerned, as though they were discussing the weather. He did not move when she took several slow steps away from him. "I have been alive a very long time, and my people are not well-suited to regret."

"Do you still wonder why I chose my brother over this?" She waved a hand at the world surrounding them, and the dead troll re-appeared. Blood stained her hands once more and she held them out to him. His eyes emptied, and then froze and she prepared herself to be attacked. She was surprised when he simply turned away.

"You have seen only a tiny fraction of this world, and that through human eyes. You assume that because the Labyrinth conformed to your childish innocence you understand it now, but you do not take into account the fact that this world is alien to you and now that you are an adult it will not bend to your expectations." ;And what of you?; she wanted to ask, ;you once said you were exhausted from living up to my expectations. Are you free from them also?;

She did not give voice to those thoughts, but found other words on the tip of her tongue. "How can I find the Heart of the Labyrinth?"

"It is not a place," he declared, turning to her. She rolled her eyes at him.

"So I've been told and yet it is also the place you are being held."

"Then let me say it this way: It is not a place, and is also a place. It is from this point that the Labyrinth grew."

"Hoggle is afraid of it. He said you were the only one who has seen it."

"He is not wrong." On either account, she supposed.

"Is it dangerous for him? For me?"

"Yes."

"You're going to die if you stay there." He only inclined his head. "Why?"

"It will consume me."

"How long do I have?" He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he would not answer."

"Not long. Days, perhaps."

"And what happens if I fail? What happens if you die?"

"I am the only Dreamcaster." He emphasized the word as though it had special meaning. "There are those who believe they can harness the power here. If they can, they will have power enough to destroy this world however they choose to use it. If they cannot, the result will be chaos and destruction of incredible proportions."

"You don't think anyone else can control it."

"The Sidhe are power hungry, but this is not a power they-all but the rarest-can control."

"Another Dreamcaster?" His only acknowledgement was a slight incline of the head, but she thought she saw a smile tugging at his lips. It was gone in a moment. "The troll, said I was 'fake king;' that if I took the throne I would destroy the Labyrinth." She glanced at him but he was only watching her passively as her mind turned over all the words. There were answers there, she was certain; she could almost taste them.

"Do not fail, Sarah." His voice was suddenly fading and when she looked for him he was no longer there. The stone faded around her.

One day, he is going to answer all my questions.


They left behind the stone the next afternoon. Within the dark wood, Sarah could not help but feel jumpy; she expected to hear the raucous songs of the fire gang at every turn and to see the brightly colored bodies behind every tree. Out from under the sun they did not speak to each other and she could not help but wonder if Hoggle and Didymus felt it to be as oppressive as she did. Still she had to admit there was a dark beauty to the wood and she found herself admiring the twisted shapes around her.

"It's got it's own beauty," she said conversationally to Hoggle, and was surprised when he glared at her.

"Keep your voice down!" She stopped, startled by the harsh whisper he used. "We ain't wanting to attract the attention of the things in this place."

"I remember the fire gang, but-"

"They ain't even close to the worst. They're mostly harmless."

"They tried to take off my head." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"You didn't play by the rules," he said with a shrug, as though it explained everything. She frowned.

"Hoggle, what's wrong? You've been acting strangely."

"Ain't nothing the matter with me. You ain't taking this place seriously is all."

"Hoggle-"

"Sir Dwarf is correct, My Lady." Didymus reined in Ambrosius beside her. "Thou were marvelously brave against the troll, but this place is very dangerous. We should not speak, lest we attract unwanted attentions."

Trekking through the forest was even less pleasant than she remembered; the sun barely reached through the leaves, giving it a perpetual twilight pall. What seemed like a reasonable path was more likely to disappear into a tangle of brambles than continue in any reasonable pattern, though Hoggle and Didymus claimed they were following some trail only denizens of the Labyrinth could see. They had to clamber over thick tree trunks that had fallen, and more than once the thick roots caught at her feet.

After both her companions had taken their turn to chastise her for not taking the wood seriously she had lapsed into silence. Her first time in the Labyrinth she had never considered what danger she might call down to herself by simply speaking aloud her thoughts. Even now there was some part of her that thought the whole adventure was just a fancy dream; that she would wake up in her parents' house just as she had a thousand times. Yet the sweat rolling down her back beneath her shirt and the discomfort of blisters where her boots were rubbing slightly told her it was not. She had never had blisters in a dream, even if she had spent the whole dream running for her life. And then there were the dreams. She remembered every detail of the Jareth in her dreams; the strange gentleness so at odds with his typically cold or callous demeanor. If she thought about the last dream, and she could almost feel the soft touch of leather across her eyes. The way the horror had receded—just a little bit—at his touch, before he had directed her thoughts away from the realization of her guilt.

The strangest part of that was, while she knew she should have felt guilty, she did not. Even in the light of day the feeling was at a distance. She could never have admitted the horrible feelings to her friends, especially not after Didymus had praised her courage. She had been convinced that he would not be able to understand them, and while Hoggle was a self-proclaimed coward even he had seemed to not feel anything worse than a mild disgust at the mess.

From time to time she caught glimpses of movement, or a flash of color but they disappeared before she could see what they were. After the second hour in the forest she realized that there was no birdsong, and the background noises that would have been present in any other forest were mysteriously absent. This only contributed to the eerie atmosphere, and she found herself having to consciously relax her shoulders as they tried to crawl up her spine. On top of the eerie silence, she could practically feel the eyes on her back.

When a white butterfly drifted across the path she stopped, entranced. It fluttered before her eyes, color shifting across the delicate membranes. She breathed, and it was caught in the eddies of her breath for a moment before alighting on a branch that hung low over her path. Just watching it gave her a sense of peace, of calm. The thoughts that had troubled her drifted away, and though she still felt a strange urgency it was removed from her. She reached out to touch the creature, knowing it would not flutter away from her hand. It would never leave her, never allow her to be alone again. It understood her feelings, could share the guilt she felt or the joy. It could give her everything she had ever dreamed of.

She just had to touch it.

Her hand stopped less than an inch from the white wings. Someone else had promised to grant her dreams. A hand, holding out a perfectly round crystal ball with shadows twisting in its depths. Mismatched eyes pleading with her. She had turned that other voice, that black—no, white—gloved hand down because she had needed to rescue Toby. Se had needed to correct her mistake. Now, there was nothing to keep her from reaching for those dreams. They had changed, but they were certainly still hers. She could be the beautiful, mysterious author or screenwriter. All she had to do was touch the white wings, and everything she had ever dreamed of could belong to her. She could live the glamorous life of her mother, without the uncertainty. She would be the best, the world's darliing. She could even protect the Labyrinth, if she jut reached out a little bit further.

She frowned.

This is not a power the Sidhe can control. Do not fail, Sarah. She could not see the face that breathed those words through her memory, but she did remember the tone of them. So serious, almost but not quite desperate.

"No." The word was swallowed by the wood that surrounded her. "No." This time it was louder, and she pulled her hand away from the white creature. It fluttered its wings, as though in distress. She held her hands in to her chest, and felt the press of the amulet against her skin.

Electricity shot into her skin where the metal touched and her mind was instantly clear. She staggered backward from the butterfly, tripping over something she did not see. She fell, and stayed where she was, staring at the thing in horror.

Where it had been white and shining before, it became now a thing bruise-colored; perfect wings became tattered and wilted. Where its feet touched wood the tree was fading first to black and then to gray and she realized that the trees all around her were not actually dead. Even the fallen monsters were not truly dead, though they certainly no longer drew life from the ground as their standing counterparts did. Those that had fallen still teemed with life of other types; from insects to other plant life. She recognized, instantly, that the gray color was a true death. Nothing living would ever find use for it again and she was horrified.

"Nothing here is what it seems." She whispered the word into the silence and only then realized that she was alone, with no sign of track or trail in sight. The winged creature made a shrieking sound, rising off the branch and launching itself at her. She scrabbled backward until her back collided with the trunk of a tree. She scrabbled in the dead leaves for something to throw at the beast and let out a gasp that was half-sob as her fingers wrapped around a branch that must have fallen. She twisted to take it in two hands and swung at the moth as hard as she could. A sharp crack sounded, and the winged monster went tumbling to the ground away from her. Her palms were numb, but she pushed herself to her feet and readied for another swing.

The moth-creature was fluttering on the ground, and she watched without approaching for a moment. It was not until it stilled that the gathered the courage to actually approach. She was less than three feet away when the smell hit her; sickly-sweet and moldy all at the same time. It smelled ;wrong;. The body was cracked open and this close she could see the armor that covered it. The body almost looked like a cockroach whose shell had been split, except that it had eight legs and no proper head. From the underside of the body—half exposed the way it lay on the ground—a half-dozen thin threads trailed. Each was less than a foot long, and they still twitched though she was fairly certain the creature was nearly dead. Still, she raised the branch in her hands once more and brought it down as hard as she could. The cracking sound was more obviously the creature this time, and the smell got worse. When the threads stopped twitching she knew it was as dead as she could make it, and she backed away again.

There was no guilt this time. Whatever the thing was it had obviously been trying to kill her because it could and not because it mistakenly thought she was a danger to it.

Staring down at it she could hardly doubt that she had been the greatest danger. She glanced at the branch she held. It was only a fraction smaller than her wrist, and she could see the pale stain where the life-blood had spattered on it. It bleached the wood where it touched, and she was grateful to whatever had waken her out of the dream-state she had been in. Remembering just how close her hand had been to those white wings she could not help but shudder. She dropped the branch she held, and turned in a circle hoping that her gaze could somehow pierce the trees around her and direct her back to her friends.

She was not so lucky, of course, and while she had followed the butterfly she had not bothered to consider which direction she had been going. Worse, she had no idea how long she had been following the thing for. It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. Beneath the thick canopy of leaves it was impossible to tell from which direction the sun was shining and she was not even certain she could follow even that constant here in the Underground.

"Good job, Sarah," she said to herself, "just follow the pretty, shiny thing. Brilliant." If she were lost in the woods back home, she knew enough to move around very little and wait for rescue. This, however, was not home. There was little doubt that worse creatures than the butterfly lived within these forests, and she had no desire to meet one. Yet if she wandered blindly through the twilight, she risked falling into even worse danger.

She pulled the amulet from her shirt, holding it up with one hand.

"If I find you in time, Goblin King, we are going to have a long chat about what I am willing to do for you in the future." She had not realized, until she spoke, that she had resigned herself to seeing him again; and more than once. Still, she refused to think too hard on that, and brushed her thumb across the curved horns. As her skin touched the circle in the center, however, it turned suddenly clear. Sarah almost dropped the thing, but shifted it in her hand when she realized that the center was not showing the forest as she saw it around her. She brought it closer to her eye, and was surprised to see a path—perfectly clear—winding away from her through the trees. Looking at the same ground without the crystal revealed only more twisted forest, and she hesitated to trust the amulet.

What choice do I even have? The thought was more exasperated than anything. She thought that Hoggle or Didymus would be able to find her, as they had once in the Junk Yard when she fell out of the dream that Jareth had spun for her. The pendant in her hand warmed suddenly, but not unpleasantly. She frowned at it, but lifted it to her eye once more, and took a step forward on the path she could see.


It was disorienting following a path she could see with only one eye. To her left eye, the path was a clear swath of sand-colored stone amid the chaos of the forest, but to her right eye there was only the treacherous footing of the fallen logs and leaves. It did not seem to matter at all to her feet however; as long as she held the amulet to her eye she could feel the solid stone beneath her boots, and she could even hear the click of heels on stone overlaying the crunch of leaves and twigs. When the path she saw with her left eye actually crossed straight through one fallen log, she closed her right eye all together and stepped forward on a sort of desperate faith. When she met no resistance at all she just decided to keep her eye closed, and that saved her quite a bit of confusion.

Gradually the forest she saw to either side of the path changed; she could see stonework behind heavy foliage, and the faces of gargoyles peered out at her between branches. Eventually the woods gave way to stone walls, and though she expected to see two different scenes with her right eye she opened it to find that both eyes were seeing the same thing. She lowered the pendant, breathing a sigh of relief, and felt it warm once more against her fingers. Whatever magic was encased within the metal it was clearly not trying to hurt her.

Unless this is the Goblin King trying to lead me back to the beginning again, the thought had no actual weight, however. She did not think he would bring her this far, and spring an apparent trap, just to jerk her around. He wanted to be found, and so the amulet had assisted her. Still, she had no idea where she was within the convoluted structure she was. She glanced behind her, and was pleased to see that the forest was nowhere in sight.

What did catch her attention was the worn out appearance of the stone.

She had seen many different sides of the Labyrinth in her adventures, and though she had seen stone walls that looked old, this part of it looked even older. The stone here was not the warm yellow of the outermost part of the maze. It was not even the solid, weathered gray stone of other parts. Here the stone was dark granite, almost black, and where once there might have been corners they had been worn away by wind and rain and time into pock-marked curves. She ran her fingers over one of the stones, and dislodged several chips to clatter on the ground. Around her, the silence was almost complete.

There were no roots, no vines on these walls; no eyeball-moss or worms living in the cracks. She could see moss growing at the top of the wall, and tiny wildflowers of brilliant purple nestled among the rich green color. At her feet the cracked stones were laced with tufts of grass, and while the magic that filled the whole of the underground still felt like a gentle pressure on her skin it was different here, older.

"Sarah?" The voice was weak, confused. She turned, and found that the forest had disappeared behind her, leaving only a stone corridor. Huddled against one wall was Neil. "Sarah is that really you?"

"Neil?" Startled she found herself simply staring at him. Neil was human, and there was no reason for him to be here. There had been no mention of him in the wager, no threats of involving anyone but her own family since the first time she had stepped foot across the boundary of magic.

"Sarah," he was half-crawling to her, and then his arms wrapped about her waist. She caught a glimpse of wide, terrified eyes before his face disappeared from sight. "Oh my god, Sarah. It's you. It's really you." The words came out on ragged sobs. She had withdrawn her arms as he had approached, and held them now slightly out to her sides and up away from him. She wanted to believe he was real; to believe that it wasn't just another cruel trick of the Labyrinth to weaken her resolve or distract her from her objective but since returning she could remember clearly her first meeting with the Junk Ladies. His fingers dug into her hips for a moment and then he raised his head and looked up at her from where he knelt. There was such hope in his eyes.

"How did you get here Neil?" She was surprised how neutral her voice was. She knew of only two ways to get into the Labyrinth, and neither were things she wanted to think about.

"I was just kidding, Sarah. I swear I was just kidding when I said it. I was just goofing off when I said the words, but then there was this haze and then I was here and everything was chasing me and I can't wake up. I don't know why I can't wake up from this stupid dream. You told me about it, about your dream. You can help me." The words tumbled from his mouth, like a confession.

"What words, Neil? What did you say?" He choked for a moment, and then his mouth opened again.

"I just wanted you to see me, Sarah. That's it. You never saw me."

"What did you say, Neil?" Her voice was stern.

"'I wish the Goblins would take me away, right now.'" His voice was quiet and ashamed, and he quickly followed it up with his own defense. "I didn't think it was real, I didn't, Sarah. I just wanted to understand you; I wanted to be the one who saw you, and saved you from whatever it is that's haunted you all these years. I just wanted to be special to you."

"Neil," she let his name trail into silence. She had known for a long time that Neil had feelings for her, but she had taken advantage of the fact that he never said anything to just be friends with him. She could not help but feel a little guilty that he now found himself tapped in the Labyrinth. Especially now, with the Goblin King imprisoned.

"I swear I didn't think it was real, Sarah. I thought it was just a dream you'd had, like you said. I swear I didn't mean to get stuck here. And now everything is chasing me-"

"Okay. It's okay, I understand." Her hands came down to rest on his shoulders, and she pushed slightly until he let her go. She then offered her hand to help him up. "Is someone running for you?"

"Like you did for Toby?"

"Yeah," she smoothed out her clothes, suddenly aware that she hadn't showered or had a bath in days and was wearing clothing provided by the only man who had the power to cross the boundaries and send Neil home. She felt the blood drain from her face as her hands stilled. She looked sharply at him.

"Who could? I wished myself here. When I saw you I thought that maybe you would…" He trailed off and brow furrowed at her expression."Sar, you don't look so good."

"Who let you in?"

"I told you, the Goblins-" Nothing is what it seems. The Goblin King had fallen in love with the Girl, and had given her certain powers.

"Neil. Who let you in?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Sar, the Goblins came, and the next thing I know I'm here in this fucked up maze!" Something was off about the story, so close to her own but undeniably different. Toby had been a baby, easily stolen away by the creatures who could slip so easily between worlds. She knew they were much stronger than they seemed, but Neil was an adult, and one who did not believe in the Underground no matter how often he entertained her talk of it.

"It doesn't work like that."

"It did!"

"No," she said, backing away from him.

"Sarah, you have to believe me. I'm telling you the truth."

"No, You're not." The man stared at her in horror.

And then the expression melted away, and took his coloring with it. Neil's dark hair bled to purest white, rippling out from his head to hang long and straight past his waist. His eyes shifted subtly, becoming slightly larger and more angular, and his features became sharper and more defined somehow. As though the humanity bled away from him, leaving a creature as cold and cruel as winter in his place. His eyes were a blue like the sky at night, his cheekbones sharper. He was beautiful, fierce, proud. And very obviously one of the Sidhe.

"How ridiculous that a simple half-blood should see through my disguise." The crackle of ice caused her to look down, and she was surprised to see ice forming on the stone at his feet despite the warmth of the sun. His gaze followed hers, and then he met her gaze.

The smile that spread across his face made her blood run cold.


Author's Note:

I ended up re-writing more than half of this chapter the other day. And then half of chapter ten as well because different things had happened. I think it's much better now.

In real-life news: My costume for Labyrinth Masquerade is coming along quite nicely.