Jareth felt the blood drain from his face but even that seemed too much for his body to take and he thankfully sat down.

Zaraith was watching him, compassion radiation from the silver circlet on his brow to the expensive simply crafted soft shoes on his feet. In his male form he looked almost human- with a broad chest and broad shoulders, the long black robe neither highlighting nor hiding his muscular body.

"How long?"

Jareth shrugged. "Ten years."

To his credit, Zaraith never batted an eyelash. More than Fiorle, he knew just how stubborn the Goblin King could be. "I see. And the mortal does not know?"

"My consort," Jareth corrected, "Has not been told. No one but my healer has. I would prefer it to remain so."

The other male's blond head nodded slowly, the single green-veined opal glittering in the light from the torches in the silver band of office that kept the hair from falling into Zaraith's face. And while the face continued to show sympathy, a hint of disapproval crept into those green eyes. It was a serious illness for any in the Underground, and only those trapped in a particularly powerful fear of something ever succumbed in this way. It said much for the Goblin King's strength that he had lasted ten years, but as Zaraith could see the faint traces of black magic that tinged the silver-thread aura, he didn't need to ask how. It was a dangerous game that Jareth played and he was to be commended from not going mad sooner.

"It is your decision," the Draconite Lord soothed, "Is there no cure?"

"The cure is unavailable," Jareth said curtly.

"Unavailable? To a Goblin King, very little may be classified as unavailable. I think perhaps you refuse the cure."

"The consequences of my taking the cure will harm another," Jareth explained, "It is better that I die."

"Sense should convince you otherwise…"

"Sense tells me I am dying already," Jareth snapped, losing his patience, "There is no sense in ruining another's life trying to salvage another hundred years of a life I have no interest in. All I require is my heir and that is enough for now."

"Your heir? Arradine is the eldest of your children?"

"She is." Another curious thing about the draconites- they never blinked. Jareth had been told by this self-same Lord that the Dragon People- or draconites- could not actually see shapes and colours. They could see the blur of moment and they could see auras. But in essence they were blind.

"Arradine cannot leave my Kingdom until I say so. Wresting her by force will compromise your honour. Besides, she is still young and impressionable. Treating her so will not endear you to her. She does not understand."

"She is old enough to remember her duty to her people, to her heritage," Jareth defended.

"She is young and wants adventure," Zaraith pointed out, spreading his hands helplessly. He stopped for a moment and then continued in a softer tone. "You should understand that."

Jareth refused to rise to the bait. "Arradine is sixteen and quite old enough. I don't demand anything too much of her; she is welcome to her adventures so long as they do not include danger and secrets." He refused to give Zaraith the satisfaction. Of course, he couldn't back down from a fight. "And I was thirteen. There is a difference. And I would prefer if the past remains silent."

"The mortal does not know."

Jareth looked at Zaraith as if the draconite was deliberately being obtuse. "My daughter does not know," he corrected.

"What stage are you on."

"The completion of the first stage. My healer tells me that I have less than a few months for the second stage to take effect. She is overly optimistic." There was a macabre pleasure in discussing his deterioration so openly. Well, more openly than he was used to. He began to actually understand the enormity of what was happening to him. And the reason!

"Your… first consort would not have wanted this for you. He did act as he did out of love."

"You're a draconite. You don't know what love is."

"Neither do you."

"I loved for two hundred years!"

"You obsessed for two hundred years."

"I loved those who were dear to me."

Zaraith shrugged. It was not his business, anyway. It said much for the Goblin King's weakness that he had actually responded so far without evading the questions. "Very well, then. The death of one Goblin King will make way for a Goblin Queen. It is as has been and it does not concern me. Rest now. I will come for you in the morning."

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

Jareth sighed and fell backwards, taking simplistic pleasure in the feel of a soft mattress beneath his back. He roused himself sufficiently to magick off his boots and struggle out of his coat before lying down on his back. The torches continued to blaze on the walls and he didn't mind the light so much. He eventually doused the ones above his bed and left the rest to burn. At the last, he banished the glamour around himself as he settled down for the night… just like he had done for five years now.

It was too warm in the room. Far too warm! His shirt was almost suffocating him. Jareth ignored it sufficiently to think for a while. Thoughts were one thing he could indulge in, and objectively his mind did find it fascinating to go round in circles. Unfortunately those circles eventually led him back to the same conclusion- he couldn't afford to let his children suffer. His daughters, he didn't worry for as much. But Aidan was a subject that made him break into a cold sweat.

The child was so young. True, he was passed his thirteenth birthday, but there were so many years yet and Toby wouldn't always be around to protect him. The mortal didn't understand, Jareth mourned, just how much he was needed. With Toby there, he wouldn't be able to hurt his children. He wouldn't make the same mistakes and no one would be hurt. And Aidan… he barely saw his beloved son any more. He had lived for mornings when he tutored him in the library, but he'd had to give even that small pleasure up when he realized just how much he enjoyed it. He couldn't enjoy that. It wasn't right.

Horrible though it sounded, he prayed desperately that Marjorie really would occupy Aidan's interest. If Aidan were looking elsewhere, he would keep away from him. It was as simple as that- another simple protection.

Jareth's vision was beginning to blur again and he dug his fingers viciously into his eyelids, hoping to ease the pressure. His stomach was roiling and he was only thankful that there was no food in him to throw up. Working swiftly, he banished the thought of his children from his mind and tried to coax his mind elsewhere.

The sound of footsteps were definitely distracting. So the half-goblin lowered his hands, sat up and listened to them stop outside his door before the owner of those footsteps knocked hesitantly.

"Come in," he called.

Toby opened the door with extreme caution. The room wasn't precisely dark but it was dimly lit and he could barely see Jareth's face. Which was not quite nice, considering he was intruding. "Did I wake you?"

"No." The raw silk voice was more hoarse than usual; a little strained as well.

"Arradine asked me to tell you that she's sorry for running away. And for being so rude in front of other people."

Jareth nodded and waited for more. If he preserved his usual taciturn silence, then Toby would leave, thinking he didn't want to talk to him. He did want to talk to him. Jareth desperately wanted to know Toby to know that he only had to endure another two years at most. Black magic wasn't working any more. He didn't have long. He'd keep going for Arradine's eighteenth birthday. Jareth wanted Toby to swear that for those two years he wouldn't do something stupid. He wanted him to stay fit and healthy and, most of all, safe. Their children needed it. The Kingdom needed it. Jareth needed it.

He stayed silent.

Toby flexed his fingers in his pocket nervously and made to go back out. "Sorry I bothered you. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Jareth cursed himself roundly in his head as he watched the door begin to shut. Toby deserved so much better than all of this. Jareth knew how much he hated the stipulations, knew why Toby stayed. And there wasn't room left in him any more to return those feelings, but some small part of him knew that he did care that Toby hurt.

"Is she still angry with me?"

The door swung open very fast. "Yeah, she is. But she's sorry for her comment and she says she doesn't hate you."

"I suppose I should be thankful for small favours," Jareth remarked.

"Don't tease her tomorrow, Jareth. She really does feel sorry. She would have come herself, but she was a little scared that you'd be mad."

Jareth snorted and curled his legs under him. "I won't beat her, you know. That remark was simply uncalled-for."

"Jareth, I don't know if you realize it, but you have a nasty temper. The kids don't want to be on the receiving end of that."

Enough was enough- "I would never hurt my children!"

"But you do say some quite hurtful things. You've barely been civil to any of us for ages."

This was not precisely what he had had in mind with 'talking'. The side of him that wasn't consumed with self-pity told him sternly to listen very hard, to see how he hurt those he cared about, reminded him why he had promised to stay away.

"Jareth, are you alright?" Toby gasped, concerned when the Goblin King put a hand to his head and swayed. He rushed immediately over, just as the mismatched eyes began to glaze.

Jareth's brain screamed at him to stop, to push Toby away before it was too late. But his tongue wouldn't respond and his throat was closing up against the air that began to burn in his lungs. He could feel his temperature begin to plummet and he tried to pull away- he really did- panicking as that golden hand reached for him. He grasped the questing fingers, thankful that he was still wearing his gloves out of habit.

Toby didn't notice, too busy squeezing the gloved fingers that clung to him for dear life as his bond mate coughed and choked. He couldn't really see in the half-light, but didn't think to light the torches. After all, Jareth would only order him away in a minute; just like always. "… deep breathes… in… out… in…"

"I'm… fine."

"No, you're not. I'll get you some water."

"No…"

"Take the damned water and drink it," Toby snapped, thrusting the glass at him.

Jareth only hoped that the water wouldn't turn to ice chips in his mouth. It never had before but it was always not a very pleasant ordeal after an attack. He reached out and took the glass, which is when the unthinkable happened- Toby used his distraction to reach out suddenly and grasp his wrist beyond the glove.

Jareth stilled instantly, eyes caught by an intense blue gaze, frozen in the shock of the moment.

Toby stared at the shadowy outlines of Jareth's face, the deliberate bait of the water in one hand and a corpse-cold wrist in the other. But surely living skin was not meant to be this cold, and the bones never been this prominent? True, the mountain palace was a chilly place, but to an immortal like Jareth the cold meant nothing; he never felt it.

Dual-coloured eyes suddenly blazed with shame and anger as Jareth pulled his hand away. "Get out," he spat, "Leave."

"Why are you… why?"

"There is nothing the matter."

Toby leaned closer and sniffed delicately, moving unexpectedly again to slip his hand into the open neck of the white shirt to touch forbidden skin. He frowned a little, scenting the stench of something he couldn't quite put a name to on his husband. It was a little like the smell of illness, but blander, less virulent. "You're sick," he decided, "Do you feel sick? Does anything hurt?"

Leather-coated hands yanked on his hand and flung it away. "I am fine."

"Jareth, I can smell it!"

"It is temporary and completely under control."

Toby sighed and nodded, taking one last look in those mismatched eyes. They didn't seem too badly glazed or fevered. He couldn't, naturally, see very much of Jareth and so checking for paleness of flushes were out of the question. And anyway, it wasn't as if Jareth would let him near enough. Something hadn't felt right for a long time, but he was tired of always having to ask. If Jareth didn't want to tell him, then fine. He didn't want to know.

Jareth was itching for Toby to leave. He was tempted to order the mortal out. But he didn't have the heart to do so. They had walked together as two strangers and he knew what was in Toby's thoughts when they slept close by but self-consciously in their own little spots. He couldn't be so terrible to someone he had once cared deeply for.

Toby seemed to make some decision because he settled down. "Jareth, I'm not leaving till you tell me what's going on."

The Goblin King blinked in shock. Toby was refusing to leave? His scruples flew out the figurative window. "Get. Out."

"No. Not until you tell me."

A short bark of laughter as his throat seized up again with panic. He was sweating because his skin was cooler than the air around him and he could feel the rasp as he kept breathing. "Why?" he mocked, "For the sake of the children? I assure you it isn't contagious."

Toby shook his head determinedly. "Not for the children," he negated, "For me. Because I'm worried. Because I'm your consort and I need to know. If something happens to you, I'll have to… well, do things." He just couldn't lie. "Jareth, please. I just want to know you're okay."

He knew he was trusting a lot to those slender rays of sunlight in his head, but this was important: Jareth was ill; the immortal never got ill; therefore this was serious. Toby didn't mean to let a little thing like a ten-year separation stand in the way of finding out for once and for all why Jareth was avoiding him.

"You want to know." Jareth was acquiring that pensive little note to his voice again. He summoned a crystal and sent it up, lighting the torches above his bed with a blaze of bright light, forcibly raising his face to the strong glow.

Toby caught his breath, not daring to reach out to touch. The face he remembered had always seemed bloodless, but never frozen, or blue and silver with cold. It was thinner, the bones sharper, the skin stretched too tight in a tensed mask of his warmer memories. Jareth hadn't even looked like this on the journey through the Lawless Kingdom. What had happened?

"I am fine," Jareth announced slowly, "If you care anything for me, you will believe that."

"Oh, I care," Toby breathed, finally tracing the hollow below a sharp cheekbone with the barest tip of his forefinger, "Far too much to believe that. What happened to you? I knew something was wrong but I've never seen you like this, sweetness."

Sweetness… Toby had no right! "You were never meant to," Jareth growled, "And don't pretend that you ever noticed my absence. Not with Fiorle to care for your needs." Insane jealousy exploded somewhere in his brain and he hurriedly took himself away, disappearing out of the bed.

Toby stared in blank bewilderment at the pillow. "Fiorle," he echoed. And then it hit him, along with all the suppressed frustration and resentment. "Don't you dare! Come back here!"

Jareth had not let him hide after the rape. He had pulled him back into reality and insisted he handle the pain. Now Jareth could damned well stop trying to hide himself. Toby made for the door, certain that Jareth hadn't actually progressed too far beyond it. "Stop hiding," he snarled, throwing the door open and startling the Goblin King just outside, "Don't you dare try to hide."

The flash of movement somewhere on a higher level and he didn't care that anyone could be watching them. He did draw the line at having this fight in public, however, and Jareth found himself dragged back into the room and the door slammed to behind him.

"You have no right to be bitter," Toby shouted, "I am sorry for what happened with Gwenél. I've said that to you a hundred times if not more and you just never forgive! You're like a sodding elephant; you never forget! And Fiorle?! Are you insane? Have ten sodding years of bitchiness and loneliness turned your brain? How dare you stand there and… Jareth?"

The anger fell away as he turned back, terrified to see the Goblin King's hand on his throat, clawing at something he seemed to think was there.

"Jareth, stop! You'll hurt yourself!"

There were bruises and scratches on that slender white neck and Toby shuddered as he recalled that the few times he had seen Jareth, the latter had always worn high-collared coats or shirts.

The touch of his bond mate's hands and the intense burning began to recede. Jareth reached out blindly, passed caring that he was essentially asking for help, for comfort, for anything to help stop this agonizingly slow death. Taking one of those small hands and pressing it to his skin, throwing his head back as touch alone helped to sooth the fear. Toby was saying something. Hazily, he could see the wide mouth move, the blue eyes stare at him questioningly. But words were falling in and out as his hearing went to focus on the roaring in his veins. Being pulled closer, and the bond pulling them closer still. He could fight it- he knew he could do it if he really wanted to- but did he want to?

Leaning forward, capturing that delicate lower lip in his mouth- a soft kiss that swallowed the soft words and the softest of gasps; hands moving to tangle in his hair, tugging his face closer; a small, thin, fragile body that pressed against him in instantaneous acquisition.

Toby almost couldn't believe it. He was convinced that he was dreaming. He did, sometimes, dream that Jareth allowed him this close again. But in the dream, everything faded away. With this, he was hyper-aware of the cold bite from Jareth's skin, was well aware of his surroundings and of the inelegant fumbling of lovers who had forgotten slight details.

But then Jareth purred into his mouth. That did it. That rough, rasping vibration took him far beyond his own control as heat flared instantly through him. God, he didn't remember the room being this cold! It was like burning in the middle of Antarctica! But anything was better than the over-heated feel of his own body. Pulling away a little, he felt Jareth kiss over his forehead and hair as he concentrated on getting the thin shirt off as soon as possible. Throwing it away into a corner and swiping his tongue over the too-prominent collarbone.

He remembered the old argument with bitter accuracy- "… used me that night… all about you…"- the blaze of betrayal on Jareth's face when they mentioned the night of Ereditha's conception. Was that what had driven Jareth away? He'd never thought of that before. Did Jareth fear that Toby would try to use him like Archer?

"Hold still, my love. Wait."

Jareth obediently waited, still wary and still uncertain. He shouldn't be doing this. Toby had another lover; he shouldn't interfere with the life the mortal had carved out for himself. And he couldn't endure the questions and the shame of telling. He couldn't! Toby would want to know and if Jareth got better… Toby would eventually die and then the fear would come back. And Jareth knew he could never completely let go of the fear long enough to give Toby the trust he deserved.

Swift kisses over his neck and how had Toby remembered that his neck was a huge erogenous zone for him? Arching and unable to help the little whimper as the sweet mouth trailed over his flesh, hot tongue leaving trails of wetness on his cold skin. Toby swayed lower, fingers hooking into his breeches and tugging them off and away to join his shirt in the corner.

The concerns were back full swing and the Goblin King was no longer as uncomfortably aroused. He stared down in no little speculation, trying to make up his mind. He could still push Toby away. It was a little late, but he could bluster his way through it. His breath was still coming so short, and the world still burned though Toby's heat was surprisingly erotic.

Then the first touch of that scorching mouth and he lost control for the rest of the night.