Author's Note: Did someone mention a pesky Fairy Queen had to be taken care of? And we see just how far Jareth is willing to go to get revenge. It's a two-chapter deal, so the next one is a direct continuation.

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Jareth couldn't believe his eyes. He had seen the destruction of his Labyrinth in his crystals and he knew that there was a reason that the Spirit would not answer his summons, but this was beyond anything he'd ever dreamed of.

The walls were broken and torn apart, whole sections of the ancient structure had disappeared. The glow and gleam of the enchanted stone was faded. Now it looked like nothing so much as a pile of scattered rock. Even the ground was dark and dry, cracked and lifeless.

"Jareth, is it too bad?"

Toby. He turned to look at the mortal next to him, anxious blue eyes raised to scan his face somewhat fearfully. Did Toby even realize, he wondered tiredly, that he knew about the pregnancy? No, obviously not. "I don't know. Go back to the others." Striding away without a look of reassurance.

Toby sighed. For some reason Jareth was furious with him. He couldn't think why! It wasn't that he wasn't trying to understand what was going on with his bond mate. And since that first night together... well, it hurt to be rejected every time he tried.

Jareth sat down on the ground near the broken doors, bowing his head and searching through the currents around him for that special stream of magic that the Labyrinth always carried. It ran through his blood and it was especially strong at the centre, but from out here the energy felt weak. And no wonder! Considering that the physical boundaries had been violated like that.

The words seemed a little rusty at first. But gradually the strength came back to them. Power- unbound and unfettered, leapt around him in hissing whirls. The stones began to groan and crack. The familiar orange light on his hands as the magic leapt from him. A crash in his mind and then he looked up with a shocked stare.

"Spirit?"

Toby blinked in shock. He had thought the Spirit of the Labyrinth looked in bad shape in his dream. Here, so close to its ruins, and the creature looked even worse. It could barely move as Jareth grabbed it and lowered it into his lap.

Jareth was beginning to find that anger had unimagined depths in it. He had thought he couldn't possibly feel any more and now here was his last ally- dying. His pride and joy, his Labyrinth... it wasn't going to die!

"Spirit, can you talk?" he asked urgently, "What happened?"

"The Fae Queen, Goblin King. I would not answer to her and she destroyed my walls. And You have been leeching power that is no longer as strongly fastened to me."

"I am sorry."

The dark, bronzed head shook. "There is no need. I have more than enough strength to outlive you yet."

Jareth smiled, he couldn't help it. Yes, the Labyrinth could still outlive him and everyone else. Even decimated like this. But Amarild- he had a bone to pick with her and with Archer gone she was the first target for his rage. "She will pay," he soothed, "Have no fear of that."

He rose and set the ethereal being on its unsteady feet, making sure it wouldn't fall before turning back to beckon imperiously to the others. "Hoggle, take the children to the oubliettes and keep them safe down there. Sir Didymus, go with them. Ludo, I believe you may guard the entrance to those passageways. Go."

"What do you mean to do?" the Spirit asked, interestedly.

"She stole what she should never have touched," Jareth sneered, eyes turned towards his Castle, "That is mine. This Kingdom is mine and I will have it back. The bitch will pay for her presumption."

"The bitch," Toby said quellingly, "Is still powerful. You can't just waltz in there and kill her! It'll be more trouble than it's worth."

Jareth looked genuinely amused. "Kill her?" he echoed, tossing his blond hair off his face, "I do not intend to kill her. I want her to remember every last time she humiliated me, or insulted me and I want her to regret it with every fibre of her being for the rest of her life. I want her to wish she had never been born and then I want her to live with that wish until her natural death."

That sounded hideously like something Toby could understand as only one thing- "You want to torture her."

"Oh yes. Torture is such fun!"

Toby paled and stepped back, but Jareth was staring predatorily at him, licking his lips and the tips of his sharp teeth as if about to attack. There was a hungry, commanding look in his eyes that made the mortal's knees go weak. Another word and Toby would gladly offer himself to be ripped apart and eaten. It was a dark look, one that he remembered seeing before: Archer had stared at him that way when he first needled the unknowing youth into that hazy state of insane submission.

"Stop!"

His feet stilled from the cautious walk backwards. Over Jareth's shoulder, the Spirit's eyes had widened and then half-closed. Clearly something was going on, something that affected Jareth's power because the Spirit looked like it drugged on something, swaying gently where it stood and gasping in soft mouthfuls of air.

Toby could hear the Labyrinth itself begin a sort of cackling chant, a chorus of stones almost, where the words were so low he couldn't hear them and in a language so ancient he couldn't understand it. A white hand rose to clasp the back of his neck.

"So sweet," Jareth crooned, leaning closer, "So much power in you. I want it. Give it to me."

"Jareth, I..."

"It won't hurt. Just a small favour for me, hmmm? To help me kill the witch?"

Toby shut his eyes in despair, trying to get himself to tear away from the long length of body that pressed up against him. It wasn't sexual- it went far beyond sexual into complete capture. Jareth was waging a war and he was about to be defeated.

"No, Jareth. No more death. Killed so much already," he tried to say, but a finger was on his lips, running lightly over the lower one and then dipping inside to flick over the tip of his tongue. And there was something on that finger, a particular taste or feeling. Toby licked it again of his own volition, eyes narrowed up at Jareth's smirk.

"Do you like it?" the half-goblin chuckled, dark and oh, so sensual, "That, my elf, is the taste of black magic."

Black magic! It tasted like Belgium chocolate and fine brandy, so rich and luxurious. Toby squeaked as it began to spread through his blood. "No," he was still protesting, unable to believe Jareth would do something like this just for revenge, "No! God, no, not black magic. Let it go, my love. You must. It's dangerous."

Jareth only threw back his head and laughed, a dizzying peal of laughter that drew the sky suffocatingly low over them all. "Yes, it is," he agreed, "But trust me. I know what I am doing."

"He knows," the Spirit piped up, eyes shut as it sucked in more and more of this bewitching power from its Steward, "He knows this magic, mortal. It sits in him like a long-lost friend."

Toby was being besieged. He wanted to give in. Dangerous urges were coursing through him. He wanted to taste blood and death and chaos and decay. He wanted to slaughter and rampage and command nature itself, to see the lakes boil and bubble under his emotions and see his enemies crushed with a single word. He knew what that was; that was Jareth's wishes communicated to him through the bond that the former Goblin King had wilfully thrown open again. It spoke to him with such a honeyed touch. And Jareth's hands were on his neck and his face, warm breath on his bare skin.

"Trust me..."

"Jareth, it's not right!"

He was released so hurriedly that he stumbled backwards and landed on his ass, staring up at a being so powerful that it terrified him to be anywhere in the vicinity. Unthinkingly he put his hand on his stomach, trying to protect the child he was carrying. Jareth smirked as he saw that anguished worry, the clenched fist that bunched the rumpled tunic so hard the cloth almost tore.

"It's frightening, luv, I know," he soothed, dropping to one knee with his hand out, "The child is so small and defenceless."

Toby stared. Jareth knew? How could he know? "I d-didn't mean," he stammered, "I'm s-sorry, b-b-but it just..."

"Ssh! What do you think it will be this time- a girl? Like Arradine? She will be so pretty, with your eyes and your sense of adventure. Or perhaps a boy like Aidan, with your wide mouth and your slender build. And they'll kill it."

"No!"

"Yes, they will," Jareth snapped, "Why the devil did we walk from one part of the Fairy Kingdom back to the Goblin City in secret? Because of Amarild and her folk. They deserve to die in the most cruel way, Toby; give me your trust so I can do it."

"They won't kill my child," Toby muttered, furious at himself because he wanted to believe. He wanted this child so badly. Only four months and he was so tired, so very tired. It hurt to get up in the morning, to put one foot in front of the other and keep walking. He didn't want to lose this child, but his body just wasn't coping as it should. He was too old and wasn't that a bitter thought! Only twenty-three and too old? Blaming someone else for what would undoubtedly go wrong was infinitely better than blaming himself for not eating enough, for not resting enough. The sickness was a constant companion and he had got pains almost every week so far. But he pressed on; not telling anyone, thinking it would be all okay if he just didn't think about it. "If- if it dies, it will be my fault. I'm so sorry, Jareth... my fault."

Jareth was lifting him up, holding him close, nuzzling lightly against his ear as he soothed the pain away. "No," he whispered, "Their fault. They won't let you rest. They stole everything from you. I have to get it back. Arradine's heritage, Aidan's rank, your security- it's all there to be had from Amarild's weak hands. Give me the power."

Some part of Toby knew he was being manipulated and that part hated himself for allowing Jareth to use their children as bargaining chips.

'Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave...'

He owed it to his husband. For everything that had gone wrong, he owed it to Jareth to help him now. Because Jareth would never have been enslaved like that if he hadn't gotten himself bonded and married to him. It was just like Archer had said- all his fault. "How?" he asked tiredly.

A deep chuckle and then Jareth stood up and scooped him up in his arms, a bright smile on his face. "Do you trust me?" the half-goblin asked.

Toby couldn't help smiling back. There was no point to denying that he would gladly give up the world for this complex creature of hurt and danger. Whatever love had been lost when the mortal grew up, had returned on the journey to this final goal. With no bond, no joy, no real reason to even like the man he was bound to, Toby had fallen in love all over again. "I trust you with everything," he promised, head against Jareth's shoulder, "But the child. It's black magic and it will hurt the child."

Jareth stiffened; he could feel him. He could feel against that familiar retreat from his mind. "I'll keep it safe. Now hold tight, my little love, you might just enjoy the ride."

His child dismissed, his scruples thrown aside, Toby obeyed and held on as the world began to spin. Jareth held him, laughing a high manic laugh as everything began to melt. It seared over flesh and through bone until Toby couldn't breath. But he couldn't speak either and he looked up, eyes caught by the horrible gleam of death in Jareth's eyes before his mouth was captured in a fiery kiss that tasted of Belgium chocolates and fine brandy.

And then the world went away and he was floating in a dark place on dark water, indescribably heavy and sleep-laden. 'Sleep,' he heard his bond mate whisper, 'Sleep and I will awaken you when this is done.'

His eyes shut and he knew no more.

The Spirit of the Labyrinth opened its mismatched eyes, breathing even more heavily as its Steward rose stiffly from the ground and brushed off his coat. The black magic was everywhere, seductive and sweet as it flowed through it. Unable to move, it waited silently for the former King to walk towards it, to take it in his arms and smile down at it.

And this was why black magic was so dangerous, Jareth knew. He exulted, feeling no little triumph as the power rushed through him. He could feel Toby with every shred of sense in his body and mind, could feel the child and the sickness. It angered him to know that Toby had said nothing about their child for so long when something was obviously going wrong. For the sake of the Gods, this was not the time for breeding any more either! He'd as soon have terminated the thing than bring it out to live this life!

"Your bond mate is in you?" the Spirit managed, licking its lips to maintain some semblance of control on its impulses. "That spell could have killed him, Goblin King."

"Oh, I am no King as yet, my Spirit," Jareth purred, arm around the thin waist, "Just a humble half-goblin. And my preparation is not yet complete."

"No?"

"There is one more to take. Someone with power enough to bring the Underground to its knees. With the power I already possess, Amarild will have no chance."

The Spirit, to give it credit, did not struggle. The wild exultation in its blood was not conducive to disliking the suggestion. But such a thing was unheard of! And highly dangerous! "You ask too much," it warned sternly, "Such power is too much for your physical limits. It would rip you in half."

"Spirit, I think you will find- as I have- that my body is... shall we say it is very accommodating? There are things it has done I would never have known were possible."

"But at great pain, is it not?"

"Of course. The Fairy Queen was responsible for one particular instance. She humiliated me and I will see her crawl to me and beg for mercy."

The Spirit turned that over in its head. It didn't want to know what these biological creatures did to each other. They tended to be far too sadistic for it's tastes. But revenge was something the Labyrinth could understand, and re-payment and anger. "You may die, and your bond mate with you. Can you risk that?"

Jareth smiled and nodded, clasping the creature closer as the world began to spin once more. The searing, burning feeling began as the bodies melded together. It hurt horribly, but Jareth welcomed it, a cry stuck in his throat as he threw back his head and absorbed it all. He was so uncomfortably full and yet... oh Gods, and yet! It was like being nine months pregnant all over again- filled to bursting point with life and so sensual, so conscious of everything touching your skin because of what lay beneath. It was so perfect, such a perfect state of high-strung tension.

He looked up to the Castle, and smiled.

Amarild heard that crash of thunder. She felt the magical currents around her begin to scatter in a disturbed swirl of patterns. Unlike Jareth, her strength lay in her sensitivity to those feelings. And she hurried out of the room she called her study, pulling her rolled-up sleeves down over her hands and calling for her guards.

No one answered and she cursed them.

Where was everyone when she needed them.

She spotted the door with the carved question marks and sighed with relief. This way she could get to the throne room quicker. The Griffith Chair had only just learned to mind her and was now quite pleasant, though it never responded to her coaxing attempts to befriend it.

Surprisingly enough, she walked out into the room beside the throne room and stared around her, frowning a little in confusion. She should have been taken straight to where she wanted to go. But if the magical currents were a little disturbed, anything was possible.

"Guards," she called, exiting the room and staring around in displeasure. At least two of the Fairy Queen's personal bodyguards were supposed to be on duty outside the throne room. Someone had been remiss. "Heavens help them, where are they?"

The doors to the enormous room were heavy and though she was no small little woman with weak wrists, it took her long enough to get inside. But she managed it. Only to get the shock of her life.

The giant hall with its high ceilings and arched windows had reverted to its darkly Gothic structure; the opulent furnishings she'd squandered on the place disappeared. The swathes of expensive lengths of fae silk and fine linen were gone, the embroideries and vast murals had vanished. The plush lined chairs were nowhere here too.

All there was, as her terrified brain told her, was the enormous Griffith Chair, throne of the Goblin King. And sitting in that chair with his leg over one arm and a claw cradling his moon-blond head, was the deposed King she had last seen tied to a bed.

Jareth smiled at her and jumped lightly to his feet, coming to greet her with knowing eyes. "My dear, a pleasure to see you look so well. Clearly the air in the Goblin Kingdom is good for you; much better than the poisoned gas of your fair cities. But sit down, my dear! You look positively haggard."

She found a chair behind her, gaze caught and arrested by the sight of something she had never seen before. Jareth's eyes had always been unusual. The mismatched colours and pupils had always been a fitting description of his enigmatic personality and lifestyle. But this! Pure silver eyes? What had happened?

"Here, my Queen. Perhaps a drink will restore your composure?"

Jareth flicked his fingers and a magnificently carved silver goblet presented itself at his hand, hovering respectfully to be plucked from the air. He sent it to Amarild with a bow, a smile pulling at the corners of his blue-tinged lips. Yes, blue tinged because now that she saw him in the light, he was white as snow and frosty to the look. He looked like a sculpture carved from cold marble.

"You refuse my offer?"

She hesitantly took the cup, not taking her eyes off his, searching those silver depths for whether or not he was waiting to see her ingest the poison. Amarild had no illusions about this visit. The Goblin King did not offer such solicitous concern except as a ruse. And he had plenty of reasons to want her dead. That wooden thing alone... his expression never changed and he looked slightly bored as he perched delicately on the edge of his throne again.

"I saw my Labyrinth, Amarild," Jareth began, fingers drumming on the griffith's scaled arm, "It does not look as I remember it. Nor is the Spirit of my Labyrinth as healthy. Can it be that you have had a hand in that?"

Amarild cleared her throat, forcing herself to speak. "Your Labyrinth was dangerous to my people. Five good warriors have I lost in its murderous corridors," she listed, "And the Spirit flatly refused my call. I proposed an alliance, but it never heard my words. The damage, however, is not irreparable."

"I disagree," Jareth interrupted smoothly, "The damage is worse than irreparable. My entire Kingdom will suffer for years because of it. Oh, I have mentioned that I am taking my Kingdom back, have I not? I do not think it wise of you to resist me."

Amarild's back straightened and her eyes flashed. Her fingers tightened unconsciously on the heavy goblet as if about to use it as a weapon. "You have lost your Kingdom," she snapped, "It is now the property of the ruler of the Fairy Kingdom. I suggest you not challenge that."

Jareth merely raised an unimpressed black eyebrow, his curious eyes acquiring a queer look in them. Had Amarild not known better, she would have called it blatant indifference. "Drink," was all he said, waving a gloved hand to the goblet.

Amarild automatically raised the cup to her lips, and then halted. Her eyes scanned his face but he was staring up at the ceiling, a contemplative look on his face. He would not do so if he expected her to die from the wine. Besides, that was too easy a trick for the Goblin King. He would want more from her for what she had done; he would want to see her on her knees as begging as he had done.

She drank.

And spat it out with a scream, throwing the goblet to the floor where it spilled its bright red liquid all over the unresponsive stone.

Jareth laughed, a high-pitched ring of mad delight as he snapped his fingers and stood up. The sound of a creak and then Amarild screamed again, backing hurriedly towards the door as the bodies of two of her guards crashed to lie before her, both with their throats cut and their eyes torn out. They had been dead so long that the blood was crusted around the wounds.

"Don't you like blood?" Jareth sighed, dipping the tip of his boot negligently in the red puddle on the floor, "You obviously liked draining my Kingdom of its life force; I had thought to give you a taste of your own kind. What a pity. And it was fresh-spilled too. From the very highest noble I could find."

"Archer," she gasped, backing to the door, "What- what did you do?" The Fairy Lord could not have set him free to do this, could he? Could Archer had finally made a play for the Goblin Kingdom, using the Goblin King as his weapon? Had the slave finally been driven mad enough for his memories to return?

"I killed him," Jareth said shortly, silver eyes glowing with a strange light. The pupils were bare pinpricks in those eyes. "That was not the blood I gave you. The scavengers ate his body, my Queen. His remains lie unburied in the forests of his lands; his property lies blackened and burned. Nothing will grow on that soil; nothing will find happiness living there. The House of my family is dead. Do you understand?"

"Y- yes," she whispered. There was something terrifying in the clipped, brisk way he spoke. Something that told of just how much he didn't care what he did to the people he thought needed punishment.

"And as for you, Amarild," the voice continued, "You will find it is never wise to cross me. Do you remember this?" A dark crystal twisted and writhed in Jareth's skilled hands until he transformed it into something so distinctly familiar, distinctly wooden and... bloodstained? "I wished for death the next morning. But you never saw that, did you? You will wish for death too, and I will not grant it until I am ready."

The world drained away as her trembling fingers found the door. A twist and it opened behind her.

Jareth's quiet chuckle sounded far too loud in her ears as she apparated to another room, managing to safely step out of the containment spell on the throne room, Jareth's cold smile the last thing she saw before she landed into the safety of her study.