Author's Note: WARNING! The following chapter contains a cliché. However, it is necessary for certain plot developments (beyond the obvious one). I'm hoping that what I may lack in originality in this one small matter, I will make up for in panache.

Chapter Fourteen: Ashes to Ashes

The seamless transition from one world to another was something that she was certain she would never quite get used to. They had all been there to say good-bye and Sarah had felt a strange sense of foreboding, even though she knew that all she had to do was call to them and they would be there. Even Jareth this time. Perhaps it was he who had filled her with that dread: he had been dressed in sombre black and resembled not so much an owl as a large crow. His eyes had found hers in that last second and she had seen warmth in their depths. And then it was all gone and she and Toby were standing in the hallway of their parents' house.

'I'm gonna go see if they're all in the mirror!' Toby ran upstairs, remembering the celebration he had seen in Sarah's room after her quest in the Labyrinth.

Sarah looked at the clock in the hallway: it read a little after nine o'clock. The house was in complete darkness, Karen and her father evidently out for the evening. And only a moment ago they had been bathed in morning sunshine. She moved around the house, switching on lights. From Toby's room came the sound of numerous voices; she wondered if one of them was Jareth's but resisted the temptation to go in and find out. Her own small room offered little comfort: the few items she had kept since childhood all reminded her of something or someone in the Labyrinth and she was conscious of a dull ache. Something heavy knocked against her leg and she plunged her hand into her pocket, her fingers closing around a number of small, hard objects. Sarah stared a her handful of seaweed crystals and then deposited them on her dressing-table. The figurine still stood by her mirror; the stiff folds of cloth and the wild hair bore only a passing resemblance to the Goblin King, but in light of what she had learnt from Ambrosius, she wondered if this, too, had been deliberately put in her path.

She heard a car pull up in the driveway and breathed out heavily, hoping that Toby would remember that they were supposed to have been at the beach. The doorbell rang. Not her father and stepmother, then. She went down into the hallway, wondering who would be visiting, unannounced, at that time of night.

'Sarah Williams?'

Two uniform policemen.

'Yes,' she replied, too surprised to think that something was wrong.

'Your parents are Robert and Karen Williams?'

'Yes. Well, Karen is my stepmother, but yeah... What is it?'

Their faces were too serious, she realised.

'Can we come in? I'm afraid we have some bad news.'

ooOoo

She had managed to get Toby to go to sleep, finally. It had been one of the longest nights of her life and now, as the sky was lightening to a predawn steel grey, her brain still refused to accept the enormity of what had happened. An accident on the motorway; the other driver had been at fault... The details kept buzzing around her head, but still made no more sense to her now than when the officers had first told her. She had clung on to the belief that it was all a terrible mistake, until they had shown her the Polaroids by way of identification. And then there was no question of a mistake.

Sarah closed the door of her brother's room. He looked so young curled up on the bed, Lancelot tucked into the curve of one arm, his face red and puffy from the tears. Sarah had not cried. She could not. Her own calmness amazed her, but she almost longed for the ability to weep. Anything that would get rid of the iron lump that had settled in her chest and only seemed to grow with every moment that passed. Her attempts to contact her mother had proved fruitless, although why this night should have been different from any other in that respect, Sarah wasn't sure. There were many times when she had needed her mother - and had got Karen instead. The truth was - and she had known it for a long time - that Karen had been more of a mother to her than her own had been. The one time she needed a mother more than ever, Karen wasn't there. She felt a boiling, irrational anger towards her stepmother. And then hated herself for it.

She opened the door to their room, leaving the lights off and sat on the edge of the bed. The air carried the mingled scents of her father's after shave and Karen's hairspray and perfume. She gagged slightly, memories flooding in. How angry she had been when her father had started seeing Karen; how much she had hated her for taking her mother's place; the moment when she had finally realised it was time to grow up and try to form a proper relationship with her stepmother. That had been the night she had got back from the Labyrinth...

She crossed the room and stared into the mirror, her hands grasping the mantelpiece until her knuckles turned white.

'Where are you? You said all I had to do was call you, Jareth; and I'm calling you now!'

Silence.

'Come on, show yourself!'

Shadows rushed at her, midnight-blues and blacks as dark as the robes he wore.

'Bring them back.'

'I can't.' His skin was taut over his cheekbones.

'What do you mean you can't?' she spat viciously. 'You're the Goblin King - you can do whatever you want.'

'I can't do this. I can't reawaken the dead.'

Her face felt numb, her words slurring slightly with the effort to speak. 'You can't? Or do you mean you won't?'

'I can't! If I could, don't you think I would have done it by now? If I could, don't you think I would do it for you?'

She hit him. Not a slap, but a hard punch with her balled-up fist. His head snapped backwards but he stood his ground, his eyes meeting hers again with no accusation in their depths, only a profound sadness.

'I don't believe you. I don't believe you!' she screamed it this time. 'You're a liar.'

'Sarah-'

'Don't touch me!' She lashed out as he tried to catch hold of her and experienced a moment's release as her fists pummelled against his chest. And then the tears came. Great, wrenching sobs that hurt from their intensity. She could feel nothing beyond the desire for it all to stop: all the pain, all the self-accusation... She wanted to sink below her grief, down into some dark place where she would never have to face it or anything else again.

Her sobs only subsided when there was no more moisture left to cry out; her lips were cracked, her face hot and damp, her body weakened from the strain. Her swollen eyes were still closed, but she knew that she was back in the Underground. She could feel it somehow. She was sitting on a hard bench and his arm was around her, her face resting against his shoulder.

'Where's Toby?' Her throat was hoarse and scratchy.

'With Delaine.' She had never heard his voice quite so gentle before.

Sarah raised her head, wiping her eyes and pushing herself away from him slightly so she could look at their surroundings. The room was small and dark and cold. She could could make out his profile, but little else. 'Where are we?'

'The Room of Mourning, I think.'

'You think?'

He looked around. 'It's different for everyone who enters. When my father passed it was all silver, with very high ceilings.'

Sarah ran her hands through her hair, pushing the heavy locks back; his arm was still around her shoulders and she leaned slightly into the embrace, vaguely grateful for the warmth of that contact. 'I didn't think that immortals could die.'

'We can be killed. But my father...' Despite the gloom, his eyes still seemed to glitter with their own fire. 'My father didn't die in the sense that you would understand it. He ... diminished ... and passed into the realm beyond the waters. But I still mourned him.'

Phrases from their conversation a few nights before drifted through her mind. 'That was... That was after the battle, wasn't it? The one you told me about?'

'Yes.'

Sarah let out a shaky breath and rested her head on his shoulder again. 'No wonder you hate Hoggle so much.'

'I don't hate him, Sarah. Not anymore. I dare say he didn't realise all the consequences of his actions. My father forgave him. Besides,' he smiled slightly, 'he guided you safely through the Labyrinth.'

Sarah managed a small smile of her own. 'Because you told him to, right?'

His arm tightened around her. 'I told him to make sure you didn't reach the castle. But then he helped you anyway.'

'Was that part of Ambrosius' script?'

She felt his breath soft against her face as he laughed. 'Probably. A chance for redemption. Everyone is entitled to that, don't you think?' Her reply was a stifled murmur; he glanced down at her and then conjured a goblet of peach juice with an imperious wave. 'Here. It will make you feel a little better.'

Sarah accepted it and tried to force the liquid down past the aching lump in her throat. Jareth's kindness was almost unbearable. A few mouthfuls, however, did revive her somewhat and she raised her head again, cradling the goblet limply between her hands. 'What was your father like?'

He looked a little surprised at the question. In truth, no-one had ever asked him that before. 'I remember someone tall and blonde and handsome. His face was always full of laughter. I remember him playing games with me through the Labyrinth: I would hide somewhere and he would have to look for me...'

'Hide-and-go-seek,' Sarah said softly.

'You know the game?'

'My dad used to play it with me. And then with Toby.'

'No matter how carefully I hid, he would always find me...' He fell silent, his eyes staring beyond the walls of their little dark room, briefly lost in memories that he had not visited in many years. Then he shook himself and his eyes found hers again. 'That was when I was very young, though. After the battle... Well, he was ill for a long time. But he still managed to laugh, even then. He always had time for Delaine and for me.'

Sarah raised a hand to his that was resting on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. 'I'm sorry.'

'So am I. Truly.'

Her hand dropped back to her lap. 'Was it- Could it have been Khazad who-who-'

'No.' Jareth shook his head emphatically. 'He could not harm them, Sarah.'

'But if he wanted to get to you through me, then maybe...' Her voice was barely above a whisper.

'Sarah, no! They were beyond his reach; this was nothing to do with you or the Underground or Khazad. It was an accident. Terrible, senseless, but an accident.'

She bit down on her lip but nodded, her eyes falling back to the hands in her lap twisting around the goblet. 'I loved them. Both of them.'

'I know.'

She raised her eyes to him again, great pools of shimmering grey. 'But did they?'

'Of course they did.'

'Jareth...' She pushed her hair behind her ears convulsively. 'Can we stay here for a while? Toby and me?'

A slight frown appeared between those arched brows. 'What about the rest of your family? Your mother?'

Sarah's chin trembled slightly and she shrugged, her throat tight again. 'My mother... My mother never really had time for me. I remember reading an interview of hers once and she was going on about how hard it was to have a career and bring up a child at the same time, but she didn't bring me up. My dad did. And then he and Karen did. And there isn't anybody else. I'm all Toby's got now and-' She took a deep breath. 'Can we stay?'

'Of course. For as long as you want.' His voice was reassuringly firm.

'Does that mean I'm running away from everything?'

'Does it matter?'

'I guess not.' She scrubbed at her eyes.

'Why don't you try to get some sleep?' he urged kindly.

'Can we... Can we just sit here for a little while longer?'

He smiled in aquiesence, settling himself against the stone wall behind him.

Sarah curled up against him. The room was no longer quite so dark nor so cold; the bench was almost comfortable. She inclined her head and brushed her lips against his cheek. 'Promise me everything is going to be all right.'

'Everything? Are you asking me to lie to you, Sarah?' It was nearly his old, familiar tone.

'Yes.'

'Everything is going to be all right.'

ooOoo

Jareth materialised soundlessly and stood looking down at the figure curled up in the bed. A small light was still burning on the night-stand, its soft glow dispelling the gloom. He had not realised before how small Toby was; lying in the huge four-poster, his slight frame appeared even more fragile. One eye of a battered teddy-bear was visible over the counterpane, the rest of its worn body clutched tightly in Toby's arms. The boy was asleep, at least; which was more then he could say for Sarah tonight. As though sensing his presence, Toby shifted, rolling onto his back, his eyelids flickered open. His eyes, bleary and unfocused, rested on Jareth.

'Dad?'

'Go back to sleep, Toby,' he kept his voice as low and gentle as possible. Toby obediently curled up again, his cheeks flushed. Even as he slept, a tremor passed across his face, twitching reflexively as though in discomfort. Death and fears of mortality were not things that Jareth had to confront very often, but that did not mean that he could not empathise with another's loss. He pulled one glove off and, very gently, brushed the damp hair from Toby's face. Then he laid his bare hand on the boy's forehead. Toby let out a faint murmur. But as the moments passed, Toby's face grew more peaceful and his restless movements stilled; Jareth's being was slowly filled with a gnawing, desolate agony. He pulled his hand away and watched his young charge for a while until satisfied that he still slept deeply and peacefully. He replaced his glove and left as silently as he had arrived.

To be continued...