Author's Note: The last chapter was not the end, no. Neither is this one. Don't worry. Not too long now.
Author's Note2: I used this chapter for a whole hailstorm of memories, so please remember that this is rated 'M' for a reason.
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Life got easier after a time. Not better, naturally, but easier. Things settled into a particular groove and even if the sons-in-law finally decided that enough was enough and they needed to return to their duties of managing the Underground, the two females stayed. Much to Aidan's annoyance. They kept trying to help him.
Jareth found it quite funny in a melancholy kind of way. Which only made him wish his bond mate was there to share the amusement with him. He didn't visit the grave anymore. It hurt too much and the last time he had sat beside it, he hadn't been able to bring himself to leave for two days. After which Fiorle had coaxed him away like a stray puppy.
The Goblin King was going soft.
He sighed, as he leaned his head against the wall and stared blindly out over his lands. There was work waiting for him, if he could gather himself to do it. But if he left it, Aidan would eventually stumble upon it and get it done. The thought occurred that it might be urgent. But even if it was, did he even care?
He cringed as he looked out over the lands. Summer was late. Spring had barely raised the temperature. The snow had melted and the crops had been sown. A few had presented, but very poorly. It rained more days more often than not. The goblins were holding their tongues so far, but there were probably those in the City and in the villages who were shaking their heads and asking what else could be expected. Some of them might even pity him.
Which was a revolting thought! Jareth shuddered distastefully to think of himself as an object of pity to a goblin.
Though they never had before.
His gaze turned thoughtful as he played with the edge of a silk scarf. The goblins usually didn't blame him for most things in his life, but they didn't pity him. They didn't like him enough to pity him. He hadn't reacted well to any attempt to fit in pleasantly with them.
Perhaps they wouldn't pity him. He was still hopeful about that.
"Ereditha, how can you be so naïve? Of course she is blackmailing her!"
He slumped for a moment and turned around, folding his arms and waiting. The inaudible murmur of Ereditha's voice said something and then Arradine's silver laugh slipped through the half-opened door.
"Lady Carif is a sweet person, yes, but she cannot be happily married to that old fae without some kind of sustenance on the side."
Jareth waited.
The white hand came around the door and Arradine came in, her eyes shining and her hair loose, looking like the girl she had once been. She was shining with a greater glow, looking softly happy. Jareth didn't alert her averted attention to his presence.
"Arra, I think you are barking up the wrong tree," Ereditha rebuked, "The Lady Carif is too simple-minded to take a lover and besides, she really does love Lord Carif. I cannot think why. He seems a cold, ruthless sort of person."
"Which is probably to say he is a dragon between the sheets," Arradine giggled.
Jareth could picture the fae in question. A better person than most of them, he conceded that. Lord Carif had been there that fateful night that the former Goblin King had met the Fae Queen, had been disgusted by the display and was one of the only few to protest his treatment. On the Goblin King's reinstatement, a blunt letter had arrived from the Fae Kingdom, bearing Carif's insignia and formally offering apologizing for the disgraceful actions of his people.
Jareth had scoffed, torn the letter up and thrown it away. But he hadn't forgotten it. And he supposed that he held the fae in a lesser contempt and hatred than he did most of the others, especially considering that Carif had seen him personally during those seven years.
"And you would know all about dragons," Ereditha teased, "After all, with Zaraith you say that…"
"Pray allow me to interrupt, but I am not listening to another word either of you shameless pixies has to say," Jareth called out.
They started and looked over to the far window. "Oh dear. How much of our conversation did you hear?" Arradine asked, turning pink.
"Enough," Jareth said shortly, "I never knew my daughters had such minds."
"We said nothing wrong," Arradine protested.
"Speculating about the private lives of other people and making suggestive remarks is not quite nothing," Jareth retorted. But he wasn't really angry. They were grown women. They had the right to say whatever they wanted. They were also married and he supposed their sex lives were fulfilling enough to keep them both happy with their partners. They had been married almost a hundred years each. Bad sex would have lost its appeal by then.
Arradine looked at Ereditha and the latter shook her head and went back a step. 'Your decision' the gesture seemed to say. Arradine nodded and lifted a hand to touch the emerald at her throat. "I have some good news," she said carefully, "Ereditha and I were looking for you to tell you, but I suppose we got side-tracked. Are… do you want to hear it? Do you feel up to it? It isn't really urgent, I just thought you might want to be the first to know."
"Know what?" Jareth was confused.
She walked to him, smiling that same soft smile that had been so familiar on another face, reaching out to take his hand. "How do you feel?" she asked softly.
"I can handle whatever it is."
She nodded, still smiling and drew his hand down to her stomach, held it there with both of hers. "Can you feel it? Just the lightest touch of new life."
Jareth stared down, unbelieving and not quite getting it and then there it was. A brief flicker- less than a heartbeat but more than a seed. A life, as his daughter called it, the tiniest beat of life. But that was impossible, surely? She was… "Arradine, this is wonderful! When?"
Ereditha was shocked. That level of exuberance hadn't been heard in the Goblin King's voice since a year before her Dad had begun to falter. It was a strong voice, that one. Nothing like the dull drawl of before, but filled with all the fire and restlessness that reminded her of childhood.
"This is marvellous!" Jareth put one arm around Arradine's waist and drew her close to hug her, his hand still gently seeking the source of that baby. "It doesn't feel very old. A few days, perhaps, at most."
"Less than a month, yes," she laughed, "I told Zaraith and he was so happy. He is coming back here for a few days more, if you don't mind. Anamika will have a sibling."
Jareth smiled and bled inside and drew her close and kissed her cheek, savagely hating himself for hating the life inside of her.
Ereditha watched, none the wiser, smiling along with the two of them. "We haven't told Aidan either," she commented, "We went to the library to find him and got thrown out unless we had a way to magick up the plans for a new path through the outer territories. It seems there was a landslide."
"Tell him to have the HighLevel gate opened and a path smoothed from there to the East Banner. After than, turn left and rejoin the section of the path that won't be destroyed because I happen to know there are walls protecting it from harm. And then arrange more walls to be built around the new danger areas when the debris is cleared. Arradine, this is cause for celebration. And on that note, may I entice you to take Fiorle with you as a helpmeet? He is driving me mad here!"
The two girls laughed and Jareth smiled with them, relieved to see them look so happy again. He put one arm around Ereditha's shoulders, another around Arradine's waist- only to feel the baby- and drew them both to the door. "Come. We shall get Aidan to get his head out of the inkpot and tell him the good news. And then you, my dear, are going to rest!"
Aidan was not headfirst in an inkpot when they got there, but he was feverishly chattering to a goblin architect, making plans for the clearing of the stones and mud as soon as possible. His brows lowered when his sisters came in. "If you even open your mouths," he threatened.
Jareth followed and threw the goblin out after him, slamming the door on the poor thing. "I think you will want them to," he said negligently, "Oh, and whatever plan you have for the bridge, cancel it. I will handle it myself."
"You will?" Aidan was still getting used to Jareth even entering the library, let alone in the company of his daughters and offering to do work. "That would be… good."
"It is my work, Aidan. You don't have to thank me for it."
"Of course! I only meant… what was it, Red?"
Ereditha giggled and pushed Arradine forward.
There was no point repeating the same method with the Prince. His magic was not at all able to feel life taking shape. Aidan was, as far as magic went, the weakest them all of. Only because he was still a Prince and not a Royal Consort, a Queen, or a King. Ereditha had the sneaking suspicion his abilities to command the power of the Labyrinth would beat even their Father's. He had never yet failed any of his trips through those stone passages.
"I'm pregnant," Arradine exulted.
Aidan blinked. "Again?"
She smacked him and glared. "Yes, you insolent little…"
"Now, now, children," Jareth interjected lazily, "Play nice."
"Sorry, Arra. You mean it? You're really pregnant? That's great! When did you find out? How long? When is it due? Does Zaraith know?"
"Zaraith knows," Arradine laughed, "I had Manvi do the test and she told me last night."
"He is coming here, isn't he?" Aidan demanded.
"Yes, yes. Just for a few days, though. There is so much to do there and the outlaws tried to take another draconite last week so a few are out for revenge and Zaraith has to get them back before their treaty is forfeit, but he is coming here to be with me. And he is bringing Anamika so we can tell her together."
His daughter was shining, glowing with her smile and her loose hair and her green gown. Slender and pretty and a sight to behold was Zaraith's bride. Jareth watched her, his heart in his boots.
It shouldn't be affecting him like this, he realized. He shouldn't be angry about her happiness. And moreover, he shouldn't want to rest of the world to stop just because Toby wasn't there to see it turn. So Toby would not see his second grandchild. He would never be there when Aidan married- if he did- or when Ereditha bonded- if she did. He would not be there when there were more grandchildren- if those were ever born. It didn't mean that Jareth should want his children to mourn and weep as he did. It wasn't right of him. It was downright evil.
"I propose a celebration," he announced, "Nothing alcoholic because you, Arra, are hereby forbidden to drink!"
She pretended to faint in mock horror and the other two grinned. Arradine liked alcohol. She didn't get drunk; she just enjoyed a drink or two now and again.
"Tell Fiorle to meet us and we shall arrange a picnic. Each with our respective methods of travelling, of course. Yes, Red, I know how much you love to fly. And then we shall all go and annoy Wellis."
Aidan let out a boyish whoop and threw down his pen. He was out the door, Ereditha running after him like a child with her skirts held out of the way in one hand and shouting playfully at him to get his horse ready while she went for the food.
"I hope it's alright that we have Fiorle," Jareth remarked, looking at his last child left in the room.
"It wouldn't be a celebration without him," Arradine sighed, "We always consider him part of the family."
Part of the furnishing, more like, Jareth thought silently. But they all loved him as an older friend, and whatever they took for granted about him was always made up by their pleasure in his company. Fiorle was family. Toby had made sure of that.
"Go get him, Arradine. I'll finish this landslide business up and join you at the entranceway in an hour." He nodded at her and waited while she left the room. Then he deliberately sat down, picked up the pen and painstakingly wrote up the instructions that years of ruling brought easily to mind. He took the map that Aidan had set aside, chalked in the route he had suggested and attached it to the paper. He had both delivered to one of Aidan's trusted advisers.
One of Aidan's.
Then he sat down and let silent tears seep slowly out as he curled up in the corner of the library's window ledge, steadfastly refusing to emit the sob in his throat but unable to keep the loss dormant any longer. All of it took less than ten minutes, after which he made his way to the room he had begun lately to occupy and washed the salt from his skin. He bathed his eyes to remove the faint soreness and waited while his breathing returned to normal and his head stopped pounding.
And then, half an hour later, he was waiting comfortably at the front entrance of his Castle, a spark of happiness in his eyes that his children hadn't seen for a while. Even Fiorle was taken-aback by it, but, like the younger trio, didn't tempt fate by commenting on it.
Aidan had already saddled the two horses that he and Fiorle used. Arradine, Ereditha and Jareth proposed to fly. The owl was discarded as a nocturnal bird and a white hawk imperiously led the way. The dragon followed soon after, much smaller than the draconites, with the sun glowing on the dark green scales. A kingfisher went next up into the air, festooned in bright colours as all the fae royalty were. The dragon gave lazy indication of indulgently slowing down for the other two.
Aidan and Fiorle were no further behind than they could help. Their mounts were swift. They kept up remarkably well.
And eventually the hawk dropped altitude as it flew towards the Labyrinth, took a sharp turn left and continued on, flew over a wall and passed an enormous statue of a giant and then landed in the centre of a grassy knoll that looked just big enough for all of them.
Fiorle reigned in his stallion and waited for Aidan to catch up. "A nice place," he commented.
The Prince looked a little troubled. "This isn't like Father," he said simply, "He's never brought any of us here before. This has no special significance for any of us."
The dark fae bit his lip as he looked around. "Are you sure?" he whispered, "Perhaps he just remembered a picnic from his youth."
"I don't think he took many picnics in his youth," Aidan whispered, "It's just not like him to bring us here."
"It seems innocent to me."
The Prince nodded absently and looked around again. Jareth had transformed back to his human form and so had Ereditha. The two were attempting to persuade the dragon that they would like Arradine as she usually was too. There was a lot of loud laughing and even a shriek as Arradine blew a ring of flame around the two that sizzled alarmingly one moment and disappeared the next when Jareth put it out with a wave of his hand. The long green tail swished good-naturedly in the grass and the claws were sheathed and carefully put out of the way. Arradine was only playing. The Goblin King didn't look particularly out of character.
"Alright," he sighed, "I suppose there is nothing wrong. I suppose I was only overreacting."
"It happens to us all, my Prince. Especially when we worry about those we love."
Aidan shrugged sheepishly and helped Fiorle unload their baggage.
Jareth sat down for as long as the conversation raged, but when the sun began to turn to late afternoon, he was on his back, eyes closed and face set in peaceful repose. He scoffed at any suggestion of moving, sending them on to meet Wellis all by themselves as he couldn't be bothered with 'Hedwart's imbecile of a son'. They took the horses but left the rest of their things with him, promising to return before sunset to get them and their father.
Jareth waited until they were out of sight before he sat up and walked slowly to the nearest tree. He looked up at it. He turned and looked back around the tiny clearing that boxed him in and shuddered. He could almost see Archer here, could almost smell those cigarettes he used to smoke in those days. On any of those picnics in the past, Archer would have been encouraging him to wax philosophical by this point, subtly drawing him out of his shell to talk.
And Jareth would talk, young as he was and so much more innocent. He would talk about his fears and dreams and what had happened to him the day before and about his father and his strained communication with his mother and how stupid he found it that people expected him to mope around in moral anguish and die.
The half-goblin turned back to the tree and contemplated its length. It was big enough. He caught the nearest branch and began.
Halfway through the experience, he got rid of his boots and continued barefoot, panting lightly to himself when he had to rely completely on the strength in his arms to lever himself up to the next level. His jacket went the way of his boots. His shirt might have followed if Jareth could be bothered stopping. He reached the last branch it was safe for him to reach and he sat there and looked around again.
The clearing was smaller. He could see the tops of the overgrown trees as he looked further. There would be thick shrubs with berries and some kinds of fruit- 'a madman's orchard' Archer had called it.
Jareth could almost see him, staring down at the grass from such a distance. He could trace the long body spread out in the grass and see the serviceable brown breeches and white shirt he had always worn for such picnics. The black boots with no heel. Dark hair with ice-blue streaks, like Jareth remembered his mother having, though that wasn't why he liked them after a while. Archer had been nothing like his mother. Archer had been friendly.
And later on, of course, when it wasn't a boy who sat in the clearing or climbed trees but a young man with a young man's mind and soul…
Jareth climbed down and went straight to another tree across the clearing. He seized the lower branch almost with desperation.
The memories kept coming. They would lie together sometimes, a head on the other's shoulder, an arm draped over the other's waist. Warm breath on a neck or a cheek. Sometimes fingers stroking hair either black or silver-blond, because Jareth had joined in quite happily, seeing nothing wrong in it. Had touched his hair and traced his mouth and breathed softly in his ear as he cradled his cousin's head on his shoulder.
Perfectly natural. Archer always touched him gently. No force from those rough fingers.
The Goblin King bit back a curse as his foot almost slipped.
Those rough fingers. He could still feel them twist inside of him if he thought about it. When he wanted to torture himself. When he wanted to remind himself why it was that he hated Archer with all the sharpness of the betrayed.
Had Archer been evil even in those days? Jareth didn't think so. Those days had been even more sensual than the easy comraderie they had settled into. There had been nothing overtly sexual in the way Archer touched him then, surely. All the childhood memories tainted? Jareth had never wanted to think about it and make a decision.
"Does it matter," he finally said aloud, stopping for a moment to catch his breath, "He is dead and he betrayed me. Whether he began early or late is immaterial. It doesn't matter!"
He kept climbing. The memories kept coming.
The first lover they had shared was a fairy that Archer was bored with. A courtesan that had been up for the highest bidder. When the Heir to the Goblin King bid, that was as high as it got and his offer- for all the scandal surrounding the son of the Goblin King- had been accepted. Archer's advice had been right. She was beautiful, tempestuous, and very satisfying.
It had blown over in a matter of months and Jareth had passed her on with all his compliments to another. Archer had shared salacious jokes with him about her various oddities and affectations. It had been nice, to share an experience. What Jareth shared with his first consort was not something anyone else around him had ever understood. He couldn't very well talk about what he did with his father, even to the cousin who knew practically everything about him.
But Archer had known. Had seen it in his Hall of Mirrors. Had watched and sighed and touched himself to those scenes and Jareth felt his skin crawl thinking about it. Voyeurism was fine. Jareth didn't mind being watched. He hated that he had trusted Archer, had held him as high above everyone else in the known worlds and all the time Archer had been laughing behind his back, had been thinking and watching and knowing. Jareth went hot and cold just thinking about it.
Hot and cold. Archer's touch. Rough fingers but a gentle touch. Harsh punishments, sweet surprises, unconditional love but rigid possession- too many contradictions. Sharing lovers and yet it hadn't been an issue that essentially the men or women he was with had also been with his cousin. It hadn't registered. But the touches had. They hadn't said anything, though they joked about it, but they had touched. Carefully, of course, because Archer knew how Jareth felt about incest.
Before his father's death, Jareth wouldn't ever start a relationship with Archer because then it would be a betrayal to his father. He cared about Archer. To bed him would be to turn that love into a different kind. And Jareth had never once considered that his twisted relationship with his consort was worth jeopardizing. And after that, he had hated himself for the incest. Had felt dirt-encrusted and filthy for it. He'd spent an entire day in the bath trying to scrub the filth from his skin, screaming when it was never enough.
The Goblin King almost jumped down from the second tree and picked another, searching frantically until he saw one with a suitable challenge. He was moving before it had even settled properly in his brain.
And then Toby. Sweet, beautiful, innocent Toby with his fire-and-ice eyes and his wide smile. A boy waiting to be made a man, waiting for someone to sculpt him, like the finest piece of marble. And Jareth hadn't seen it, he knew that now. Had seen only a pretty boy who put up a fight and answered back. Prey, really, was what Toby had been then.
Jareth could picture Archer's hands on his husband, could well believe that the Archer he had seen in those seven fateful years had smiled in delight at the pain and the fear. He hated him, hated them and loved them and wished desperately that one of them were there with him so he could rest his head on their shoulder and just stop thinking! He had once told Archer everything he felt and shared every emotion with Toby as he felt it.
He had felt his firstborn when she'd been three months old!
Jareth dug his nails into the bark and ripped at it, straddling a branch as he banged his fists futilely against the thick trunk and swallowed down a scream.
And then that morning- that one beautiful, surreal morning- he'd chained his husband down because Toby needed to stop running away from what they both were and had forced it into his mind, forced him to say it all out loud so Toby could hear himself and believe it. And Arradine had kicked against his palm as Toby moved above him and Jareth hadn't ever thought it could get better or sweeter or more erotic than that.
He screamed and the sound echoed around the clearing like the wild call of a savage animal in a great deal of pain and it was only when he heard himself that Jareth realized his hands were bleeding.
He stopped, then, and looked down at the bleeding fingers and ripped nails.
And then Aidan. After so long, to open his body to someone else had been frightening. It had hurt but only because it meant that Jareth might fall to that same complete need that he'd once had. And while Toby was beautiful and sweet and innocent, Jareth hadn't ever wanted to feel that vulnerable again. But he had done it. He had got on hands and knees and let himself be taken and after that, what else was there that Toby hadn't taken?
Everything in those stubby-fingered hands. Jareth laughed down at his own hands, still such a gruesome sight. He couldn't help it. The difference between their hands had been so funny; it had been a joke between them. They had laughed together over it. And now Jareth was laughing alone, listening to the sound echo and wondering how horrified Toby would be over the ruination of his hands. And he couldn't stop laughing!
But then Archer… And this time it had been sexual. Jareth could remember everything, though his brain still sluggishly tried to bridge the gap between memories acquired during that loss of mind and the way that he normally thought. He remembered getting captured, the cold chains, his fear for his child and the way he had fought. Aidan had been so small then, his only means of safety his birthfather's fragile body. It was a very fragile body. Jareth had been vilely ill from the pregnancy and the kick of the black magic. Strong doses and then the hangover afterwards. And Archer had come to him, had soothed him and promised him and then the training had started and the dark shadow had come to him and touched him, but it had all been so gentle.
Jareth leaned forward to rest his hot forehead against the scarred wood.
"Very gentle," he mumbled, "And I couldn't help wanting it. So far away and my body kept wanting more." Whether he was speaking to himself or his dead lover, Jareth couldn't say.
So bit-by-bit he had ceded himself. Letting more and more of this dark shadow into him until, one horrible night, Archer had come to him and kissed him and touched him and begun to make love to him. Jareth had fought; of course he had, very hard too! But the bits of himself he had given away… Archer had traded his soul to command black magic to such a high degree. He had forced the issue, left the half-goblin wanting. Chained his hands, even, so he could get no release at all.
Not the worst of it, Jareth thought dully. Starvation next. The whip after that. Archer's mad dark eyes snapping at him. And without warning Archer would take his mind and tear it and tear into it until he went in further and further- a rape that lasted days until finally he could take no more because he had his child to think about and he hoped that Archer was not really this monster and he was scared and lost and Toby was so far away, so he had said 'yes' and 'please' and 'master'.
Jareth didn't like thinking about the rest. If that had been hell, then the next seven years was the hell that even the demons feared. And he had faced it. And loved it! In some sick,pathetic way that he couldn't understand, he remembered having loved it.
And now Aidan was all grown up, running his Kingdom. Arradine was carrying her second child and there would be someone there to hold her hair back when she felt ill and rub her back when she was nine months along.
For his second child, Jareth had borne all of that himself. With a monster to watch his pregnancy. How Aidan had managed to be born at all was mystery to him. But Aidan had been a healthy, placid baby. And then Ereditha and Jareth hoped and prayed that she would give Armand the chance their marriage deserved because the fairy adored her and their lives could only be the richer if she admitted that she felt the same. He remembered Toby inside of him and Ereditha inside of Toby, the both kept safe inside of him. He remembered worrying about the mortal and being unable to look at him without seeing the tear tracks on his face and the blood on his thighs, without seeing Archer's savage eyes and twisted smile and wondering how he could take those mad eyes for his own and rape his own husband.
Unable to stop seeing his own incest either.
The Goblin King wished himself down to the ground and sat with his back to the tree, cradling his injured hands close to his chest. How he was going to explain this to his children he would never know. And he wished that he hadn't done it because they deserved one day free from worry on his behalf or sorrow on their Dad's behalf.
But then parents had always mangled their children's lives. He grinned a manic smile as he magicked up a bowl of water and some bandages for his hands. It wouldn't be the first time and it wouldn't be the last.
He failed to notice a pair of blue eyes watching him from behind the curtain of shrub.