Hey! Here is the next chapter. Please stick with me on this one! I love you all. Oh yeah, and please review if you have time.

FY.A xxx

Jareth held Nathaniel even tighter against his chest, relishing the bite of pain caused by the pressure on his open wound. He shut his eyes tight against the world that had corrupted his existence. He concentrated on breathing. On not shaking. On holding on to his son so tightly that he could feel Nathaniel's heart beating against his own chest. Jareth buried his lips in the thick blond hair that crowned Nathaniel's head, breathing in a deep, shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of his son.

After what seemed like an age he drew back slightly, his hands resting on Nathaniel's shoulders. The boy's handsome face was streaked with mud and blood, streaking his pallid countenance with stripes where sweat or tears had wiped the grime. Jareth stared down at his son until, reluctantly, Nathaniel brought his gaze to meet that of his father. Looking down into his son's eyes, Jareth felt another lurch of pain in the depths of his stomach. The eyes that stared back at him were no longer the eyes of a twelve year old boy, no longer held a sparkle of mischief. They were no longer the widow to a soul. Instead, looking out of the eyes of Jareth's young son was a fully grown man. A man, who had seen too much, knew too much. And behind the eyes, it was like looking into a brick wall. And what pained Jareth the most was that he had seen those eyes before. Seen them when he looked in the mirror after his father's death. He remembered, as he had splashed his face with cold water the image of his father's head atop the javelin had been printed on the inside of his eyelids, and when he had raised his head, the water running down his face and neck, sending shivers of cold through him as it trickled beneath his shirt, the same, deadened eyes had looked back at him and he had no longer recognised himself.

"Nath," Jareth whispered, "where is he?"

Nathaniel made no move, just stared back at Jareth, expressionless, for what seemed like an age. The, his eyes flickered across to the darkened edge of the tomb, partially hidden by the ledge on which Pan lay. His eyes flicked back to Jareth's. Jareth squeezed his shoulders gently and inclined his head before rising to his feet. Nathaniel curled back into a ball, his vacant eyes following Jareth's movements.

Slowly, Jareth approached the darkened corner, reluctant eyes taking in the impossibly small bundle that lay there. Gently, he crouched down, turning his hand so that a small crystal appeared between his fingers, blowing it into the air to hover dimly over the small body. Rath's eyes were closed, his hair pushed back from his forehead, the white streak matching the bloodless pallor of his white cheeks. One of his hands lay across his chest, covering the place where the sword tip had appeared, the other hand was outstretched at his side, fingers slightly curled as though he had fallen asleep holding hands with a person who had then quietly left. Around him, making the stone flags of the floor sticky was a pool of jet blood. But it was the expression on his face that stopped Jareth's breath and released the tears. Rath's grey, bloodless lips were smiling.

Jareth reached out a trembling hand and traced the line of Rath's jaw. His skin was cooling rapidly and felt waxy to the touch. Jareth interlaced his fingers with those of Rath's outstretched hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each finger individually. A movement behind him broke his reverie as Nathaniel knelt down beside him. Tenderly Jareth placed Rath's hand over his other one so that it too rested on his chest. He slipped his arm round Nathaniel's narrow shoulders and held him against his side as they both looked down at Rath.

For a long time they knelt at Rath's side and as they did so Jareth began to feel a change. The clinging cold of the tomb began to fade as tendrils of warmth wrapped round his body like the arms of a lover. The warm breath stroked down his chest, soothing the throb of his wound and the ache of his heart. Tender lips kissed away his tears and a thin shaft of sunlight slid through the broken doorway of the tomb.

The Labyrinth had come out of hiding.

The soul of the crept from Pan's mouth where she had hidden when Time came to destroy her. Silently she crept up behind the kneeling figure of her friend and wrapped her arms round him, breathing warmth into his cold limbs. Unconsciously, Jareth rocked back into her embrace as she trailed her fingers down his chest.

"Jareth," she whispered in his ear, "Jareth, let him go."

Carefully, Jareth leant forward and placed a tender kiss on Rath's forehead. For some reason he now knew without a shadow of a doubt that Rath was gone, and that it was meant to be. He was happy where he was and so no-one could bring him back. And Jareth realised this with a dull, aching acceptance.

"We need to release him Nath. He needs to be set free."

At Jareth's soft words Nathaniel twisted to look up into his father's face, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he shook his head vigorously.

"Come Nathaniel, let him be free. You can do it."

Jareth held Nathaniel's shoulders and looked down into his son's eyes. Nathaniel made no response.

"Shall we do it together?" Jareth asked gently.

Slowly, Nathaniel nodded his head. Jareth moved carefully so that he knelt behind Nathaniel, wrapping his left arm round the boy's small waist and holding him gently. Nathaniel seemed to have stopped shaking. Jareth laid the palm of his right hand across the back of Nathaniel's and interlaced their fingers. Slowly he stretched out both their arms so that their hands hovered over Rath's still body. Jareth closed his eyes and concentrated on sending the warmth and love that emanated from the ache in his chest down into the tips of his fingers, feeling it grow in size and heat as his love and loss combined with Nathaniel's to form a glowing crystal ball. Jareth turned their hands so that the crystal sat in their upturned palms, its pure whiteness growing brighter until it flashed and the light was gone. Inside the crystal, turning slowly with the wisps of mist that clouded the glass, was a small figure.

Rath's hair was clean and brushed, his bright blue eyes full of light as he looked at something only he could see. His clothes were clean and fine and one his face was a beautiful smile that spoke of happiness, contentment and excitement.

On the stone floor, Rath's wounds closed, leaving in their place jagged silvery scars. Carefully, Jareth disengaged his hand from Nathaniel's and rolled the crystal up to his finger tips. Together, father and son blew gently, and the crystal began to rise slowly, disappearing through the stone of the tomb roof to join the countless other stars of the Underground night.

Jareth closed his eyes and pressed his medallion against his chest. "Good luck," he whispered, almost under his breath. Nathaniel just knelt in his arms, staring up at the ceiling until Jareth gently disengaged himself and lifted the boy carefully to his feet, where he swayed uncertainly for a few seconds. Jareth raised his right hand again, hovering it over Rath's body and at once his clothes changed. Some people would have looked askance at Jareth's choice but to Jareth's mind only this was fitting to Rath. Instead of his fine court clothes Rath was now wearing his simple, loose fitting tunic and soft breaches, the clothes he could run, and play and smile in. Nathaniel slipped his hand into Jareth's and squeezed it gently. Jareth looked down at his son, crouching so that he could look into the boy's eyes.

"Nath," he said gently, "we need to move him." Jareth raised his hand gently as he saw the panic in Nathaniel's eyes. "We have to. I...I," Jareth's voice broke, "I can't leave my son lying on the stone floor."

Nathaniel's eyes slid away from Jareth's, but not before Jareth had seen the heart wrenching pain that filled them. Nathaniel shook Jareth's hands from his shoulders and crossed to where Rath lay. He knelt down and looked at his brother, reaching out a hand to tough his finger tips to Rath's. He ran his fingers down the groove that led from nose to lip, touching the tip of Rath's nose before running his hands through his brother's thick hair and smoothing it back to its mussed over the eyes state in which Rath liked it. Slowly, he leant forward and kissed Rath's forehead gently. Nathaniel pushed himself back to his feet.

"Ok?" Jareth asked, glad his voice still sounded steady despite the lump tearing at his throat at the sight of one of his sons saying goodbye to the other. Nathaniel nodded his head and Jareth crossed to where Rath lay, slipping a hand beneath his shoulders, and the other beneath his knees. It would have felt wrong to use magic. Rath felt unbearably light, as though his body was merely an imagination, not substantial enough to really be there. Too young to be gone.

As Jareth lifted Rath from the floor his head lolled back, exposing the tender white skin of his neck. Incredibly vulnerable. Jareth shifted his arm slightly so that Rath's head was supported. He stared down into his son's face. When he spoke his voice sounded steel edged with the effort not to break down.

"Nath...I...I don't know what to do...what to do for the best." Nath stared up at his father. "Should we...should we...take him home?"

Nath looked at him silently for perhaps a few more seconds, and then slowly shook his head, stepping forward to lightly brush the bridge of Rath's nose with his finger tip.

"I think you are right...your mother..." Jareth looked round him, pulling Rath closer to his body as though trying to squeeze the life back into him. "Rath," he whispered into the boy's ear, "Rath, where would you like to be?"

Nathaniel leant his cheek against his brother's cold forehead and shut his eyes, reaching out a hand to thread his fingers through Rath's. He opened his eyes and looked up at Jareth before carefully replacing Rath's hand on his chest. Turning, he crossed to where Pan lay and gingerly stretched out his hand. Struggling under the weight of the muscle, he moved Pan's hand off his chest, opening his arm at his side. He looked back at his father and a spark of understanding flew between them. Tenderly, Jareth carried Rath to where Pan lay and placed the small body at the side of Creation's Servant, pillowing his head on the strong upper arm, and laying Pan's hand on Rath's stomach. He stepped back.

Rath lay in the position that he had so often fallen asleep in; although before this it had always been Jareth's arm that wrapped round him. Jareth's eyes filled with tears once more and he took another step back, holding out his hand to Nathaniel. Together, they turned slowly and made their way to the door of the tomb. In the entryway, Jareth turned once more.

"Look after him," he whispered, and his voice broke, the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Quickly, so that he couldn't change his mind, he placed his free hand against the broken seal, healing the cracks so that it once more protected those who lay within.

Gripping Nathaniel's hand tightly he turned slightly on the spot, and father and son vanished from the meadow of graves, leaving behind them only silence and tears.