Author's Note: Dear, dear, dear... and Toby cheats on Jareth? That's not good! But then again, it is five years later.

Author's Note 2: The elfish language used is from Tolkien, as are the names. The customs are from my own insane little mind.

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"Gwenél, I think... I mean, about last night, I... um..."

The elf looked up and smiled at him. "Stop fussing," she laughed, "It was only comfort for two lonely people."

Toby blushed and dropped into the chair opposite her. "I just wanted to say thanks," he muttered, "I don't know why I did that, but I needed it. It was very good of you to put up with me."

"As I recall, I did not put up with you," she sighed, "I was a willing participant. Toby, I would not have offered it simply out of pity, you know. This pent-up emotion is never good. It would have torn you into two and then broken your concentration. And I believe we may have a plan to locate your bond mate."

Toby's ears pricked up. Six years and one night of betrayal later and he might see his husband again! "How?" he demanded breathlessly.

Gwenél pushed the bowl of something over to him to eat and shrugged. "A scrying," she said seriously.

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Archer made his way silently to the Fairy Queen's side on the parapets of the Goblin Castle. "Your Majesty," he greeted, bowing before her.

The wind whipped the chestnut brown hair around her shoulders, long and loosed from any trinkets and ornaments. The simple white gown made her look younger than her two hundred and thirty-three years. But her eyes held the wisdom and steel-like determination of a strong monarch. Jareth had frequently under-estimated her until his eventual capture. Now even in her victory she was forced to concede that the Goblin King might still have some power, some purpose.

"The Spirit still will not answer," she called, gesturing sharply to the ruins around the Castle, "I have destroyed its defences. I have cowed it and made it weak. But it still will not answer to me."

Archer sighed. The problem with the Fairy Queen, he knew, was that she thought Jareth had only commanded it for it to happen. Most had thought that, including Sarah. It was never the way his cousin, or the previous Goblin Kings, had worked. One had to manipulate to get what one wanted.

It would be no good explaining so to her. "It has no need to, my Queen," he shouted over the roar of the wind, "The Spirit is bound to no one, not even Jareth. It will only answer should it so wish to."

She thought about that, still and silent on the parapet, drawing her own power back into herself so that the wind died down and gentled to a caressing breeze. It wrapped itself around her neck and shoulders, soothing her like a living thing. The Goblin Kingdom was a vexatious place, she mourned, a wild land quite apart from its coarse inhabitants and creatures. It had taken many good soldiers to pin the fieries down and cage them. And the doors had had to be dismantled and stowed in the empty granaries that should have been filled with the rich produce of the soil. Nothing had gone according to plan since Jareth had accused her of plotting to ruin his bond mate.

She remembered the small, slender blond mortal boy who had sauntered around the ballroom over six years ago. The memories were not much, being overshadowed by other, more interesting people and a velvet mask, but they were enough to tell her that anyone might have been to blame. The consort of the Goblin King... for any who thought in ways of possession, such a prize was worth much effort. It was also entirely possible that the mortal had, er, fallen from his throne for a quick roll in the dirt and lied about it. Jareth had struck her as being blind, for all his remarkable insight. Though, if what she remembered was true, and if that goblin healer was to be believed, there had indeed been a rapist. And having seen evidence over the years, she suspected she knew who the rapist might have been.

"Tell me, Archer, has no trace been found of Jareth's consort?" she asked casually.

"No trace," the fairy Lord agreed, staring around the Kingdom. It was always an option, he mused, to instigate an uprising against Amarild. The goblins would flock to him with the right incentive, which he could well provide, and he would rule. With or without the medallion he would rule. But did he want the responsibility? Well, yes. But not yet. Everything had its time and place as he well knew. And the Kingship would come when the time was right.

"Archer."

He turned, an eyebrow raised to hear that dark tone in his Queen's voice. Lately he had heard it more often than he cared to. He suppressed a smirk; clearly it had changed when she had seen his pet.

"Archer, if I find that the mortal and his child have been in your keeping for these five years, I will be furious," she said slowly, "Whatever the price is, I will exact my revenge for that."

Archer shrugged indolently and turned back to stare at his future Kingdom. He knew she suspected. Had Jareth been less blinded, Jareth might have too. Who else had had complete access to the Castle at any and all times? Who else would know the best times to attack and not? And truly, who else had the disposition? Oh yes, Jareth should have known that particular enemy, not least because Archer had never actually striven to conceal his wants and opinions. Expressed them a little ambiguously, perhaps, but he had touched and Jareth had known it. How could he not? He must have. And he had touched back, even if he had not fully wanted to.

Archer was fully intending to bring the Goblin King back up to light. But only when Jareth was ready to face that. When he had stopped protecting that last little segment of his mind, possibly.

"Why?"

He turned back to look at Amarild. "Pardon, your Majesty? I fear I was deep in thought," he murmured blandly. He kept his eyes fixed on hers, daring her to intrude where she was not likely to be welcome or reassured.

"Why did you not control yourself where the human was concerned?" she clarified, not in the least scared. Never mind the threat he pretended to hold over her, in a face-to-face battle she was still the more powerful. With a snap of her fingers she could break his long neck. "The Goblin King accused me of orchestrating such a vile deed."

"Vile? No, not really. The child was ripe for it, had you but seen him when I did." Now, so long since Archer had seen him and he still felt it. "It was an amusement for a time of long waiting. Such as a score of others before him. Besides, Jareth shared what was his. It was always our way."

Amarild snorted and paced to the other side of the open space. "This one he kept, Archer," she called, "Even broken as I have no doubt you left him. What did you do to him?"

At first there was no reply. The male simply stood there, smiling at nothing as his eyes looked to a picture she could not see. When he spoke, it was in a voice rich with darkness and gloating pleasure. "The Children of the Sun are so easily drawn to the darkness. The child was a simple whore, taking what was not his to take. All the others were punished for it in some way; they knew better than to ask for more than to share his bed. But this one... this one dared to capture more than his fancy. At first it was an interest. Then Jareth became emotionally attached. It had to end before he threw his life away."

"I imagine you mean you tried to kill the child and didn't succeed. Yet you sanctioned their formal binding. I cannot think that the Goblin King would not come to ask for your blessing. The poor fool trusted you with all he had. Knowing him, he would have left his consort with you in the belief that you would protect him."

Archer chuckled, enjoying the irony as much as Amarild loathed it. He had no illusions as to how far into evil he had had to go to act this way. But in the end he had been rewarded. He had achieved his prize and he had truly enjoyed his games with Toby. The child had been so unbelievably sweet, ripe and ready, the virgin fruit picked fresh from the vine. The anger and fear in his blue eyes dissolving into tears of pain. All of it was life, passion- Archer had taught the child life in one swift passage of time.

"Oh, I sanctioned a formal binding. After all, why should my cousin not amuse himself? The child made him happy for the time. I will admit that the mortal drew me in as well. Jareth was right; he did have a way about him. The innocence was so tangible. And his delicate beauty- not the conventional style as I think you remember, but a kind of vivid golden glow that my cousin called fire-blond. The thought of that innocence swollen with the outcome of lust... I simply had to see it. The look on his face when I touched his pregnant belly was priceless."

Amarild swallowed her revulsion thickly. It had been enough to try to sound politely enthusiastic when congratulating the couple themselves, but to hear Archer describe it baldly as a fascinating new outlet for his sensuality was very hard. She wanted to stop her ears and deny the entire thing. But being a Queen ensured that she heard things that she didn't necessarily want to. And this was important.

The deep voice continued. "And do you know the most glorious irony- he has no attraction to males." He looked to his audience's frown and laughed. "'Tis true, my Queen. The child had no attraction to males; Jareth informed me of that from the beginning. Even had I wooed him he would have rejected me. The only male he responds to is my cousin, and not out of choice. So I didn't expect him to react."

"The mortal will never be given to you," Amarild said quietly, "If he is taken alive, he will remain in my custody. And should any harm him, I will hold you responsible. The Goblin King I cannot now touch; he is too deeply embedded in your spider's web. But rest assured that such insanity will no longer be tolerated in my Kingdom. No noble of my court will walk the Underground molesting children because they are innocent and beautiful."

"You forget, your Majesty, you molested an innocent too."

The Queen flushed and turned away. Whatever had made her drink that wine, she wished now that she hadn't. The beverage had been potent, burning her good sense away like liquid fire. And the poor shivering creature had been tormented and punished before their eyes until he passed out, eyes shutting in agony and despair. On some level she had connected with the insanity that fired Archer's blood, to have that broken creature at her very feet, waiting for the scraps of kindness she chose to bestow on him. And when Archer had offered, she had agreed. She had watched as he danced that most private of dances in her nobleman's arms, lost to everything except the pleasure that such submission brought him. And for one night she had taken him down with her into the pits of hell.

"That was six years ago," she snapped, pushing the unpleasantness away from her mind, "And I regret that night with all of my being."

"Do you really? How weak of you. Darkness has its merits; it brings a strength and determination that cannot be matched by the so-called light."

She looked at him sadly. Whatever the Goblin King had first responded to in this fairy, it was either lost or just a screen. "You are far-gone indeed, my Lord. My work is done here. I believe there is more to do downstairs."

Archer shrugged and let her go. He had never sought to tell her, as it was. The laughter bubbled up in him as he tried to imagine the rage that Toby would doubtless experience if he were to be told of it. At times, Archer longed to do just that- pull the masks away and take him against a wall. And this time, when that pretty face twisted in agony, it would look to him and not to some faceless monster. The exhilaration of that sight would be beautiful beyond all measure. But then what was that old elfish saying- knowledge is power? Yes, and to give Toby knowledge was to give him power such as Archer could not afford.

And yet...

Archer smiled to himself, absently brushing a speck of dust from his long leather coat. And yet the child was still young. He would never gain mercy or respect or even kindness with Archer, just as Archer knew that Toby would never respond to him with anything but revulsion- or indifference at most- but he would be there, a pretty toy to play with on a cold winter's day. And he had his other uses too. For Jareth. For when the time was right and ripe and ready to be used.

The Fairy Lord smiled and left, sinking through the stone fortress to reach his own palace away in the Fairy Kingdom. Amarild rested her head in her hands and wondered how hell had been brought to the Underground by such a demented monster.

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Toby stared nervously at his medium. He didn't quite like to do a scrying. It was an elfish magic, not the kind that came naturally enough once he learned to access it.

Gwenél, Brethiliaur and Maegorod sat with him, surrounding the wide basin of water with its runes and carved incantations to the Valar. Never had they attempted to do something of such magnitude, for Toby had tried to access his husband before and had been defeated by a stone wall of magic of great strength. Trying to circumvent it using natural magicks was tricky and far too likely to fail, but it was worth a try.

"Focus," Maegorod instructed softly, "Unless you would prefer if one of us does this?"

"No. I can do it. Just give me a minute." He breathed deeply, closing his eyes to meditate into a calming rhythm. He had no idea whether his idea would work and that worried him. What made it worse was the hope that the scrying would work, and that no one knew what they would see once it did. Jareth might be happy now, his responsibilities and shackles thrown away. For all Toby knew, the wall had been set there by Jareth himself, seeking to shield himself from unwanted interruptions to his own life. "All right. Let's get started."

Each pricked their finger and dripped a single drop of blood into the water. It tinged pink and then Toby picked up his hunting knife. Drawing it over the exact line of the scar on his right palm, he remembered when that mark had been made by his husband, when Jareth had comforted a terrified child in front of his entire Kingdom and offered to call off the entire ceremony because Toby wasn't comfortable. That person could never have simply left his family on a selfish whim. Or could he? The blood dripped more freely into the water, his essence taking the authoritative lead in the spell. Anything was possible in the Underground.

A few minutes' silence held as the water settled and then Toby dipped the tip of his finger into the middle, making ripples. He began to call silently upon the magic of nature to answer his call. Beside him, the three elves began a mournful chant to the Gods, pleading with them to intervene for them. The Gods were, after all, all-powerful. And Toby shut his eyes and let the channel of the bloodied water carry him far away.

The chanting continued somewhere outside of his head as he focused his attention. The water lapped quietly in the basin, disturbed as the magic coursed through the room to settle into the basin.

Toby pictured his husband, trying to recall a three-dimensional image of him. Everything that Jareth was, he thought of. He thought of the cold superiority, the pride, the selfishness, the love, the loneliness, the desire, the sensuality, the tenderness, the happiness, the austere elegance, the opulent extravagance- everything.

"It works," Brethiliaur said softly, pointing to the basin.

There was no shine on this water. The water had turned a brackish black, like petrol had settled on its surface with wet slickness. The ripples had stilled and now only perfect calm graced the mirror it reflected.

"Toby, you must look for this to work," Maegorod said softly, touching the young man's shoulder to draw his attention. The shoulder was rigid beneath his finger, clearly fighting something. The elf guessed it was an inner battle more than a real one. After all, uncertainty and darkness was still capable of making the mortal run away, even with his new-found maturity. "Come, mellon nín, you must look."

Toby opened his eyes and looked. Instantly the water began to darken and clear at the same time, a pinpoint spreading over its surface until the colours separated to form an image.

The image was bare.

Toby felt his shoulders slump. "It hasn't worked," he sighed, ruffling his fingers over his cropped hair. His tunic felt too thin on his body, leeched as he had been energy and drained.

The elves sat back, clearly in a similar state. Brethiliaur even wiped at his brow with the back of his hand, huffing a little. Slowly the image began to dissipate when he took another look. Gasping, he drew their attention back.

"Not yet," he called, "Look! Where is that?"

"That?" Gwenél frowned as the image swam back into focus. "That is a palace. I do not know which one, but..."

Toby went deathly pale. "The tulip," he whispered, hand going to his neck even when he knew that the necklace had been crushed long ago, "Gods, the standard of the tulip! Jareth told me... the- the fairies. Is that Amarild's palace?"

The elves were at a loss at to why the standard should make such a difference but they obligingly considered his question before shaking their heads. "No," Maegorod disagreed, "That is too secluded. The Queen's palace is in a populated capital, the focal point of the entire country. This one seems to rest somewhere in the hills to the other side of the country, closer to the docks."

"The docks? There's a sea?"

"Well, yes. The fairies have traded with the countries across the seas for many millennia. They have a love for the exotic."

A love for the exotic... yes, Toby thought bitterly, exotic being that which is not always available and often considered rare. Like the male mortal child bonded to the Goblin King- rare.

"Can we not find where this is?"

"Where it is no longer matters," Brethiliaur snapped impatiently, "Look to the window. There! The movement."

"Your eyesight, Brethiliaur, is better than ours," Gwenél grumbled, leaning so close she was in danger of shoving her nose into the water, "I see nothing!"

"That is because you are as blind as a bat," the dark-haired elf growled. Pushing her away, he pulled Toby closer. "Watch my finger," he warned, and then pointed to the tiny point of the window in the tower at the centre of the fortified palace. "Do you see the movement? Someone watches and waits at that window. Can you see it?"

Toby peered but shook his head helplessly. "I don't have elfish eyes," he protested, "But I believe you. So the point is, is that Jareth?"

All three looked to Brethiliaur as he shrugged. "The person is dark-haired," he surmised, "With very pale skin. Other than that, I can see nothing more."

Toby huffed. "That can't be Jareth, then. Jareth's a blond. Nothing close to brunette."

"I do not know," Gwenél mused, pursing her mouth as she continued to stare at the water, "Why would this be shown to us unless there was something of what we want in it?"

Maegorod answered for them, stretching the kinks from his back. "You know that there is no guarantee that the information is what we need. Even one minute point missing from the direction that Toby sets and the results are not what we require."

Brethiliaur still shook his head. "Gwenél may be right, however. If we are supplying this much energy, we can spare a bit more. Perhaps we may bring the person in the window into focus."

"Look, that person in the window could be Archer for all I know," Toby tried to say. But under the expectant gaze of grey eyes, hazel eyes and (?)eyes, he sighed and gave up. The elves were too optimistic sometimes for their own good. Himself, he had stopped believing in this three years ago.

"All right, what do I do? Add more blood?"

"No. Just concentrate and think harder. This time, be guided by me. Follow my words and this should work." Brethiliaur's soft voice was even softer, buzzing around the room like a whisper of wind. "Think of how Jareth sounds, the roll of his 'r' and the rasp of his 's'. Think of how his words are phrased and picture the way his mouth moves when he speaks them. Think of how he gestures when he talks and the moods which he conveys with his body. Think of how his skin feels beneath your hands, how he looks dressed and undressed. How he looks when he is dressing and what his favourite colours are. Think of how he is in anger and rage. Think of the manner in which he treats his goblins. Think of how he tastes- his mouth, his skin, his hair, his semen... everything. Think of how his mind feels sliding against yours, how his body fits against yours..."

The words droned on, a lulling hypnosis almost and Toby followed blindly, hit by such a wave of memories that he would have been hard-pressed not to follow his instructions. And slowly he felt a more perfect picture form. Had he thought his remembrance before was three-dimensional? It was dim and flat compared to how he saw his husband now! Shining with that glow that was unique to all creatures. Jareth's aura called so deep to him on this level, keening through time and space like the soft wail that had sprung forth the first and last time he had taken his husband. The way Jareth had felt clenched around him, the tight heat and the sweet velvet depths. Nothing had ever felt as good. Not even Gwenél, for all the attraction he felt for her, could ever feel that good. And not because she had responded any less fervently or had been any less giving, but because he didn't feel the same desire.

Triple gasps sprang up around him and he opened his eyes in enquiry as Brethiliaur's voice stopped abruptly. They were staring at the bowl and without thought his eyes dropped to the reflection on the ominous surface.

The window was in full view now; the figure was reading a book, hair tossed and wild around his thin, pale face. A slender white throat was circled by a deep red band of a kind that looked, horrifically enough, like some brand of collar. It even had a ring set in the front as if designed to attach to a leash. A black silk robe seemed to make the skin seem even paler, more luminous. The book lowered slightly as the figure shifted to a better position.

The hair fell over the sharp cheekbones, but the hiding had taken place too late; all had seen.

Toby actually felt the pain like a kick in the stomach. Even the pangs of childbirth had never been this agonizing. "His hair," he whispered, reaching out as if to touch even though his fingers remained hovering only inches away from the water, "God, his hair! It's black? But... I don't understand."

"Toby, it may not be right."

"Well, then that's his evil twin?" he spat, looking up with his eyes burning. With anger? With tears? Who knew? He certainly didn't. "Who the fuck is that?"

The wind picked up and he felt nature tremble as his magic began to fire with his emotions. The Goblin Kingdom was probably suffering by this point. Without warning, his hand swept out and the water splashed out of the basin with the force of his blow. The image vanished with a hiss and nature crept back to its own.

The elves moved away discreetly. Toby was already flickering in and out of his animal form, growling and dry-sobbing by turns as he murmured questions to himself and the Gods.

They crept away, the precious basin carried away with them. The sounds of enraged screaming followed them down the hallways, along with the scratch of claws on wood. They said nothing until they were away.

"Why dark hair?" Gwenél finally asked.

Maegorod shook his head in puzzlement. "A disguise?" he suggested, "It will be hard on the child."

"Both of them," Brethiliaur added, "Arradine should know."

They said nothing more on the subject.