Author's Note: No one has failed as a reviewer and it's my own silly fault for being so damned indecisive. Anyway, enjoy. And yes, Archer deserves to die.

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"Jareth?"

The dyed black head remained bowed; the slender white figure remained kneeling on the cushion on the floor. No more thin black silks and chiffons. Jareth was dressed like a nobleman in borrowed finery. His collar was passive for the moment, fit close around his bare neck.

Archer smiled at the mortal and reached a hand to rest in the dyed hair. Stroking at first as Toby called his husband's name once more, the Fairy Lord suddenly yanked the head back, forcing Jareth to look up. "Up, my pet," he chuckled, "We have a guest."

Toby stared even harder, taking a step back as the mismatched eyes looked at him with blank anger. God, no! He had never, ever thought to see that look in Jareth's eyes. What was going on? It couldn't be true. That was not Jareth kneeling on the floor in that get-up; the former Goblin King simply wouldn't do something like that.

"I believe you're frightening my pet, Master Elf."

The 'pet' was looking not in the least frightened. Resigned, yes; tired, certainly. Humiliated.

"Get that disgusting collar off my husband." Toby startled even himself with that snarl.

Jareth's eyes flickered.

Recognition? Toby felt his blood surge through his body as his pulse leapt. "Now," the mortal warned calmly, a crystal gathered on his fingertips and ready to throw. It wouldn't matter any more about using magic here.

The hand tangled in the long dark strands tightened its hold. "Pet," Archer urged, clearly waiting for something.

"Just go, Toby."

The crystal hovered indecisively. "What?"

"Leave," Jareth murmured hoarsely, "There is nothing for you here. My Master will not kill you if you leave now."

The walls of the enormous hall seemed to be collapsing into the room. Either that, or the pressure was too big for such a small space. Toby suddenly grit his teeth and sent a swathe of red velvet crashing to the floor. "What's he threatening you with, Jareth? He'll kill you anyway, you know that."

"He has not threatened me."

The words were soft, filled with pain and tiredness beyond anything Toby had ever heard before. It seemed inconceivable that Jareth would ever sound like that. Why would the Goblin King give up if he had a chance at escape? The split lip did not speak of happiness.

Toby softened his voice and flicked the crystal away. "I won't leave without you," he whispered, "Never again. I'm not doing that."

Archer smirked and let go with enough force to send his captive to the ground. Jareth rested a minute and then pulled himself back up, eyes turned away as he resumed his position. This time, however, he kept his head up. He was forbidden to say anything or move from where his 'Master' had placed him, but Archer himself had pulled his head up, therefore he could look all he wanted and say with his eyes what he couldn't speak. And he had never wished so badly to apologize before.

"Jareth, please?"

"Such romance, such tragedy." Archer was amused, a strong leg crossed over the other as he relaxed back into his seat. And really, who could blame him? Jareth had sworn to stay and even were he to break his promise now there were plenty of guards at his command. The collar would bind the former Goblin King's power for long enough and the child naturally had no real magical skill.

"Shut up, Archer, for fuck's sake!" Toby was so incredibly tired of all this. "Why? What possessed you to turn him into this! I thought you loved him."

Jareth flinched.

"I do," Archer purred, "And is he not beautiful like this? Look at him; my pet- so submissive, so perfectly cold... but I think we both know how bright he burns, do we not? Like the collar he wears at my command. Do you like it?"

"Just get it off him."

Jareth looked panicked and then Toby understood why. The collar seemed to be a form of metal, and with a subtle touch from Archer's fingers the metal began to heat. Like a vice it clasped his throat and like a hot iron it burned the fragile skin. As with most fairies, the marks would fade unless the skin and flesh was melted right off, but the pain would linger. The half-goblin choked as he fell forward to lean on his hands, unable even to touch it because it would only burn his fingers.

Toby threw a crystal without thought and icy water drenched itself over the collar, not stopping until the metal was once more cool to the touch, easing the pain away as much it could.

Archer clapped, the sound echoing around the emptiness. "Very good," he complimented, dark hair staining his silver tunic with a silky touch.

Jareth looked up and to Toby, eyes pleading with the mortal. For what, even the half-goblin could not have said. To go, to do something... anything was better than this helplessness he felt. He couldn't leave on his own; he couldn't. Archer would hurt Aidan without thought if he did. Worse! If there were worse things that could be done to a five-year-old.

"I think your mortal needs to be told the whole story, pet." Broad, well-shaped fingers rang a bell on a table beside the chair the Fairy Lord was perched in. Jareth straightened and stared anxiously past his bond mate to the carved door. The carved door that opened and the tiny figure that was pushed into the room made straight for him.

Toby watched in shock as Jareth held out his arms, the little child jumping into them with a tiny sob. He watched as the slender arms held tight, a white hand stroking the bright blond hair that slipped from the black ribbon confining it and flowed in a longish, slightly curly wave over the thin shoulders.

"Well, Master Elf? A pretty child, is he not?"

Jareth actually held tighter, moving unexpectedly to put himself between Archer and Aidan. He bit his lip in fear he would say the wrong thing. With his memories back it was a battle to control his tongue. The child himself didn't look too happy, but unlike his father he stared unflinchingly back, the dislike in his eyes overriding the fear. The former Goblin King placed a hand on his son's back, silently preparing himself to do whatever it took to keep the boy safe.

Toby opened his mouth but found that nothing would come out. He tried again, with the same result. Finally he contented himself with looking dazed and staring. The child turned to look at him, large blue eyes levelling a distrustful stare back at him. Those eyes! God, he could never mistake those eyes!

"Toby, please, leave. You must leave now." Jareth was pleading, willing to break on this point. "You've wasted your time here."

"No."

"Go away," the child piped up, waving a small hand. Toby knew where those long, slender fingers had come from, just as he knew those distinctive brows that arched over the blue eyes.

He tried to say 'no', to say that he wasn't going anywhere without at least some answers if not his husband. And that he didn't plan to leave Jareth to this hell, or the child even if its father was not who he suspected. "What's your name," he said instead.

The child reached a hand to touch his father's face, running it over a bruised cheekbone before looking back to Toby. "Aidan," he answered watchfully, only responding because this man looked at his father as if he was sad about something. That, and his father was giving the man the same look.

"A pretty child," Archer mused again, carding his dark hair with his fingers, "And so like his fathers. Know you who that is, Aidan?" He pointed the child's gaze to Toby. "Your other father."

Jareth made some mute sound of warning and shifted his head as if to deny the information. A moment later he straightened and came to a decision. He whispered something to the boy and the child shook his head vigorously. Jareth seemed not to notice because he looked at Toby with a semblance of determination.

"I'm staying," Jareth said clearly, "My child can go. He doesn't belong here."

Archer snorted. "I decide what belongs here, my pet. I should think you would remember that. You belong to me, and everything you have belongs to me as well."

"He belongs to no one. Jareth, you have the kid with you so come with me now."

Archer laughed then, a low rich strain of laughter that made Toby's nerves screech at something so fundamentally familiar about that dark sound. It stirred a sickness in his blood, turning him first hot and then cold. The look on Jareth's face was enough to tell him that something momentous was about to be said.

"No," the half-goblin warned again. It seemed as if he was trying to spread himself all over the room, protecting everything by drawing the attention back to his disobedience. "Archer, leave him be."

"Why?" Toby felt his spine contract with that one word. He started to shiver, seeing a vision of dark eyes and dark evil coating him until he couldn't remember that he was no longer sixteen and no longer a victim. "Dear heart, do you really believe it is so easy to escape me?"

That endearment!

"Think, my dear- will your bond mate thank you for what you will do? The child will be killed if he leaves this Castle. By even asking him to go, you place Aidan's neck in a noose. You know some magic but how much? Enough to protect him against every soldier? The King of the Goblins won't thank you for that."

Toby didn't even realize he had backed away until he saw Jareth make as if to get up, to come to him. He stilled his feet and lifted his chin. So his rapist was Archer. The demon had a face; that was all. A dark shadow was supernatural and terrifying. Archer frightened but he was solid, built of flesh and blood. Toby wasn't about to give in to a demon he could see. "The Goblin King has nothing to do with this," he snapped back, "And to kill his son, you will have to kill me."

"That," Archer smirked, "Will not be a problem."

With the most graceful movements Toby had ever seen, the warrior was out of his seat and striding towards him, dark eyes burning with delight at the challenge.

"And I was wondering what to do with you," the Fairy Lord taunted, "Killing you will solve all my problems. Am I not right, my pet?"

"Jareth's not a pet."

"He is mine!" They circled each other. "Think you he cares for the insipid romance that you offer? You were a diversion, a pretty trinket to play with while he waited."

Toby scoffed. "I suppose he was waiting for you?" he said instead, "To what- to claim him? Then tell me, my Lord, is that my son he's got? Or one of yours?"

Archer snarled and made for him, only to have the mortal escape.

Jareth swore under his breath and rose, bidding his son stay where he was and out of Archer's reach. "Archer," he demanded, the force of the Goblin King cracking through the last seven years of slavery to lend him a dark forbidding to his voice. The collar glowed as the power inside him struggled to break free.

It was the Goblin King that walked to Toby's side, put the mortal behind him and turned disturbingly cold eyes to his cousin's face. "Touch one hair on his head," he whispered, "And I will kill you."

"You forget your place..."

"Actually, I remember it all too vividly," Jareth snapped, "I will stay now if I must but I will have my revenge. And you would be advised not to give me greater reason to hate you."

"Really?" The voice had changed again, to that tender amusement that Jareth had grown up with. It sounded of reading and talking and analysing everything from life to wine in companionable love. It shimmered with soft desire and wanton need. It spoke of hundreds of years spent bestowing warm caresses and soothing touches. "Do you hate me, Jareth?" The words had bite. "Cousin?"

Toby groaned quietly as he heard Archer unknowingly sign his own death warrant. If there was one thing Jareth was likely to go insane over, it was that his own cousin- the one being he had loved and trusted- had been the devil.

The collar was so pressurized that it burned on Jareth's neck. The half-goblin was pale and breathing a little heavily, but the look in his eyes said he would die rather than back down now. The stony silence he kept said more than words.

Archer growled low in a throat and reached out his hand. "You belong to me, Jareth. You know that. I was there when your life was a misery; I was the first to congratulate you when you took the Kingship. I was there for everything that you needed. But you gave me up for a mortal?"

"The mortal has not made me a slave!"

"He has not?" the smile that tugged at Archer's lips was cruel in the extreme, "He has domesticated you, my dear. A wild animal like you, playing house with babies? Give in to me and I would set you free- to love, to hate, to be so the world may see you as I do. And you love it. Tell me that you have not loved it."

The mirrors in the room suddenly flashed into life, a different image in each one. Some soothing, some tortuous. Jareth's eyes naturally slid to the floor as he watched himself pushed further and further into degradation, and yes, taking enormous gratification from it. "That is not who I am."

Archer whirled away and pointed to a mirrored panel to his right. "Do you remember this night?" He pointed to the scene he had shown Toby not two days ago.

Toby reached out to offer comfort but Jareth ripped his arm away, wild-eyed and panicked. His fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"There would be a place for Toby as well, if he would take it. He tasted power only once and to be fair, I was rather harsh. But he seemed to like it well enough," Archer pointed out, smugly tapping another panel.

Toby saw himself, that night in the Aboveground when his life had almost ended. He watched as Archer made him touch himself, he watched his body writhed under his hand's ministrations; eyes closed to better experience it. He saw himself lost to the desire, lost to everything and forgetful of the blood and the bruises and the knife.

"You need this, Toby. Jareth needs you. You are pretty enough and if you make my pet happy, then I am willing to take you as well. Your children will be mine and I will show you pleasure such as you have never experienced."

Toby's breath was coming short. The pain and agony of Archer's proposed 'pleasures' was burning his throat. "Ariadne," he croaked, looking to Jareth, "What of Ariadne?"

Jareth would not look up. "This was her life too," he answered softly, "When I refused to obey Archer two nights ago, he killed her to spite me. I gave her away to this."

"I think we both know how you could," Archer sighed, "You have never cared much for anyone else. You never found anyone else worthy of your notice. Except for one person. From your first consort alone you craved constant contact and approval."

First consort? What other consort? Toby stared at his husband, uncertain.Was that what Jareth was hiding from him?

Jareth flinched and took a step back, confidence falling away like a cloak.

Archer smirked calmly, eyes warm and soft as his voice continued, caressing the both of them like a razor-blade. "I won't name names, my dear, but I haven't forgotten. I spent years longing to see the same look on your face for me. Do you remember the nights when you held out your arms to him and begged him to love you? You're rotten to the core, my dearest."

"I am not a piece of fruit!"

"Then, twisted, certainly."

"No…"

"You are. Why else would you desire someone like that? Two hundred years as His lover. For two hundred years the entire Underground turned away from you in disgust. Your own mother disowned you."

"I had no mother."

"That is right. Jra- Gurgh!" Jareth jumped as Archer spat at his feet, angered and derisive in one swift move. "Disgusting!"

Toby made to move forward but Archer's hand was already on Jareth's cheek, smoothing and stroking so tenderly that the half-goblin leaned unconsciously into the touch.

"To everyone except me. I watched you in my mirrors. I sat in this hall as my mirrors showed you to me. Every night did I observe; every whisper did I hear. You gave yourself so willingly, craving more of Him. Obsessed and wild in your urges."

"Jareth, don't listen..."

"Like you were when I took your mind. Like you can still be."

But the spell was broken. Jareth stepped away. His eyes slid from Archer's to the tiny child standing wild-eyed beside the seat. "Aidan," he called. Aidan came to him and allowed himself to be handed over to Toby. "Take him to safety, my elf. I can't."

"Jareth, I'm not..."

"Do as you are told, for once. He is your son. I can't protect him any longer."

"But, I..."

"Now, Toby."

Toby knew better than to argue when Jareth used that tone of voice. But he also had no intention of leaving Jareth to fight this alone. He had waited seven years and bled for eight because of Archer. He was too strong to leave because Jareth told him to. "Aidan," he instructed, "I'm sending you to some friends of mine, all right? Stay with them. Tell them your name and your father's name. Can you do that?"

The small head nodded.

"Good boy." Toby smoothed a hand over the slightly coarse gold head and smiled. But there was no time for sentiments now. "Go." He pressed a crystal into the child's hand and shut his eyes, guiding him through space to land in the cave. When he opened his eyes again, Jareth was staring at him with disapproval.

He stood up and shook his head. "Jareth, what's the plan?" he asked pointedly, jerking his head to Archer.

"I have none," the former Goblin King admitted tensely, "Gods above, I cannot even do magic."

And since when had Archer had a sword?

"Well, lucky for us, I can," Toby sighed, "Um, I suppose you can't just stand on the sidelines and out of danger, can you?"

Archer and Jareth both looked to him with expressive frustration. Well, no, he hadn't really thought it was possible, but asking never hurt. Or did it:

'You asked for it, dear heart... I can feel you. Your mind tells you that this is wrong, but your body thirsts for this... It's all your fault...' Soft, dark words that still lived in the back of his mind.

"Toby, concentrate. Now is not the time to fall apart."

Jareth was making a very good point. The mortal took a deep breath and stared once more at the pointed sword. He wasn't entirely sure how to fight with magic. He wasn't inventive like that nor was he powerful. He couldn't sustain it. And he couldn't concentrate. That sword looked miserably sharp. Toby smiled. His fighting knives could handle this. They were elfish made, with harder steel than anything made by a goblin or a fairy. And he had a fairly good grasp of how to use them.

Archer's brows rose when he saw the knives. "You mean to fight me hand-to-hand?" he asked, incredulous and amused, "I had thought to give you a chance to win but you have just chosen suicide."

The swipe with the knives was easily deflected by the sword, but not before the Fairy Lord felt the blatant warning of skill in the long, fluid movement. Jareth just watched, fidgeting and frustrated. There was nothing he could do. He was no warrior, and Archer knew his magic could not be accessed.

Jareth, had this been said out loud, had a very different opinion on that matter. His magic could very well be accessed. He just had to fight the collar to find it. He caught his breath as Toby danced dangerously close to striking range and almost effortlessly drew a thin red line on Archer's cheek before jumping away again.

"Spirit, where are you when I need you," he groaned, lifting his hand to tug at the metal band. The clasp would not respond to his touch. Toby was good, but Archer had the advantage of weight and height and experience. He needed to hurry. The collar began to glow again as he struggled. Picture it, his mind instructed, focus on that feeling of magic. But with seven lost years between him and his memories, did he even know what that feeling was any more?

Soap bubbles made tangible... the slick feeling of the crystal... the energy... the deft control... small amounts to light a candle... bigger amounts to light a fire…

Archer saw the collar burn. He saw Jareth bite at his lower lip, hands at the collar, trying to fight it. He watched the dark brows pull together in intent concentration. And should Jareth reach that perfect concentration the collar would snap.

The flat of the sword wrenched close to the former Goblin King's face, throwing him off balance and pulling him back to the physical reality. Concentration broken- Jareth blinked, disoriented, and shook his dark head. The brown in his mismatched eye was slightly darker. The Labyrinth had felt that.

Archer had to win this- now. "Stop. Think of what I offer you," he whispered, "Everything you've ever wanted is here. Peace, security, love- I offer them all."

"Peace? Love?" Jareth was clearly stunned. He was also, to put it nicely, hysterically angry. "What kind of love are you offering? Archer, you betrayed me. I would kill you if I could."

"Then do it." The sword hilt was suddenly turned his way. "Take that blade and kill me."

Mismatched eyes stared at the offering. Worn leather invited him to touch, polished steel glittered to him. He knew what he would do with it if he took that sword. He couldn't kill Archer in cold blood. Not even for the betrayal and the pain. He could tolerate shame too well. But to lose someone he loved like this, with his own hands and with full intention. Why would this happen to him twice? What God had he insulted? Were two hundred years of shame not enough?

Jareth couldn't take that sword to use it on Archer.

Toby growled and the fingers dropped, startled.

Of course, to Toby, the sound was completely natural. He didn't take kindly to people pointing swords at those he loved. It made him angry. It was a base anger, almost primitive, deriving from dark spaces and protective viciousness. Dropping his knives he transformed. There was no fanciful fluttering of ribbons or white cloth when he transformed; he simply stepped into it.

Archer started back when the mortal padded forward on silent paws. "A wolf? Enchanting, dear heart, but I believe you know that wolves are not invulnerable. And you will be dead before long."

The blade was snatched back and the two circled each other warily, the wolf growling as his hackles rose at the smell of evil.

The echoes in the hall faded as Jareth looked down at his own hands. White- too white- with bloodless knuckles from driving his nails into his palms so hard. There were scratches on the back of his hands. His skin would not hold the scars but he could still trace them in spite of that. He smelled of something sweet and spicy, something perfumed. Like the prized concubine of a rich and powerful noble, which- ironically- was what he had become. Love... how had Archer conceived of this as love?

A high yelp of pain caught his attention as the wolf nursed a gash on its ribs.

Blood! There was blood on his bond mate. Each and every time, he had brought Toby to this monster! If it had not been for his selfish whims Toby would never have been in the Underground. Archer would never have perceived him as a threat. And his children; Jareth wasn't the paternal kind but Toby would be. Toby could take them Aboveground and raise them. Sarah was a strong woman and she would help him.

Sarah...

"No Labyrinth this time," he smirked.

No magic and mirrors. No absolute power. Just luck and intelligence.

One of the knives had spun over the floor to his feet and he picked it up, testing the blade on his thumb. His skin parted almost immediately and he hissed. Neither Archer nor Toby heard him. They had discounted him as weak and vulnerable.

It was a mistake on both their parts. He waited, knife in hand, calmly counting down the seconds.

Toby limped slightly as he coiled low to the floor. Archer had been fighting very well for the last few minutes and he doubted he would win this. But he could not, and would not, leave his rapist to torment him. Not any more. But every touch, every glance, every whisper of voice took him back- to that first rape, to the night at the lake, to the way Archer had hit him.

And that night when the pain had almost become too much. Only to pretend to care!

"Tell me... how does he touch you... he'll keep coming back for you... " Everything Archer had said to him replayed in his head, telling Toby that Archer had no reason to stop simply because they knew each other for their true faces. Why should Archer stop?

He howled and leapt, fangs bared as he made contact with the fairy. They both went down, rolling a little as he went for the throat.

Jareth waited. He knelt just behind them and waited. When the time was right, he raised the blade. "I'm sorry," he said in advance, just seconds before knocking the wolf n the head so hard that it yelped and scrabbled away.

Archer was disoriented by the sudden change in circumstance when the knife found his ribs. Then he looked up to absolutely cold dual-coloured eyes framed by dyed-black hair. The knife dug in to the hilt and Jareth twisted it cruelly into him. Archer opened his mouth to cry out but blood frothed up and choked him.

"I did warn you," the Goblin King murmured, yanking the knife free and standing up.

Toby shook his head and got shakily to his feet. Jareth was beside him, giving him a shoulder to lean on. He accepted it silently, still dazed.

Archer sat up and watched them, brown eyes desperate.

"Do you know, you really are the most tiresome creature," Jareth sighed, "You will not even die fast enough."

The fairy dropped back and stared up at the ceiling, futilely trying to stifle the blood welling up. Pine and smoke, everywhere was pine and smoke and he had craved so much more than this! This was not how it was supposed to be! Jareth belonged with him; Jareth was his. All he had wanted was love. The mortal could not be allowed to touch what was his.

"Come, Toby. I think our work here is done."

He was left to die alone.