Author's Note: To be read directly after the last chapter, give or take a few minutes of bandaging.

Meanings:

Shasta- Portent, Sign.

Thera- fae for 'Little One' (male specific).

-------------------------------------------------

The bandages had been applied, if somewhat clumsily. Jareth tried to think of how best to explain it. One didn't just injure one's hands for no reason. And it wasn't a scrape or a splinter; this was fairly extensive damage and would need to be properly seen to as soon as he got back to the Castle.

The Goblin King emptied out the bowl of bloodied water and leaned back against the tree. He supposed he could always say he didn't remember. It would shut them up and they could speculate about it behind his back. He didn't want to think anymore in any case. He was tired. His head hurt.

The pair of blue eyes watched him from the shadows and moved just an inch closer.

"All so very useless," Jareth yawned. The half-goblin stretched and groaned when his hands began to throb. He whimpered as he cradled them closer to his chest. It was an animal sound, a whimper, very tiny and soft and pain-filled.

The shrub rustled and Jareth's head snapped up instantly, his pain forgotten in his instant suspicions. There were ghosts in his head and not all of them were pleasant. To hear someone unknown approaching was not promising. He shifted, almost rising because he wanted a look.

"Whoever it is," he called, "You might as well face me. I am unarmed and completely alone."

The shrub rustled again and a tiny shape seemed to take him at his word because it hopped out and then crouched down, whimpering as if in answer to him.

Jareth blinked in shock and stared.

The wolf cub wagged its tiny tail and crept forward a little more, snuffling.

The Goblin King still couldn't quite believe his eyes. A small, brown wolf cub. But there had never been any wolves in this part of the Goblin Kingdom. What was a cub doing out here? And it didn't look like a mountain wolf. Those were rangy and thin, with long snouts and dark coats. None of them had the round, rolly, fuzzy look of this one. Though it was a baby, so that might explain things.

The cub seemed to take courage at his continued lack of response and bowled along to land two feet from him. Like a dog, it's tongue dripped out and it yipped.

Jareth blinked again until something caught his eye. He moved quickly, the pain in his hands forgotten as he shot forward suddenly and grabbed the little wolf cub by the scruff of its neck, hauling it close. The wolf cub protested but surprisingly didn't bite him or growl. It just tried to run away and then it whimpered and crouched in his arms, shivering all over its heavy, furry body.

Blue eyes.

What the devil was a brown wolf cub doing with bright blue eyes?

Jareth looked closer, trying to find something that would explain it. Why? What was this? Why was there… memory shook so hard through him that he dropped the little thing into his lap and pressed back against the tree trunk, eyes wide in the dark sockets. It couldn't be. Impossible.

It was almost as if…

"Toby?" It sounded ridiculous even when he said out loud. Toby had been a fully-grown wolf in his animus. Not a cub.

The wolf cub didn't respond. But then it's aura was…

Jareth hesitantly held out his hand and the little thing backed away. But it didn't run. It cringed again and yipped. He put out the hand and let it hover just within touching reach. The cub didn't run. He petted it. The cub shook its head but bumped against his palm playfully.

Jareth was finding this all very hard to believe. Wolves did not have bright blue eyes. It was impossible. Toby had been the only wolf to ever have blue eyes, and Toby was so dead there was no way that he would be parading through the Underground as a wolf, never mind as a wolf cub. But that didn't detract from the fact that he had a wolf cub with blue eyes sitting in his lap and panting peacefully as he petted it.

Two hours later, his children came back with the last few rays of sunlight, out of breath and apologetic for being away so long. Jareth was sitting back where they had left their things in the middle of the clearing, his boots back on and his jacket slung casually over his shoulders for warmth. He held the cub with one hand and pulled gently on its pointed ears with the other.

"A wolf cub?" Ereditha eagerly held out her hands for it, naturally wanting to examine the little thing at her leisure, "Where did you find it?"

"Caught in a bramble," Jareth lied promptly. He held up his bandaged right hand in silent demonstration. The cub suddenly growled and yipped before snuggling further into his arm. "Careful, Ereditha. I think he's scared of the whole lot of you cooing at him."

Fiorle and Aidan backed away to their horses, who also seemed most interested in this new little bundle of fur. "Those bandages look excessive for a few scratches and thorn pricks," Aidan remarked under his breath.

The fairy nodded. "Are you accusing His Majesty of lying to us all?"

"Yes."

"You might be right this time."

"Damn it, I wish he wouldn't do this! Where did that wolf come from? And why are his hands hurt?"

Fiorle shrugged helplessly, his dark face drawn with anxious concern. "I am afraid I cannot answer your questions, Aidan. But the wolf cub looks innocent enough. No strange markings that I can see. No collar or brand. Just a wolf cub."

"Father…" Arradine took a closer look. "Father, why does this cub have blue eyes?"

All four stopped short and then Ereditha and Arradine backed away. Aidan's hand tightened on his mare's reins and he stifled whatever instinct he had to tear the animal away and chase it back to the undergrowth.

"Father?"

Jareth bit his lip and lifted the little cub to a better position in his arms. It was yapping frantically for no real reason. "Quiet, Shasta. I'm afraid I don't know, Arradine. I just took him out of a bramble bush."

"Shasta?" Aidan echoed unbelievingly, "You named the wolf cub already?"

"He needs a name, Aidan."

"You are not keeping him!"

"Aidan!" Jareth had had enough of the dramatics for now. His hands hurt and he was tired from his recent spate of hysteria. The cub was a soothing weight in his arms, heavy but small, radiating warmth and vulnerability. It made him remember that he wasn't in the habit of allowing people to question him.

The Prince shut his mouth and looked obstinate.

"If you have all finished being afraid of a baby animal because of the colour of his eyes, Shasta and I are going back to the Castle," the Goblin King said slowly. "You may leave those things, Fiorle. I'll take them with me. I'll see you three at home." He shot a quick glance at the gathered picnic paraphernalia that lay innocently on the grass and it vanished. He cast one last, angry look around and followed it, the wolf cub clasped tight to his chest.

Shasta didn't like apparating. He freely admitted it. He growled and wriggled and finally leapt out of the warm safety of those arms to go and hide under a table.

Jareth raised an eyebrow and watched him, hands on his hips as the wolf glared at him with a petulant whine.

"You do know," the half-goblin broached, "That there was no other way to travel? I could not fly away and leave you behind. I had no mount to ride back with you. And I don't think you would have stayed with Aidan or Fiorle, would you?"

The cub didn't move.

"Though, now that I think of it, you weren't properly introduced, were you?"

Shasta yawned suddenly, apparently surprising even himself with such a blatant disregard for good manners. One did not yawn in the King's face! It was not done! He sat down and contemplated such a thing. He might even have blushed.

"Poor thing," the King crooned, "Come here. Come on out." He sat down on the floor and held out his hand. Shasta hopped out from under the table and stuck his nose into Jareth's palm. "Tired? Let's get you somewhere to sleep, then. Come along."

It had been a long time since Jareth had done this. He'd never really been in a position to put any of his children to bed, and Toby would have bitten him if he'd ever tried to baby him in this way. There were limits to what even the mortal could endure. But this wolf cub was just a baby, and from sheer lack of other options, it seemed to have adopted Jareth as its parent. For what, the Goblin King couldn't say. But the wolf cub whined and nipped at his fingers as he put it on the couch, crying until Jareth picked him back up with a sigh and sat down with him. Aidan found him like that, with a small ball of fuzz curled up his lap.

The Prince watched unnoticed from the doorway for a while, watched while those white hands stroked lovingly over the pointed ears and sleek coat, pulled gently on the fine hairs at the very tip of the curving tail. Watched as an unknown idea took shape behind downturned mismatched eyes.

"He is a cute little thing," Aidan offered awkwardly.

Jareth started- for the umpteenth time in the past few weeks- and blinked away the growing fire. "He is," he murmured, "Shasta. It suits him, do you not think?"

"It does. Father, I am going to say something and you are not going to like it, but I ask that you trust me just a little." Aidan waited for a minute but the silence seemed to encourage him to go on. "I'd like to take a look at your hands. I won't ask what happened and no, I don't buy your story about brambles. If they were that bad, Shasta would have a few cuts himself. I only want to make sure they don't get infected."

Jareth thought about that. His fingers did hurt. It would be nice to have them treated. But if Aidan took one look at the real injuries, he would instantly want to know what had happened. Aidan had also promised not to ask. Could he trust him? Well, Aidan was his son. He trusted his Kingdom to Aidan, why not his hands? "Alright. Let me just put Shasta down. Hush, thera. Go back to sleep." He banked him in with a cushion and left him to sleep on the couch, uncoiling tiredly from the cool brocade to stand up. He followed Aidan out of the small bedchamber to the nearest bathroom. And then he docilely held out his hands with his blankest expression.

Aidan unwrapped them, but apart from a soft gasp at the bruises and cuts, he showed no reaction. "Put them in here," he ordered, setting a wide bowl of warm water on the countertop, "And keep them there. I just have to get something."

"Get my sleeves out of the way first, would you?"

"Alright."

Long fingers that curled around and lifted, warm skin and the light scrape of nails. Jareth would have noticed it at one time. Now it barely registered that Aidan was standing so close to him. He was still going over the plan that he had in his head.

The wolf cub could only have come from one place that he was aware of- the Labyrinth. And there was something strange about the little thing that made Jareth think it was important. And that aura. How many wolves would have that strong magical aura around it? There were only two reasons for that- the Labyrinth or the ability to do magic. He could think of ten people instantly that would laugh if he suggested that a wolf had the ability to do magic. Animals couldn't. It was just a fact of nature. Even dragons couldn't do magic; neither could unicorns. But the one thing that dragons and unicorns- and now this little wolf cub- had in common was that they all had the auras of capable magic users. They had magic. They just couldn't use it.

So the wolf cub had an aura. Jareth could think of ten other people who would dismiss the whole thing as being charming, but not worthy of this fevered interest he seemed to have taken. Would they think the same when he told them the aura was blue? Almost the exact same blue that his dead husband used to have? Not quite the same, of course, and that was a pity because that was the one point that made Jareth waver. The colours of auras could be duplicated, especially if they were close family members. Jareth didn't like to think of it, but Toby had run wild in the Labyrinth for nights without number, especially on full-moon nights. Something might have happened if one of the wolverines had been in heat.

He snorted and without meaning to, he smacked the water out of the bowl, as if he were striking out at the very concept of his elf cheating on him in his animus.

"Stop throwing the water around," Aidan rebuked, "I need a clean space for the bandages."

"Hurry up," Jareth snapped, "My skin is wrinkling."

Aidan got his revenge. He picked up each hand and began to pat the water off. He was not quite as gentle as he should have been.

Jareth winced and almost smiled. His son had a temper and no mistake. "I was thinking about Shasta," he offered peaceably.

Aidan barely looked up but the patting grew gentler. "Yes? What about him?"

"He has an aura," Jareth began. And explained things, as best as he could. After all, if he were right, someone would need to know why he was about to launch into this mad brained scheme of him. In saner flashes of times, Jareth listened to himself and wondered just how desperate he had become.

"You think Dad's come back as a wolf cub?" Aidan paused in the midst of applying the healing ointment to shake his head in a daze. "It sounds… unreasonable."

"Have you listened to nothing I said?"

"Bring that hand back here and stop interrupting me! Yes, I have listened to you. I'm not saying I don't understand your theory, but I am saying that the links you draw are a little weak. After all, blue is a fairly common aura. Especially the shade you describe. And second, this wolf cub cannot be Dad because it was certainly born before Dad even died. It cannot possibly be reincarnation because then Dad would have been living as two separate beings."

"It is possible."

"Only if you are a norfidd. And even they have to choose to operate as either one of their beings at any given time. You know that."

Jareth sighed and shrugged. "The wolf cub came to me, Aidan. Shasta found me," he said plainly, "And he seems to listen to me. I know there are factors in this whole situation that I cannot explain, but Shasta is not just some wolf cub I picked out of the Labyrinth. He has a purpose. A reason. I just have to find it."

"Well, at least your hands are ready for whatever adventure you have planned for tomorrow."

Jareth laughed and clasped his son on the shoulder. "You mother me far too much," he said ruefully, "I do wish you would stop."

"You never had a mother."

Ah. Jareth's hand tightened as he leaned forward sympathetically. "I never really felt the loss, you know. Don't make it out to be more than it was."

"Then why do I have the feeling that if I don't talk to you now, I won't ever say everything that I've always planned to say to you?" Aidan looked him straight in the eyes for this, serious and stern, "You're going to leave, aren't you?"

"Leave? Leave where?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just know that you are not going to be around very much longer."

Jareth shrugged and gestured to the door. "Well, I am going to leave this bathroom behind. Care to join me for a drink?"

"Wouldn't Shasta complain?"

"Are you jealous of a wolf, my son?"

The two shared the grin and made their way to the nearest question mark door. Jareth went first, because he didn't think to do otherwise, and took them both to the large feasting hall. There hadn't been a feast in years, here. Jareth still liked his privacy and they hadn't exactly opened the Castle up to a lot of guests. The Griffith Chair was waiting for him, stretching out clawed hands to draw him down into its recesses.

Brandy was the drink of choice; Jareth knew Aidan liked the brandy. So he opened the bottle, poured two glasses and held one up in a toast. "To the future King of the Goblins," he smirked.

Aidan's mouth twisted into a mocking grin but he drank to it too. "When will you go?" he asked casually.

This was more serious than Jareth had thought and the Goblin King put down his glass and frowned. "Aidan, I am not planning to go anywhere."

The young part-goblin looked down at his hands clenched around the brandy glass and then carefully he loosened them, putting the glass down as well and leaning back to look up at the ceiling. He stared in meditative fascination as a carved gargoyle head that bared its teeth at him. "The Labyrinth is waiting for you," he said heavily, "The Spirit wants to know when you will go to it."

Jareth choked on the liquid burning down his throat and dropped the glass. He coughed for a moment and then spluttered, "What?"

"I dreamt of the Spirit a few days ago," Aidan repeated, "It wants to know why you have not ended your business here and gone to it."

"The… but it hasn't… oh. Oh, I see." Jareth was lost in thought, scrubbing absently at the wet patch on his knee where the crystal glass had connected on its way to the floor. "How long ago?"

"Two nights, maybe three."

"And it wants me."

"You are going, then."

Jareth waved the question away impatiently and thought about it. Going. Going was easy. But where was he going and why? Why would the Spirit speak to Aidan and not to him? He didn't believe he had been blocking its power in his sleep. There was reason for all this; a reason he couldn't quite see just yet. It should be obvious, he knew this much. Or else the Spirit would have explained it in some way. And why Aidan? Did it want to warn him? Was it because Arradine and Ereditha had rival powers that were hostile to the Labyrinth? Could be. The Labyrinth was touchy, that way.

"I'm going to bed."

"Yes? Oh. Goodnight, Aidan."

"Goodnight." Aidan waited for a few seconds, hoping his parent might decide to talk things through. But Jareth was locked in one of his reflective pieces and Aidan knew better than to interrupt him while he was puzzling something out. Particularly when it involved magic. So he went up to bed. On his way, he met a small shape that slunk passed him and vanished in the direction of the empty hall. He shook his head and didn't even bother to undress when he got to his bed. He fell in, exhausted and tired and melancholy.

Shasta was important. He could see that. And after this business with the Labyrinth, he thought he knew exactly what was going to happen: the Spirit was about to make sure the legend had a fitting end.