Author's Note: I know it hurts. But it will be for the best. This needed to be ended. Andit won't be so bad, I promise.

"Everything hurts." Perhaps talking to a dead man was the single most ridiculous thing Jareth had done, but he couldn't really bring himself to believe that Toby wouldn't answer him. "I wish you were here."

Nothing answered. Not Toby; not anyone else. Nothing. Jareth sighed and fidgeted with the ring on his left ring finger. Its companion was sitting on the table beside his bed, which he had yet to even look at let alone sleep on. He couldn't even enter his room without feeling as if the walls were closing in on him.

"Arradine is doing well," he said instead, looking out over 'their' lake, "Anamika keeps asking for you. She doesn't understand, you see. She wants her Grandpa. Arradine tells her that you had to go away somewhere. But then she wants to know when you are to return." He laughed a little, feeling his breath hitch with the sound. "You were just like her, my elf, just as annoying."

The lake shimmered in the cold spring, nature struggling to throw off the frost of the enforced cold and come back to life. Jareth supposed he should do something about it. After all, it was his fault the world was like this. He fingered the medallion around his neck and slid his finger up and down the thin edges.

"Aidan is much as we expected," he continued, sighing, "He hasn't stopped to think since you… since it happened. The arrangements, the announcements, and the records- I don't have to lift a finger. For the best, I suppose. But you needn't worry about Aidan; Armand is here. I know how you feel about Armand, but he is good for him. I spoke with him, demanded that he make sure my son is taken care of. And speaking of Armand, I need your help."

The Goblin King was not in the habit of asking for help. He hated asking for help. If he had his way, he would never ask for help at all. It was against his nature to admit that he couldn't do something perfectly well on his own initiative. But this stretched beyond what he could endure and he shifted uncomfortably as he thought it over.

"Ereditha, my elf. How am I supposed to stand that?"

He could almost hear Toby asking what the hell he was talking about, looking panicked. 'Has something happened to Red? Is she alright? Is she hurt?'

"She is not hurt," he soothed, making gentling gestures with his hands even though he knew full well that there was no one to make the gestures to, "Ereditha is coping far better than either of them. She cries when she needs to and is strong when she needs to be. Better than Arradine, who can barely speak your name. I expected it, however. You raised her. She always protected you fiercely when she could. And this time she couldn't. So she is grief-stricken. And Aidan has yet to feel anything at all. But Ereditha is balanced."

'Then what's the problem? You want her to be a mess?'

"I can't cope, Toby. How am I supposed to bear this?" Jareth felt his voice break again, much to his horror. "She reminds me so much of you: a small, petite, slender, impetuous fire-blond. I always thought that if you had had the chance to grow up without all the stupidity with- with Archer and the war and my fears, you would have been just like Ereditha. So full of life and joy. A silly thing to say because you're dead now. You couldn't be alive even if you wanted to be."

Jareth growled to himself and got quickly to his feet. His legs were cramping, sitting in one spot so long. All the same, his body moved with all the precise slickness it always had. Age didn't touch the fae like that. Perhaps the lines at the corners of his eyes and his mouth were a little deeper, but apart from that he hadn't changed. Still lithe, still straight-limbed.

But not strong. His little episode by the lake was testament of that. Talking to no one in a place that reminded him of his dead lover? Jareth despised clichés. So he went away, far away, to find his feet taking him automatically to the forests with the graves of kings passed. It had not been where he intended to go.

He dug in his heels and sulked for a minute, angry with himself because he had no one else to be angry with.

Death was not something he could prevent. Toby had had to die sometime. He had been prepared for that for fifty years now. And they had been married for a hundred and twenty-seven years. That was a long time. It should have been enough. It should be easy to remember that they had enjoyed most of those years and that this bond continued even past death.

But death was death.

The Goblin King wasn't comforted by the thought that Toby might still be a part of him. Because that part, usually so alive and constant, was now silent and still. There was no sense of anything from that quarter.

That in itself made him want to lash out.

'Stop being an idiot. There's bound to be an after-life, right? I'll see you there pretty soon. And then that will be forever.'

It's only forever, not long at all. Bah! That song had been a lie. A useless, gullible lie he had fed himself to that he wouldn't have to face the thought of mortality. What good had any of it done him!

"Your Majesty?"

A quiet, soft voice behind him. Jareth shut his eyes for a moment and winced in annoyance. But by the time he had turned, his face was set in a neutrally enquiring expression. Cool, composed and showing not one shred of what he felt. "Yes?"

Zaraith looked him up and down and then looked past the half-goblin's shoulder to the forest that loomed darkly ahead. "Am I interrupting you on your way to somewhere?"

Those green eyes said nothing. So Jareth sifted through every nuance of the draconite's words. "No," he decided, "I was only walking." He glanced back to the forests. "It seems my unconscious was nudging my intentions."

"May I accompany you?" Zaraith asked politely.

Jareth stiffened, but nodded curtly and gestured to the larger male to join him. Without another word they continued the short journey. Slipping through the trees over the grass and moss, being careful of the stones that had once marked graves and now were no use to any living person. Wandering vaguely to the south and there it was.

Zaraith was aware of that swirling eddy of despair that wafted around the Goblin King. It worried him just a little, to smell fear and anger and helplessness in such large amounts. Without thought he took a gentle hold of an elbow.

Jareth almost snatched his arm away in shock.

"I cannot see," Zaraith reminded him lightly, "The trees are too close together for me to judge distances properly. I would be grateful for a little help here."

The Goblin King grunted but took a little more care now that he was tagging someone else along with him.

"Asking for help is not something to be ashamed of, you know."

Jareth dropped his arm instantly, glowering at him even though his eyes immediately returned to the bare patch of freshly dug earth. "I wondered what your agenda was."

Zaraith shook his blond head and fixed forest green eyes sternly on the fae walking beside him. In spite of no actual sight and his averted eyes, he didn't seem to have any trouble walking in the forest, closely set trees or not. "No one thinks less of you for grieving, Your Majesty."

"My Lord," Jareth snapped rudely, "Let it be. I am not having this discussion."

"Your mate died."

"Yes. It happened. I mourn his loss but that is life."

"Just as it was the first time?"

That was moving it beyond what Jareth was prepared to endure. But even there, it was hopeless. He held tightly to his temper, not daring to find out what would happen to the Underground if he unleashed his emotions on it. His spirit was shrieking for release so harshly that he could not be responsible for what he did if he gave it control. But to even compare Toby with his father was unthinkable.

"It was not the same, I know. But you loved both. And you watched them both die."

He didn't reply. It would be disrespectful to the person whose grave he was standing beside. And he would never do that.

"Arradine worries," Zaraith finally admitted, settling his black robes around himself, "She asked me to speak with you."

"She may speak with me herself if she has something to say."

'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.'

"She didn't want to upset you by losing her composure."

Zaraith could smell the distress, the anger and the other things. But he could not actually see it. And if he could, his worries would have been reinforced. Jareth looked- as Aidan bluntly described it- terrible. His eyes were sunken, the sockets dark from restlessness. His face was thinner and the hollows in his face more pronounced. His usual flamboyance had disintegrated into crumpled clothes and a listless stoop.

But Zaraith could see none of it. He had an idea of how bad it was, however. His wife had described it vibrantly. Not surprising, really. If he had ever been as violently emotional as the Goblin King, and then lost his beloved Arradine, he might react the same way. As it was, his heart broke to feel her so unhappy. If it had been in his power to take that loss away, he would have. All he could do was hold her, stroking her hair and kissing her face; all he could do was take care of their daughter and give Arradine the time she needed to recover.

"I wish…" Jareth murmured suddenly.

Loss. Zaraith wrinkled his nose as it changed from a sense to an almost tangible stench on the air.

I wish. The Goblin King never wished for anything. He knew better. He knew better than to use those words out loud. Bitter irony that Jareth was so desperate that he was prepared to wish to make himself feel better.

"I advise you not to," the draconite interrupted.

A heavy sigh. "I know," the half-goblin said softly, closing his eyes in pain for just a moment, fighting his urge to sink down to the ground and never get back up, "It never helps. Such a dangerous thing, a wish. But I…" He stopped and cleared his throat. "I think I am done here. Are you staying?"

"No. I have to return to Arradine. She gets tired so fast now; looking after Anamika is hard on her."

Concern popped its ugly head up in Jareth's mind. "Tired? How bad is she?"

"Fairly bad."

Jareth winced, berating himself internally for not noticing sooner. "I had no idea. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, unfortunately. She just misses him so much."

"I know. She was very close to Toby. She was his first. Not that he loved any of the children more or less, but she was his in a way Ereditha and Aidan never were. He raised her almost on his own."

Zaraith would not mention the long talks they had bonded over, the long nights she had spent in his arms telling him about the time with the elves and the long ten years after her father had been found. He wouldn't mention how she still remembered her dad's breakdown on the journey to Archer's Castle. Or how she had seen how ill he had been on the long trek back to the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth, even if she hadn't comprehended it at the time. Or how much she had almost hated Jareth at one time for treating Toby in so cruelly. Zaraith thought that Jareth was in enough pain without that added wound.

"He did very well with her," Jareth remarked, almost as if he were talking to himself, "She was always so strong, so proud."

"She says that she reminded Toby of you," Zaraith offered gently. He didn't want to hurt anyone, but sometimes little things like that were comforting.

Jareth smiled bitterly and dug the nails on one hand deep into the arm of the other, taking a blissful breath when he felt skin almost break beneath the intense pressure. "Thank you."

A large hand came out of nowhere to roll up his sleeve and touch the newly marked crescents in his flesh. "Hurting yourself will be of no use. It will only hurt Arradine and quite frankly I will cause a lot of trouble for you if you hurt her now. She had enough to bear without your added burdens."

Jareth raised an eyebrow and almost felt the stirrings of humour. The Draconite Lord was threatening him? His son-in-law? And that last was still a joke to him. His son-in-law! But it had happened, strange as he still thought it. Arradine had given up hope and faith, agreed to be his Heir on her eighteenth birthday and then stumbled through a shocked recitation of the draconite's proposal in the Goblin King's gardens.

Married, his eldest was. He had married them himself, almost smiling at how radiant his daughter had looked in her green and gold, blue eyes sparkling so openly that he had never had any regrets about giving his blessings to that union. Being a grandfather had had its perks after all. Anamika was a gorgeous little girl, with all her mother's loyalty and her father's gravity. Both he and Toby had relished spoiling her rotten.

But Toby wasn't here. Anamika was here at the Castle because of Toby's death. Her mother, usually so impetuous and wild and happy, was slowly tearing herself apart in her grief. And Jareth felt helpless to stop any of it.

"Armand is nearby," Zaraith put in suddenly, "And Aidan."

The silver-blond head came up sharply and a sharpening gaze swept around until it landed on two male figures nearby. Mismatched eyes narrowed and then Jareth sighed. "You were sent to bring me back, weren't you?"

"They did ask me to persuade you to return to the Castle, yes," Zaraith said easily, "You were gone the entire day and it is almost time for the evening meal. But no, I came to find you for Arradine's sake."

Jareth's frown smoothened to wistfulness. "You really love her, do you not?"

"You doubt it now?"

"No, we have had this conversation before. I know. I almost wish she didn't love you the same way."

"So she will not suffer this when her time comes?"

"So she won't suffer; yes," Jareth agreed. The two male figures had noticed him and were now walking forward. "I don't wish this suffering on any one of my children." He was very specific with that. The rest of the world didn't concern him. He could be sympathetic, but really he couldn't bring himself to care a hang if any other fae or goblin or draconite were to succumb to this. Anyone, but not his children.

"Father?"

"Hello, Aidan."

"Where were you? We were so worried!"

Jareth restrained himself and made sure his voice remained gentle. "I am able to care for myself, Aidan. I am hardly decrepit. Nor am I in need of protection."

Aidan caught the warning look in the dual-coloured eyes and backed off. He nodded tightly and offered a small smile of apology. The smile was returned, but tinged with that melancholy that distressed the younger part-goblin to see. But he pushed the emotion away and steadfastly refused to acknowledge it- "You're right. If you want something, Fiorle says he will be happy to assist you."

Fiorle. Jareth sighed and offered a silent prayer to the Gods to protect him from fae with no family of their own. They tended to adopt everyone else's. "I will remember that. Any news I should know about?"

His heir snapped to crisp professionalism, blue eyes acquiring a serious sternness. "Yes. Father, you really must try to restore spring. The goblins are beginning to complain."

Jareth caught Armand's eye and the Fairy King got the message.

"Aidan," the fae said, laying a hand on the younger male's arm, "I think His Majesty is not quite in the mood now. Tomorrow, in the morning, should be the time for this. Your Majesty?"

"Tomorrow," Jareth agreed hastily, "A ten o'clock meeting."

Aidan gave up and smoothed a reckless golden curl behind his ear. He wondered why he bothered. His father would just forget- as usual- and not attend. But he couldn't blame him, could him.

Jareth knew that look of resigned patience. Aidan never questioned him on anything. His was the path of passive resistance. And Aidan had been a rock all through this nightmare. Waking up a little now from the daze that had blanketed the past week showed him the carefully hidden dark circles and the tensed set of the shoulders.

"I will be there," he vowed, shooting him an expressive look.

Aidan smiled a little wider and nodded. "We shall see," he mocked, "I shall believe it when I see it."

"My son, gentleman," Jareth retorted, "A pillar of respect for his parent."

The young male tipped his head to the side like a curious sparrow and stuck out his tongue, dancing away when a gloved hand almost slapped him gently upside the head.

Armand grinned and jerked his chin at Zaraith. The draconite shrugged and watched them peacefully, as was his wont. Eventually, however, a goblin came out with a message from a dignitary that wanted to speak about a difficulty with a bridge badly damaged by a herd of Underground deer. Without even waiting to hear his father's opinion, Aidan accompanied the goblin back inside as he formulated a plan.

Jareth frowned a little. Had he become so dispensable? True, he had been absent for a week or two… no, longer! Months; since Toby had begun to sicken. Jareth had neglected everything in favour of spending every moment he had with his lover. At first it had not been too bad. Toby had been a little weaker, a little slower, but perfectly able to go anywhere and do anything so long as he got enough rest. He had been as normal, talking and painting and teasing as he had always done. Sitting curled up in the living room and discussing everything from the Aboveground to the future of their granddaughter. Talking over politics and philosophy and religion- or the Underground's lack thereof- and anything else that came to mind. Making love…

Jareth swallowed thickly, caught by the sudden rush of aching need through him. Just to touch that wide mouth again, to be able to brush the tip of a finger against the succulent lower lip. And if he could kiss him. If he could hold him and press against him. If he could rub all those points on Toby's body that had made the mortal whimper and arch. And oh God, to be able to taste him again, to force his hips to the bed as he took him into his mouth and made him scream. Or better yet to kiss him as he ground slowly into him. To touch the black collar with its diamond pendant that Toby sometimes wore for him, just because he felt like it, while he rode him. Hard! Anything to see those blue eyes open wide in orgasm. Anything! Anything!

"Jareth!"

Armand grabbed the Goblin King's arm tightly as the half-goblin almost slid to the ground. Zaraith helped him by grabbing Jareth from behind. Between the two of them they held him up easily, even though it was obvious that he was ready to fall in a heap.

"Jareth?" Zaraith moved a hand to Jareth's neck. It wasn't particularly cold or hot. Not illness, then. Just the mind.

The Goblin King was panting slightly. The visions had been so vivid! He could almost taste the bland copper of his lover on his tongue, or feel small hands clutch convulsively at his shoulder and his neck. Almost heard a gasping cry for more.

"Help me get him inside," Armand said quietly.

Inside. Where he would see ghosts and memories around every corner. Toby standing in the entranceway to his Castle, kissing him fiercely just a few short days after they had exchanged rings. A tiny blond infant in his throne rooms, laughing as the goblins danced around him. Corridors they had traversed together. Even the thought of Sarah, so long dead and yet just an extension of what Toby and he had shared. His Aboveground family gaping in awe at the enormous halls and the Griffith Chair.

Armand hardened his resolve and did something he never thought he would ever have to do. He whipped the flat of his palm viciously across Jareth's face.

Jareth tensed in shock and blinked at him, almost cringing back in fear. But the next second intelligence flooded back and he lifted a hand to his bruised cheek and stopped leaning back into Zaraith. Flushing a little in embarrassment. Losing himself in longing lust, just like a youth of thirteen rather than a five hundred and ninety seven year old!

"Sorry," Armand murmured, "But you were in shock."

"I'll survive," Jareth snapped, testing his jaw, "Luckily, you didn't break anything."

"Excuse me," Zaraith said at last, making his way to the Castle, "I have to go to Arradine."

"Ereditha is with her," Armand called out after him. The draconite nodded over his shoulder and continued.

Jareth attempted to follow Zaraith but a hand on his arm stopped him. "Jareth, I need to speak with you," Armand said softly, "I know this is not a good time, but I am worried about Aidan."

The "What's wrong with him?" popped out immediately.

"Nothing. And that worries me. He hasn't shown a single sign of mourning yet. That is not healthy, Jareth. He loved Toby very much. To see him so callously disregard his memory is… it worries me."

Jareth sighed and thought for a moment. "I have nothing to say," he finally declared, "Aidan cannot be forced. It will only be worse for him. He will mourn when he is ready. We can only wait."

"What happens then? He explodes? He breaks his heart? It will hurt him to keep it so repressed."

"I know. But he will come to me when he is ready. I cannot and will not demand he express what he cannot." Jareth's eyes turned dangerous. "And neither will you. Am I clear? Tell him what you like. Do what you like to encourage him. But if I hear that you are pushing him too hard and I will break you."

Armand bowed in acquiesce and let the Goblin King walk four paces away before catching up with him again. "I would never hurt, Aidan."

Jareth nodded but kept his own counsel. Never hurt Aidan, indeed! He had already done that badly over a hundred years ago. True, Aidan had mended whatever fracture his heart had sustained, but it was the principle of the thing. Armand remained oblivious of it. One night between friends and Aidan had never given him reason to suspect it had been more. He was not, Jareth allowed, to know that he had been Aidan's first. That the boy had 'kept' himself for him and then felt abandoned when it had finally happened and then been wrested away.

'Stupid, fucking fae! The next time I see him I'll- I'll cut those damned hands from his body!'

Toby had been furious, seeing Aidan in such heartsick agony. But the wolf had run out into the Labyrinth and expended its energy in there before returning to deposit a cold, tired, starving mortal on his doorstep.

But things had worked out. Aidan had gone Aboveground for a few years to escape it all. Harvey and Cassandra had been good for him, taking him out of himself and allowing him to experience a world beyond the one he came from. Sarah had mothered him in a way neither Toby nor Jareth had been able to, and Ben had been the understanding ear that Aidan could bend without worrying. And in the end, Aidan had been able to stand at Armand's wedding with genuine happiness for the pair.

"My wife wants to see you," Armand said quietly.

Jareth froze for just a second and then continued to walk, his face as blank as he could make it. He could do this. Toby would have scolded him for ignoring her so terribly and Jareth felt a lot of guilt about that. "Of course. I haven't seen Ereditha since yesterday," he said, "Where is my little Red?"

Armand sighed in relief. Ereditha had been wondering if she had done something wrong to have her father push her away so. Apparently it was all alright. Good. "In the throne room."

Jareth took a deep breath and prepared himself to hold his elf in miniature female. God, how he wished it was the real one!