Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who left a comment, both familiar faces and new! It was good to get some (amazingly eloquent) insight into what people liked, and I hope it will help me improve the writing. I won't mention everyone by name, but I read and think about each comment and often reread them to remind myself of what the focus should be... Something that is still relatively faithful to the movie, but perhaps a slightly deeper exploration of both setting and characters. Thanks for all your help.

This chapter is a (relatively) short one, but I like it a great deal. As you'll see, we get to revisit chapter four, The Queen of the Dead, which is one of my favorites. For that alone, I'm a happy writer-- and a lazy one, since I get to do some cutting and pasting. Hopefully, it is all to good effect, and readers may be happy to see that Sarah finally learns the truth. Well, perhaps not the whole truth, but a truth, shall we say...

Yeah, I wasn't going to post this until Sunday, but it's ready... why wait any longer? Much appreciation to whiteraven for her reminder about updating and for giving me a much-needed lift today. I'm jaded about a lot of things, but it still makes me happy that people are interested in seeing what comes next. By the by, I now have a livejournal under username dmacabre, the link is on my profile page. Updates, general progress reports and whingeing will be posted there.

Warning to Heist: There is more suffering and pain. But just a teensy bit.

Chapter Fifteen: The Mirror of Dark Dreaming

It was calm, with not a whisper of wind to stir the sodden leaves that lay underfoot. Twigs and branches littered the ground and the roots of a fallen silverwood were exposed, gnarled claws in the fading dusk. High above in the window of sky, a drift of violet clouds veiled the face of the moon. The storm had gone, leaving behind it only silence.

Sarah made her way around the debris of the storm to the pool that lay beyond, shimmering like a black diamond in the cool twilight air. On her knees, she looked down at the moon's reflection in the water, peeling off her gloves one by one. Holding the dagger awkwardly in her right hand, Sarah hesitated, chewing her lip. It would hurt. But she needed answers, and there was no one else to give them to her now.

Please let this work, she asked silently.

She drew the knife down across her palm, and a scarlet thread followed its keen point, trickling down her wrist. Sarah was horrified at how much blood there was, but she didn't wait, plunging her hand beneath the waters. The cold sting of the water bit her palm, then numbed it. The face of the moon turned a coppery red.

At first, there was nothing. Wait, Sarah reminded herself, Just wait...

And then something in the water began to move.

Hoggle had fallen asleep at the kitchen table, and what finally woke him was not the storm or thunder, it was the silence. He lifted his head, cocking on ear this way and that, and still he could hear nothing. It was late and the castle was wrapped in heavy slumber, but he roused the goblins with a shout anyway. It was one of those...whatchamacallits that Jareth was fond of throwing about. A Royal prerogative!

"Wake up, you lazy runts!" he bellowed happily. Yeesh, I'm beginning to sound like him, too.

Running to the parapet overlooking the Labyrinth, Hoggle rejoiced to see the clear night sky. The storm had passed! A cool breeze lifted the collar of his shirt, and below him, he could see that most of the Labyrinth now lay under several feet of water, the newly formed canals shimmering back at him in the light of the full moon. Ah, well. Repairs would be needed, of course. The blasted vine hadn't drowned, and more's the pity, but they would tackle that problem, too. First thing in the morning, as soon as Didymus could marshal the troops...

"Where is Sir Didymus?" he asked the first sleepy goblin who answered his call.

But the little knight had not been seen for ages, not by any of the goblins he stopped and questioned. Hoggle shuffled his feet guiltily. He'd been so sure Didymus was off on some other fool's errand, soon to return. But he should've been back hours ago, and he never would've left for so long without telling anyone. The dwarf looked out over the Labyrinth, but could see no movement except the lapping of the water. Didymus was out there somewhere, and the kingdom needed him. Hoggle was no fool, he knew that acting king or not, it was Didymus who made sure everything ran smoothly. Without the little knight to oversee things, Hoggle felt very much at loose ends. He made up his mind.

"Get lanterns." he said to the goblin. "Form a search party. We're going to find him, wherever he is."

Hoggle paused. What would Jareth say at a time like this? Something to motivate his subjects... Ah.

"Snap to it, or I'll crush the lot of you like insects!"

A man dressed all in black spurred his horse along a desolate road. The landscape was a bleak with not a single tree in sight, only angular rock formations wrapped in mist, their craggy pinnacles splintering the sky. His hood pulled well over his face, he bent low over the neck of his mount, whispering softly as if to speed its steps. It galloped steadily on, the rider's cloak whipping past the tendrils of fog that sought to ensnare them both. It was difficult to tell how far they had come, for there was no sun to judge the hour of day, nor stars to guide them. Only a sickly yellow light filtered in through the haze, but after a time, they came to a wide river. The current was black as ink, swirling soundlessly past the bank and running swift and deep until it tumbled out of sight.

The rider dismounted, his voice rang out across the waters. "Boatman! Come and earn your keep."

The images swirled through the water, and Sarah could hear everything as clearly as if it were happening right before her: the thunder of horse's hooves on the dusty road, and a voice she knew all too well. She felt suddenly light-headed and had to dig her fingers into the turf to keep balance. How long had it been since she'd eaten? She could not remember. In the darkness beneath the trees, pale green glowing lights hovered, disappearing one moment only to reappear a short distance away. Will-o'-the-wisps, she thought. To light the way... She swayed a little, then steadied. I've lost too much blood. It's making me see strange things...

"Where now the horse and rider?" Sarah whispered to herself. "They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow... The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow..."

The hall was lined with ancient timbers, and along both walls were rows of the shadow-dead...

"Then you know I have not come for myself, but to claim what is mine."

"...for of all kingdoms, mine is the greatest."

Sarah could not breathe. She saw him, the man with the iron crown, his face no longer in shadow. Raven-black hair framed a face like purest marble, hollow cheeks and eyes that were empty holes like the sockets of a skull. This was the man who beckoned to her in her vision, the one who called her his queen. She would not rule over the living, but the restless dead. Sarah flinched from the man's rattling laughter, but forced herself to look again.

"You fight for nought, Goblin King."

The ringing of steel upon steel, the drawing of first blood...

...and a fist like cold iron crushing the life from her throat until her vision swam red and black...

"All men yield to me in the end..."

Sarah fought to get free now, shoving back at the pictures in the water with all her will until it released her. The night air was like cool rain, and she drank it down eagerly. The ground beneath her tilted crazily and Sarah collapsed on the grass, bloodied hand still trailing in the water. The last words she heard were Jareth's, rough with pain and longing...

"My beloved enemy..."

"Didymus!" Hoggle yelled, rubbing his hands together to keep warm. "Curse it, where are you?"

It was growing cold. Hoggle could see the wintery puffs of his exhaled breath, and already frost was forming on the remnants of the thorn-vine everywhere. It had survived the flood, and Hoggle suspected that it would survive the ice, too. It might be the only thing to do so, however.

The goblin search party returned, with no news. Hoggle began to worry in earnest. If Didymus had set off after Sarah and the Goblin King, there's no telling how far he would've gotten. In weather like this, he could freeze to death.

"Keep looking." he ordered the goblins tersely. "We won't stop until we find something."

Hoggle lifted his own lantern higher and resolved to search the ruins of the king's tower again. The little knight had been drawn to it, even though he never spoke of it aloud. Hoggle had seen him gazing at it from the weather tower and and caught the odd little twitch of Didymus' nose when rebuilding it was mentioned. He could be there, even as the night's chill settled in.

Grumbling to himself, Hoggle made his way alone away from the others, more than a little apprehensive about visiting the ruins after dark. Even with Jareth gone, an air of menace and magic hung about it. When it loomed before him, he regretted not ordering at least a goblin or two to accompany him. Preferably to lead the way.

"Didymus?" Hoggle cast the lantern light this way and that. "Are you there?"

Shadows thrown from the lantern leapt and danced across the castle walls, and the wind moaned through the stones. Behind him, a slither of gravel. Hoggle whirled and nearly dropped the light, but there was no one there.

"Didymus?" he asked fearfully.

And then something heavy landed on his back, knocking him to the ground.

When Sarah came to, she was lying on her side by the edge of the pool. The scent of grass and clover tickled her nose, and she groaned, rolling onto her back. Her left hand was nearly numb with cold and she curled in on herself. Around her, pale green lights winked in and out, floating just above her as she lay on the grass. Sarah paid them no attention. Her head ached as if she hadn't slept in days. She dug the heels of her hands into her temples. What happened?

With a painful rush, it all came back and the memory jerked her upright. All the will-o'-the-wisps scattered, the dozens of tiny lights snuffing themselves out like candles. A chill wind blew back her hair, and Sarah blinked, realizing that frost lay on her eyelashes and on the damp folds of her shirt.

"I did die." she aloud in wonderment, "You did come to save me."

Sarah could not think about what this meant, not yet. She got up and ran back toward the cottage. Slipping and stumbling over branches and wet leaves, she fell to her knees just beside the crooked little tree, then hauled herself up by its branches. Her hand brushed against something soft, and Sarah paused to look closer. The storm had not blighted the tree's leaves, it looked untouched. And on one slender branch was a delicate flower bud, rose-pink and ivory in the moonlight. Already it gave off a fragrance like summer, strong enough for an entire orchard of trees...

Sarah pulled back her hand as if she'd been burned. There was no time. She turned and ran to the cottage door, but the door would not open. Sarah rattled the handle and pounded on it to no avail. There was no keyhole and no key, it was not possible to bolt the door and yet, it would not budge. Sarah beat her fist against it in frustration.

There was only one way the door would be shut fast against her. Someone inside had commanded it.

"No," she pleaded, resting her forehead against the unyielding wood. "Don't do this."

Sarah was locked out.

"Ambrosius!" Hoggle cried in relief as he rolled around on the ground. "Damn you, you dratted mutt. Didn't Didymus teach you any manners?"

Ambrosius placed two paws on Hoggle's stomach and wuffled happily, pressing his cold nose against the dwarf's neck.

"Auughh!"

Hoggle flailed his arms and legs until he succeeded in shooing the hairy dog off, and then levered himself to his feet. By some miracle, the lantern had not broken or gone out when he'd dropped it, and he retrieved it quickly.

"So he's gone and left you too, has he?" he said to himself as Ambrosius frolicked around him. "That means he can't have gone far."

Hoggle buried one hand in the dog's furry shoulder to warm his numb fingers. It had gotten even colder as he'd searched, and now he was covered in muddy pawprints. He had a feeling this had never been one of Jareth's problems as king, either.

"Come on, boy." he said to Ambrosius. "He's not here."

At this, Ambrosius barked and wagged his tail, then barked again, backing away from the dwarf's grasp.

"Don't play games now, you dumb beast." scolded Hoggle. "I'm freezing out here."

But Ambrosius ambled off as if he were on a Sunday afternoon walk. Hoggle cursed and scrambled to follow him, catching hold of his collar. Ambrosius would not be budged, and cheerfully dragged the little man on a roundabout excursion, sniffing stones and nosing at the debris of the tower before setting off to examine a nearby wall, completely absorbed in his explorations.

"Ambrosius, I hardly think this is the time..." Hoggle threw up his hands in exasperation. "Fine! If you won't come back with me, then you can stay out here all night, see if I care..."

He stomped off in the direction of the castle, carefully picking his way over a mound of branches and ignoring the dog's warning whine. The waters had washed up a great deal of trash that collected here and there, strands of dead thorn-vine, broken pots and pans and the splintered remains of goblin huts. He muttered to himself as he threaded through all the obstacles.

When a set of icy claws grasped Hoggle's ankle, he screamed for all he was worth.

It was dark, and he was so cold. The fire was nearly out, and he couldn't find the words to re-kindle it in the hearth. Jareth turned, rolling the blankets around him in a thick cocoon, but it did not help. He'd gone too far, spent too much of his energy, and there was none left to warm him. There was barely enough left to keep him alive, and the sluggish beat of his heart told him that it would soon slow and fall silent.

Dimly, he wondered where Sarah had gone. Back to the castle? He hoped she would try wishing herself back Aboveground. It might work, even now that the Labyrinth was falling. It no longer heard his pleas, but for Sarah it might be different. It might grant her one last wish...

He stirred, remembering the heat of her hands even through the leather gloves she'd donned. Every single touch had left its mark, and if he concentrated he could feel them still. They were all he had left of her.

It was so dark now that Jareth did not know if his eyes were open or closed. As if from very far away, he heard her, calling his name. She sounded frightened, pleading. It is a cold night, he thought groggily. She should find shelter soon. Even seasoned with fear, his name sounded sweet on her lips. Would that these might be the last words he heard. He turned again, restlessly. She kept calling, there was something new in her voice... ah. Jareth sighed, a cold little puff of mist vanishing like smoke before him. She knew. I robbed the King of the Dead of his greatest prize. The shame of her knowledge was like a splinter of ice in his heart. Blood and water...

The door shook again. She did not give up easily, his Sarah, his green-eyed witch. He regretted the pain this would cause her, but he could not let her in. Her cries would fall quiet soon, the door would remain shut.

Jareth was alone again, as he knew he always would be at the world's end.

Author's Note: I am terribly fond of the somewhat pretentious habit of sprinkling my writing with various (mostly literary, some mythlogical, etc.) references. I won't mention all of them, let it be just my private joke to other English majors, geeks and bookworms. But to give credit where credit is due, Sarah's speech about the horse and rider will be recognized by astute readers as belonging to the greatest work of fantasy ever written, J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, (Fellowship of the Ring) in the chapter titled "The King of the Golden Hall".

Busoshwe, you're not on crack to pick up on the similarities, although it's not really that direct. (As in, I didn't have the Halls of Mandos particularly in mind when I wrote about the hall of the King of the Dead.) But Tolkien-- and to a lesser extent, Brooks-- have no doubt influenced my writing, as have many fantasy authors. I try to read a lot in that genre and I'm sure it shapes my way of thinking and looking at writing more than even I realize. Oh, also, I like Bowie's Reality album a great deal, too. (My favorites on that one are probably "Never Get Old", "Days" and "Bring me the Disco King".) I seem to end up listening to Heathen a little more, though.

Devilbunny asked if Jareth could've simply used the remaining power he had to save himself instead of Sir Didymus, thereby solving everything. The shower answer is "no". The long answer is that what ails Jareth goes far beyond his ability to fix it, because it's wholly bound up with what's happening to the Labyrinth as a whole. Trying to solve that problem by trying to heal himself would be like trying to empty the ocean with a teacup. In comparison, Sir Didymus' admittedly regrettable situation was easier to fix!

Also, kudos to Heist, bobmcbobbob1 and Indygodusk for their sharp eyes and knowledge of Jane Austen, that was indeed a Pride and Prejudice reference. It's one of my all-time favorite books, an incredible story of romance and wit. The film version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle is not to be missed.

But is it a portent of a happier ending to come? Hmmm...