Disclaimer: I don't own the movie the Labyrinth, and I don't own David Bowie or Jennifer Conolly. I just shamelessly borrow their images for my works of fiction. Lucky Jim Hensen Company…

In the little pub in the small Irish town, Sarah was hearing a rather large tale. The old man telling it seems to know more than he is saying, and that does not bode well for Sarah. Unbeknown to our lovely heroine, the Goblin King had made his way into her world.

The Wager:

Jareth stood in the little clearing with a clear frown of disapproval on his chiseled features. When he had finished speaking to the Goblins, (and what a trial that had been, convincing them to let him pass when he had so long been denied this very thing,) they had rather unceremoniously opened the ground beneath his feet, toppling him arse over tea-kettle into the mortal realm.

His cloak had taken almost all of the moisture from the ground as he hit it. He could hear Goblin laughter ringing after him, and he swore in silence. He would handle them later. For now he simply had to change his clothing and seek out Sarah. He waved his hand, summoning a crystal to him. Or, at least, that's what he had attempted. No crystal came. No powers surged to life within him, rising to do his will.

"Damnation Galen…" It seemed there were several things his father had left out when he had made his little visit. Like the fact that while he was in the Aboveground he would be denied the use of even the simplest magic. Stripping his cloak off he shook his head at the loss. It had been watered silk, after all, and taken the seamstresses almost three weeks to embroider the thousands of golden stars on the underside.

He had no clue which direction to proceed in. Wonderful. So he began walking forward, in the direction he had landed facing. It was as good a place as any to start. And while he walked he wondered, not for the first time, what Sarah's reaction to seeing him would be.

Ayden scowled at Duncan. The old man had gone too far this time. There was something wrong with the Yank, obviously she was not as healthy as he had first thought. Maybe the lass had caught a bit of a cold along the way. But despite the fact that she had eaten like she was starving and had grown paler throughout the duration of his tale, Duncan had not once inquired about the lass' well being.

"Are you well, miss Sarah?"

Ayden's voice snapped her out of her melancholy. She had been so close… so close to remembering something. Surely it was a memory, she reasoned, or else it wouldn't have been so clear in her mind, so fixed and unchanging. It was the same every time she caught a glimpse of it.

"Yes, I'm sorry, just feeling the time difference. How much for the.. Err…" She bit her lower lip, wondering what to call the food he had given her earlier. The taste of the corned beef still lingered in her memory and she was just gluttonous enough to want more. "The food I had earlier?"

"No charge, miss Sarah." Ayden dismissed her concerns. "'Tis the specialty of the house, Irish Nachos. You Yanks love them." With a rather sly wink, he continued to speak. "Maeve sent you here to me, and so I shall see to it that you don't starve to death for wanting. Would get me in a fair amount of trouble with my Aunt, to be sure."

'Nachos' was a familiar word, one said everyday at home. But it sounded different when he said it, the way his accent painted the syllables. She smiled. She found she liked the lilt of an Irish brogue.

"Well, if you're sure…" She tucked her hand into her pocket anyway, running her fingers over her slim wallet. She usually didn't carry cash, and she didn't know whether or not he would accept her visa card. She hoped that she wouldn't have to worry about the exchange of money for the day. Seeing the old man shift out of his seat, she offered him a large, winning smile. "Thank you again for the story, Duncan."

The old man laughed, his icy-blue eyes twinkling in merriment. "I am the grateful one, Sarah." He seemed pleased to use her name. In fact the moment he heard it his entire demeanor had changed. Maybe he had known a Sarah. She shrugged away the bothersome thought, and told herself it didn't matter one way or the other. She was just happy not to be glared at any longer.

"Well Ayden I'm sad to say I must be off." Ayden only nodded, and Sarah felt like she was missing something. What did they know that they weren't telling her?

After the old man had gone, Sarah tilted her head and rested her elbow on the bar, her chin sitting in her hand. Her hair had almost come entirely loose, and it ran around her arms most charmingly. When Ayden turned to talk to her he paused a moment, checking the urge to speak to her in Gaelic. She was hauntingly beautiful. She was well suited to this place, with her Fey-sharp features and her pale good looks.

He mentally shook himself, reminded again that she belonged to another. There was no appreciation, no interest for him in her eyes, or in her sleepy pose. It seemed that she was unaware of her innocent appeal. It made his need to deliver his warning more important.

"I'd be careful, Sarah. Some things--some people--are not what they seem at all."

Sarah straightened, entirely roused by his warning. She had been so content a moment ago, and now she had been restored to her usual worried self. What did he mean by that, exactly? But before she could question him, demand to know what secrets she was being kept out of, she checked the urge. She wasn't sixteen anymore, after all.

"I will. Thanks." She looked down at the menu laying almost discarded beside her. "What do you have with more of the corned beef?"

It had been quite some time, Jareth knew. Quite some time, and he was still wandering about lost in the bloody woods. He kicked a tree in his frustration, and yelped as it stung. Gods be damned, this mortal place had far too many trees! And they were so dense at times that he was sure he would any moment stumble head first into a mortal-realm version bog of eternal stench. Not that his personal effects could get any less appealing, he thought with a grimace.

His pants, which were a fine black Mogen-hide and leather, were now splotched with mud from his unceremonious entrance. His tunic was silken as well, and now it had been snagged on so many brambles that it looked as coarse as any linen garment might. His long silver-gold hair… well it didn't even bear thinking about his hair. He might actually cry.

It lay matted around his head and shoulders, looking more like a bird's nest than anything as silken and splendid as it usually was.

He stopped his sullen inspection when he heard a noise from somewhere behind him. The woods had been eerily silent the last few moments, and he had truly feared that he had wandered into some large predator's den. No doubt that would not end well. And now he drew his ceremonial short-rapier, hoping to discourage the thing should it be large and think him a good meal.

Instead of a great beast, from the trees emerged an old man, bent and wizened. And still, Jareth knew him immediately. "Dounacain?"

"Ah, so it was you, Your Highness. They call me Duncan here." As easily as a man removing his cloak, the glamour slipped from the old man, and he stood, his hunched back cracking loudly as it straightened. Hair that had been as white as snow shifted slightly into a moon-spun silver. His eyes remained the same, however, as cold and unrelenting as chips of winter ice. His bow was mocking, and Jareth longed for the power to truly humble him. Duncan had always been to bold for his own good.

"What are you doing in the mortal realms, Duncan? You know that the Fey are not welcome here. The High Council--"

"They sent me to this place to begin with." Bitterness coated the words, the voice now as youthful as the body had become. "When you caught me thieving spells they sent me here, assuming that I, like you are now, would be without my magic. They were wrong. I found it's source here, where magic was free for the taking. This town is mine, Jareth, and all within it."

Jareth's eyes narrowed at the direct challenge, and the menacing quality in the younger Fey's stance. "There is one within the town that does not belong to you. One you cannot have."

"Ah, yes… the lovely Lady Sarah…" Leaning against the tree, Duncan shot Jareth a look that was so quickly gone that he thought he had imagined it. Envy. "She was yours. The mark is there for all of our kind to see. But it is fading, Your Highness, and when it is gone she will be free of you."

More than ever, Jareth was glad that he had placed his mark upon her. It was a simple thing, to reach into the mind of a mortal and will them to accept you. To bend them toward you above all others. He had doubted his decision several times over the past few years, but now, for once, there was only joy. Duncan would not have hesitated otherwise.

"She would have been free of me long ago if she had wished to. She could have denied the mark, denied my touch in her dreams, denied the gifts I gave her freely these past few years." As she refused me in the Labyrinth. The words hovered, unspoken, between the two Fey men.

It was the only thing that had given him hope all these years. She had dreamed of him, even though she would never remember the dreams completely. She had reached out to him in her time of need, and he had marked her. It had been all he could do from the Underground as her life was slipping away. He took her pain from her, replaced it with his warmth, with the feelings he possessed for her.

"She knows, you know. About your Father and Miranda." Duncan's comment sounded casual, but it was not. It was a deft stab between the ribs, delivered quickly and deeply. "I told her about the King of the Fey, and how he lost the woman he loved… She remembers you. But only very little." He shrugged, his silver hair flowing over his shoulder like silken moonlight. "She will forget you easily enough."

"Ah will she?" His heart was racing, but Jareth kept his tone calm. Cold. His eyes remained silver, devoid of emotion. "Would you like to make a wager, Duncan?"

Duncan's eyes lit at the thought of a challenge. All Fey loved games and contests, and it was Jareth's only hope now.

"What type of wager?" His eyes were narrowed now, sensing the trap in his opponent's offer.

"We shall compete, on even ground, for her affections. You can either renounce your magic or show me the place where you received them. And then we shall see just who she prefers. If she chooses your affections, I will return to the Underground and never bother either of you again. If she chooses me, you will do likewise, and respect the magic of this world, removing yourself from it for so long as you live here." Jareth could only hope that Duncan would agree. It was his only chance to get his magic back, or at least stop Duncan from claiming Sarah when his own mark faded entirely. The long separation had already dimmed their connection, he couldn't even sense her at first.

Duncan threw his head back and laughed to the skies, obscured as they were by the thick canopy of the trees. Even as the last of the daylight was fading, their clearing stayed lit, perhaps by the High Council. They were, without a doubt, going to be watching this scene. This fateful encounter between Jareth and his exiled subject.

"You think that I will take you to the source of my magic, and then you can just snatch her away into the Underground! Well I will show you! I renounce the magic within my blood, and do so agree to the terms of your wager, King of the Fey!" Duncan's eyes lit it what might have been mad desire, or just the pain of losing his magic. It rippled through him, dizzying him enough that he fell back, resting his head against the full trunk of a large tree.

Jareth strode forward, lifting his well-groomed nemesis by the shirt-front into the air. His muscles had served him well in his youth, and they would continue to aid him here without his magic. It was all he had now. That and his wits. "You will regret this moment for the rest of your long, magic-less existence."

And Jareth set off in the direction from which Duncan had come, hoping to find some semblance of cover before nightfall came. He could smell the rain in the air, and knew that he would be soaked to the skin if it found him before he found shelter.

Author's Note:

All right everyone, things just got interesting… dum dum dum! The next chapter should be up in a few hours to make up for this one being a little short, so please stick around. Oh, and review! Please! I don't care what you have to say, even if it is just a smilie face. It lets me know that people are actually out there reading and having opinions. Please?

Well Jareth is happy that he thought of the challenge, but he is in need of a good bath and some much awaited Sarah-Jareth time. Hehe… he has no idea what I have planned… Stop looking at me that way, Sarah, I'm not crazy.

All right well, until next chapter,

-Chaotic Reverie