Author's Note: The memories are again italicized in bold.

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Toby continued to look through the studio. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, but he was certain that there was something in this room that might help him understand Jareth. Anything at all! At least it would show him what precisely his bond mate was running from.

The books were filled with scribblings and general notes. Surprisingly, Toby found copies of Aboveground philosophical works and a cupboard full of classical and high-literature novels. And then he found the set of ledgers.

At first, they were just thick books bound in tooled leather. They were hidden on the top shelf of the third cupboard from the fourth easel. He'd opened one expecting it to be full of another fairytale, but it had contained a row of figures. He'd almost stuffed it back into place distastefully when he realized what it actually was.

It was written in the Old Language, but he could read that by now. Brethiliaur had once taught him and Fiorle had completed his education. He pulled the first volume out and sat down in one of the armchairs. He opened the first page and was transported instantly to what he was looking for.

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Jareth strode up and down in his study, his clerk nervously scribbling down all the orders he received from the new Goblin King.

Jareth looked pale and drawn, but his eyes were angry and watchful. He picked up some papers from his desk and slammed them down in front of the terrified little goblin. "I want all those changes made to the records from my… from my predecessor's reign."

A loud squeak at the goblin nodded his shaggy head and ran for the door, knowing the order was to be carried out instantly.

Jareth continued to pace, running a hand through his hair in some nameless frustration, stopping by his desk to look through some of the letters and flinging them over his shoulder.

A knock at the door and he called for the person to enter.

Gringol was carrying the sheaf of papers the clerk had been given, not looking particularly happy about something. "Sire, I believe you gave your clerk certain orders regarding any known copies of the records of your consort's reign."

Jareth turned cold, dangerous eyes on him, a slow smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Let us be truthful, Gringol. That bastard was my father, not my consort. I disown him as a consort and I want that stricken from the records as is perfectly within my power."

"You cannot change history on a whim," Gringol snapped back, "What is done is done. And even should the records be changed, people will remember! I understand your shame and I share it, but this…"

"Share it? Really. None of you even comprehend it. None! I want those words removed from every set of records in the Kingdom. And now that you remind me, I want a law- a law that will forbid anyone to mention my previous binding or my consort ever again."

"Jareth…"

A crystal was blazing on white fingertips in less than a second. "I am your King," Jareth bit out, "Address me as such with the respect I deserve. The Gods know I earned it!"

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Toby stared down at the books by his side. So it was true- Jareth had married his father. But why? What could possibly have made any father want to marry his only child? Archer had described Jareth's father as being a good king and a good goblin. Jareth held a wistful respect for him too.

He sneezed and sighed, setting the books aside. There were four hundred years' worth of memories and he was so depressed. All he wanted to do was curl into a ball and moan, covering his ears and eyes against the world, wishing it would quietly go away so that he never had to live in it ever again. With all this pain inside him, he didn't think he could bear another pinprick. Even a paper cut would set him off into screaming hysteria. Or that was what he felt.

And then he discovered the paintings. Not the paintings that were hanging on the wall or the paintings that been begun but never quite finished. Nor yet those that were deemed terrible- and quite rightly in some cases- and had been left in lingering frustration in corners, turned to the wall so no one needed to look at them. No, these paintings were carefully preserved and lay in the most comfortable part of the room, the part where Toby had found Jareth the last time.

He recognized a few of the people and a couple of the places. An old, rather dilapidated painting was of a tall white tower on a hill with a large locked door and small windows in the upper levels. A face looked out, though whose it was he couldn't be sure. Letters printed neatly in the bottom right hand said it was by someone else and was of the Ivory Tower.

And one was of Archer. A vicious rip in the canvas tore across the spaniel-brown eyes, but Toby could hold the rip closed and see just how carefully the painting had been done. Each stroke seemed almost like a caress. The waves of depression were taking on an added note- terror. It felt like a cobra was coiled in his gut, its long tongue flicking in and out as the tension mounted, waiting for the right time to strike and bite. Slow poison moved in his veins and he could taste the thickness.

It wasn't him, then; it was Jareth. This was what he felt. Maybe how he had felt for years before this day? At one time Toby might have sat down and cried for not being there. But right then… right then he wanted to go downstairs and break his husband's neck for not speaking sooner. How dared Jareth had simply presumed he wouldn't understand! He'd been raped too, for God's sake! He knew a little about the shame and fear of being used. And he'd understand how Jareth felt because he was a father and he knew what he'd do to anyone who wanted to harm his children. How dared the Goblin King have done this!

The linen-wrapped silver panel of Jareth's father went smashing against the other wall, landing on the wooden floor with a dented clatter.

The portrait of Archer might have gone too, but Toby didn't dare touch the picture more than he needed. His own wounds weren't completely healed. He didn't want Jareth's memories to bring more pain. Even for his bond mate he couldn't stand that. So he took deep breaths and tried to think rationally. He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished his headache away. That depression was getting to him.

He pushed forward, looking through the more personal collection of paintings. There was a small one, very stilted and very crudely drawn, of a woman with long, unevenly lengthened hair down her back- the same dark hair with ice-blue streaks- just like Archer. Her face was badly asymmetrical, but the scrawl at the bottom was an adult hand. Toby knew who it was without looking for the memory. Jareth had gotten most of his features and his pride from her. And there was no mistaking those slender white hands. Surprisingly enough, there were even paintings of Lord Pelinlas and Lord Zaraith in there.

Toby touched Zaraith's portrait and let the memories sweep him away.

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"Welcome to the Goblin City, my Lord."

Jareth couldn't possibly have been very old. Quite likely he was only Aidan's age. The lines of his face were still soft and the clean flow of his body was too feminine for the hardness of the adult male he was now. Dressed in red and black, he looked like a vision at the huge gates of the city, surrounded with disciplined guards with polished armour.

Zaraith smiled and bowed, Varlan and Hergoh at either side. All three had just alighted from the sky and two more guards transformed behind them, dressed in silver as the guards always were.

"If you will follow me, my Lord," Jareth invited, waving a hand to the Castle, "We have awaited your arrival for many days now. My father looks forward to putting aside the differences of the past and starting anew."

"Admirable," Varlan remarked rather scathingly.

The young prince looked startled at the acid comment and then flushed slightly, turning away with an angry look that in turn startled the draconite because it was so very level and contemplative. Jareth was obviously making some kind of peace within himself to deal with his anger in a more resourceful manner. Varlan soon found out how- he was treated ever after as a lesser member of a visiting royal's retinue. And from the smug look of innocence on Jareth's face at each occasion, the insult was intentional.

But the evening meals were more than a source of amusement for Jareth. They also provided times when the Lord of the Draconites watched him with a look of curiosity on his face. Not that careful watching was needed; Jareth was fairly obvious as far as this particular matter went. And not long into the night the Lord himself confronted him on a midnight journey through the Castle.

"My Lord!" Clearly Jareth was surprised. "Is something amiss? Do you want for something?"

"You forget that the night is when draconites are most comfortable," Zaraith said lightly, "I was only enjoying the absence of light. For a creature that does not see, the light can be intrusive."

Jareth's ears pricked up. "But all creatures in the Underground see."

"Ah, but draconites see only in a manner of sorts." It was almost too easy to fall into step with the young boy, walking casually with him on his way to wherever. "We see bare images and vague shapes; no colours and perceptions disturb our vision. We see movement and auras. Yours, my child, is silver flecked with cream… your father's aura, in fact."

It was quite the wrong thing to say, for Jareth shut down instantly, his eyes shuttering and his face acquiring a wary look of suspicion. "I hope you will enjoy the splendours of the Castle," he murmured formally, "Excuse me. There is an order I must give to the servants."

He made to move and was interrupted. "With your clothing loosened and your skin bathed and scented? A man meets his lover like that. No child bathes for the servants."

Spinning round on his heel so fast that the serene purplish-black sky outside was a blur before the red of fury. "Do not dare to say another word." Hissing like a snake about to attack. "Leave this part of the Castle. You are not welcome here."

"I only make an observation, child. The guilt is revealed in your answer. What type is this marriage?"

"One you will not understand."

"Try me."

"It is not your concern."

"You tell me that you are in love with your own father?" Silence and a stony face were the only answer. But the stormy eyes said enough. Too young to have control over every feature. "Heavens, my Prince, you cannot be serious! The goblin is your father!"

"You do not understand," Jareth pointed out quietly, "Speak of it to no one, I beg of you. The- the rumours will kill him. Please. He wants the secrecy."

"And you would shout it from the rooftops?"

"I see no reason to lie."

Curious green eyes roving over his upturned face, saddened and still withdrawn. "You will when you are older."

A peculiar reaction- laughter. Loud laughter than rang through the stone corridors. "When I am older? I assure you I am no child now. Not since I was thirteen, my Lord. I can bring more pleasure with my hands alone than most women twice my age. I am old enough now that I will not age again until my death. Keep your advice, my Lord; there is no need of it here."

"You do not know…"

"I know enough. If you will excuse me, my lover waits for me." Jareth had never had the intention of lying to keep his relations a secret. He rejoiced in it.

"Take another lover, child. This is unhealthy."

Knowing blue eyes peeping over a slender shoulder. "It is a display of love," Jareth pointed out, "Like all good sons, I love my father. I give him what he needs."

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The memory was so grotesque that Toby almost threw himself backwards to let go of the painting fast enough. He wasn't sure he even wanted to touch Pelinlas' portrait. He could only imagine what Jareth had gone to him about. But he took a deep breath and reached out a hand.

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"What is it, pen-neth? Why is a young boy crying on my doorstep?"

Jareth was even younger, looking like a small, drowned cat as he crouched pitiably at the foot of a large tree. He had meant to climb it, but he was too tired from running blindly through the Labyrinth, too heartsick to even make the attempt. Besides, it was raining and the wood was now slippery.

The Elf Lord held out a hand and pulled Jareth to his feet. He never asked anything more until the thirteen-year-old was done crying. He only offered the silent comfort of a hand on his shoulder and a warm embrace when it was needed.

"Life can be hard," was all he said, "Tell me your name."

A slight hesitation and then Jareth told him. Pelinlas was shocked at exactly who it was, and offered the prince the hospitality of his home. His little daughter was asleep, he said, and quite capable of staying that way as they talked. Jareth managed the climb with efficient ease and was soon warming himself in a blanket, pouring out his tale of woe.

He missed his mother, was confused over his father, didn't want his fae cousin to go back to his home and to make matters worse, a friend had called him 'jra-gurgh' but he really wasn't- he swore that- and people hated him for something he had had no say in. Why did everyone hate him if the formal binding wasn't his fault?

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Toby didn't even wait for Pelinlas to speak before snatching his hand away. He didn't want to know. It was painful enough! He could still picture the uneasy look on his husband's face when Aidan's thirteenth birthday had loomed on the horizon. The rejection had started from then, according to Arradine, and Toby had felt the restrictions more when Jareth suddenly began to demand that he tell him every time he left the Castle.

"Idiot," he chastised himself, brushing the small specks of dust from his hands and making for the door. "I was an idiot! And you!" Screamed it to no one because Jareth couldn't hear him any way. "You think this is so easy? You think you were the only one who feared that your children would experience the torment that you did? Well, look at this, you bastard- look!"

And Toby gathered that last rape into his mind and forced it through the tenuous cracks in the barriers between their minds. He knew the pain of having his mind forced at least would jolt through Jareth, no matter how unconscious he was.

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"Hold still, dear heart, and the pain might not be so bad."

Soft cooing voice and Toby froze, still half-asleep. He stared up at the ceiling in shock, not daring to try to get up because it couldn't be. It simply wasn't possible.

"Not possible, is it? Did you think I wouldn't return? My, my, but what a bad pet you have been!" The words were almost teasing, but they meant nothing at all when a hand smashed across his face. "Up! Up and greet me as you should, worthless brat! Whore! Look at you, swollen with child- a rather repulsive state of affairs, don't you think?"

The tremors wouldn't stop. Toby desperately called to Jareth, but the link had been shut down. He remembered why. Jareth was discussing some 'boring old political matters' and didn't want to disturb his sleep.

"I will come to you in the dreams, my elf," he had said, "Sleep now. I will meet you there later."

But that rich, dark chuckle had woken him up and for a moment he'd been disoriented, wondering where the covers had gone and why the room was so cold. And then that voice. He had squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it was only a vision and he would never have to watch this. If He just went away then Toby could pretend to himself that nothing had happened.

But he didn't go away. He sat down beside him and by the time Toby stopped drowning in his own fear, gloved hands had snapped the chain around his neck and he was trapped, the hands moving down to cup his very pregnant midsection. The knife appeared from nowhere to rest against the curve of his abdomen.

He began to hyperventilate, gasping in shock and terror at the sight of that sharp instrument where it could do the most damage. But now it wasn't just for himself but for the child inside him. If that blade went in it would kill them both and Toby couldn't bear the thought.

"Please," he didn't know why he bothered to beg, "Please! I- I can't! It will hurt my baby. Please, don't hurt it. I'll do anything."

"Hands and knees, dear heart. I heard an interesting thing the other day… bitch. Wasn't that what you wanted? I am sure the Goblin King had no real idea of what you meant, but I do. You like this."

"No…"

"I gave an order."

The knife pressed in deeper and Toby almost fainted with fear. Turning with difficulty and no help, getting into the required position and feeling his spine scream with the effort.

His tormentor didn't care. The blade remained pressed right against his belly, ready to slide through his flesh in a moment's notice. The quick fumble at his waist and then his pants were ripped off him.

Toby shut his eyes in shame and bit at his lip, pushing aside the panic until after it was all over.

But it never ended!

"What child will it be, dear heart?" Thrusting so hard that he was almost thrown forward, already off balance and now even more so. "A boy or girl? I can just imagine how sweet your daughter would look, with long blond hair and big blue eyes, just waiting to be taught like you were taught. I will have that pleasure, my dear, I do assure you of that."

Crying and helpless to do anything. The pain was not as intense as it might have been because of his healthy relationship with his husband and his tormentor commented on it, complained at the lack of blood and said he was a common whore who could obviously never get enough.

And shockingly enough Toby thought of Jareth and prayed that a miracle would happen and Jareth would feel his need. Something… anything! He was so scared and he needed him. He was so sorry. This was all his fault and now Jareth's baby was in danger. He was so ashamed.

A sharp crack of a blow across his rump caused him to cry out and almost fall. He twisted and landed painfully, his back protesting. There were scratches on his back from the rough coupling, he could feel a few of them bleed. But the worst hadn't come yet, had it?

"Still thinking of your saviour? Your beloved husband." Warm, sensuous mouth near his ear and he shuddered as he felt the knife tap idly at his skin. "He will be far too busy with his Fairy Queen, dear heart." Dark eyes backing away and glittering down at him in amusement. "Did you think he would like someone like you? You are a brood mare. Nothing more."

"He married." He didn't know where he got the strength. "He loves me."

"He loves what you can give him. He has rather a taste for the young and innocent."

His head hurt. He felt sick and nauseous and the child inside him suddenly kicked out and hurt him. His back burned and ached. The world swam in little circles and everything went slower, as if seconds lasted as long as minutes and minutes had become hours. Time crawled and everything happened in slow motion.

The face had changed. The shimmer of glamour magic and it had been Jareth bending over him. Toby had believed for a minute, had let out a glad cry and thrown his arms around the slender white neck. But it hadn't been Jareth. Because he saw the eyes and the sick little smile told him everything else. The second time was worse- Jareth's face above his, Jareth's child kicking inside him and that horribly soft voice whispering all those horrible things to him. And his tormentor had promised his child would grow to love the pain.

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Ereditha almost fell out of her chair as the Goblin King suddenly let out a soft cry and began to twist weakly on the bed. For one of those rare occasions, Lorelei was in the room with Hoggle and Fiorle. But the three were at the other end of the room and Ereditha was the closest.

They turned just in time to see the Goblin King sit up and Ereditha launch herself at him with a glad cry. There was an audible thump and Jareth grimaced in pain, but he wouldn't let go of his little daughter, even when they reached his side and tried to get her gently off him.

Ereditha was laughing and babbling non-stop and Jareth didn't care. He didn't listen to a word, only to hear her voice and know she was safe. He had been so close to that final nothingness. He had felt it move towards him and he'd felt so safe. It was such a relief to attain this final an end. But then that shattering pain somewhere behind him and the seeping of the images, dragging him back out of worry and concern only to find that ghastly memory in his mind.

"Get Arradine," he ordered hoarsely, "Toby. Aidan… now."

Hoggle ran off to get the three but Toby was already on his way in, looking pale and a little shaken.

The mortal stopped when he saw what awaited him in the room and knew from the painful, hopeless look in his former lover's eyes that he wouldn't be forgiven for forcing Jareth to choose life. Not yet. But even if it hurt them both unbearably he would not let Jareth die.