Ok, so here is the next chapter, which should hopefully clear up some of the points which have been quite confusing...although Jareth still has a little explaining to do when he gets back.
Please let me know what you think...I love your comments.
Lots of love
FY.A xxx
Nathaniel leant his back against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes against the brightness of the sun. Its heat beat down on his pale face and his fingers fisted in the short grass as he rested against the castle wall. A slow smile crept across his face as he listened to the voices nearby, voices that didn't know he could hear them. Didn't know he was eavesdropping as he sat behind an outcrop of the masonry. His smile grew slightly wider as the tone of the voices changed and slowly Nathaniel's hand crept out to squeeze Rath's, sharing the joke. But it encountered...nothing. Nathaniel's eyes snapped open and he looked to his left, his eyes filling with pain as he regarded the place that he had so palpably felt his brother occupy. It was empty. Nothing more than a phantom limb. A part of one's self that is gone but still itches. An itch that can never be scratched. The sun felt suddenly colder.
Nathaniel crossed one leg over the other, standing and turning at the same time so that he faced the stone wall. He drew back his right arm, punching his fist as hard as he could into the unyielding rock. Black blood oozed from his knuckles and a delicious ache spread up his arm. He smiled slightly as the first drop of blood hit the grass. He was still in control.
Whirling round he strode out from his refuge and onto the main castle lawn. The voices to which he had been listening to stopped abruptly as Toby placed his finger to his lips. Phoenix whirled round, the sunlight catching in her blond hair.
"Nath! You startled me. I had wondered where you were...what happened to your hand?"
Nathaniel shrugged his shoulders, staring out across the lake. He flexed his fingers, smiling as a sharp stab of pain shot up his arm once more. Maybe he'd broken something? He hoped so. He turned, about to walk away. Toby, who had been regarding him thoughtfully, reached out and grabbed his upper arm, forcing him to turn back and face them.
"Did you do that?" Nathaniel still hadn't got used to hearing his mother's accent spoken in a male voice and his lips twitched. He stared stonily up at Toby, meeting the older boy's gaze in a cool, unblinking stare. Nathaniel shrugged his arm free and strode off towards the lake.
"He still hasn't spoken?" Toby's voice was soft as he turned back towards Phoenix.
The girl shook her head, her eyes following her younger brother. "I miss them Toby. B...both of them."
"But Nathaniel's still here?"
The unspoken 'but Rath is not' hung between them for a few seconds before Phoenix shook her head.
"N...not like he was," she whispered.
As the tears started in her eyes Toby took a step forward and wrapped her in his arms. Immediately she stiffened, as though fighting the urge to shove him as far from her as she could. But she did not. And then she was a little girl again, wiping her eyes against the material of his T-shirt as she snuffled against his chest. Her thumb crept into her mouth. Toby stared down at the blond hair that crowned her head. Smooth and silky. He lowered his head so that he could speak into her ear.
"Don't worry Phoenix. Your father will mend his hand when he gets back."
"I...It's not his hand I'm worried about..." Phoenix sniffed.
"I know," whispered Toby. On impulse, he dropped a kiss on top of her head. She froze and pushed back, staring up at him. "Sorry," he muttered, looking away. "Shall we walk?"
Phoenix stared at him for a few more seconds before taking the arm he offered her. The pair followed Nathaniel across the lawn towards the lake, Toby strolling easily, Phoenix walking a little stiffly as though the actions caused her some sort of discomfort.
"Best to keep an eye on him anyway. At least until Sarah comes down. Or Jareth gets back," he muttered, as though to himself.
"Mmm," Phoenix seemed to agree. "Mummy was very tired, I don't think she and Daddy have slept much these last few nights."
Toby looked down at her in surprise. Phoenix could come across as a very young child at times and it was always startling to see how much she actually was aware of. Toby reminded himself that she was the same age now as Sarah had been when she first met Jareth. And defeated him.
"Where is Daddy anyway?" Phoenix asked, startling Toby out of his reverie.
"I'm not sure," he answered honestly, "he was gone when I got up."
Jareth stood, waist deep in the pool beneath the pounding waterfall, his head bowed forward as the torrent pummelled his back. His arms were held slightly away from his sides, tensed as he took the beating the water had to offer him. His naked skin as covered in goose bumps but he gritted his teeth, his eyes tight shut as unbidden images of other warm days in this garden, happy days, taunted him in his mind.
He saw himself as a boy, his laughing father telling him he had to learn to swim. Heard his loud protests as he was picked up and thrown into the icy water. His cry of triumph as he found that swimming was easy, fun. And Raemon's cry of protest that you were supposed to swim in the water, not lie on top of it, sinking down a little as though on a feather mattress. He saw himself landing and folding his wings, his expression angered, turning to interest, his frame trembling with exhilaration following his first meeting with Sarah. Running to the summerhouse to compare the likeness in the picture. And then himself pinning Sarah to a tree, making passionate love to her. Her eyes full of happiness and desire. Only for him. Their laughs and shouts. That brilliant day. And Nathaniel, standing over Didymus, Rath scrambling from the water. Rath. Rath catching the soaked Nathaniel after he had fallen in the lake. Rath naked, his pyjama bottoms on his head, claiming he was Herne. Rath, the smile frozen on his face as he turned, the sword hilt protruding from his back, the tip from his chest. Rath, his eyes glazing as the song died on his lips. Sleep in sweet repose.
"NO!" Jareth's voice echoed round the secret garden, startling a pair of rooks who flew upward into the sky cawing indignantly. Jareth let his knees give way under the weight of the water, allowing the torrent to push him beneath the surface, spinning his body done to the riverbed. He opened his eyes to the greeny light of underwater, stretching out his arms and took two strong pulls, propelling himself out from under the waterfall into the middle of the pool. He rolled onto his back, letting a few bubbles escape from between his lips as he stared up into the sunlight, refracted by the ripples on the water's surface.
A face stared down into the pool. A face surrounded by a shock of unruly dark hair. Looking right at him. Jareth blinked. The face was still there, distorted just as was the sunlight.
Jareth kicked off from the pebbly bottom, exploding through the surface of the water and scraping his hair back from his face. The light caught on the droplets in his eyelashes and he blinked them away, turning towards the place he had seen the face, still waist deep in the water.
Rath stared back at him. Pale and unmoving.
Jareth gaped, his mouth opening to emit some exclamation but he thought better of it, and closed it just in time. He ran his hand over his hair again.
"But...but you're dead," he managed finally. "The sword..." Jareth gestured to his own bare chest.
Rath nodded, pulling open the front of his tunic to reveal the silver white scar on his chest.
"But then..." Jareth stopped as Rath shook his head. And then Rath smiled, a radiant smile that lit up the garden and filled Jareth's heart with joy. And with sorrow. For with the warmth came the realisation that this Rath was not really here. Not real. Jareth smiled gently back at the figure of his son. Rath reached out his small hand towards Jareth, as though offering him to take it. Jareth walked out of the water, noticing as he did so that he was now wearing his breeches, and that he was no longer cold.
Rath smiled and turned away, setting off across the secret garden. Silently, Jareth followed. Rath led him on, threading his way through the trees that bordered the garden, coming silently to the thicket of rose bushes that marked the centre of the copse. Without pausing, Rath walked straight through the twisting vines, Jareth struggling to keep up as the thorns caught at his naked chest, until they reached a small circular clearing of green grass, completely hidden within the hedge of rose bushes. The roses were the same deep red as those that had fallen on Pan's grave. Those conjured by Rath himself. Rath turned to Jareth, once more smiling his radiant smile, and slowly faded from view.
Jareth stood, staring at the point where his son had vanished, feeling bereft all over again. He was about to turn and push his way back through the roses, wondering why Rath had led him here, when a movement off to his left caught his eye. He turned back.
A beautiful woman stood against the backdrop of rose stems. Her hair was black and held away from her face by a deep purple ribbon. Her skin was dark too, Indian, Sarah would have called it, and smooth. Her dark lashes framed eyes of the deepest hazelnut brown and her teeth, where they showed between her slightly parted lips were pearly white. From her shoulders hung a beautiful toga, a sari, in deep reds and oranges with flashes of the same purple as the ribbon. Her feet were bare.
She stood, motionless, at the edge of the thicket watching Jareth as he watched her. Jareth cleared his throat, conscious of his half nakedness.
"Who...who are you?" His voice sounded like that of a nervous boy.
The woman smiled at him. Slowly, she crossed the clearing to where he stood, frozen, his chest rising and falling rapidly. She stretched out an elegant hand, on which was set a ring mounted with a deep purple stone, and lightly cupped the side of his face. Jareth shut his eyes and leant into her touch, the pain of the last few days ebbing away as she caressed him. She brought her lips to his ear.
"I am Selene. Daughter of Luna and keeper of the stars. I am the life of the heavens and the soul of the Underground. I am Pan's wife. I am...Pan's Labyrinth." Her breath on his face was the gentle summer breeze.
Jareth didn't open his eyes. "Am I dreaming?"
"Yes," she breathed and her hand caught Jareth's placing it on her chest, just above her left breast. "Is this not the beat you felt in the air and in the soil when you touched Pan thus?"
Jareth nodded his head, the movement bringing his forehead into contact with hers. Neither pulled away.
"And is this not the breath you felt in the breeze on that day?" she asked, blowing lightly across Jareth's lips.
"Yes," he breathed, his voice coming out like a hiss.
"And is this not the love and protection I have given you since your birth, when I first wrapped my arms around you?" she whispered, before gently pressing her lips to Jareth's.
Her lips were warm and soft against his and her heady scent of life and love, and roses filled his senses. Jareth's head began to spin and as she pulled back he dropped to his knees, his mind reeling.
"Why are you here?" he asked haltingly.
She rested her hand on his shoulder, stepping round him and bending down to speak into his ear from behind.
"I have something to show you."
Sarah lay in bed, asleep properly for the first time since Rath's death. At first it had been the grief that kept her awake, and then, as the tiredness had overwhelmed and she dropped into fitful dozes, it had been Jareth's unrest and twitchiness. His inability to lie still. His moaning in his sleep. And Nathaniel's cries from down the corridor.
But now she lay deeply asleep as she had been longing for, her eyes flickering back and forth as she dreamt. Hoggle was wearing a tutu at Christmas and she and Jareth were laughing as he cavorted round the Christmas tree with a toddler Phoenix in his arms. She rolled over in her sleep as the dream changed into something involving a chicken, a goblin and one of Jareth's dressing gowns. In the dream none of it seemed odd, but had Sarah been awake she would have laughed at the absurdity of her subconscious. She shifted slightly, so that the sun arrowing through the open window no longer fell on her closed eyelids, and as she did so, the dream shifted yet again.
She was walking through the grounds, carrying a sleeping Rath on her back. His weight was firm and reassuring. His thumb was in his mouth, his soft cheek resting on her shoulder. After walking on for a while Sarah came to the edge of the meadow of graves, and slowly began to pick her way through to the centre. As she had expected, the stone seal of Pan's tomb lay to one side and she went in, laying her sleeping son next to the body of Creation's servant so that he could sleep soundly. Rath murmured and rolled over as she looked at him. His face smooth and peaceful as he dreamt of a lake on which swam a regal white bird. Gently, Sarah stepped away to examine a low ground shrub laden with dark purple berries. She sat down on the banked side of the tomb and looked back at Rath, as he snuffled, rolling over, his thumb still firmly in his mouth. She smiled languidly.
Far off, a bird called and she turned her head towards the gentle noise. An idea murmured its way across her mind and she rose, glancing back at the sleeping form of Rath. Carefully she set off towards the sound of the birdsong. As she walked the air grew colder, the ground rising in front of her as tendrils of mist began to swirl round her ankles. She turned, wanting to return to the mound where she had left Rath, but the mist was thick and she could not see the path which she had followed up. She stumbled blindly on, searching in the fog and calling out, hoping to hear Rath's cry when he woke and realised he was alone.
And then, all at once as the ground levelled out the realisation hit her. She would never find him. He was gone. She had left him alone and now he could never have company. She had left him alone with the dead. She howled out her misery into the mist, clutching her hair and sinking to her knees. But she had to find him. Uncaring of herself she scrambled back to her feet and resumed searching. He must, he had to be here. Maybe if she sang to him, he would sing back. He liked his lullabies, they made him smile. But the words that rose to Sarah's lips were none that she had heard before.
I left my baby lying here,
Lying here, lying here
I left my baby lying here
To go and gather blaeberries.
Hovan, hovan gorry og o,
Gorry og o, gorry o go,
Hovan, hovan gorry o go,
I never found my baby, O!
I saw the swan upon the lake
Upon the lake, upon the lake
I saw the swan upon the lake
But never found my baby, O!
Hovan, hovan gorry og o,
Gorry og o, gorry o go,
Hovan, hovan gorry o go,
I never found my baby, O!
I heard the curlew crying far
Crying far, crying far
I heard the curlew crying far
But never heard my baby, O!
Hovan, hovan gorry og o,
Gorry og o, gorry o go,
Hovan, hovan gorry o go,
I never found my baby, O!
I searched the moorland tarns and then
Wandered through each silent glen
I saw the mist upon the ben
But never saw my baby, O!
Hovan, hovan gorry og o,
Gorry og o, gorry o go,
Hovan, hovan gorry o go,
I never found my baby, O!
Her voice broke, the last "O" turning into a howl of misery directed against the fruitlessness of her search for one she new to be gone. In despair she fell to her knees.
"Never found him, never heard him, never saw. O, my poor baby, O," she wailed wringing her hands, berating herself for the folly of leaving Rath on his own for even a second. He was on his own. Alone and frightened.
"My poor, poor baby," sobbed Sarah in anguish. "Lost, my poor lost baby boy, oh," she buried her face in her hands and began to sob in earnest. Her loss hit her, choking back her tear and stealing her voice.
"Gone," she whispered. "Gone. Never to return. I should never have let him go."
Something grabbed at her arm and she looked up sharply. A hand from the mist. Pale. Holding tightly onto her upper arm. She struggled to free herself and as she did so the other person lurched, off balance from Sarah's sudden jerk. Sarah felt her eyes widen in horror as her hands closed on the forearms of a person she could not see. A ghost.
She gripped the spirit tightly. This was her link to Rath. And she had to know. Would she see Rath again when the stars threw down their spears? Or was he lost in the wilderness, never to be found. Alone. Unloved. Unmourned.
"Will they?" she asked and her breath was cold, furling in clouds into the mist. "Will they?"
And she thought she heard doubt, and uncertainty from the spirit in the mist. She tightened her grip, determined to get her answer. Leaning forward she sought the eyes of the spirit to which she spoke. And then she saw them, just discernable through the mist, bright green like her own. She fixed on them, holding them with were gaze.
"When they come, will the lost souls be forgot?"
The eyes blinked at her and suddenly Sarah was filled with revulsion for the spirit to which she was clinging and she pushed with all her might, the eyes disappearing back into the mist.
In her bed, drenched with sweat and with tears running down her cheeks, Sarah started awake.
Selene knelt down behind Jareth, her arms straying forward over his shoulders onto his bare chest. Jareth leant back into her embrace, his head falling back to rest on her shoulder, his eyes closing as a deep weariness overcame him.
"Many times have a held you like this," Selene spoke into his mind. "I watched you become a man. Ran my hands over your body and kissed the wounds you had along the way. I was in your mind, giving you strength. In your body, giving you power. In your soul, giving you faith. I have been in your magic, giving you dominance. We are good together." The Labyrinth, Selene, nipped the shell of Jareth's ear, her hands splaying across his abdomen. Jareth's senses felt fogged by her presence and he had to fight a need that was the result of abstinence since Rath's death. Rath's death. Sarah.
"You said you had something to show me?" he asked and voice came out harsher than he meant.
"We are great allies, you and I. Powerful, cold, cruel. Yes Jareth, I can be very cruel." And there was a note of warning her voice.
"Please," Jareth begged. "Please show me."
"Very well."
Selene's right hand left Jareth's chest where she had been tracing patterns and she reached into the air, pulling from it a richly decorated sword.
"My lover's sword," Selene whispered. "He wishes to see you."
Jareth felt her rise to her feet behind him, her left hand tightly gripping his shoulder.
And she plunged the sword into his back.
Jareth's eyes flew open and he looked down at his own chest. The tip of the sword protruded, just below his sternum. His eyes wide, his mouth filling with blood, Jareth pitched forward onto the soft grass that carpeted the clearing. Selene watched as he fell, before stepping forward slowly and pulling the sword free from his body. She turned, and as Pan stepped into the copse behind her she handed him back the blade. Pan reached out a large hand to his wife, grasping the sword hilt. As he did so a ripple ran through the thicket.
"Thankyou, my love." His voice rumbled deep through the Underground. He tilted her head up towards his and kissed her gently on the lips. Slowly he pulled back. "I must go. I have a meeting to attend. Stay with him until he wakes." His eyes flickered briefly to the prone figure of Jareth before he turned, fading from view as he stepped out of the thicket.
Selene turned slowly back to Jareth and lay down beside him, wrapping her arms round. She brought her lips against his and whispered into his mouth, "Listen well, my friend."
She tightened her grip around him before she too faded from view.
Jareth stood once more in the meadow, the clear stream bubbling off to his left. The grass swayed in the gentle breeze and he felt relaxed. Slowly, he turned his head, looking round for the singers that he knew would come. But the meadow was silent. Instead, a solitary figure was walking slowly towards him and as Jareth squinted against the brightness radiating from somewhere behind the figure, he realised who it was.
"Pan," he greeted the arrival, taking a step forward.
"Jareth," the tall fae, Creation's Servant, inclined his head. "Once again it would seem you disturb my peace."
All though the words themselves sounded like a jibe, the tone held no hint of reprimand.
"The Labyrinth, I mean Selene, said you wished to see me," Jareth was not used to being the dominated one in a conversation and was finding it hard to adjust. "Why did you bring me here?"
Pan gave a slow, lazy smile. "Neutral territory." His face suddenly became grave as he stared into Jareth's eyes. "Are you alright?"
"Yes...no..."
"I am sorry for you loss." Jareth did not know what to say, so merely nodded. "I expect though, that you are wondering why?" Pan looked quizzically at Jareth, who stared at the grass and nodded again.
"It's not fair," he burst out suddenly, reminding himself strongly of a fourteen year old Sarah. "I mean...I fulfilled the prophecy didn't I? They were supposed to be gone for good."
Pam smiled again, his expression understanding. "To those of us who lose, the loss is never fair. Had you, or perhaps your ancestors sought the answer, then perhaps you would have known."
"But the prophesy said..."
"Ah, but the prophesy was incomplete. At least," here Pan paused, "your version was. One verse, just one, lost in the mists of time. But it makes all the difference. I think you saw in Nathaniel's mind when they arrived in the graveyard he asked, 'Where are we?' and Selene replied, 'Where you were always meant to be.'?"
Jareth nodded his head. "The prophesy."
Pan inclined his head again. "Indeed.
Jareth felt angry, cheated. "But why didn't you tell me? I would have..."
"What Jareth? Kept your distance? Not become so attached? You could hardly have cherished him more." Pan's tone was gentle and Jareth felt his anger deflate.
"No," Jareth's shoulders sagged and he said almost petulantly, "but I would have known."
"And what? What would that knowledge have made you do. Wrap him in cotton wool so that no harm could come to him? Stopped him from playing, from learning anything that could destroy him? Perhaps you would have told him? Can you imagine what the knowledge would do to child? Could you honestly have looked him in the eye and told him he was going to die? Not peacefully in his sleep...but violently, and knowingly. Could you have done that?"
Slowly Jareth shook his head.
"How was the verse lost?" he asked, trying to move the subject away from Rath before the pressure building in his chest escaped in the form of tears.
"It was only produced once, on the edge of the ledge in my tomb. It fits in before the last verse."
Pan's deep slow voice rumbled through the meadow as he recited the words.
Of two, two more forever loving
Cross dark and light through night and day
Time's tomb sealed shut by sorrow offering
For peace the blameless black shall pay
As Pan finished, Jareth shifted uncomfortably. "Rath."
"Yes," answered Pan. "Of the two, Sarah and you, come twins. One dark and one fair. By the dark one's loss, that is of course Rath, the tomb you created for Time when you banished him will finally be sealed shut."
"The stone box into which Time was sucked?"
"You created it from Time's own force when you defeated him, but you did not seal him inside. To lure him back in order trap him was easy, you accomplished it simply by your happiness. And to finally seal the tomb – that was harder. It required blood."
Jareth took a deep breath. "A sacrifice."
"In a way, yes. And Rath offered himself up."
"He did not," Jareth could feel the anger rising again. "He was fighting."
"He accepted what was happening. He embraced my comfort. He embraced me. And I took him on." Pan gestured with his hand. "Look."
Jareth turned to see what Pan had indicated. The meadow seemed empty. But then, out of the air, stepped Rath, holding tightly onto Pan's hand and Jareth realised that he, and the Pan he stood with, were merely watching a shadow replay of something that had happened before.
Rath looked tiny in comparison to Pan's commanding height and his body was shaking slightly. Jareth desperately wanted to wrap his arms round the scared form of his son, but Pan placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"Just watch," he said. "Look, here they come."
And across the meadow the singers were coming, their voices carrying through the still air.
When "Friendship, Love, and Truth" abound
Among a band of brothers,
The cup of joy goes gaily round,
Each shares the bliss of others.
Sweet roses grace the thorny way
Along this vale of sorrow;
The flowers that shed their leaves to-day
Shall bloom again to-morrow.
How grand in age, how fair in youth,
Are holy "Friendship, Love, and Truth!"
The singers drew nearer and the first raised his hands to his hood lowering it as Rath stared transfixed. The man stepped forward, breaking ranks with the rest of the chorus, his long white blond hair cascading free. Jareth felt the breath catch in his throat as he saw the silvery scar running round the man's neck. Jareth's father dropped to his knees and opened his arms to his grandson, smiling in welcome.
Rath looked up at Pan, as though unsure. But Pan too smiled at him in encouragement, letting go of his hand and pushing him forward. Rath slowly crossed the distance to his grandfather, who folded him in his arms, his cloak wrapping round the body of the small boy. Jareth felt his eyes fill with tears as Rath's arms wrapped round the old fae's shoulders.
On halcyon wings our moments pass,
Life's cruel cares beguiling;
Old Time lays down his scythe and glass,
In gay good-humour smiling:
With ermine beard and forelock gray,
His reverend part adorning,
He looks like Winter turn'd to May,
Night soften'd into Morning.
How grand in age, how fair in youth,
Are holy "Friendship, Love, and Truth!"
Slowly, Jareth's father climbed to his feet, taking Rath's hand and leading him towards the next cloaked figure, who lowered his hood in turn. Herne gripped Rath's shoulders in welcome, a broad smile on his rugged features. One by one the hoods were lowered, each fae shaking Rath's hand, welcoming him, congratulating him. Until only one man was left hooded.
The other singers fell silent as the man raised his hands to his hood and lowered it carefully. Again Pan had to catch Jareth's arm as he started forward, anger pulsing inside him against the man who stood before his son. Raemon stared down at Rath, the similarity between them so striking that Jareth heard himself gasp. Carefully, Raemon reached into his cloak and withdrew the crystal that Jareth and Nathaniel had created in Pan's tomb. As he held it out, the tune changed and Raemon continued alone.
Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way;
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:
Come Ease, or come Travail, come Pleasure or Pain,
My warst word is:- "Welcome, and welcome again!"
Rath stared up at Raemon, before nodding his head, accepting this welcome. Jareth too, felt himself relax somewhat.
"Remember, it was not him who took Phoenix." Pan reminded Jareth, who nodded slowly.
Across the meadow, Rath stretched out his hand, his small fingers closing round the crystal ball in which the tiny figure of himself floated. His star. As he took it from Raemon there was a ripple round the group of welcomers and Rath turned to smile up at his grandfather. The fae smiled back and once more took the small boy's hand.
But as he made to turn away, leading Rath back from where the singers had come, Rath stopped once more and turned. And suddenly, inexplicably, his eyes found Jareth's. Eyes full of love. And not a hint of blame. And then, for the first time, Rath opened his mouth to take up song.
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,
And oh my grave the warmer, sweeter be,
If you should bend and tell me that you love me,
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.
For a few seconds, there was silence in the meadow and then Jareth, tears running freely down his cheeks, nodded his head.
Rath smiled at him. And then the old fae wrapped his arm round the young boy's shoulders, leading him away with the rest of the singers. And the song took up once more, Rath's voice clear and true within the chorus.
From these delightful fountains flow
Ambrosial rills of pleasure;
Can man desire, can Heaven bestow,
A more resplendent treasure?
Adorn'd with gems so richly bright,
Will form a constellation,
Where every star, with modest light,
Shall gild its proper station.
How grand in age, how fair in youth,
Are holy "Friendship, Love, and Truth!"
"And rapture, its passion to innocence lending, Is a dance in my soul and a song in my ear."
Jareth turned to Pan, to ask him what he meant, but the meadow was already fading, dissolving in a great swirl of mist.
So what did you think? Next chapter will hopefully be up soon! xxxx