Hey, here's the next chapter. Please let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, added etc...I love you all! This was just a filler, to build an atmosphere...but don't dismiss it!

Enjoy. FY.A xxx

The rhythm breathing of deep dreams was all that could be heard. In his sleep, Jareth rolled onto his stomach, his arm snaking unconsciously across the bed so that his hand rested lightly on Sarah's swollen stomach. Immediately her restlessness passed and she slipped once more into dreams. Jareth's eyes flickered beneath his lids as images of life, distorted by sleep swept through his mind. Softly, the wind rattled at the window pane, a leaf of climbing ivy brushing the sill in a steady swish swash, like the deep breathing of a dreamer. The clock on the mantle piece clicked on another minute in its steady, thirteen stop circle as the last ember flickered and died in the grate. The wind rattled the pane again, a chill draft creeping into the room. In the bed, Jareth rolled over again, unconsciously moving closer to Sarah, sharing his body heat with her. The light grew dimmer as a cloud past across the face of the Underground moon. The wind blew again and Jareth's eyes opened.

Jareth awoke with the strong impression that something had disturbed him. He glanced over at Sarah where she lay, her breathing undisturbed and her hand holding the swell of her sons. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece and the wind was blowing gently. Jareth lay back and listened to the sound of his kingdom breathing. And then, with the wind, came the voice in his mind.

"Jareth. Awaken."

Silently, Jareth rose from the bed, glancing back at Sarah to ensure she remained asleep. He crossed to the window, shivering in a cold he never usually felt.

"I am awake," he replied.

"Then listen," sighed the voice.

Transfixed, Jareth stood, leaning his hands on the window sill and staring out into the darkness. At first he could hear nothing but the wind, and the ticking of the clock, the whir of its mechanism as it slowly began to strike thirteen. And then, as the last chime echoed into stillness, on the wind came sound of singing. Not the sweet, lulling sound of the meadow mourners but taunting, like a child's nursery rhyme sung from spite, one such that he might have sung with Phoenix, but never like this. And as it went on the menace seemed to grow, until Jareth could feel eyes on the bare skin of his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Over in the meadow,
In the sand in the sun
Lived an old mother toadie
And her little toadie one
"Wink!" said the mother;
"I wink!" said the one,
So they winked and they blinked
In the sand in the sun

Over in the meadow,
Where the stream runs blue
Lived an old mother fish
And her little fishes two
"Swim!" said the mother;
"We swim!" said the two,
So they swam and they leaped
Where the stream runs blue

Over in the meadow,
In a hole in a tree
Lived an old mother bluebird
And her little birdies three
"Sing!" said the mother;
"We sing!" said the three
So they sang and were glad
In a hole in the tree

Over in the meadow,
In the reeds on the shore
Lived an old mother muskrat
And her little ratties four
"Dive!" said the mother;
"We dive!" said the four
So they dived and they burrowed
In the reeds on the shore

Over in the meadow,
In a snug beehive
Lived a mother honey bee
And her little bees five
"Buzz!" said the mother;
"We buzz!" said the five
So they buzzed and they hummed
In the snug beehive

Over in the meadow,
In a nest built of sticks
Lived a black mother crow
And her little crows six
"Caw!" said the mother;
"We caw!" said the six
So they cawed and they called
In their nest built of sticks

Over in the meadow,
Where the grass is so even
Lived a gay mother cricket
And her little crickets seven
"Chirp!" said the mother;
"We chirp!" said the seven
So they chirped cheery notes
In the grass soft and even

Over in the meadow,
By the old mossy gate
Lived a brown mother lizard
And her little lizards eight
"Bask!" said the mother;
"We bask!" said the eight
So they basked in the sun
On the old mossy gate

Over in the meadow,
Where the quiet pools shine
Lived a green mother frog
And her little froggies nine
"Croak!" said the mother;
"We croak!" said the nine
So they croaked and they splashed
Where the quiet pools shine

Over in the meadow,
In a sly little den
Lived a gray mother spider
And her little spiders ten
"Spin!" said the mother;
"We spin!" said the ten
So they spun lacy webs
In their sly little den

The singing dissolved into laughter.

The spiders. Chill finger tips traced blood trickles on Jareth's back. The meadow. The spiders. How many? Ten. No, eleven if you counted the mother. But they were gone. But so was she, a voice said in his mind, and you brought her back.

"What does it mean?" Jareth sought with his mind but in the silence of the night all he heard was Pan's gentle sleep breathing, as the Labyrinth loved around him.

And in the morning, it seemed little more than a fast fading dream.