Disclaimer: I don't own 'the Labyrinth', the characters within it, or the story-line. But I am shamelessly borrowing aspects thereof and therein. Hehe

On a walk in the storm Jareth and Sarah share a kiss, and then Sarah confronts him about his presence in her dreams. Jareth tells her that this was his last chance to have her, and that if she says that he has no power over her once again, he will be forced to leave her alone Aboveground for the rest of her life. Their argument is dispelled when Sarah stomps in a puddle, and she and the King of the Fey are swept into a snowball fight. Somewhere outside of the village Duncan is stirring up trouble while the Goblins watch it all from their place beyond the veil.

Dreams:

Sarah was laughing, and Jareth lifted an eyebrow in consideration. Seeing her face in fury was amazing. Seeing it last night in passion had been arousing. Watching her laugh, as she had done over and over again today, was like the sun pouring down, even in the middle of the storm.

He opened the door for her, and she thanked him shyly. What had he done? He had opened the door for her, as any gentleman should. But, as many other things he had discovered, men here were not gentlemen for the most part. No wonder Sarah was so hesitant to keep such a creature as these mortal men.

She stopped short of actually entering the house, and his front bumped against her smaller form.

"I don't want to track water around the entire house... Miss O'Fallon wouldn't be happy about that, I think." Almost before she had finished the last word, Miss O'Fallon emerged on the other side of the room from the laundry room.

"Och, what happened te the two of ye? Yer soaked clean through!" It was dismay rather than anger on her features, even when she remarked that they had lost the umbrella. Jareth could see that Sarah had relaxed at the tone of their hostess' voice. "Well I suppose there is no helpin' it now. Go on up then, the both of ye, and try no te track too much water in while yer--"

Rather than fighting with her, Jareth scooped Sarah up mid-sentence so she wouldn't expect it. When he caught the glare she was sending him, he smirked. "Well, we will track less water if we go up like this. And was it not you're boot that was filled with mud? Now I doubt Miss O'Fallon wishes to clean mud out of her carpets."

"He is right, Miss Sarah, and after all, yer rooms are but a few feet away. He's not goin' too far out of his way fer ye. And it would save me a good deal of time bent over on me back, scrubbin' mud from carpets."

It was enough. Jareth knew when he saw the sigh leave Sarah's lips. He started up the stairs, reminding himself that the fifth one up still creaked terribly. When he caught Miss O'Fallon's eye he nearly dropped the bundle on his arms. The older woman actually winked at him!

Maeve busied herself in making cabbage and corned beef for dinner. It was simple enough, and hearty too boot. It was just what those two needed to warm up after their romp in the rain.

Part of her thrilled in their closeness, in the love apparent between the two. Jareth seemed to have resigned to it, but Sarah… Miss Sarah was an odd lass. She had requested that the mirrors be removed or covered, and yet, when a mirror had come un-veiled she had stared at herself as though she had grown a second head. And then when Maeve went up to tidy the room, all of the mirrors had been uncovered.

Then there was the little issue of the rings Sarah was wearing. She was wearing two, one on the ring finger of either hand. The one on the right was simple silver, that much Maeve knew without really looking. But the one on her left hand, now that was something different. A single emerald, round-cut, flanked by only slightly smaller diamonds and set in white-gold. She was certain.

It would have been nothing, nothing at all, but for the fact that Jareth was wearing a matching ring on his left hand. None of the gems, no, for all the lad's dramatic flair, it was a plain band, with the same engravings as the one Sarah wore.

Neither had their full memory, they claimed, but they recalled each other immediately. Maeve had never seen amnesia, only heard stories and read romance novels about it. Lost weary traveler finds an old bed and breakfast, and is greeted by the only face he can recall--

She had always wanted to be a writer. It had been that secret passion, deep within her that she kept hidden from the world. She knew that she could do it, she had been spinning tales since before she could write them down. But reality, and money, tore that dream from her. Writing cost money to begin with, and it didn't come over night. She simply didn't have the luxury of waiting.

As she finished cleaning her knives, she thought back to the couple up stairs. She was a very religious woman, and so she believed fully that relations before marriage was a sin; but there was no doubt in her mind that if those two were not married, they would be soon. Very soon. And it was their immortal souls, after all, not her own.

Plus, she thought with a sigh, it was the closest thing to a romance novel she was likely to have over the next month or so. And their time was running out.

Duncan… 'Cain' as the rogue was calling himself… Had come calling for Sarah only that morning. She could not recall a time she hadn't known his kind. She had known it when she had looked upon him in the village, pretending to be an old man. She had seen it when he had come to her front door baring roses. She had seen it on him for a long time.

This place had held Fae blood before. The blood of Kings had been raised here within these walls. She was reverent enough to know that times and places drew like souls together, over and over again. There were memories in these walls, in the wooden planks of the floors… who was she to stop what was written in the stars?

With a long stretch, Maeve thought back to the couple upstairs. She heard the water come on in one bathroom, and then in the other. She knew the Fae Folk when they walked up to her doorstep, that was to be sure, but she would rather have a useful vagabond with gaps in his memories than a malicious, arrogant rogue who made advances toward all of the young women in the village, taken or otherwise.

She wondered briefly if Jareth would notice that none of the fixtures were iron-processed, and if he would appreciate the all-wood furniture. A wicked thought crossed her mind and Maeve laughed. She was sure Sarah would.

It was not the ballroom this time, but rather the Hall of Stairs. She could recall, clearly, Toby as an infant. He was in school now, halfway across the world… She shivered when she felt warm breath on the back of her neck.

His arms encircled her waist, drawing her back against him. Sarah relaxed, but only for a moment. Just long enough to feel his warmth, and the beat of his heart.

"I have questions, Jareth."

"Why am I not surprised… Come then, Sarah-mine, and we will have your conversation." She followed as he led, up one staircase, down another, up this one, down two more flights… She was getting dizzy, looking up at the place they had been only moments ago. It jutted out like a balcony, except that anyone standing on it would be defying gravity and would appear to be walking on a wall.

She was altogether surprised when, after what seemed like hours of walking, they ended up on the same landing as they had been before they had begun walking at all.

"All of that for a lousy circle?" Her voice was petulant, and when Jareth looked over his shoulder and smirked at her, she could have cursed.

"Is that 'not fair', Sarah?" The laughter in his tone should have annoyed her. Instead it made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, made her want to shiver. It had swept over her like a caress, and she narrowed her eyes in his direction. He stepped closer to her, backing her up against a wall, step by step. He planted a hand over her shoulder against the wall, effectively caging her in.

His other hand, covered in a soft leather glove, as he usually would wear, descended upon her shoulder. It ran up the slope of her collarbone to the curve of her neck… and Sarah did shiver, her eyes falling to half-mast. They were only half-open, and it was still enough to see his passion. The desire that shot across his eyes, eyes now deep, bottomless grey, like smoke.

His hand traced her jaw line, tipping her neck up for a second as he fanned his thumb over her racing pulse. She licked suddenly-dry lips, and he almost gave in to the urge to kiss her. Sarah could feel the tension in him. He eased in slowly, the hand by her shoulder moving ever downward, slowly…

His lips were but a breath from hers when his hand closed over the doorknob there. Invisible to mortal eyes, but clearly there for the rest of his kingdom. He gave the knob a desperate twist, knowing that if he kissed her now, he might not ever have the strength to show her, to tell her the things he had brought her here to see.

When the door opened she lost balance, and he caught her, tugging her flush against himself. It was a vastly un-intelligent move, one that wiped all thought from his mind. She was wearing that same outfit she had as a teenager, fashioned to fit her now adult form. It was too thin a barrier.

If she hadn't tugged away from him in a fit of temper they would have had some rather interesting decisions to make. Instead Jareth faced his fears and turned on the lights, simply by wishing them to be on. The door behind him shut, and Sarah's eyes grew wide.

The room itself wasn't what fascinated Sarah. It was a soft tone of grey-blue, one lost to man some time ago. It was the faces staring out at her from hundreds of tiny portraits that she thought was so intriguing. There had to be hundreds of them…

"They are my family, the lot of them. Try not to think too long on what they say, hmm? Could drive you insane, if you let them." His tone was sharp, and when Sarah looked at him, she sighed. He looked horribly unhappy, and she hated seeing him this way. She didn't know why, after he had put her through the Labyrinth, but she felt like she needed to protect him. The urge to comfort was there, so she went to him.

"We can go somewhere else." She laid her hand in his, and he smiled, pleased that she wanted to soothe him.

"There are other places I can show you, Precious, this was just where I had to start. The hardest place for me." He squeezed her hand, and frowned, looking down. He lifted her hand, and his eyebrows shot up almost into his hairline. He lifted her hand, so the both of them could see the shining band. "Where did you get this?" The walls shook, the ground shook beneath them.

"I… I found it. It was after my first best-seller, and it was in a box in my hotel room, a blue box, white ribbon…" She trailed off. It hung in the air between them.

"You thought it was from me?"

"I… I didn't remember you, not at the time, but maybe it crossed my mind since I got my memory back. I only started wearing it when I left the states. I had lost it, you see, and just found it again before the plane left… There was a note." She searched her clothes, then laughed at the foolishness of the action.

Jareth, far from laughter, waved his hand. "Do you recall what it said?"

"It was written in a really flowing script, like… nothing I had ever seen before. It said… I really don't remember."

"Damnation…" He raked a hand through his hair, vastly irritated. "Try… this is, after all, a dream. You can call the paper to you, if you wished it." His rough tone made her scowl.

"I suppose it's just going to fall out of the sky like confetti?" At her sharp words something like the crack of thunder echoed, and then the roof opened up, and indeed, confetti did rain down, landing in their hair, and on their clothing, pooling at their feet. For long moment neither spoke, unwilling to lose eye contact. It was like a staring contest. Jareth gave in first, picking a piece of paper off of it's perch on Sarah's vest.

The paper was only about two inches wide, and a half-inch tall. Upon it, in flowing script, read: Amháin lómhara*. Jareth rubbed his eyes in frustration. Was this some type of joke?

"I didn't know I could do that." Her voice was small, it was the closest thing to an apology he was likely to get. Some perverse part of him made him smile. She was still his Sarah, under the years, and the grace that those years had gifted. She was still his defiant Sarah.

"This is your dream, Sarah. Pray we do not end up in one of mine."

Rather than address the insinuation in his words, Sarah preferred a different route. "So what does it mean? The words. I could never read them. I thought, at first, that it was left for me by an admirer. I sent out inquiries, and didn't wear it in public. Then I asked about it in lost and found. My agent sent out a staff member to see if I had a stalker… nothing. As far as anyone could tell, it was just… there. I didn't ever ask to have it translated. It's in Irish, isn't it?"

"Gaelic," he corrected, absentmindedly.

"So, you didn't send it to me?" She moved, completely intent on tugging the thing off. His hand halted her. It was bare. With an ironic twist of the lips, he lifted their hands up for her inspection. There on his hand was a white-gold band with the same strange engravings as her own.

"Jareth, I don't understand…"

"Neither do I, but I intend to find out." He stepped closer, uncaring that the tiny slips of paper were still falling around them. "Kiss me once more before I go, Sarah?"

At their embrace, the people in the pictures gave a mass cheer, laughter and cat-calls audible from their diminutive forms. Sarah was reluctant to let go, wondering what would change when he found out the meaning of their rings. She really and truly hoped that she hadn't done anything wrong. She had just gotten used to the idea of him in her life, the idea that maybe, villain though he was, there might be more to him.

She wanted to keep him. The admission made her break away with a small smile. "Goodnight Jareth."

Torn from the dream, Jareth shot upright in his bed. He still felt the pull of her, fast asleep in the next room. She was dreaming, and thinking of him. It was a temptation he had to avoid, at least until he knew what in the seventh Fey Ring was going on.

"Galen! Father, I need to speak with you."

It was a few moments before the member of the High Council appeared, immaculate in his appearance, and seeming quite bored. "You bellowed, Jareth?"

"What is the meaning of this?" He gestured to his own ring, one he knew very well he hadn't been wearing when he stepped through the veil, let alone the other day when he had been working on the roof. It was the ring that announced his station, one that held no real meaning here in the Aboveground.

"You were taking too long. The veil is being toyed with, and if you aren't back in our realm with your bride in tow within the week there will be no way to guarantee that either of you will pass through again. Someone is toying with the very fabric that makes up our worlds, and the veil is defending itself the only way it knows how. We are separating from the mortal realm entirely."

"So I have less than a week to convince her to love me, marry me, and be my queen? Why was I not told--"

"Ah yes, about that. You're sure she is the one you want, son?" Galen looked oddly paternal in that instant, and Jareth was vastly dismayed. He hadn't seen that expression since his mother had died.

"Sarah is the only one for me, Father. I would not have come here if I wasn't sure."

"Oh, very good then." Galen smiled, prepared to leave. "It would have been disastrous to bind you in marriage to a mortal you didn't truly wish to keep."

"We aren't married, Galen." There was warning in that tone, and question, in one.

"No, not legally, not yet. It hasn't been consummated. But the High Council decided to give you a gift to speed things on their way. There are documents in the mortal world, should you look for them. You're wed, my boy. Should I extend congratulations now, in case you cannot return to the Underground in time, or shall I wait until it is made official?" Galen brushed at the pocket of his long green tunic, awaiting a reaction. He got one.

Jareth sprang out of his bed, intent on murder. So the High Council had wed them, huh? And how was he supposed to explain this to Sarah, who was only now coming to terms with their past? She still hadn't decided whether or not she was coming with him!

Before he could wrap his hands around Galen's throat however, the older Fey simply blinked out of existence. Alone in the silence of the night, Jareth inspected his ring. "Some gift…" It would be a miracle if Sarah didn't kill him when he told her.

Author's Note:

*Precious one

This chapter gave me some problems. In fact I edited it four times, trying to get it to sit right. I hope it doesn't seem too rushed to any of you, and I would love some input. If you have any questions about the rings, or anything else, please let me know so I can clarify it next chapter.

I'm sorry for the delay, I wrote this a while ago and would have posted it yesterday, but the site wasn't letting me... *sigh* oh well... sorry for the wait.

Thank you for reading,

-Chaotic Reverie