Author's Notes: Someone asked me after the last chapter what had happened to Sir Didymus. You guys are sharp... not even a whole chapter of J/S distraction can make you drop the plot line for long, curse it. Well, those of you who wanted to know about him get their wish, although it may not be exactly what you expected. Next chapter, we're back to J/S almost exclusively.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Fortune's Wheel

"Whoa, Ambrosius! Whoa!"

Sir Didymus clapped a hand on his hat, which threatened to fly off his head as they pelted through the Labyrinth maze. The cracking explosion behind them startled his faithful steed, and Ambrosius had never run so fast in his life, not even when food was involved. With only the moon for light, they hurtled down dark passageways, hedges towering high above them all spiked and gnarled like the head of a mace.

"Now see here, Ambrosius, this is hardly the way to behave!"

Didymus tried in vain to curb his rambunctious mount, fearing that Ambrosius would tangle them both in thorn vine, but to no avail. They were getting further and further from the castle, but he felt sure that once Hoggle cooled down, his friend would see reason and relent. Sir Didymus just hoped he would survive to see it. Determined to put a stop to their undignified retreat, he pulled back on the reins with all his might, at the same time bellowing in Ambrosius' ear.

"I said WHOA, my good--"

It was a little too effective. Ambrosius skidded to a stop, and Sir Didymus went hurtling over his head right into the hedge. For a long while there was nothing but a gaping hole in the tangled greenery, and at the edge of it, the tip of what was once a fine, red feather. Ambrosius sniffed at it apologetically, then whined through his nose.

"...really a little too high strung for a proper mount..." an exasperated voice was heard to say from deep within the shrubbery, accompanied by frantic thrashing, "Quite extraordinary, the fixes..."

Ambrosius bowed his head in shame, then gingerly poked his nose into the hole in the hedge, avoiding the long thorns. He fished around for a few moments, then extracted his master, gripping the collar of Didymus' coat between his teeth.

"All right," allowed Sir Didymus, brushing off his jacket and picking leaves from his ears. "Apology accepted. See that it does not happen again."

Ambrosius deposited him on the ground, whuffling happily. Much to his surprise, Sir Didymus found himself without a scratch, although his hat was an unredeemable mess, the feather broken and a wickedly long thorn jabbed right through it. The little knight pried it off the hedge, looking at the jagged hole on either side of the hat.

"Verily, Ambrosius, that was a close one."

While he was not the least bit shaken, Sir Didymus judged it a sensible thing to sit down and rest after the ordeal of their flight. He searched in his pocket and found the remains of a crumbled bit of goblin cheese, which he held out to Ambrosius. His hairy companion swallowed it whole and panted agreeably while the little knight reflected upon what had happened.

"I say, that wasn't an entirely courageous retreat," said Sir Didymus, deeply troubled. "I was outnumbered, to be sure, but that is no excuse."

Ambrosius was not the judgemental sort, and didn't display any regret for his own part in the escape. Seeing that there was no further handouts to be had, he scratched the ground with his front paws and settled in. Sir Didymus shook his head sorrowfully.

"And to raise a hand to a friend-- even in self-defense! I fear we have fallen on dark times, indeed. What my forefathers must think..."

He sat on a chunk of rock, resting his chin on one fist, his legs tucked up beneath him. There was a faraway look in his eyes and his whiskers drooped just a bit. The dog inched forward and licked Sir Didymus' hand.

"Nay, you forgive too easily," said the knight. "'Tis a question of honor, Ambrosius. I was charged to keep the king's property safe, but I may have besmirched mine own honor in doing so. Only His Majesty can clear my family's good name, I fear. When he returns, he will at least see I have kept safe the--"

Sir Didymus froze. He patted one waistcoat pocket, then the other, his tail quivering in alarm.

"Ambrosius," he cried, "It is gone!"

He searched the ground, kicking over rocks and pawing through puddles of water for it, but the pendant was nowhere to be found. If it had been lost on their perilous flight... But no, Sir Didymus would not entertain the thought. He scurried around the passage way, intent upon retracing their steps in the dark if need be, when he caught the slightest whiff of scent on the air...

Subtle but unmistakeable, he could smell the magic. It was nearby. Waving at Ambrosius to be quiet, Sir Didymus scented the air very with a cautious turning of his head, left and right. His nose led him to the hole in the hedge, and climbing up on Ambrosius' back, he peered through it.

On the other side of the hedge lay the pendant, gleaming softly in the moonlight. And between it and the little knight was several feet of thorn-vine. There was nothing for it, and Didymus refused to be daunted. Luck had always been his, and Lady Fortune would surely not desert him now. Over Ambrosius' whimpers of protest, Sir Didymus gathered himself and leapt headlong into the hedge.

It was a tight fit, and he had to claw his way through to the other side. He could hear the thorns catch raggedly on his waistcoat, the sound of seams tearing and Ambrosius barking behind him. It was no good, he could not turn back now. It was ever onward, or die trying. Didymus felt a searing pain in his chest but he ignored it, twisting and kicking until he was free. He was somewhere outside of the maze walls, lying upon a grassy knoll. The open fields rolled out before him all silver and green, and beyond that lay the white shores of the Merandanon. Strangely weary, he lay where he fell for quite some time, the king's pendant safe in his keeping. Safe. The honor of my house unbroken...

Sir Didymus may have slept briefly, he did not know. When he awoke, the ground was wet, but not with water. He reached down with an unsteady paw and found that the front of his doublet was soaked through, and warm. His search met with a curiously sharp-edged splinter, and he drew it out carefully. Gleaming black with blood in the moonlight was a thorn the length of his paw. As Didymus examined it in polite disbelief, he saw far in the distance a starburst of light. It shot high over the tops of the trees, shining white against the blue-black cathedral of the night sky and raining down glittering dust. Didymus wished he were close enough to lift his face to the heavens and watch them drift down on the wind, for it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

"Ah," sighed the little knight, his tail drooping low. "Long live His Majesty."

The grass was soft as a feather bed, and he was so very tired. Sir Didymus lay his head down upon his folded arms. He must keep watch, he had a duty to uphold. But perhaps he would sleep... just for a little while.

Fortune's wheel had turned.

Dawn broke across the sky in rivers of gold and a breeze with the warmth of spring blew through the Silverwood, rippling the leaves in a whispering song. At first, Sarah did not remember where she was. The clearing looked quite different by day, a jade bower of branches arching high overhead with leaves drifting down. Thick moss carpeted the forest floor, overgrown with star-shaped flowers no bigger than her fingertip. As the wind touched them lightly and sent the tiny blooms nodding, the sweet scent of jasmine filled the air. It was like a dream, and nothing looked the same.

Colors looked more vibrant to her waking eye, and even the sunlight was so bright it illuminated each mote of dust until it glowed like a fiery star. She was alive, the darkness had gone. If this was a dream, she did not want to wake, but sleep was evading her grasp and slipping through her fingers like water. Sarah stretched, but found herself firmly held in place by a sleeping Goblin King.

Jareth lay sprawled half over her, one hand gripping her wrist as if he were determined not to lose her as he slept. With her free hand, Sarah brushed a stray strand of hair back from his face. He looked so vulnerable, so completely relaxed that she could barely recognize him. Curled on his side with his arm around her and his shoulders bare to the golden dawn, he was beautiful. Sarah held her breath, watching the play of shadows the sunlight through the leaves cast over his skin. Could he really be mine? Jareth did not seem like a person who could belong to anyone, least of all her. But for a short while, she could pretend that he did.

Covering them was a velvet cloak Sarah had never seen before. Shifting against it, she became more aware of other sensations that made her blush. She felt sore, and the bite mark on her thigh was tender to the touch. Not wanting to wake Jareth, she eased out from under him slowly, pulling back the cloak to examine it. By daylight it was frightening, an angry circle of jagged punctures crusted with blood. Pale violet bruises were already faint on her skin's surface. They would grow darker with time. She went to touch it, but a hand descended upon her own, holding her fast.

"Don't."

Startled, Sarah looked up to find the Goblin King watching her calmly. She wondered how long he'd been awake, and reddened in confusion. The way he looked at her made Sarah feel as if he saw everything, knew everything. Then something occurred to her, and she examined her right forearm. It was smooth and untouched, as if no shimmering mark had ever been there. She glanced back up at the Goblin King. His eyes flicked over the now-unblemished spot but registered no surprise, only mild satisfaction.

"Good morning, Sarah."

Sarah pulled her hand free. "What have you done?"

Anger flickered behind Jareth's eyes for a brief moment. "You were nearly lost to me. I did what I had to do. Or do you regret losing him?"

"No, I--" Sarah rubbed her arm. She felt nothing, no pain, no yearning voice singing her to the river. The King of the Dead's mark was indeed gone. "Only... how did you do it?"

Jareth leaned back, the cloak slipping down to his waist. She could see the pale pink-white line of his own scar snaking up the side of his torso. He noticed her scrutiny but did not flinch, only returned her level gaze.

"Do you always ask questions when you already have the answers, Sarah?"

Sarah thought of the healing wound on her thigh in disbelief. He cannot mean...

"You asked to be saved. I always do as you ask."

Sarah looked at it again. She had a sudden flash of imagery, the bloody ring faded to a smooth, silvery-white mark tattooing her inner thigh. "There's going to be a scar."

"Yes," said Jareth, stretching like a cat in the sun, "There will be."

"You bastard." It was a half-hearted insult, one still dampened by the cold shock of her realization.

She forgot he could move like a cat when he wanted, and before Sarah could speak again, she was lying flat on her back with him looking down at her. Both of her wrists were firmly pinned to the either side of her, Jareth's weight resting easily upon them. The Goblin King's eyes were intent. For a moment she thought a tiny hint of worry lurked in the impossible blue of them. But he betrayed none in his reply, and Sarah thought she must surely be mistaken.

"The healing will hurt, and it will scar. But his hold upon you is gone, as I promised."

Sarah tried to to look away, but couldn't. "How can you be sure?"

His voice dropped a shade lower as he bent his head to her throat, speaking against her skin in a way that made her shiver uncontrollably.

"I've marked you, Sarah. For all time. He will not touch you again, for I will share you with no one."

"Branded like cattle." She threw his words mockingly back at him.

But the Goblin King only shook his head in amusement. He sat up a little, and for the first time she saw the wound on his shoulder, a neat little scarlet ring that had already begun to heal. Sarah touched it, suddenly humbled.

"Did I do that to you?"

He caught her hand and brought her wrist to his lips. "I'm disappointed you do not remember."

Sarah blushed again. She remembered all too well.

Jareth enjoyed her discomfort, hiding his laughter. In the early morning light, Sarah looked like a sylph of the wood. He picked a strand of wild jasmine and fashioned a wreath for her hair. His Sarah, wearing a crown of white stars. My Queen. He could not keep from touching her, dropping a kiss in the palm of her hand, smoothing his thumb over the delicate bones of her wrist.

Seeing his evident pleasure at her embarrassment, Sarah's chin went up. "Then I have marked you, too."

"So you have." said the Goblin King.

He slid a hand beneath the cloak, running it along the curve of her calf, skimming her thigh and coming to rest upon her hip, stroking teasingly upward. Sarah felt as if her bones were melting. As he leaned over her, the morning sun lit his profile in shining gold. She tried to ignore the distraction of him warm against her, the cloak slipping from between their bodies.

"Are you putting a glamour on me?"

Jareth hovered close. "Do you require one?"

"No." Something he did beneath the cloak caused her to squirm and gasp. "But you could. You have that power now."

The Goblin King did not pause from his explorations. "Yes."

"And you know why it's come back."

He bent his head close, and his breath tickled her neck. Jareth sunk his teeth into her shoulder, hard, but not hard enough to break the skin. She bit back a moan.

"Answer me."

"Yes. I know why."

"Jareth, be serious." Sarah wriggled from his grasp with some reluctance and raised herself up on one elbow, clutching the cloak to her breast. "Are you... all right? Will everything be okay?"

The Goblin King gazed at her with fond indulgence and some exasperation. "More questions?"

"I have to know. It wasn't there all along, or you wouldn't have... Why did the magic come back to you?"

"Ah, Sarah." Jareth stretched again, rumpling his hair with both hands. "The king and the kingdom are one."

Sarah gave him a sharp, measuring look. "I've heard that before."

"But you did not know what it meant. Neither did I."

"You speak in riddles."

"Life is an enigma, spoken in the language of riddles. Are you finished with your questions, my Sarah?" He gave the cloak a playful tug.

"No." Sarah refused to be distracted. "Can you make everything the way it was? Heal the Labyrinth?"

Now it was his turn to mock her. With his head slightly tilted to one side, he gave her a wolfish smile.

"It will be... a piece of cake."

It took them until dawn to rig up a rope bridge that swayed and bounced most alarmingly when Hoggle crossed it, eyes shut tight to the abyss that yawned below him. The more nimble goblins scampered across hand over hand, many of them still talking excitedly about the events of the night before. By their account, Didymus was seven feet tall and his staff shot out bolts of lightning as he smote the ground and cracked the Labyrinth in two before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

"Goblins." muttered Hoggle in keen disgust.

When he reached the other side, he wiped his sweaty palms on his handkerchief and cleared his throat.

"All right, you lot," he began, "You know what you're looking for. Find him and be quick about it!"

The sunrise was beautiful, more beautiful than Hoggle had seen in many a fortnight. Rose-gold light spilled across the horizon and the last of the snow was melting. It was spring come again, and the dwarf began to think that perhaps Sir Didymus was not so foolish to hope after all. Then he saw something that lifted his heart.

On a span of wall half-fallen into the chasm was a clinging bit of thorn vine. The greedy tendrils had worked their way into the crumbling mortar, prying the rocks apart slowly. They didn't look the same as they had before. Hoggle bent to examine it with a gardener's keen eye. Yes, he thought in reluctant wonder, I do believe...

Its scarlet blossoms had withered to dry little husks and blown away, the leaves yellowed and brittle. The thorn-vine had survived the drought, survived the storms and the ice. Now it was dying. Hoggle was a practical sort of dwarf, and he did not long speculate as to why. Perhaps Sarah had saved the Goblin King after all. Perhaps the thorn-vine, like many things, had a time and place to meet its inevitable end. Hoggle was a great believer in the inevitable. If Didymus had been there, no doubt the little knight would have had many a romantic explanation, as high-flown and flowery as his silly speeches full of thees and thous. But he was not there.

The dwarf plucked up a bit of the vine and it came away easily in his grasp, letting go of the stone as if the roots too, had withered away. He stood there for a long time looking at the harmless bit of dried-up weed in his hand. At last, he crumbled it between his fingers and let the dust fall where the wind chose to take it.

"Didymus," he said softly, "I was wrong. Please come back."

Sarah crossed her arms. "I will not wear that."

Scowling, the Goblin King tossed aside the offending article of clothing, a frothy pale pink gown with ribbons and lace at the bodice.

"That is the third one you have rejected. As I recall, such frippery was quite the subject of your dreams, Sarah."

"When I was fifteen," she countered, "I'm not a child anymore."

Jareth gave her a sidelong glance. "Indeed, you are not."

Furious at having provided him yet another opportunity to insinuate, Sarah wrapped herself tighter in Jareth's cloak and sat stubbornly on a fallen log. The Goblin King himself was again immaculately clothed in blue and white, the brocade of his vest a shimmering pattern of peacock feathers.

"But day grows late and it is time we should return to the city. And," he continued, with a smile, "I will need my cloak back."

Sarah seized its folds in panic. "You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't dream of it. But you cannot make your grand entrance wearing only my cloak. As enchanting as that thought is..."

"All right." Sarah gritted her teeth. "Just make something. Anything. It's not important as long as it doesn't have yards of lace and it covers everything."

The Goblin King kept a perfectly straight face. A slight gesture of his hands and he held a gown of cream colored silk, one with softly draping sleeves and a gathered waist. Sarah smoothed the material between her fingers, and she had never felt anything so luxurious in all her life. Jareth rubbed a fold of it across her cheek, his eyes curiously fixed upon her.

"Put it on." he said.

The dress felt as if it had been made for her, and it recalled to her mind a certain wardrobe in a castle room full of bright gowns that had never been worn... She swallowed past the tears that rose unexpectedly and put on the slippers Jareth held out to her. It gave her enough courage to ask the question she'd saved until last, the one she feared to have answered.

"Jareth."

She watched him brush Rumor's coat, speaking softly into the mare's ear. The Goblin King helped Sarah up into the saddle and mounted behind her. Sarah leaned back into him, comforted by the feel of his solid presence. He was her stronghold and her support. He would never leave her.

Jareth breathed in the scent of her hair, the scent of wildflowers and rain. Again he allowed himself to run his fingers through it, dreaming of another time and place where those black tresses might be spread over a white silk pillow under a dome of stars. He stroked her throat with his bare hands, placing the lightest of kisses on the side of her neck.

Sarah closed her eyes, her thoughts full of long nights and a tower room with a crystal window to the heavens.

Falling...

She tried to begin again. "When we return. What will happen... to us?"

Jareth's arms tightened around her, and she half-turned in the saddle, wanting to see his face. He held her fast, his embrace suddenly crushing. She could feel his heartbeat quicken, and it frightened her.

"Jareth?"

When his reply came at last, it was with a studied ease that did not fool her.

"What will be, will be."

Hoggle rubbed his aching knees and surveyed his work. The floor of the throne room was now cleaner than it had ever been, and it had only taken a dozen buckets of water, three cakes of soap and a few hours' dwarf labor. The goblins could have done it in faster time, he admitted. But they would've left muddy footprints all over and probably eaten the soap, as well.

"If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself." grumbled Hoggle, tossing his scrub brush neatly into the bucket.

What he would not admit to himself was that it was all busy work to cover his growing worry when Sir Didymus had not been found. The little knight had his resources, to be sure, but he could not have gone far without transportation. An hour after dawn, Ambrosius slunk home with his tail between his legs and would not leave off moping around the courtyard. Curled up in a shady corner by the gate, his ears lifted every time someone passed by, but he quickly laid down again when his master did not appear. The goblins tempted him with half a chicken carcass, but the dog would not be budged, his ears drooping in disappointment.

Hoggle thought he knew just how Ambrosius felt.

A cough from the doorway interrupted his thoughts. A goblin with a tattered guard's uniform stood there, shuffling his feet.

"Sir," said the goblin hesitantly, "We've found him. The commander, I mean."

"Commander?" Hoggle paused for a moment in genuine puzzlement. "What-- Oh. Of course. Where is he?"

But the goblin only snivelled incoherently and would not say another word. Hoggle ran out into the courtyard just as the search party returned through the castle gates. Four goblins with bowed heads carried a small stretcher, and on it was something that looked like a bundle of dirty rags. Here and there was a shred of bright blue velvet, the rest of it a deep color of rust. It lay very still and did not move.

The dwarf stared at it, uncomprehending. Then Ambrosius stuck a cold nose into his hand, whining low in his throat.

"Oh, no," said Hoggle, "Not..."

Sir Didymus had come home.

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