AN: In which a character almost breaks the fourth wall...


"I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life."

Rita Rudner


Having escaped the confines of the bedroom, Sarah found herself standing in the hall, clutching her clothes in hand like someone sneaking out the morning after a humiliating one-night stand.

Cern, who'd been waiting in the hall as promised, swallowed down another bark of laugh at her new predicament. "In deference to your quick thinking yesterday, I shall endeavour to do something I've never done before and be a gentleman." He turned his broad back while she ducked into an alcove and did her best to shimmy into the trousers and tunic she'd snagged at random.

It was a pity she'd forgotten to grab shoes. She padded down to breakfast barefoot.

Sarah was surprised to later learn that her brief lack of footwear had caused quite the stir amongst the few goblins they'd passed, and that going shoeless became the latest trend in the Underground. An unfortunate fashion development for those goblins tasked with mucking out the latrines, of course.

Footwear aside, the girl who had once eaten the peach had become an overnight hero to the subjects of the Underground. The tale of her dramatic intervention on kelpie-back had become something of a monster with too many heads. Varied accounts included that she'd arrived naked, that she had fought the duel herself using nothing but a spoon, and more fanciful ones suggested that she'd actually cut the fae lord's heart out with that spoon. Most, if not all, ended with her dragging the Goblin King from the field of battle and ravishing him behind the stables, with some explicit versions noting she'd been so lusty she'd broken the king's pelvis. The latter in no way detracted from her acclaim though - quite the opposite. Several goblin brothels had offered "pelvis-smashing" at a premium price to goblin clients for centuries. It only added to her appeal.

More to a point, all of her feats - true or otherwise, were the ideal makings of a Goblin Queen. And that mattered.

Cern, to his credit, offered no comment on her lack of footwear, nor did he relate any of the rumours buzzing about the palace. Not before coffee, even he wasn't that cruel. No, he'd let her discover those on her own – preferably while he wasn't in striking distance.

He did procure her some boots while she finished a quick breakfast, however. Rook followed tight at his heels, the boy's normally precocious and gregarious nature strangely muted.

He regarded her earnestly as she tied the leather laces. "I don't think I would like to see you die now."

Sarah laughed before trailing off as she registered his expression. "Ah." She cleared her throat. "Well, I suppose I should he happy you aren't so eager anymore, but somehow the idea of you watching me pass, hopefully when I was very old and very grey, has become strangely comforting." She could guess, but asked anyway. "What brings about this change of heart?"

"Yesterday…"

"The duel," she finished carefully. "With Jareth."

Rook sniffed and looked away. She could tell he was trying to be stoic.

She reached out and ruffled his hair. "He's fine, you know. Resting upstairs."

His face fell, making him look even younger. "But he wasn't. Very nearly."

"And that frightened you. Losing him." A lump settled in her own throat.

He nodded.

"Jareth will be back to his usual self in no time," she assured him, her eyes seeking Cern's for confirmation. He'd been respectfully observing their exchange in silence, but he inclined his head.

To her surprise, Rook's arms slid about her waist in a clumsy hug. "I don't want you to die either, Sarah."

"Oh," she mouthed, and then returned a gentle squeeze. "Well, I promise not to do so for a good long bit."

His face shot up. "But you will. Long is not that long at all. You can't promise that! I won't be fully grown. Not even if you live to 100!" It was clear he'd come to some stark realizations and wasn't sure how to process it all, his words tripping over themselves. And then with the casual frankness of a child, immortal or otherwise, he sniffed, "Maybe I won't even like the next one as much."

The lump in her throat grew and choked back whatever words of comfort she might have offered. He'd managed to pick worries she'd kept tightly knit. She would go home or she would die. Far sooner than any of them. There would be another to take her place.

Cern cleared his throat and laid a gentle hand on Rook's shoulder. "Your mother is looking for you by now I expect, Rook. Run along. I'll make sure Sarah's fine. And that I can promise."

Rook seemed reluctant to leave, but after another more insistent nudge from Cern, Rook detached himself, wiped sheepishly at his eyes and left.

Cern waited until the door closed again. "Come on then. Enough of this maudlin nonsense."

Sarah regarded him suspiciously. "Come where?"

"You wanted to learn to fight didn't you? I may be an excellent teacher, but one lesson hardly qualifies you to slice a sausage."

It had begun to register with Sarah that she was being handled, and Cern had apparently drawn the short straw.

"Fight? Really?" she caged. "Feels almost… wrong after yesterday."

Cern pulled a face at her. "Do you honestly expect Jareth won't pick up a blade again?" At her sharp look, he added quickly. "To try and wallop me for this morning. Not to seriously duel anyone else, Sarah."

She chewed her lip.

"Or you can stay here with your thoughts and wait for eager guests to come and ask you about your dramatic display yesterday. Because I assure you the stories are getting more interesting by the moment."

"If I didn't know better, I would say that you're babysitting me."

"Perish the thought," he replied a little too easily. Then he added slyly, "At least rest assured I won't wish you away to the Goblin King."

Sarah stared at him incredulously, before snorting in laughter. "Below the belt. And you only won't because I'm already stuck here."

"Exactly. So come be stuck with me for a bit. Or you can stay here and be mawkish over cold coffee."

She stuck her tongue out at him childishly but followed him. He held the door open for her.

"Excellent choice. It's been an entire day since someone turned me into a pin cushion. I was getting far too comfortable in my own skin."


Jareth drifted in and out of a dreamless sleep throughout the morning and into midday, aided by the powerful tinctures with which Lugh had liberally dosed him. As the iron worked itself out, he roused occasionally to a particularly wracking throb of pain, only to drift under again just as quickly. The fever left his sheets damp and they clung to his body liked a sickly, second skin. But it broke eventually and did not return. Faster than even he expected considering the amount he'd absorbed. It helped that he no longer maintained a glamour, which had strained his depleted stores all the more.

When he woke again he was confident he was over the worst of it. His mouth was dry and tasted sour; he gulped a glass of water gratefully. His forehead was cool to his own touch, if slightly clammy from hours of dried sweat. Propping himself up stiffly, he spied the evidence of Sarah's night spent on the settee.

He'd have made a fool of himself had she'd stayed that morning. He'd been barely stronger than a newborn babe. Even their brief exchange had worn him.

And thrilled him.

Pacified his bruise pride…

Burnt into his mind was the image of her thundering onto the field on the back of a frothing kelpie - her tangled hair and sodden gown whipping behind her, doing nothing to lessen her striking appearance. She'd looked like an avenging Valkyrie - fearsome and beautiful.

Powerful.

He'd never imagined himself playing the damsel in distress. Much less imagined in such a spectacularly public fashion. It was a role with which he was entirely unsuited. Were he honest and laid his pride aside however, there was no doubt that she'd saved him. He may have still proven victorious in the duel without her interference, but he'd more likely than not have fallen victim in the next. He'd been thoroughly spent. His kingdom, his bride, and his life may all have been forfeit. Without doubt the former two. Neither loss was acceptable.

Aodhán was a particularly nasty specimen. It wasn't that he had bided his time until he could assure himself an easy victory – that sort of strategy Jareth could well-respect. It was what would have come later. Callous and cruel, but without finesse. Without measure. He invariably broke his toys.

Had circumstances been different and he'd wed Rhiannon as destined, Aodhán would have become his in-law. It was an entirely repugnant thought. Killing him would have been off the table. Perhaps Sarah had saved him twice then.

There was no denying the relish with which he'd taken his life. Only Morrigan herself may have found more pleasure in the death – as she did in all ends. The surge of satisfaction had thrummed through his veins, stoked further by the thundering blood lust that had kept his failing body upright. More potent by far than any magic. Thank the gods he'd been so weak then. Otherwise it would have been hard not to take Sarah then and there. Stake his claim like she had so publicly staked hers.

For once there had been no pretence between them.

The taste of her wet breast in his mouth… the feel of her eager hand stroking his cock… the look of lust in those tortuous green eyes…

Had they not been interrupted, he'd have been inside her on that shore.

The same way she'd so ruthlessly carved herself a space within him. He had no doubt that he could convince her to give him everything she held back.

Willingly. Unreservedly. Forever.

Perhaps it was better that he'd not been able to do so. Covered in blood and driven mad by iron, he'd not have been gentle or slow. Base urges did not make for friendly mornings. And he wanted to take his time.

To savour.

In his mind, he saw her splayed naked in his bed – their bed – her creamy thighs spread wantonly. Willingly. Eagerly. Time enough for rough claimings later.

He wanted her desperate for him. As he was for her. In a way that was frightening if he ever allowed himself to fear.

His cock twitched, reminding him he was indeed not dead - reminding him he was growing stronger with every minute. He was no longer on a field of honour and the rules of courtship were less rigid.

'I would have found the right words. I would have said yes.'

It was time to remind her what's said is said.


You heard me!" Sarah ground out, swiping a damp lock of hair out of her sweaty face. "The boots are too big and I keep sliding on the stones."

"Excuses, excuses," Cern clucked his tongue. "On a wager, I once fought a slime troll wearing nothing save a pair of velveteen heels that were at least two sizes too small."

Sarah snorted. "I should have liked to see that."

"I'm told their colour complimented my eyes. I don't recommend it naked, however. The slime gets everywhere. And I mean… everywhere."

He attacked again while she digested his words. Sarah managed to clumsily deflect.

"Good. Better," he said curtly, before advancing again from a new angle.

Sarah stumbled backwards, landing hard on her rump, but this time she still parried her blade, slicing him across the shin.

He hissed at the sting, but nodded at her appreciatively, before pulling her up.

"I somehow doubt that's a formal move," she said ruefully, inwardly preening at his evident approval.

"Hardly," Cern agreed. "But formal moves are for those who want to die formally. Only fools play by the rules and hope to win." His words sobered her.

"Jareth did. You did. No one told me what was even going on. I wouldn't have know but for Morrigan."

"I always said she had a soft spot for him." Cern pinched his fingers tightly together. "About this much, but that's more than anyone else I can think of."

When she simply stared at him, he sighed. "Vows are different, Sarah. I told you I couldn't. I would have liked to." Then he added pointedly, "Words matter."

"Don't." She shook her head at him. "I did what I had to."

"You did. Now don't be a coward." He attacked again without warning. "Are you really going to run and hide now? After everything?"

Sarah ducked under his swing and spun around defensively. "I'm not a coward, I'm being practical!"

His next thrust slid through her defences and his blade hovered a hair's breadth away from her throat. "Smells like a coward to me."

"And what would you know about it, hmm?" Her eyes glittered. "You immortal gods and goddesses who live forever. Until you get so bored you invent stupid reasons to kill each other with poisoned blades that is."

Cern's grey eyes widened at the unexpected vitriol. "Calli told me you had not witnessed death like that before. I suppose my knowledge of mortals is centuries out of date. I remember your people being rather blood thirsty at one point."

"Oh, we still find ways to destroy each other."

"You just do it with words." His blade lowered and his free hand reached out to settle on her shoulder gingerly. "Are you… are you alright?" He looked completely out of his element.

Sarah stared at his broad fingers as they gently squeezed, attempting to comfort instead of crush. "I'll be fine, I think. It was just… a lot."

His face eased. "On many of us. You saw Rook."

She bristled. "I'm not a child."

"I never said you were, Sarah." He removed his hand. "Woe to anyone who underestimates your mettle, me thinks."

She snorted again, but he'd meant it truthfully. She was fragile in ways he didn't understand as a god, and powerful in ways he couldn't fathom. It was all coming out wrong though. He'd never been good at this sort of thing. Showing comfort. He'd only meant to distract her and keep her occupied, and away from anyone else.

"If it makes you feel better, Aodhán was a horse's arse and twice as mean," he said. "No one who matters mourns him."

"Suppose I stayed," Sarah continued. Her tone was softer now though her eyes were still flint steel. "I'd get old. Get old and die. And he wouldn't. Not the same way." When he said nothing, Sarah continued. "I'm not a fool or a coward, Cern. I went reading in the library. I know how this ends."

Cern felt his stomach sink. No good ever seemed to come from books. In fact, he had a healthy aversion to reading for that very reason. You couldn't stab something you didn't like in a book. And anything you couldn't kill was dangerous. Hunting and blade sports were far safer than reading.

"Mortals are still mortals. Even here. We might have a longer life Underground, free from most illnesses and stronger perhaps, but we still age and die. Far faster than any of you. Not even Jareth's magic can change that."

He had the grace not to lie to her, though he wished dearly for the ground to swallow him whole. There was never a pit of no bottom when one truly needed it. Had he not cautioned Jareth of the same when it all started?

"Match point," she said at his silence. "Now imagine what is really being asked of me."

"Imagine what is being asked of him too then."

Sarah stilled at his gentle rebuttal. "Call me selfish or call me a coward then, but all I see is pain. On both sides."

When he didn't say anything further, she rallied, swallowing back the roiling emotions bottlenecking in her throat, and readied her sword again. "Round three? I want to hear more about the wager and the slime troll."


By the time they got back castle, Cern's easy charm and teasing charisma had lightened her mood considerably. The pint of Goblin Ale, now a prized rarity after Sarah's ravenous chicken army had decimated the grain stores, had no doubt helped. Several pints in Cern's case.

She had her arm looped companionably through his, both of them slightly sweaty and tired looking, when they rounded a corner and came face to face with the Goblin King.

His eyes took in the pair, roving over the perspiration in Sarah's hair and the stiffness in the way they both walked, before settling on their linked arms with piercing precision.

Cern untangled himself, shuffling his gait awkwardly, which of course did absolutely nothing to help.

"Out for a walk?" A pale brow arched.

"Yes."

"No."

Sarah and Cern exchanged glances.

"More of a jog really." Cern scrubbed the back of his neck, regretting the fourth pint that made the cogs in his head slow.

"A… jog." Jareth repeated evenly.

"Well, not a jog maybe, but a fast walk."

"Must have been a very fast one. You look out of breath, old man."

They exchanged glances again. Sarah shook her head minutely.

The Goblin King's eyes narrowed.

"You're alive." It had not been what she'd meant to say and she winced as soon as it came out. The Goblin Ale had clearly done a number on her too.

"Careful, Sarah," he replied dryly. "I may begin to think you care."

"I mean… How are you feeling?"

"Better." His eyes remained trained on his cousin. "Stronger."

"You're right. I am feeling very out of breath after that fast… er, walk. I should go and lie down." Cern excused himself, sending a look of pity towards Sarah. She mouthed 'coward' after him.

"I'm… glad," she offered honestly, feeling suddenly very uncertain in a way she hadn't before. It was not enough and too much all at the same time.

The weight of his stare dropped to her face. He looked pleased by her small concession.

It was Sarah's turn to shuffle her gait awkwardly. He was watching her – almost expectantly – for what she was not sure. He still appeared a touch pale, but from the skin she saw exposed at his throat, he looked largely unblemished. He'd healed remarkably fast.

"And there will be no more challenges?" she asked finally, though Cern had already reassured her there wouldn't be. Not after Cormac's waggling tongue.

That had apparently not been what he was waiting for but he inclined his head. "I've been looking for you."

"Oh," she said more breathlessly than she'd meant. She was uneasy in a way she couldn't quite explain. "I assumed you were still resting."

"Evidently." His eyes traced the direction Cern had gone and then tracked back to her. "But no longer."

A nervous titter escaped her throat, and she flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the exhaustion from Cern's training nor from the ale.

"I should go and… freshen up." She mopped at her sweaty brow.

"From the fast walk," he supplied. He caught her arm, the one she'd had linked to Cern's. His thumb rubbed a circle into her pulse. "We will talk about this, Sarah." His eyes were probing. "I half expected you would be gone by morning."

Sarah's brow furrowed. "Very funny. How could I have left when you've kept me on a leash?" She held her wrist up between him.

"I was so weakened, the bond was all but broken." His voice was smooth but there was something simmering beneath the surface. "You stayed."

Sarah stared at him wide-eyed.

In that moment Jareth realized he'd made a mistake. And somehow his victory became only pyrrhic.

"She wasn't given the choice." Morrigan had crept upon them silently and without warning – as death is wont to do. She looked younger; more vital and hale somehow. Her white hair was shot through with strands of inky blank. Sarah wondered if it was from the lord's death.

"What do you mean I wasn't given the choice? How could I… I was just so tired that I just…" she trailed off. "The Fiery Whiskey." She spun accusingly towards Jareth. "You drugged me!"

A look of anger crossed his brow at her charge. Though if Jareth were honest, he was not above it.

"He did not. Calliope did," Morrigan interjected calmly. "At my request."

Sarah remembered Calli pressing the glass into her hand. That immediate sensation of an almost pleasant burn suffusing her body. How tired she'd felt right after… She stared between them like a wild animal flanked by two predators. She sounded brittle to her own ears when she spoke. "Then I'll just leave now."

Morrigan spared Jareth replying. "You may certainly try." The unspoken 'and fail' was clear.

Sarah rounded on him anyway, stabbing the air between them. "This. This is why."

"Perhaps continue this elsewhere." Morrigan spoke as though they were both intractable children. Perhaps they were to a goddess as old as she.

Jareth didn't release her. "A fine idea."

Sarah pulled herself free. "I'd like to go up and change."

"How convenient then that the bedroom is a private place," he seethed.

Morrigan rapped her staff, her raven looking just as still and unimpressed. "No more of this. You will," there was unspoken warning in her tone, "present a united front. Is this clear? I do not care if you choose to torture one another behind closed doors – this castle's bedrooms have seen far worse – but you will not do so before the guests." Her eyes pinned Sarah. "Not after your display yesterday." It was difficult to tell if the goddess approved or not, though she'd been the one to warn her of the duel.

"I-" Sarah started.

"I will chain you both to the marriage bed until you cease this if needs be. Test me not, child." From anyone else it might have been a joke. With Morrigan it was a declaration of intent. "There is an expectation now. It was either truth or it was deceit, but the outcome will be the same."

Sarah felt Jareth's eyes on her.

"Regardless," Morrigan continued, "you will both see this through. At least until after Lughnasadh and the closing of these celebrations."

At the mention of the festival, Sarah felt a frisson of disquiet. How easy to forget she was facing her own threats.

"Be thankful most believe you both retired to your rooms by choice rather than necessity."

"Cern was baby sitting me too then," Sarah continued. "By your request? Making sure I was not seen?"

Morrigan inclined her head. Her raven bobbed with the movement. "He assured me he would keep you out of trouble and sight, and that my other efforts were not needed. I did not think he would choose what he did as a method. The boy always did have more body than brains. But I suppose it served."

Sarah saw Jareth tense at her words.

Morrigan gave them a final warning look. "Now that you are both out of bed, I assume you can handle her by yourself now." Her stare turned withering. "And she you."

Sarah bristled at the implication she needed to be managed at all. Much less by the cause of all her troubles, but the goddess was not interested in protests. Nor did she suffer fools – gladly or otherwise. Even ones related to her.

"Her raven always seems to be staring right into my soul," Sarah said to break the silence once they were alone again. "I don't think it likes me much. It never blinks and constantly follows me with its eyes.

Jareth laughed, surprising her. She turned to him questioningly.

"The bird is stuffed, Sarah." His laughter only increased at the look of shock writ large on her face. "I thought you knew. It was her favourite corvid once upon a time and when it passed, rather than replace it, she had it stuffed."

Sarah shuddered. "That's somehow worse."

"Be thankful she didn't have a favourite person then."

At that, Sarah's lips reluctantly twitched. "I didn't take her as the sentimental sort."

"I might not be alive, if she weren't," he replied. The tension returned - palpable in the air between them. She knew he was going to press her on her declaration the evening before.

Just then a group of guests strolled passed, some ways down the hallway, pausing when they spotted the pair.

"Are you going to kiss me, now," Jareth whispered. They were the same words he'd said to her during the hunt. After she'd caught him.

"Now?" She echoed the words she'd said then too. "Not likely."

"Morrigan's threat still stands," he cautioned, though it was clear he wasn't remotely bothered by it. "United front, remember?"

She cocked a brow, aware the guests were watching their exchange with avid interest but likely could not hear them. She reached up and patted his face. From afar it no doubt looked like tender affection.

"After wearing you out last night and for the majority of the day too apparently, I really do feel that you need a rest at your advanced age."

He laughed into her palm, cementing the outward façade that it was simply an embrace between lovers. "Wise to be cautious then. Especially with my pelvis still recovering."

Sarah's face screwed in confusion, but then he pressed a kiss into the flesh of her palm. It was feather-light, but her skin instantly tingled. She snatched her hand back as though burned.

Jareth inclined his head wryly to the gawkers and tucked her arm into his. "Come. If you don't want to put on that kind of show for our guests, and don't welcome being tied to my bed – an option I would strongly urge you to consider – we should make an escape while we can."

She fell into step beside him only out of curiosity. "I should change then?"

He looked her down. "No, this is perfect for what I have in mind. We are heading to the stables."

"Again?" It was out before she'd meant it.

Jareth stilled. "Is that where you and Cern came from?"

"What?" she asked, a warble to her voice. "I meant, why the stables? Don't tell me another picnic?" She couldn't decide if she was suddenly flush because she was nervous or excited.

His eyes flashed. "Not today I think."

When they reached the kelpie paddocks, Sarah realized he intended them to ride. She wasn't sure she was up to another breakneck gallop on their bony backs, but she stroked the nearest one anyway, surprised when it nuzzled almost affectionately into her hand – the same one he'd kissed.

"You may have her if you wish," he said with practiced insouciance. "I've decided she'd yours."

Sarah looked over at him sharply. He was readying saddles, having dismissed the groom.

"You looked so well together yesterday. That's the mare and they are harder to ride. She's taken to you, however, which is rare. You don't break a kelpie. Their wills are far too great. To destroy them would be sacrilege. No, instead you coax them to your hand. You show your worth to them and invite them to choose you." His words were lulling and she was no longer quite sure they were discussing the water horses. "They either respect you or they eat you."

Sarah stroked up the kelpie's neck absently, and then cleared her throat. "Gifting me a magical horse. Is this where you offer to buy me whatever I want? Shower me in gifts to buy my affection?"

He came over to put the saddle on hers, his lips bowed in a half-smile. "Your will was as strong as mine. Hopefully your coffers are as great." He tightened the straps and then fashioned a step with his gloved hands.

She placed a hand on the pommel and one on his shoulder for leverage. "I hate to break it you, but I have only been practicing for a few years. I still have student loans and law school wasn't cheap."

He lifted her into the saddle easily. "Ah, so you married me for money then?"

Sarah pulled a face at him, as she righted herself into the seat. She was grateful that the leather made sitting on the kelpie much more cushioned. The results of Cern's teaching methods still made themselves known.

He handed her the reins, his voice gone low. "Then for love?" Jareth laughed at her mutinous expression and walked around to mount his own beast.

They fell into an easy silence on the ride, for which Sarah was thankful. When they reached the crossroads from the day before and turned, she realized they were heading towards the Goblin Market.

Seeing her wordless reaction, Jareth drew his kelpie up beside hers. "You were so eager to visit. And there is no better place to disappear from curious guests than in the throngs of a bustling market."

"And am I in danger of being offered goblin fruit by goblin men?" She hadn't meant it to sound coquettish but the teasing hint was there and he snatched it.

"You know I tried that once, and this rather bumptious girl broke my ballroom." He smiled as though remembering it fondly. "I rather think not."

To Sarah's surprise, the Goblin Market was so much more than tainted fruit. Hoggle had told her of its splendid wares, but the descriptions did not do it justice. Brightly coloured tents in every hue and shape were spread in a wide clearing between the dappled trees. Music played from a variety of instruments and performers. They collected gold coins in their hats as they danced, breathed fire, and ate unusual objects and creatures, much to the delight of the goblin children. The creatures seemed far less delighted. Bolts of fine fabric and fired-pottery exchanged hands. Laugher and gossip overlaid the peaceful haggling. Spices and magic hung in the air like a bower.

True to his word, somehow their arrival did not brook much interest. Barely an eye was batted in their direction.

"The Goblin Market is a truce ground." Jareth drew up to her again and stilled her steed by taking her reins. "There are no kings or queens or fae lords here. All are equal in the Goblin Market." He dismounted and then offered his arms to her.

She slid down unassisted. "You must hate it then."

He ignored her jab as he'd ignored her small act of defiance. "I rather enjoy the freedom actually." Once again he let the kelpies go without binding them. No one would dare approach a kelpie, let alone try and steal one. "Come." He pulled her hand into his, and after a slight hesitation she let him. Their fingers threaded.

They strolled between the wares and stalls, Jareth stopping to explain now and then whenever Sarah showed even marginal curiosity. He was playing the perfect host, she realized. Deferring to her interests and answering her questions solicitously rather than trying to goad her. She wasn't sure what to make of it. She wasn't sure what to make of her reaction to it even more.

"I used to come here as a boy quite a bit," Jareth offered.

Sarah tried to imagine a tow-haired little imp of a Goblin King and found the image disconcerting in ways she couldn't explain. "With you parents?" In all of the family she'd met, never had his parents been mentioned.

"I loved the music and the chaos," he continued as though she hadn't spoken. "I loved disappearing for a moment. Not living up to expectations." He inhaled deeply, his face easing. "The smell is the same. Somehow that never changes."

They paused at several of the stalls selling jewellery, Sarah scanning the rings without any luck. At one such stall, as she did her best to politely decline the merchant who was tenaciously attempting to convince her she needed a necklace, which looked as though it was fashioned from human toe bones, Jareth pulled some coins from his pocket and retuned with two horned cups. The ride and afternoon sun had made her thirsty but she sniffed it cautiously.

"It's not poisoned, Sarah." He sounded almost disappointed in her. "Or drugged. I assure you I was far too gone to have had a hand in Morrigan's machinations."

"I know," she replied defensively, and took a sip. It was tangy like sour cherries but also dry like champagne, the bubbles tickling her throat pleasantly. She took another. "But let's not pretend it's not something you might have done."

"Perhaps," he allowed. "I might have done a lot of things. I know only what I did. And what you did." He let the words hang between them.

"What happened to the other one? That day in the library."

Her question, obvious deflection or not, took him off guard. "What?"

"The boy. The one with the dark hair and striking violent eyes. Did you kill him too?"

Jareth stiffened in understanding. He said nothing for a moment and then, "What remarkable concern you show."

Sarah couldn't parse his tone. Soft, but not gentle. Flat, but disguising mountains. "I don't… I mean… he just looked very young."

"Then you'd be pleased to know that he was in fact at least three times your age."

Rook's words from the morning returned. "I know that still makes him rather young by your standards." She paused. "Wait, was?"

His lips thinned. "Was as in he's a full day older today. I don't murder boys, Sarah. Even ones who think to take my crown from me."

"Oh," she said numbly, processing that she'd insulted him without meaning to. "I just… After the other one."

"After Aodhán, you mean." He paused, as though weighing his next words. "He would not have been kind."

She nodded. "Cern told me. I know you had to kill him."

"Sarah-"

Whatever else he might have said, was drown out by a cackling voice. A gnomish woman was seated before a small table in a round tent made up of vibrantly coloured scarves. Her patch work dress appeared to be of the same material, her long and course grey hair bound in a like manner. A crystal ball sat before her. Decidedly old, and very bent as a result, her orange eyes were still surprisingly clear and were currently directing a shrewd look in their direction.

"Read your fortunes, my good lord? Or that of your fine lady?"

Sarah noted that the tent was strung will all manner of odd but very human things - thimbles, spectacles, marbles, and even a ruined tube of lipstick. A tarnished fork dangled from one of the woman's ears. She was stroking a strange cat-like creature on her lap. It did not particularly seem to be enjoying the attention, though it made no move to escape either. It simply blinked rather murderous looking yellow eyes at everyone and everything.

A heady scent tickled Sarah's nose.

"Oh, be off with you, Fluffy. She's not your dinner anymore and I think you are a bit much for the poor lass today."

The unusual looking tabby jumped down and sauntered off haughtily – like it had been its decision all along.

"You keep a Cravling as a pet?" Jareth cocked a brow. "Singular."

"Pet? Hardly. Perhaps he keeps me though."

"You called him, Fluffy," Sarah added curiously. She did not think the creature looked particularly fluffy – more lethal if anything.

The woman winked. "Only as it annoys him so much."

Sarah sat in the chair and gestured towards the crystal ball. "You tell fortunes?"

The woman snorted. "Not with a glorified paperweight, lass." She looked to Jareth. "Why does everyone ask that?"

He stared at her blankly.

"Oh, my word." Her orange eyes went glassy and shifted out of focus for a moment. "That was a different life – a different tale, wasn't it? Nevermind! Nevermind!" Once clear again, she swept him from head to toe. "You are still a rather tasty morsel though. That much hasn't changed. But alas, I am still married to the same fool and his hat. And so are you this time round, it seems." She turned back to Sarah. "Give me your hand then."

Sarah did, though with a slight frown as she struggled to process the woman's tangent. One gnarled finger traced the creases in her hand. "Mhmmm. Hmmm. Mhmmm. Oh yes!"

Sarah leaned closer, wondering what it was she saw with growing trepidation. Would she make it back home? Would she survive Rhiannon?

"Just as I thought." The woman sat up and winked. "We write our own destinies. Fortunes are for fools."

Sarah gaped, drawing her hand back. "But I thought you were offering fortunes."

"And you sat down… therefore…" the woman cackled again.

Jareth smothered a laugh. Sarah shot him a dirty look.

"But I shall offer some advice." It was unclear to whom she was speaking. "The kind I think I offered to another king in another life. Wives are far wiser than their husbands."

That was the end of her loquaciousness, such as it was. She looked to the king expectantly and Jareth flipped her a coin. She rolled it between her fingers before she crooked a bent finger at him. He bent down and let her whisper something in his ear. His expression wavered for a moment. At the same time the woman's hand reached out and padded his pocket - the coin was gone.

The Goblin King straightened and then inclined his head with surprising deference. He took Sarah's hand and drew her back into the crowd. The sun was beginning to set, and Jareth reluctantly led the way back towards the edges of the market. A whistle and the kelpies returned.

"I am afraid our presence cannot be missed for much longer. We are both expected at this evening's festivities. Now you've seen the Goblin Market – you were so eager to see it, after all."

He lifted her into the saddle. She looked down licked her lips. He looked like he might like to do the same. But they rode back to the castle in silence.

Once at the door to their rooms, the kelpies bedded for the night, Jareth made it clear that he would leave her to dress in privacy. They were to see a series of short plays and pantomimes. A favourite of the fae and one of Lugh's specialities. They'd been absent long enough and had to make an appearance as hosts of the wedding celebrations. It rankled, but Sarah was willing to let the evening's distractions pull her from her own insidious thoughts.

"Thank you."

Sarah paused on the threshold. She wasn't sure if he meant for not fighting him on the outing or again for her intervention the day before. Or perhaps something else entirely. It seemed entirely sincere and free from his usual fetters of innuendo and guile – which made it all the worse.

"Shouldn't I thank you? For finally showing me the Goblin Market?" She had enjoyed it in fact. And it seemed the safest possibility of the three to settle upon. "Even if I didn't find my ring."

"Thank me later," he replied wryly. "This is my part." When he took her hand, she allowed it out of curiosity, pretending her breath didn't hitch a little. "I know I already got you a kelpie - my, I am very generous, today aren't I? But allow me one more token." Keeping hold of her hand, he returned a familiar gold and garnet ring to her finger.

"My ring," she breathed incredulously. "You found it!" It still fit.

Before she could overthink it, he dipped his head and found her lips with his. It wasn't a hurried kiss. Not one of passion or lust. It was a softly dreaming, almost comfortable one. The kind a husband might give a wife. And one that hid a deeper meaning. Hers parted, perhaps unnerved all the more by how easy it felt, but he was already leaving.

It was only then that it occurred to her that she'd just let the Goblin King put a ring on her finger and kiss her.

And that she'd wanted more.

Her mind was still on the kiss when she stepped into the room. Her mind was still on the kiss when she peeled off her boots…

Her mind was still on the kiss when fingers closed over her mouth, stifling her scream.


Dun, dun, dun…

Credits: For any of you that have far better memories than me and who have read it, the fortune-teller was an original character from my first story, The Goblin Market. I lifted her description from it (almost verbatim) so yes, I T.S. Eliot-ed myself again. I always wanted to bring her character back – even briefly. I think this officially makes her the Dr. Strange of this multiverse.

The cut his heart out with a spoon was an obvious reference (I hope) to the ineffable Alan Rickman in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. It was also a love note to my LFFL "daughter" Bowie Queen (I feel like a drag mother saying that) who recently popped her FB jail cherry for using emojis to reference that very quote in threat against my other LFFL "daughter" Telcontarian (an entirely justifiable threat in my estimation). Yes, I have a weird FB pseudo family of fellow writers that I absolutely cherish.

Breaking his pelvis was inspired by a random meme/ tweet, and 'tying to the marriage' was inspired by a story prompt. Maybe this story would be finished by now if Morrigan had done just that.

AN: Next up, some smut. Maybe not THE smut. But some smut. No, I am not kidding or pulling a cock block bait and switch. It was going to be in this one, but this felt like an organic place to stop this chapter (yes, it's only 7,000 odd words compared to the last chapter that was over 11k, but it's consistent in length with earlier chapters. It was that or this chapter was going to be WAY TOO LONG.)

Thank you for reading, as always! I was sitting on this chapter (for the most part) until I'd finally updated Tanglewood. And now, BAM, THAT'S DONE. I made myself a vow and I stuck to it.

The good news is that I accidentally wrote two chapters of this one, as it turns out, while getting Tanglewood's update together. So the next chapter of this story is basically just waiting to be polished and edited and then posted. Hell must have frozen over.

Small author request? Please login if you are going to ask a question. I can't reply and answer you unless you are logged in – I received a few questions on Tanglewood and can't reply until I update that story again (so hopefully less than 84 years). Thanks :)

If you aren't in LFFL, or on my FB, I've also landed myself in FB jail for the UPTEENTH TIME – this time for a month again. So one of my main sources of procrastination is now gone. Aiming to get an update on all of my WIPs.

Sidebar to that: Amazing that transphobia, racism, misogyny and other isms are allowed on FB, but call an arrogant, gun-toting American a chicken emoji because be won't buy milk without packing, and that's considered hate speech. Stay classy, FB!

So yah! WRITING. Be safe, folks! Warmer weather has hit here and I AM McLOVIN' IT.