Thank you.

Those two words were my existence for a while, a gloriously warm and dark while. Past ills and aches, the pains of a dying body, felt distant indeed—thank you—and the horrible pain of wanting and desire was reduced—thank you—but I didn't know who I was or why I'd felt that way. Instead I could curl up in this strange half-existence and I knew it was a relief. Thank you.

My mind unfurled slowly. My name was Sarah Williams. I was 18. I remembered what I looked like: long, dark brunette hair and green eyes. But then I felt it underneath me, my hair, as I apparently laid on it. When I twisted closer into myself, it got caught underneath me and tugged on my scalp.

I did not like that idea. If I felt it I had a physical form and if I had a physical form it would seem strange to hide in this weird space forever, a space where I could forget myself and everyone could forget about me, like an oubliette.

Oh.

Everything snapped back at once, and I gasped hard into consciousness. So much for unfurling slowly.

The first thing that struck me was how easily I could sit up. For a long time, even that had been a struggle, but my flesh looked fuller, the muscles rebuilt. I wore a simple, plain dress, more akin to a hospital gown. It fit the room, what looked like an infirmary, with clean white walls and bright sunlight. My hands pushed at the mattress, which cradled me well. No ordinary hospital mattress, but I was grateful.

The door opened then, and the Goblin King—no, Jareth now—approached me. He was dressed simply, and without gloves, oddly enough. "Hello," he said, staying back. "I am glad to see you're awake. Do you..." He shifted his weight to his other foot. Nervousness didn't suit him. "Do you remember anything?"

"Everything up to the part where I died, if that's what you mean."

"A relief. I feared you might forget during the transition." He did approach then, sitting on the bed across from me. "How are you feeling?"

"Much, much better, thank you."

"That will be the magic, I expect."

Magic. I had magic. "How did it, uh...get into me, I guess?" I gestured awkwardly to myself.

"If you'll allow me to continue my chemistry comparisons, magic diffuses. You needed magic, but there is none of it Above. Here, the very essence of the Underground is magic, so it simply flows into you. High concentration to low concentration." He reached for my arm and wrapped his cool, smooth fingers around it. It was the first time our flesh had ever been in contact, and the slight gnawing I still felt turned into a singing note of satisfaction and desire. I made a sound of such unfettered pleasure and relief and I yanked my arm away immediately, embarrassed, trying to look anywhere but his face. "My magic," he explained, and I was relieved to hear no amusement in his tone. "The gloves usually form a barrier."

I looked down at my hands and tried very hard to focus—make a crystal, make a crystal—but instead I made a strange, lopsided bubble of a thing that shattered as soon as it appeared. He laughed, and I glanced up at his face, but it was so genuine—no mockery. I smiled, too, brushing away the crumbs of the thing. "Guess I've got a ways to go," I said dryly.

"I'm afraid so. But you have a long time to learn, and I will help you."

There was silence for a moment, but from the look on his face, I could tell he was waiting. "I...I really need to know why you offered that proposal to me at the end of my run."

He straigtened—pulled away from me, I noted a bit wryly. "Then you'd have been my queen, and you wouldn't have to deal with the waiting, the pull of the Labyrinth. You could have left and returned when you were ready."

"And Toby?"

"I'd have sent Toby back if you'd accepted."

I stared, just to make sure he wasn't joking. Again, though, his face was totally serious, and the longer I looked, the worse I felt, until tears were spilling down my face.

"I'm..." Hand shaking, I pressed it to my forehead so he couldn't see me crying. "I am so impossibly angry right now. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You had seconds left. You were focused on winning."

"You could have paused time. Or maybe you were too exhausted," I spat, and he stiffened.

"I never really know how to act around you, Sarah," he mused. "You tried so hard during your run to be brave, and I thought, 'Good. If she's brave, she can handle more.' But you trusted—you ate the peach—and I realized that we weren't playing the same game. A fae would have sensed the trick. And you were scared."

I burned with embarrassment that I was certain was clear to him—everything else was, apparently. "I was young and it was foreign."

"I know," he assured me. "So I've realized that if I ever hope to have a friendship with you, I must play by human rules. Otherwise we'll keep creating these frustrating, ugly memories. Eventually, perhaps, you'll understand the fae perspective, but until then I won't assume you do. It isn't fair to you. I understand humans far better than you understand fae. I've had centuries. You haven't had two decades yet."

Maybe it was his words or his tone, or the way he hadn't laughed at me yet, but I felt I could believe him. "Did you just say 'it isn't fair'?"

He glowered at me for a moment, but I couldn't hold the act and smiled at him. It surprised me to see how quickly his face smoothed into bemusement, then amusement. "Why, yes, Sarah. Just this once."

I bit my lip. "I appreciate you being so honest with me. And considerate. I'd very much like to reciprocate. But could I...could I undo it now? Could I be the queen? I'm sure you don't want that," I added hastily, seeing the owlish tilt of his head, "but could I go back Above?"

He was quiet. I was trying so hard to learn his silences, his expressions, and this one spoke of trying to determine how much to tell me. "I'm afraid that you can't," he said carefully. "The moment you won, you became the Champion. That can never be undone."

"And the queen?"

For a moment his face was hard, impassive, but it seemed to crack and he told me, voice dripping regret, "You can't be the queen."

Our eyes were caught on each other's and I felt my breaths, watched him breathe, like we were sharing the air. Inhale, exhale, push, pull. Like the ocean, his mood receded, and he continued on with calm. "No kingdom in the Underground has equal rule. There is always a ruler born to it, and their consort, eventually. The consort has little to no power. Oh, they can command the castle, its everyday workings, but they have no real say in the politics."

"Are they all women?"

"No," he assured me. "If I were a woman, the king would be my consort."

I couldn't help but smirk, thinking somehow of Jareth in a dress that showed far too much cleavage to be decent. "Hey," he said sharply. "I am telling you the truth of rule here. Take it seriously, won't you?"

"Yes, sorry." I composed my face again. "So where's the threat?"

"The Champion shares the magic of the ruler."

"I thought you said we shared power. Although...they're the same thing, I suppose."

"Essentially, yes. So if ever we were to be married, you wouldn't relinquish that—you'd be a queen with real power instead of a consort. And that would make our kingdom very, very powerful indeed. Other kingdoms wouldn't like it."

"They'd only have to fear us if we went crazy." I watched him carefully, and had he been a lesser man, a less elegant one, he might have shifted uncomfortably. Instead, the answer came from the way he met my eyes. "Wow. Do fae rulers go crazy often?"

"That depends on how you define often. Our longevity works for us and against us, I suppose. Some rulers don't know when they should step down. And some rulers simply can't, depending on who might succeed them."

"Are succession laws that complex?"

"No—quite simple, in fact. Rule goes to the child of the current ruler or, failing that, the ruler's next youngest sibling. There have been infant rulers, and then of course there is the matter of who the regent will be, if they are fit for the job..." He shook his head, hair moving gently. "But the point stands. If we have two equal rulers, we will have more power than other kingdoms, and it will make other rulers uncomfortable. They might argue that we are a threat—even if we haven't done anything wrong—and they might try to depose us or, worse, attack. And I cannot allow that. My subjects would suffer greatly."

"Well, I'll try not to marry you without looking," I joked.

There it was again: that hard look of something like despondence. "For any other female fae, it would be different. She'd have to prove herself first. You've already proven yourself by defeating the Labyrinth, so consummation would be the equivalent of a marriage. So we simply cannot."

He was saying...oh. I couldn't lie and say I'd never considered it. Everything about him was sensuality: elegant movements; teasing, knowing smirks that bored into me; and perfectly-tailored clothes that outlined every lithe line of his body. The way I'd felt when he touched me a moment ago, our magic meeting, only intensified the thought. He'd been a harbinger of something terrible and enormous for me—always had been—but even the angel of death was an angel.

Still, maybe he'd looked at me that way—maybe there had been a glance, maybe there hadn't—and if what he said was true, then his disappointment at my rejection of his proposal was simply concern for his kingdom. I couldn't show my hand first, not this early in the game. "Do you think that's a real concern for us, Goblin King?" I asked coolly.

He smirked. "Fae can sense arousal on other people, so I suppose we'll find out, Champion."

"I want something from you, then, in the interest of leveling the field."

"Oh?"

"I want you to promise or swear, whatever means more, that you'll never use a spell on me without my permission."

"Quite a demand, precious."

Precious. He'd called me that when I was dying Above, but I hadn't given any thought to it at the time. In the quiet infirmary, it sounded even stranger. "I think it's reasonable. I'll swear the same to you."

Jareth considered it for a moment, then said, voice serious, "I swear to never use a spell on you without your permission."

"How can I believe that?"

"We'll use a blood seal. It's one of the most solemn vows in our kingdom." He flicked a piece of parchment into existence and pricked his finger on a pin that appeared from nowhere, then pressed the drop of his inky blood to the page. He handed both to me. The page read, in scrawled black handwriting, the promise he'd made. The smudge of blood was above a note that read Jareth, King of the Goblins. I impaled my fingertip as well, hissing at the pain, then marked above the line reading Sarah Williams, Champion of the Labyrinth. The red next to the black looked quite macabre, but official.

"There. I think that settles it." He stood to leave. "There's a lavatory through there, and I've left you some books on the kingdom, in case you cannot sleep."

"Thank you."

He smiled at me briefly, then turned fluidly. I watched him leave without thinking about it, and when he reached the door, he called back, "And you're mistaken, precious. I'd very much enjoy you being queen."

The subtle emphasis on enjoy you made my whole body feel like it was flushing, and I was grateful when he left a moment later. It saved me from being proven wrong.

A few notes:

First, thanks to everyone who reviews and follows. It means a lot to me, truly.

I have had a few reviewers remark that they didn't really understand Jareth's characterization here. I hope this chapter clears things up. One of the great things about Labyrinth, of course, is the endless array of things we can plug in that still somehow feel true to the work, and while not every Jareth I write is so considerate, I want this one to be fair (yes, fair).

Also, everyone loves sexual tension, right?

Right?