Author's Note: This really does take place five years after the previous chapter. Therefore Toby has been with the elves for six years in total and Jareth has been wherever he is for six years too.

----------------------------------------------

"Arra, stop running and come back here," Toby yelled, following his daughter as she raced off towards the bathing pool.

"No," she shrieked, bouncing up and down on the banks of the little lake, her blue eyes sparkling and her blond hair flying in uneven lengths around her head. Just at the moment, she looked like a small, female version of the Goblin King on speed. And Toby was having severe palpitations about that.

"Arra, it is not time to go for a bath," he warned, approaching her slowly.

She bounced closer to the edge of the lake and laughed. "Not a bath," she called, "I want to swim. Mae showed me."

Toby cursed Maegorod in his mind in fluent goblin and then held out a hand. "I'll let you swim later if you come back with me now." Damn those elves! What the hell did Gwenél give her toffee for? Now she was hyper and wouldn't sit still.

"No," she pouted, "Now!" And with that one word, she turned, ignored her dad's shout and splashed into the water fully dressed.

Toby gave up. "Arra, please?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had a headache.

The six year old turned to look at her dad's grim face and came out, her giggles turned to sober innocence in big blue eyes. Her tunic and leggings were soaked through and her hair was plastered down around her face and neck. Now she just looked like a drowned kitten. Or Jareth having a bath... Toby felt his mind wander through memories and dropped hurriedly to his knees, hoping to hide the rather swift reaction from his body.

"You're soaked," he scolded, shaken up by his own lack of control more than his daughter's sugar high, "Naughty child!"

Arra pouted again. "Not," she said succinctly.

"Are," Toby replied in kind. Being only twenty-three had its benefits when interacting with a child of six. Shrugging out of the coat he was wearing, he wrapped her up, shivering himself in the cool autumn breeze. Arradine, however, looked bored. And well she should! She never got cold or hot; apparently Jareth's blood flowed very strongly in her veins. She was more than seventy percent immortal from what he could tell. Only a small part of her was mortal.

"You'll be the death of me," he grumbled, unconsciously remembering his mother's words when he'd done something equally stupid, "Now, come on! We're going back and you are going to sit down and help Gwenél with the sorting."

"But is boring," she protested, "I want to play."

"You may want, but you may not get. Sweetheart, Gwenél asked you to help last night and you seemed so excited. She's waiting for you to come back to start and you're holding her up. Is that fair?"

"No," the child whispered, still dragging her heels reluctantly.

Toby sighed and tugged slightly on her wet fingers. It was no use chastising her; she was a child. To Arradine, what she wanted to do last night didn't always carry over to the next day. It was his job to teach her different. And just his luck, she was still willful. "Just like your father," he heard himself say.

He felt more than saw the blue eyes turn up to his face. "My Ada?" she asked, using the elvish word for it. "How?"

"Arra..." Toby stopped and looked down. "Come on, sweetheart; I'll tell you when we're sitting down."

Dropping down the hole, Toby floated them both down and sent her running off to Gwenél's room to help with sorting the wool and thread the elf maiden had made during the summer months. Arradine was growing so fast and new winter clothes were needed for her, and Gwenél had kindly volunteered to make them. He stayed a minute staring at his hands and wondering.

All of five years had passed and no mention was made of the former Goblin King. No one would tell him anything, but not for nothing was he learning the arts of fighting from the three elves. He had a decent enough command of the sword and the bow, but much to his great disgust his skill lay with fighting knives. Once he'd gotten over the panic-stricken fear of them, they had felt almost an extension of his fingers. And because he never forgot how dangerous knives could be, he used them to full effect.

Another skill lay with swift, silent movement. Even the elves were hard-pressed to hear him now. Of course, it was all down to his animus. Being a wolf was rather calculated to give him the habit. He smiled as the thought of that. Jareth could change to animals or birds as his mood took him; Toby had one animal and no bird forms. But the animal form was now so much a part of him that it translated into his human life too. How would his husband have enjoyed that?

Well, his husband was not mentioned in any conversation. The smile faded. Jareth was alive somewhere, they knew that. But no one knew where. And no one knew why he had never returned. Maegorod and Brethiliaur had no more information than that Jareth's name was only whispered in secret amongst the goblins and that Amarild ruled from the Goblin King's castle with a firm hand, changing things that had been in existence for many thousands of centuries.

The Labyrinth was fallen. Toby had seen that himself during one of his more successful scryings. The ruins were somehow more terrifying than the danger of the Labyrinth had been.

Entering the room, he nodded to Gwenél and sat down on the bed behind his daughter, drawing her onto his lap as she attempted to untangle a skein of thick cream thread.

"All is well?" the elf maiden asked delicately.

"All is well," he replied, stroking over the blond head. Arradine had rather unusual hair, in spite of its spikes and slightly coarse texture- a seeming mixture of both her fathers than any one style. He guessed it as a moon-blond streaked gold. "Thank you for changing her."

"I changed myself," Arradine interrupted proudly, flashing him a smile over her shoulder. Before he could respond she had turned back again, this time frowning up at him, a small hand reaching up to touch his jaw. "Why're you sad?"

"Pardon? I'm not sad."

"Yes," she insisted slowly, "You are. Why?"

"Arradine, stop," he groaned, "I'm fine. Now go back to your thread."

The lower lip trembled as she turned back. Gwenel considerately stayed out of it and engaged the little girl in bright chatter about what clothes she wanted. The mortal sat where he was and dreamed sad dreams. The initial blinding misery of the denied binding had translated into the dull throb of remembrance over the years. Half of his pain seemed to have disappeared with childish fear, leaving him wondering and still worried over how much he had truly felt for Jareth.

And more to the point, how Jareth had felt for him.

"Toby?"

"Dad!"

He blinked and looked up. His daughter was staring at him disapprovingly, her straight little nose indignant as the look in her eyes. It was all too much. She would grow up to be far too much like Jareth. And he couldn't take that! He couldn't look at her and not feel guilt.

"Excuse me," he asked, pushing Arradine off and getting to his feet. The child let out a protesting squeak but he ignored it, escaping from both questioning gazes as fast as he could. Arradine didn't deserve to be snapped at because Toby was upset with himself.

"Toby."

Good God, did the elf have to follow him! "Gwenél, leave it be," he snapped shortly, "I'm not in the mood. I'll only say something..."

"You may say anything you wish, but I will still ask what is wrong."

He stopped outside his room, two seconds away from losing control of his emotions and stared at her. He saw compassion and caring in those grey eyes, and a long neck and smooth shoulders. He saw her breasts outline by the grey gown she had chosen to wear indoors for the day and the elegant fingers that lay passive at her side. And the wildness- the wealth of brown hair and the wildness. He grabbed her without thought and kissed her, raging to think that desire could make him do this. Guilt was pulsing through him and anger made him viciously grind himself even further into that black darkness. Gwenél's mouth was soft beneath his, pliant and biddable. Her mouth was warm and wet and his tongue feasted on being inside it.

She made no sound but pressed soothingly against him, almost seeming to welcome his touches.

Coherent thought hammered at him to stop. The formal binding awoke and shrieked at him to remember his husband. But he blocked them both and slammed her against the wall, not quite bothered to think it might hurt her. Long fingers rose to clasp his arms and he hated them. Hated them for their length and delicacy, hated them because they made the guilt flare just by feeling them touch him so intimately. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, sliding a knee between her legs to help with the angry seduction. He had her; he knew that.

'Take what you need from me...'

A vision of a feast many years ago when a Goblin King had seduced a sixteen-year-old boy... and now, like then, the seducer faltered, disgusted with himself and wresting control back before it disappeared altogether.

Toby let the female go, backing away as the blood drained from his face at the thought of what he had just done. Even his thoughts and the formal binding were silent, seeming to realize that he knew his mistake well enough.

He left then, apparating away so that he was saved from embarrassment.

Gwenél massaged her wrists and sighed. She had thought something like this would happen. And early on she had noticed that Toby never looked to the males with unconscious admiration. It was strangely puzzling, given his relationship with Jareth. But neither Brethiliaur nor Maegorod, both good-looking elves and close friends, were what the mortal seemed to find attractive.

"Ai, Elbereth," she sighed, straightening her gown as she walked slowly back to Arradine, "And guilt is a powerful aphrodisiac."

That guilt could make someone do unspeakably ridiculous things was obvious. Toby spent the entire day as a lone wolf in the forest, returning to the Place of Time with a limp and gash across his arm only to retreat to his room immediately, unable to look even Sir Didymus in the eye. Arradine he couldn't even touch, putting her away from him with a gentle hand as he saw accusation in those hurt blue eyes.

But the bed was too warm and the air cold. The mortal twisted and turned, shivering as if with a fever, sweat beading on his skin only to freeze and trickle away like ice water.

The door opened. And Gwenél entered.

"Leave," Toby muttered, "I am sorry, but I can't talk about it now."

"I do not want to talk," she said softly, "Arradine sleeps in my room so this floor of the burrow is empty but for us. Toby, I once offered to give you what comfort I could. The offer still stands. But it can only be comfort!"

"I'm not in love with you," slipped out before he could clench his jaws shut.

Surprisingly, the elf only laughed softly and sat on the bed beside him. Long fingers stroked his cheek and he sighed, feeling the heat lessen somewhat with those wonderfully cool fingers. And he discovered that there were calluses scraping over his skin, hard and rough, as Jareth's touch had been soft and supple.

"Five years is a long time without someone to touch," she said sympathetically, "If this is truly what you do not want, then I will leave. Even if you are not sure and say 'no', I will leave. Do not take this unless you want it."

"Why are you doing this?" The fingers slipped to his neck and he purred with delight. Just there was where Jareth had bitten him in the first dream they had shared while he was sent away to the Aboveground.

"I know what loneliness can be. Besides, you are young and your body needs things that may not always be what you would like to think is acceptable. But sex is a necessary part of life and six years without the touch of any but a small child can be pure torture."

"Arradine used to be enough..."

"But she cannot be everything. Toby, the bond tells you that you belong to Jareth; you know this. But the bond cannot dictate the way you live your life. It feeds off you as you feed off the bond. If you refuse its words, it cannot enforce them. And doubt always arises after the first shock of loss."

Toby opened his eyes and looked her. She knew what she was talking about, he realized. She had lost someone too. And doubted, just as he did. But she had learned her answer many years ago and he guessed that she had learned that she had loved whoever it was. And him? Well, Toby had thought for five years and he still didn't know. Was that love? It was so far away, and in spite of the sweetness, it had been so tortured and burdened that he couldn't imagine how they had survived it without killing themselves. But he couldn't think of that now. He just couldn't. He needed to forget, just for a while.

He licked his lips nervously. "Gwenél, may I?"

She smiled and lay down beside him. He looked her over, still sitting up, uncertain of himself in spite of his maturity. God, this was ridiculous! He was a virgin as far as women were concerned. Elaine had been a long time ago.

Gwenél saw the helpless look on the mortal's face and wisely decided to help. After five years, she didn't blame him for being wary of where to start. She took his hand and laid it on her arm, then pulled him down to kiss her.

Slow, sweet strokes of her tongue encouraged him further, guiding him as Jareth had never guided him, firing him with soft compliance when he took careful control. She tasted of apples and smelt like lavender, a heady combination that sank into his blood and brought back a touch of that wild, raging passion. How had this happened? What dragon had Jareth unleashed in him when he'd claimed him? Toby never remembered being this sensual before. He was meant to be practical, somewhat of a loner and somewhat cold. Then Jareth had come and he'd burned like a furnace for him, needing more and ever more. The rape had threatened to drown the fire when it had first started but Jareth had never seemed to mind that he was putting broken pieces back together. It had made the whole thing more intense, more poignant. Toby had cast Jareth in too many roles.

And now Gwenél and he ached so badly for her. Why? Was it for her or did he just ache?

He lost his train of thought as he pulled her gown away and his hands found her breasts.

Thought could wait for the morrow.

-----------------------------------------------

"How do you feel?"

His Master looked up at that question, smiling contentedly up at him with those full lips. He felt himself smile back and that was all right too.

"I feel better," came the reply, "Your fingers are magic, my pet."

He chuckled as he continued to work the knots out of the tense shoulders. His Master had been forced to put aside his needs for work for the whole week. Little things like meetings, and then the soldiers had needed to be trained. He didn't like the soldiers, but he had to admit that they were good at what they did. Work had only finished the night before. The calluses on his Master's hands had been particularly rough on his skin the night before. He laughed a little louder as he remembered the feel of them inside him.

"What is so amusing?"

At times like these, he never addressed his Master by his title or his name. Since he never spoke to anyone else in this particular tone of voice, there was no need to when they were alone.

"You," he said cheekily.

"I should spank you for that."

"You did. Yesterday."

"Ah, but today is a new day. And I am sure the bruises have faded. That ointment is very good."

"Yes, it is," he replied, giving a happy little wriggle, "The bruises have gone."

"As has that pain my shoulders. You can stop now. Thank you, pet."

He caught up the hand nearest him and pressed a kiss into it. It was never all thunderclouds and whips with his Master; many times they rested like this. Times when things went right. When there was order and he could relax, concentrating on the simple things like his child and his Master. Where other people didn't intrude and confuse him.

"Have you eaten today?"

He shook his head. It was never mentioned but he had soon learned that an unspoken and unendorsed rule was that he never ate without his Master. Gorenha would bring him punctual meals, but he chose never to eat them unless his Master was away for days at a time. It put a smile into those brown eyes.

"So neglectful," his Master sighed.

Reaching to the tray, the strong fingers snagged a peach and held it out.

He took it and bit into it, the sweet juices spurting into his mouth with a delightful tingle. Eyes glowing, he swallowed and then licked his fingers before taking another bite. This time he was pulled down, and the mouthful shared between both. Everything he had was his Master's.

But then the pain in his chest intruded. His Master pulled away with a frown as he hissed and rubbed at the spot through the embroidered tunic. It wasn't usually even pain as much as something that writhed and burrowed from his skin to his heart. This time it hurt. He didn't like it and he had been getting it much too frequently as of late.

"The same ache?"

"Yes. I am sorry, I- I do not know why it happens."

His Master stayed silent, probing his mind silently for something. He stayed still and endured that pain too, so used to it that he almost liked the feeling of security. Five years since the birth of his child and the time had taught him all he needed to know about his role with this enigmatic God. Whatever it was his Master was looking for, the fairy seemed to find it- or not find it as the case may be- for he received a smile and a shake of the dark head.

"We shall go slow tonight, hmmm? Just let me touch you."

"Whatever you desire," he swore, holding out his arms to be taken.