Author's Note: This is the last actual chapter. I hope it measures up to standards. It was so hard to write, but it needed to be done. Thank you all for your patience with me, and thank you all for your kind reviews. I only hope you got as much out of this fiction as I did.

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The wolf cub was thereby adopted straight into the family.

Aidan couldn't understand it. There was something about that cub that made him panic. There was too much he didn't know about it. Shasta's name was indeed well picked. The Labyrinth would not throw this little cub and the Goblin King together unless there was some need. And since Jareth was more affected by Shasta's presence than Shasta was by Jareth's, Aidan took it for granted that this was something concerning the future of the Goblin King.

And the future of the Goblin King was beginning to worry him.

Shasta seemed almost a good thing for Jareth. The half-goblin stopped disappearing for hours on end; stopped forgetting things in his misery. Moreover, he stopped shirking his duty. Jareth had never been the most enthusiastic King in the Underground, but he seemed to become obsessed with getting back into the habit of running his Kingdom.

Aidan wasn't completely upset. It was a bigger burden on him without the use of magic and experience, but it left him in a strange dilemma.

And as if the return of the Goblin King wasn't strange enough, Jareth seemed much easier in his own skin. He abandoned that listless stoop and the energy returned to him once more. He looked healthy- or as healthy as Jareth was capable of looking- and he spoke with that peculiar decisiveness that had all but vanished from his voice in the past month or so.

And Shasta seemed to be responsible for it.

A little ball of fur and sharp teeth, with a perpetually wet tongue and cool nose, blue-eyed and the very picture of wolfish innocence was responsible for the Goblin King's pain lessening.

Aidan didn't believe it for a second. It couldn't be possible. Even if his father did believe that the wolf cub was some kind of link to his dead husband, surely it wouldn't bring about such a drastic change? And beyond the eyes and the aura, there was very little to support the theory that the wolf cub was anything at all to do with one Toby Williams.

Of course, the goblins were all very willing to believe it.

Shasta got more warm milk than he knew what to do with. Fiorle found the wolf cub happily tipping the milk over the carpet and jumping up and down in it. The fairy had, of course, laughed about it and been enchanted. Aidan wasn't enchanted. He admitted that the cub was an engaging bundle of life, but if Shasta thought for one moment that making friends would blind him to whatever it was the cub was doing in the Castle, then the baby wolf could think again. Aidan didn't get blinded very easily.

Jareth did, though, and Aidan worried for that. It wasn't his father's fault precisely, but the half-goblin was getting old, was worn down by the rigours of his life and was grieving. All three factors made him very susceptible to any bit of hope that came his way, no matter how ridiculous or slight. And Aidan had seen those hands and what his father was capable of doing to himself. All in all, he would have excused Jareth for the cowardice in taking his own life, but hurting himself because he hurt? That was by far worse than anything else, and Aidan didn't begrudge him the peace that Shasta seemed to bring him.

So he said nothing. He played with the cub when Shasta tried to climb his leg and didn't comment when the cub showed signs of needing to be housetrained. Shasta was a wild breed after all. Jareth eventually got him into a system of taking him out at regular intervals during the day. A good thing, Aidan admitted, because it took Jareth out as well and gave him time to relax.

Shasta did relax him. Even if the Goblin King was not the type to hug a baby animal and exclaim loudly over its many sweetnesses, he was no less attached to it. Aidan saw the way that those mismatched eyes would leave whatever work was at hand for a momentary glance down at the ball of fur that never left his side. He saw the way that Jareth absentmindedly fed the cub bits of food at the table, completely unconsciously. And he knew for a fact that the cub slept in his father's bed.

Aidan couldn't even talk to his sisters about it! Jareth had firmly and gently explained that they had duties in other parts of the Underground that needed their attention.

"You have families," he had pointed out, "And even you have to return to them. My doors are open to you, but do you not think it is time you went home?"

Which was a very telling statement because home had always been the Castle at the Centre of the Labyrinth. Where else would home be? But it wasn't home any more. At least not to Arradine and Ereditha and Aidan was growing restless with nothing to do. So much of his life had gone into assisting his father in order to leave him free to spend time with his elf and now Toby was dead and Jareth seemed to have some desire to finish not only the backlog of work but the work that might conceivably need to be done in the next two years.

Why?

Aidan couldn't think of a single thing to explain it all. Except that Jareth had some kind of plan in mind. A plan that included Shasta because he had heard Jareth talking to the cub when passing the library and that deep voice had said, "Not long now, Shasta. Stop growing restless. I promise we will get on with the plan."

The plan. Of course there was a plan! Aidan knew there was a plan. The Spirit came to him every night and refused to answer his questions. The last time it had talked about the weather! Aidan didn't see anything interesting in discussing the hot days and warm nights. He would have preferred to talk about Jareth's change in attitude. And Shasta. And why he felt that the wolf cub was a portent of something he didn't want to happen.

And eventually the Spirit said something he could understand- "I think he wants to speak to you, my Prince. Go now. He should be awake."

And Aidan woke up. He stared at his ceiling for a long pause and then rolled over to glance at the window. The sky was dark. It would be a full-moon night in another week or so and he was caught by the whispers in the breeze. Even the air seemed to know that something was going to happen.

He got out of bed and changed his trousers for the ones thrown haphazardly onto a chair. And then added a shirt and soft shoes that slipped on easily and didn't need to be fastened. Elven shoes. The Spirit wanted him to meet his father at dead of night when everyone else was asleep? Aidan hoped fervently the Spirit knew what it was doing. Jareth might have stopped stiffening around him but that was during the day. What about at night? Would his father still… Aidan didn't want to think about it. It was hard enough having to act normally and as if he didn't notice it.

Corridors seemed to lengthen in the dark and corners grew strange shapes that threatened to jump out and wrap themselves around him. Aidan ignored them.

Jareth wasn't in the library; he wasn't in the Adviser's Room. He wasn't in one of the smaller offices the clerks used or even in his artrooms at the top level of the Castle. Aidan took the opportunity to look around. Jareth hadn't done anything for years, what with Toby fading so fast and the few things that only he could handle calling for his attention. But while the shelves remained in their ramshackle order and the paintings stayed stacked up against the walls, the cleared tables were not as clear as he remembered them. A book lay open on one of them.

Aidan took a look. Written in his father's elegant sprawl, the pages seemed to be nothing so much as a written confession. Pages worth of thoughts and opinions and ironic comments. A written account of his life, too, in all its brutal, crude, plainly stated honesty. Aidan didn't dare look too closely. It was too private. The book was almost finished and there were only another thirty or so pages to go. The history seemed to end at the day his dad died.

Aidan put it back hurriedly as he had found it, refusing to intrude without invitation. He left the room and went down the stairs, wondering where his father might be.

He knocked on the bedroom door and heard the sound of cloth and the creak of the bed. Silently chastising himself for being such a fool, he was now forced to wait while his father opened the door and blinked sleepless eyes at him.

"Yes?"

Aidan racked his brains to think of how best to say it.

Jareth didn't seem to need an explanation because he held the door open with a small smile and guilelessly invited his son in. "It gets cold standing outside a room," he remarked drolly, "Sit down. I recommend the bed because that chair is broken and needs to be mended."

Aidan was definitely on edge. His Father would never have invited him into the room, let alone into his bed. But Jareth sat down and waited. Aidan joined him.

"Were you asleep?"

"Not really," the Goblin King said, "Shasta was… is something wrong?" That long-fingered white hand was already back to stroking thick brown fur.

Aidan eyed the wolf cub and abandoned him as a topic not suitable for late night conversation. "I couldn't sleep," he lied.

Jareth could see it was a lie. Aidan didn't lie easily. He clasped his hands tight in his lap and looked down at the floor, very much as if he wished he could bite the words back in shame. And sometimes, like this time, Aidan didn't bother to look as if he wanted to be believed. The Goblin King sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder, willing the words to come to him.

"I had a dream," Aidan continued, "Which is why I couldn't go back to sleep. The Spirit said you wanted to talk to me."

"I? No, luv, nothing that couldn't wait until morning." White fingers crept up to the golden braid and absently began to stroke. Very like what the other hand had been doing to Shasta. "You are sure about the Spirit?"

"The Spirit of the Labyrinth has been plaguing my dreams and talking about the weather," Aidan huffed, "I think I would know when it finally says something of interest."

"Ah." Jareth removed his hand and then realized that he couldn't lie very easily either. Not to Aidan, and only because he didn't want to be remembered for lies and half-truths. "And you saw nothing wrong with the weather?"

"It was the weather. The days are hot and the nights are warm. The crops needed it."

Shasta sat up and yawned before launching himself into Jareth's lap.

"Thera, stop making a nuisance of yourself," Jareth rebuked, pushing him off and glaring sternly, "And no. I do not want to play. I have more important things to do right now."

Which made Aidan feel a little more cheerful because yes, in a way he was a little jealous of the wolf cub. Whatever he remembered about the time in Archer's palace had been lonely and regimented. Jareth hadn't always been around, even though when he was Aidan could have asked for no one more caring, more gentle. And then later there had been a complete about-face! What was a six-year-old to think when his father growled and snapped and ordered people around, studiously avoiding anything to do with his previously adored son?

Blue eyes hardened a little and then softened when the cub looked thoroughly miserable at being chased away. It stuck its tail between its legs and slipped off the bed, padding away to the basket it had never gotten around to sleeping in.

"He looks unhappy," Aidan gestured, "Perhaps we should talk in the morning."

"If it was important enough to bring you out of your sleep, it is important enough to discuss now. And leave Shasta be. He will recover in a few minutes and fall asleep again. You do know that the Spirit would never just enter your dreams for a chat? And it has never entered anyone else's dreams since it chose me, so I would carefully examine its meanings were I you."

"I know about the Labyrinth, Father. I have read all the definite works and done all the research and made all the notes. But so far it hasn't said anything worth… noting…" Aidan frowned at a sudden thought.

"The weather is not particularly unimportant, you know," Jareth advised, "Especially if the Spirit was trying to tell you something without really voicing it. Think, Aidan. What would be so important about the weather?"

They talked long into the night. Because yes, the weather was important because Jareth's emotional stability could impact on the weather and yes, the hot days and warm nights meant that there was something positive driving the Goblin King's actions again. And they talked about the large yield of crop that was predicted for the year and the sense of anticipation in the air and the way that the dwarves- and even the goblins- could sense certain patterns in nature that told them something drastic was about to happen. They talked about the deaths of those they had known, from Toby to Sarah to Hoggle to Brennan. They talked about discipline and what it meant to be the sovereign of an entire land. And they spoke about romance, and Aidan's lack of it and Jareth's experience of it. They spoke of opening the Castle to an enormous dance that would live forever in history and to what would follow in the future.

The next day, Jareth met with Aidan in the library and considerately didn't mention that the younger male's eyes were heavy and that he looked sad. He took him swiftly through the work he had completed and then took Shasta out for a long walk to the Labyrinth while Aidan feverishly began the tasks that he had agreed to do.

The City was to be renovated. Roofs and building structures were to be repaired. Furniture was to be mended and the streets cleaned up. The garbage people in the garbage heaps beyond the City walls would be paid to clean the area up in anticipation of visiting dignitaries.

When Jareth returned, he was carrying Shasta. The little cub was whining mournfully and wriggling. It was only when Aidan shut the door that Jareth let him go. And even then Shasta stared at the door for an hour and yapped in wistful pleading, turning large blue eyes back to the half-fae standing so silently watching him.

Aidan compared the two expressions and he saw how his father began to falter, to soften and look doubtful and saw him twitch as if about to go to Shasta and to the door. Aidan cleared his throat and quietly began to talk. It didn't really matter what he said, just so long as he gave his father a reason to stay. Shasta went to sleep there, curled up with his nose touching the door. Jareth picked him up and cuddled him, murmuring something in his ear that Aidan pretended not to hear.

Arradine and Ereditha were contacted and they were held to secrecy. Aidan could only explain so much, helpless to really give them the answers to 'why' and only able to tell them 'how'. Jareth put up with the tantrums and the yelling and the sharp stabs of guilt that Arradine saw fit to throw his way in her frustration. He put up with all of it. He didn't take Shasta to the Labyrinth again for the rest of the month.

And finally it was all complete.

Glittering throngs of people wafted elegantly around the Castle's ballroom, vibrant voices tuned to the lowest register as they mingled. Ereditha and Armand attended in formal status, with their retinue and their pomp and splendour.

Aidan pried his eyes off his former love, trying hard not to see the way the light fell on his unguarded face. He was older, now. The Fairy King was not some secret crush any more, even if he still moved with unusual beauty. That was for Ereditha to notice now. Aidan yielded it gladly to his sister and wished her luck. He went back to greeting guests and creating a suitably welcoming atmosphere.

Arradine was already in the Castle, but she entered only on Zaraith's arm, looking a vision in the traditional robes of a draconite, the silver circlet resting easily upon her brow. Even tucked like a fragile porcelain figurine against Zaraith's grand figure, she exuded power. As was fitting. Jareth's trick was always to look more powerful than he might sometimes feel and Arradine was his daughter.

Hergoh smiled at the young prince and made her way to him as soon as it was polite.

"This is a wonderful night for a dance," she said, orange eyes crinkling as she smiled.

Aidan took her arm and spent a rare three minutes with someone he actually liked, chattering about the things that had always interested the two of them. Hergoh was most obliging in taking his mind off the terrible business of the evening.

He left her only when three strange people walked into the ballroom. Three people he had heard vague, disquieting things about- the elves. Three of them. One with silver streaking his red hair and the other with dark hair and a lined face. The third was a female of rare beauty and grace, even now, looking as old as she seemed to be. Warm brown hair with chestnut tints; grey eyes that said they saw in ways that even Hergoh found fascinating Gwenél, if he had her name right. The elf maiden. No secrets between siblings and he knew everything that Arradine had to tell him about Gwenél.

Jareth met all three with a smile. Arradine followed close behind and Aidan found himself not wanting to meet Gwenél. Jareth was certainly going through with it if he was making his peace with Her. Not that Aidan was really fooled. He suspected his father never would forgive the affair, but then again… the elves were the last known of their clans. Jareth had a debt of honour owed to them for their protection of his mate and his child. No matter what vice Toby had committed at the Place of Time, that debt still held. And the Goblin King could pretend to forgive, if only because of Lord Pelinlas.

But the terror could not be staved off for long. Jareth was growing restless and his temper was not equal to waiting another minute more. He shouted for silence and the music stopped. People turned to look, quite expecting something peculiar to happen because this was the Goblin Kingdom and the monarchy here was notorious for its sudden and shocking news.

The evening was no less shocking. Ereditha and Arradine stayed with their chosen husbands, but Aidan went to Jareth, took his arm and leaned into his side. "Are you sure?" he asked one last time.

"This is the way it will be," Jareth whispered back.

"Alright. Tell them."

The Goblin King settled himself, preening like a peacock as he thought about what he was about to say. Aidan thought of how they would look in the eyes of their audience. Both of the same height, similar features and the same regal air of bearing. But such different people. Jareth with his mismatched eyes and his cynical smirk, with his fantastical array of black and green, hair loose around his face. Aidan was different. Long blond hair bound severely back from his blue eyes, his simple black suit austere where Jareth's was brazen. Too different. And he didn't think he could do it.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, friends and acquaintances," Jareth said, "It gives me great pleasure to extend the poor benefits of my hospitality to all of you." There was a general murmur of laughter as people snuck a look around the opulent ballroom. "But I have brought you here under false pretences."

"Never say there is no wine," some brash young thing yelled out.

Jareth smirked but shook his head. "Wine enough and more than that, my young friend," he called back, "In fact, someone get him a drink or he might not let me finish." This time even Aidan smiled and almost laughed at the good-humoured exchange.

But the time for joking was over and Jareth was itching to finish this. Soon. So soon and he would be free. He was almost there; so close he could taste it. Shasta was waiting for him in his room, panting and ready. The wind howled around the stone Castle and there was a full moon in the sky.

"As you all know, my consort died exactly two months ago." The room went silent. "I will not bore you with my feelings on the matter. I will do no such thing and frankly it is no concern of yours. But it has made me think. And I have asked you all here to present my decision." He waited and looked at his daughters first, his heart breaking as he saw theirs break too. "I am relinquishing my throne."

There was pandemonium, just as Jareth knew there would be. He savoured the moment, smiling quietly to himself as everyone turned to the other and asked loudly what he meant. Aidan moved even closer to him and Jareth lifted his hands to take the medallion from around his neck.

People quietened down with this serious gesture.

"I give this," he said shortly, as if they hadn't just interrupted him, "To my son and heir. The Kingdom is his to do with as he wishes. I know he will be all that his people could wish for. I hope and pray it is not a burden, but a blessing to him."

It was perhaps more sombre and romantic a speech than he was used to giving, but Jareth thought it was justified. The brief flash of something more than memory showed him a small fire-blond just over Aidan's shoulder, wide mouth smiling and arms folded in ironic amusement.

'You always were the drama queen, my King. But I think he will know what you mean to say.'

It vanished as suddenly as it had arrived. Jareth placed the medallion around Aidan's neck and took a step back. "The King of the Goblins," he announced, bowing.

Confused but trusting, the assembly followed his lead. Aidan touched the medallion and lifted his head higher as he was acknowledged by the most important people in his realm. His father lifted his head first and smirked. "Let's hope neither of your sisters decide to go to war with you," he laughed.

Aidan chuckled too and then Ereditha and Arradine came forward to pay their respects, both as sisters and as rulers of other countries. Armand's eyes danced in amusement as he greeted the new Goblin King with a dour word of welcome. Aidan tossed it right back at him with just as much fire and spirit. There would be no nerves from this one, Jareth noted. Proud, he watched as most of the guests clustered around his son. The bright blond head could barely be seen.

He caught Arradine's eyes and nodded briefly to her. She glared at him, unforgiving and stiff. But then there was still time and Jareth was hopeful. Toby hadn't raised her to be vengeful.

He went to his suite, back to the blue and silver furnishings with the windows thrown open to let in the air. Fleet clouds ran across the moon, playing games with the shadows. The Labyrinth glittered with lines of bronze and silver and Jareth was tempted. So tempted. Even Shasta tried to tumble out of the window to get to the Labyrinth and Jareth put him down with a vivid laugh at the adrenaline that fed his blood.

He sat down on the bed, stretching his legs out and gazing around. Aidan would have it on the morrow and Jareth hoped there would be love and happiness for his son in this room. No matter if it was with a male or female, he hoped that Aidan would find someone that meant more to him than Armand had. The boy deserved it. He hoped that there would be a Toby in his son's life and he somehow got the feeling that there would be.

Still unable to believe it, he reached up a hand to touch his chest and undid the buttons while he was at it. Kicking off his boots and throwing off his jacket. But the medallion was gone. Gone after so many long and painful years trapped by its memories and its heavy responsibilities. No more of that. Tomorrow was the start of eternity.

He picked up the book and wrote his last entry. He told them about his impressions of the dance, about his surprise at how peaceful the room was. He hadn't noticed it before, what with all the ghosts and memories of times passed. It was a beautiful room. He told them that he loved them.

He had to cramp his handwriting a bit to fit in a few, last, precious sentences. And then he scrawled his name at the end in large, fanciful writing and drew a quick sketch of a cat for Ereditha. She always had loved them.

"All done, Shasta," he whispered, stroking his tiny guide's head, "I'm done. We leave tomorrow. You know the way, don't you? Will he be there? Will he be alive? I miss him so much, Shasta, promise me he will be there."

The cub whined and licked his fingers. The marks were gone, faded. Those white hands were as good as new. Jareth curled his long legs up under him and lay down, closing his eyes so he could better remember some of the best and worst of his life experiences. He held Shasta close, the warmth chasing the pain away, the nose tucked neatly under his chin. Not Toby, but so similar.

And Jareth was hopeful of meeting Toby again somewhere.