Chapter Sixteen: Threads

A/N: One day I will have an author's note that doesn't mention Bowie. But that day is not today. Guess who just pre-ordered Blackstar?! Oh, wait, sorry – I meant – ? To celebrate, here's a little 'afterwards' chapter, a bit of a reprieve wherein I attempt to begin tying up loose ends but actually just leave more hanging. I love you all. That is all. Remember when I said there was only 2 or 3 chapters to go? That was about five chapters ago now. Ha. Naïve little me. I don't know when this will end, but it WILL be soon…


Having your reality unravelled made for one hell of a twisted experience.

At least that's what it felt like to Sarah. One minute they were in the Castle, Luka throwing that mirror away like something diseased, and the next she was falling through nothingness. Luka faded and disappeared; bits of stone and glass and books on fire went whirling by her head. "This mirror shows you your dreams…" The words echoed around her at full volume until she had to clap hands over her ears. "It shows you everything you could have if you give up Eva to me. Look into it, Luka, and think hard. And tell me that you don't want them. That you don't want to be rewarded for damning someone's soul." Her entire conversation with Luka played out on repeat, stretching into the void around her like sound stretched through a tunnel. She felt weightless, helpless, flashes of reality crashing around her like puzzle pieces ripped to shreds. She tried to scream but there was no sound. Only her own words thrown back at her as if to taunt.

And then it all stopped. She hit something cold and hard. Or rather, it hit her. Rushed up to meet her with its painful embrace. There was a silence so profound it made her ears ring and a musty stench that was annoyingly beyond her comprehension.

"Is – is she all right?"

"She'll be fine."

"Fine? She hit the floor! I told you we should have been here sooner!"

"She's not hurt, Jareth. Don't snap at him so much. Here, let me –"

Something touched her cheek, a soft caress, the smell of earth and clay, and she fell asleep instantly.


Eva hated taking naps. She'd avoided them with almost violent determination her entire childhood. So she couldn't understand why she'd just woken up on a bench in the park by the school. Hadn't it been storming earlier? Where were all the other kids? She shivered and yawned, sitting up quickly. The bench was hard and left the side of her face stiff and sore where she'd slept on it.

Sitting beside her, rubbing his identically aching cheek, was Luka.

There was nobody else at the park. It looked late, by the dark tinge of the sky. Late enough that they would be in trouble soon if they didn't hurry home. Cracking her jaw, Eva flicked a pigtail over her shoulder and studied Luka curiously.

He smiled at her. Strange, given all the things she'd done to him.

Stranger still, she smiled back. And meant it. "What happened?" she asked in a croaky voice.

He didn't answer right away. He never did. It used to irritate her so much. Now, it made him seem very thoughtful. "We must have fallen asleep," he answered finally with a shrug. "I should probably get home. It's late."

Eva nodded. That seemed a fair enough response to her. What was the point in arguing? "You live by me, don't you?"

He nodded, getting to his feet and stretching.

"Want me to walk you home?" She wasn't sure why that came out. But again she meant it.

And again Luka smiled. "That would be great."

Tugging her school coat tighter around her shoulders, Eva helped him lug his heavy backpack – no doubt full of books – on, before taking up a comfortable pace beside him. "I'm…sorry," she murmured, unsure of what exactly she was talking about.

He had the same uncertain expression on his face. "Me too," he replied.

Eva wondered why she'd ever thought about giving him a hard time.


The Castle didn't feel like home anymore. And it had taken him the better part of the last century to like it in the first place. Now the things once entertaining and comforting were threatening and foolish. The statuesque goblin faces that bedecked the Throne room wall reminded him of slaughter. The stone pit, once a place for his subjects to carouse, seemed to ask how could you be so complacent with this? They were children, once. It stank, too. That stench of tanned leather and dust and chicken pellets – the aroma of goblins – had faded into the background for him about twenty years in. Now he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he led the others. Led, as if he were still in charge, as if Brynn mattered no more than a flea. It was more to do with reaching Sarah first than any show of dominance. Still, it didn't hurt to let the other man know just who'd run the place longer.

That flew out the window when Sarah appeared out of nowhere. There was a flash of light and she fell to the stone floor with a heavy crunch before any of them could react. Surging forward, Jareth knelt by her and prayed to the Fates she was still breathing. Of course there was never any real danger of dying upon a Return, but life was unpredictable these days. Who knew what fresh dramas it would throw at him? And the little time he'd had with Sarah before she'd been called away had left him just a little needy.

"Is – is she all right?" Wick asked, wringing his hands nervously beside Jareth.

He felt the shadow of Brynn's stiff presence on his other side. "She'll be fine," the man announced firmly.

"Fine?" Jareth rounded on him, teeth bared. "She hit the floor! I told you we should have been here sooner!" It was the Fae's fault they'd been late, wanting to placate the Council before leaving. As if that mattered when Jareth had promised to be there when Sarah got back.

Lina, her presence still a miracle, managed to pacify his snarling with a touch to the shoulder. She replaced Wick beside him. "She's not hurt, Jareth," she told him firmly. Sarah's eyes fluttered and she exhaled hard. "Don't snap at him so much. Here, let me –" she reached out and touched Sarah's cheek softly, murmuring, putting her to sleep. "She'll feel much better when she wakes."

"Thank you," Jareth told her quietly, running a hand through Sarah's hair. "I'll take her to bed." He leant down and collected her into his arms, her head lolling softly against his chest.

"How do you think it went?" Wick asked. There was no question as to what he meant. They'd lost connection through the mirror during the final minutes of the test. Some things were meant to go unwitnessed.

"I can't feel the hordes anymore," Brynn answered. "I assume that means they've accepted her."

"But it could also just mean they've rejected you," Jareth grumbled under his breath. Lina patted his shoulder firmly.

"There's no child here, is there?" his sister asked rhetorically. "I'd say the boy did well. And Sarah did spectacularly."

"Of course she did," he replied proudly, kissing the top of her head. His pendant still glimmered dully around her neck. "She's incredible. There's nothing Sarah Williams can't do."

"But she does need rest," Lina said pointedly, drawing an end to the conversation. "Take her to bed and then I'd like to speak with you."

He revelled in the walk to Sarah's bedroom. It didn't matter that he couldn't just transport her there, or that she was so limp in his arms that she was actually quite heavy. It didn't matter that she was too asleep to hear him murmuring poetry into her hair. He was overjoyed at the sensation of being alone with her for the first time in what felt like years. No Councillors to shout at them, nobody to demand her attention, no goblin friends hassling them. He spoke to her the whole way, talking of idle hopes and dreams, how proud of her he was, how sorry he was for the things he'd gotten her involved in.

"But it was never anything you couldn't handle," he told her when they reached the door to her room. Opening it was a struggle with his hands full and gave him a moment to ruminate. Did she handle it so well because that's who she is? Or is she so tough because she's had to be? Would she have been a different person if I hadn't pinned her down in the Underground? They were surprisingly morbid thoughts to come from nowhere, considering his contentment moments before. But they were true worries nonetheless and dimmed his happiness somewhat as he lowered Sarah into bed. She sank onto the covers with a sigh, lips curved down in an exhausted frown. "And this is only the beginning," he murmured sadly, gently tracing the line of her jaw with his knuckles. He glimpsed the bandage on his still-healing hand as if noticing it for the first time. Strange, how he didn't consider it a symbol of sacrifice. What he'd done for Sarah was necessary as breathing and he refused to regret it. Even if he died in three years' time from some silly mortal disease or never touched magic again. The cost of his years was a small price to pay to keep Sarah Williams alive.

But what would she live for now? She was the Goblin Queen. He realised this with such bitterness that he felt sick to his stomach. What life had he condemned her to?

"Jareth," Lina called softly from the hall. "Leave her to rest."

His sister leant into the doorframe, arms wrapped around herself. She was a silhouette in the dim hallway light. "I've ruined her life," he uttered in a pained voice. "All the years I've spent keeping you away from the Throne…and all I've done is put Sarah in your place. What have I done to her?"

Lina stepped lightly yet with purpose toward him. She slipped an arm around his waist and curled into his side. He barely felt it, numb as he was with dismay. "Things are changing," she told him firmly. "Things have changed. Because of her. You saw what happened today. She ran the Labyrinth without any bloodshed. Nobody was hurt and the goblins haven't complained."

"But what twenty-five-year-old wants to spend her life like this?" he replied, letting his arm fall around Lina's shoulder. He still couldn't take his eyes off Sarah.

"I think she's a twenty-five-year-old that just wants to spend her life with you," she answered. "Which means she'll do whatever she has to, if it means she can be with you." She paused thoughtfully, studying him. "The Fates only know why, you scrawny big-haired book-hoarder."

A smile flashed across his face unbidden. "I think the words you're looking for there are sleek, fashionable and learned, sister."

"You wish." She nudged his shoulder and tugged at his arm. "Come on. Leave her be for a while."

It was the last thing he wanted to do. Lina's insistent grip left no room for argument, steering them both into the hall. He refused to go any further however, leaning into the wall stubbornly and folding his arms. Lina tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and leant against him. It seemed too quiet now, too peaceful a moment, after everything they'd been through.

"Do you think she was telling the truth about mother's death?" she asked soberly.

"I trust Sarah," Jareth replied, eyes glazing over as he imagined the scene between Fae and human. He pictured the hordes below, waiting to rip into Mira, and shivered. But with disgust or satisfaction he wasn't entirely fit to decide. "It's in her nature to save people. And it's in Mira's to destroy them. I don't doubt what happened and I don't regret her death for a moment."

"I don't blame Sarah," Lina said quickly. "I just find it so horribly fitting as an end…and I think part of me feels guilty for that."

"Don't," he told her shortly. "She deserved it. She executed Kiff and sentenced me to death and tried to kill Sarah. That woman was never our mother." He exhaled hard, tilting his head back into the stone. Behind closed eyes he kept glimpsing flashes of his trial: the knife in Brynn's hand, the blank stare on Mira's face, Sarah's blood everywhere. He shook himself. "On a lighter note…you're going to be Queen, sister of mine."

"A lighter note? I don't think it could be any more burdened if we tried, Jareth. I have to clear up my standing in the Dust Bowl; I have to organise to be sworn in; the Elves will need my instant protection after all that's happened…" She stretched her arms out in front, yawning, and readjusted her dusty skirts. "And yet I don't feel like a Queen. I feel like…Lina. Just Lina."

"A grubby know-it-all?" he teased. "Scrub away some of the dirt and you'll be fit for the crown in no time."

"And what about you, brother of mine?" she said facetiously. "What's to become of a de-Throned, exiled, mortal with such big hair?"

"It's not – I've been Above for two weeks," he grumbled, ruffling his fringe. "Being mortal must make it grow faster, that's all." At her gentle laughter, he couldn't help smiling. "I think Sarah seems to enjoy it, so that's good enough for me. As for the other problems…" his brief lifted spirits sunk once more. "I can only guess," he sighed. "But I would say I'm in for a few more tongue-lashings from the Council before they'll leave me be. And there's the matter of my magic, too, which is completely gone."

"It might not be –"

"You don't need to mollify me. I'm not an infant."

"Not all the time, anyway," she answered, pushing off from the wall to stand in front of him. "But if you'll just listen to me, I'm saying don't rule out the possibility that we can heal this."

"I don't need to waste time hoping, Lina."

"Jareth. Wick and his cousins used an ancient form of Elf magic to find me in a dream state for you. You performed transference on a mortal, and it worked! Don't you think now is the perfect time to hold onto a little hope?"

He was ready to answer that with a tired no, about to insist he was happy just as he was, when they were interrupted by an Elf.

"Forgive my intrusion your Royal Highnesses," said the Elf meekly with a bow. She must have stepped out of a gateway because Jareth was certain they'd been alone seconds before. "But the Fae Council request the presence of the Princess. They send me with the message that there is too much to discuss for you to be playing around the Goblin Castle." Those last words were clearly verbatim and spoken with the monotone recitation of a Servant Self.

Lina blinked. "Well then, I'd better not keep them waiting," she muttered sarcastically. "The Fates know how I've spent the last hour gallivanting with goblins."

"Take the scenic route," Jareth told her. "Make them wait just a little. I would suggest stopping by my web garden."

Smiling, Lina leant up and kissed his cheek. "I think I'll do that." She squeezed his arm and followed the Elf down the hall and out of sight.

Jareth waited until they were gone, the last of their gentle footfalls echoing on the stone. Then he ducked straight back into Sarah's room. She looked so tired and drawn in on herself, a woman with a whole lot of purpose thrust upon her. He had no intention of disturbing her well-deserved sleep, but the bed looked very inviting. He slipped off his boots and jacket and crawled carefully onto the mattress. Lying beside her wouldn't do any harm now, would it? He was slow and precise in his movements, edging towards her back. In fact, she'd probably sleep better if he curled around her like a parenthesis, pulling her snugly into his chest. He shared her pillow and let his arm fall loosely over her waist, comforted by the feel of her breathing against him.

"Hello, love," he whispered into her hair, closing his eyes. "Didn't think you'd mind if I joined you."

She didn't wake, but the squeeze she gave his hand was answer enough.


The Castle had never really felt like home to him in the first place. He hadn't been there long enough to settle in, to find anything about it he liked. There'd been the library, of course, as a potential place of solace between runners. But he remembered walking in the first day to the sound of humming. Books that should have been dormant for decades were singing delicately. The Goblin King's absence had been common knowledge among the higher ranks when Brynn had taken over. He hadn't expected to hear the Songs in a place that should've been long abandoned. He remembered feeling uneasy then, realising that Jareth and Sarah, a Fae and a human, must have spent a lot of time in the library together to awaken the books. The Songs had seemed to belong to something beyond him then, and he hadn't gone back.

He was glad he'd guided his Return back to the Palace first, rather than the Castle. He'd needed to pacify the Council before they could be safely left to their own devices. Yet Jareth's petty display of dominance irked him when they reached the Throne room. The man had taken to switching between ignoring him on sight or snapping at him. There was little that could annoy Brynn, or had been little, just a few days ago. Contact with Sarah Williams seemed to have made him more susceptible to irritation. Jareth's actions bothered him because the man couldn't throw stones with a legitimately clear conscience. His ongoing involvement with Sarah had done her more damage than Brynn's act of self-defence, as he'd seen it at the time. She was alive now, wasn't she? And flourishing? She'd never actually died to begin with. Who exactly are you trying to placate? If he wasn't saying any of this out loud, didn't that mean he was justifying himself to himself? Why?

Sarah hit the stones and he winced.

Then logic told him she'd be fine, of course, as they made their way towards her prone form. Nobody died upon a Return. She might be a little sorer than a Fae would feel but that could be fixed.

"She'll be fine," he heard himself announce. For whose benefit? Jareth certainly took no comfort from it, whirling around to snap at him like some child with a grudge. He said little after that, more from a desire to let Lina concentrate than fear of stirring Jareth again. It was emptier inside his mind than it had been for a few weeks. The hordes' presence was truly gone. While that didn't bother him in itself, it did leave him wondering what exactly he was supposed to do now. He really had no place in any further discussions with the Council, considering he was no longer Goblin King. Sarah would be the hordes' Queen with Jareth for company, no doubt. Though how she expected to have him around without the hordes knowing was beyond him. He considered the possibility of staying on as a guard, of sorts, to help her maintain control. He could probably have taken his old post up, but being head of the Border Patrol was no longer appealing.

"Should we go find the others?"

The Elf's voice brought his attention to the empty room they now occupied. Jareth and Lina had taken Sarah away and he'd barely noticed. "What others?" he asked gruffly, to cover the strange feeling of being lost.

"The goblins you ran the Labyrinth with," Wick explained, eyeing him carefully. Was he frightened of him? Or deciding his worth? It was difficult to read the faces of people you'd never acknowledged before. "Hoggle and Ludo and Sir Didymus. They'll be in the Castle somewhere too, won't they?"

"Unless they know how to deviate their Return, which I doubt," he answered. "They should be here, yes."

"Then we should see that they're all right. I think it's been a hard day for everyone, don't you?"

He only nodded in answer before Wick was leading the way from the Throne room out into the hall. Brynn followed wordlessly for want of anything else to do, studying Wick as if only just becoming aware of his presence. It was difficult not to see the Elf in terms of usefulness, at first. Centuries of habit caused him to pick out the litheness of his walk, good for speed, and the strength in the corded muscles of those slim arms and legs. They were efficient creatures to have as servants, but Brynn couldn't help seeing more than that now. There was a stoop in his posture that hadn't been there before and a shadow on his face that spoke of grief. He remembered what Sarah had said. "His cousin just died because of me," she stressed. "You think I'm going to leave him on his own with that crowd in the Palace?" That 'crowd in the Palace' being Fae just like Brynn. Or perhaps not quite so much like Brynn, not anymore. Either way, he found himself offering comfort into the silence of their search.

"I apologise for what happened to your cousin."

Wick fumbled a step before continuing on as if nothing had happened. "Thank you," he replied tersely, face blooming warm with emotion.

It made Brynn wholly uncomfortable but he couldn't stop himself. "I was there," he added stiffly. "I should have done something but I –"

"Then why didn't you?"

Brynn's steps faltered this time. It wasn't embarrassment that coloured the Elf's cheeks as he'd thought; it was anger. A surprising transformation from the politely affable person he'd been moments ago. "I didn't have time –"

"You're a Fae. Your people treat time like a game."

They were standing still now, eyeing one another with opposing expressions. Brynn noticed he was the one on the defence a lot lately.

"I saved Sarah," he offered grimly. "That was what needed to be done."

"Everyone saves her," Wick mumbled. "But nobody ever thinks about the Elves."

"Sarah does," Brynn countered firmly. "And I think you know that."

The Elf's posture slackened with acceptance; he twisted a leather bracelet around his wrist. "I do," he murmured, taking up the lead once more. "I do."

Brynn apologized again, even making the Fae sign of condolence without knowledge of Elvish protocol. Yet the Elf no longer seemed interested in discussing his loss. Instead, as most inhabitants of the Domain seemed to do, he talked of Sarah.

"Do you really think she'll be all right?"

"There was very little harm done in her fall," Brynn replied matter-of-factly. "And the Princess reversed whatever she might have suffered."

"That's not what I meant. She's got to be the Queen now, doesn't she? She's got to run the Labyrinth every day."

"Sarah has…much freedom of choice in most things. She has a unique talent for affecting change, too." They rounded a corner to the Servant Quarters but Wick led them beyond this area, towards the kitchen. "Yet I do think that, when it comes down to it, she must indeed claim such a title. In that, she has no choice."

"You can tell her then. See how well that goes for you."

"If you're implying some unfortunate end for the bearer of bad news…I'm not afraid of her."

The Elf snorted. "Well then, shows how smart you are, doesn't it?" They'd reached the kitchen when he paused in opening the door and looked at Brynn curiously. "What about you? I hadn't thought about it."

"Thought about what?"

"Well, what are you going to do now? Sarah's taken your job. You're technically unemployed – and probably disowned by the looks Ezra was giving you."

"I have plenty of options. I have good standing in the Palace."

"Not after you've been openly vouching for Sarah all day," Wick replied. At Brynn's raised brow, the Elf shrugged. "I've worked in the Palace for years. I pick up on how things go around there. And you, I'm sorry to say, might've done damage to your standing by backing a rebel – and human – party."

Whatever Brynn might have had to say in answer was drowned by a shout from the kitchen.

"You two goin' to stand out there all day and yabber on or are yer goin' to come in?!"

Brynn winced. He hadn't quite gotten used to the dwarf-turned-goblin's rough manner of speech. He'd never spent much time among the lower classes. Although he was inclined to suspect Sarah would take issue with that. And possibly with him calling them 'lower classes'. Still, it was difficult to unravel centuries of cultured learning in a day. Wick seemed to be watching him in a manner that suggested he was thinking the same thing.

"We'd better join them; don't you think?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes," Brynn replied shortly. "I suppose that was our purpose." He wasn't so certain now. What did he have to offer the likes of the false goblins, now that they weren't all protecting the boy in the Labyrinth? Further still, what could they offer him?

The door swung open at the Elf's gentle push. He was hit immediately by the concentrated stench of the goblins all gathered in one room. Yet heritage had taught him to withhold reactions to things such as this, so Brynn followed Wick inside without wrinkling his nose as the Elf did.

For all his confident yelling before, Hoggle fell silent upon their entrance. His knobbly face showed a mixture of pity and wariness. Brynn could guess which emotion was directed at him by the way he stood to bow his head at the Elf.

"I'm real sorry for what happened to yer cousin, lad," he said with a vague slur. Brynn noted the half-empty jugs of ale littering the table.

"Indeed, we are all most forlorn and eager to offer our sincerest condolences, Sir Wick." The quick little goblin – Sir Didymus, he recalled after a moment – was sat on the table with a small dulcimer sprawled across his lap. Bony fingers strummed it idly in a lamenting tune. "She was indeed a most fair and fiery maiden of the highest possession of valour."

"Ludo sorry," bemoaned the giant goblin at the end of the table. He didn't need a chair, squatting easily on the tiles and still a head above them all. His clawed hand was wrapped around an entire pitcher of ale.

"Thank you everyone," Wick replied with more sincerity than he had to Brynn's apology. The Elf toyed again with the leather on his wrist.

"Come on lad, take a seat," Hoggle suggested. "Yer look like yer could use a stiff ale."

Wick joined them, eyeing the table of food and drink. "Looks like you've been celebrating the victory already."

"That weren't no victory," Hoggle said with a shake of his head. "That were sheer dumb luck and a bit o' well-timed magic. We should be happy enough that none of us died, not talkin' about doin' it again like some kinda regular get-together."

"What do you mean?" the Elf asked, gratefully receiving a drink from Ludo.

"Sir Pipsqueak over here reckons we should form some kinda band to help out Sarah," the dwarf-goblin explained. His voice told very clearly what he thought of that idea.

"It would be a most noble cause to align oneself with!" Didymus said brightly, ignoring Hoggle's tone. The dulcimer picked out a more inspiring tune.

"It'd be a suicide squad, is what it'd be," grumbled Hoggle.

"But you did survive this run, didn't you?" said Wick rhetorically. "You all seemed to make a good team. And with Sarah's new rules in place, I think the Labyrinth could be something better than it's ever been. Don't you think so, Brynn?"

He'd been watching this entire exchange as if from afar, as something private and beyond his own involvement. It took a few moments to realise he'd been addressed. "I…" he hesitated, much to the disapproval of his inner self. Hesitation was becoming far too common in his plethora of responses.

The group were watching him, waiting for a reply, for a reason to put confidence in him. At least that's how it felt. Their support during the Labyrinth run had been inevitable, given the way they'd all been thrust into their roles with little warning and a child's life depending on the outcome. Hoggle had taken the longest to put some semblance of trust in him, and that wasn't very much anyway. Yet Brynn felt potential in this room, looking at them all. He remembered the endless fighting energy of Didymus and the careful patience of Ludo. Hoggle's temper was an issue that could be worked on. Wick seemed their mediator, as it were. Still, he couldn't let himself forget their resentment when they'd remembered his attack on Sarah. The hatred in the dwarf-goblin's eyes was not something trivial to be cast aside.

They were still waiting for a response. And Brynn, who leant on logic and apathy, found himself coming up with something surprisingly appropriate. "I think I could do with a drink before we discuss the matter further."

Wick grinned, Ludo's eyes were bright, Didymus plucked a merry tune, and Hoggle nodded with reluctant approval. "Come on then stone face," he called gruffly. "Take a seat and grab a mug. Think yer can handle yer goblin ale better than the green boy over there?"


Something gravelly and deep-toned was snuffling against the back of her neck. Barely awake, she imagined goblin teeth and hot rank breath.

"Ohmygodwhatthe –" she twisted and kicked all at once, rolling away from the source of the wretched growling. The bed beneath her quickly became carpet as she landed with a thump on the floor. The gravelly sounds turned into gravelly words, half-formed and confused.

"Wha…bloody…hmph…"

Sarah poked her head up over the bed's edge, heart thumping loudly. The figure in her bed was wonderfully unkempt, still half-asleep and holding his shin as if someone had just kicked it blindly in panic. "Jareth," she breathed lightly, certain she was still dreaming. "What – what are you doing here?"

"I was sleeping," he replied thickly, still rubbing pointedly at his shin.

It wasn't a dream. He was too good at those, and this situation had none of his masterful flare. Scrambling back onto the bed, Sarah felt as if she were lit within at the sight of him. Still, they never could quite manage a romantic reunion. "You were snoring," she replied with a wide grin, crawling across the blanket toward him.

"What?" he sniffed indignantly, though he was clearly starting to wake and make the same realisations as she. "I don't snore." His hands reached for her the way his eyes did.

"Yeah you do." She wriggled into his arms and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. Oh god, that smell. His hair, his skin, everything...she felt as if the colour were bleeding back into her world, as if she'd been breathing thin air until this moment. Life was suddenly thick with vibrancy and potential.

"I'm a Prince," he argued still, even as he squeezed her so tightly against him she couldn't breathe. "I don't sn – mmmph –"

She fought her way up to his mouth and kissed him into silent agreement. Winning an argument had never felt so good in all her life. The pressure on her waist vanished as his hands came up to frame her face. His thumbs swept gently over her cheeks. He moaned happily against her lips, thankfully, adoringly, grateful to receive each dwindling press of her mouth to his. He looked decidedly glassy-eyed by the time she was done, yet she was far from finished.

"I love you too," she said around a smile pressed into his cheek. Their noses brushed together; his hair tickled her eyes. "Didn't get the chance to say it before."

The effect it had on him was mesmerising. She thought of all the times she'd ever compared him to winter and hard planes and sharp angles. All of that was gone now. The snow had melted, sunlight streamed across a peaceful plain. Jareth was a man contented.

"No, you didn't," he murmured, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip. "You've been busy."

"Lots of distractions," she agreed, intoxicated by his closeness.

"Indeed." He licked his lips; she had to force herself not to kiss them. "Say it again."

"I love you Jareth," she purred. "More than I've ever loved anything in my whole life, more than anything I will ever love in the future. More than dancing, or Dickens, or Walt Whitman, or magic and music, or chocolate and ice cream." She pinched his chin gently between thumb and forefinger, honeyed voice suddenly clear and strong. "And if you ever try to go ahead and die for me again, I'll kill you. Got that?"

He chuckled softly, though it didn't seem funny at all. "Yes ma'am. And might I say the same goes for you? I have no years left to save you with, should there be a next time."

She kissed him then. How could she not?

"And let me just tell you now," he added, "We've spent a shameful amount of time avoiding the L word – granted, for practical reasons. But now I intend to tell you every day for the rest of my life. And then for a few days after that."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." Fingers traced her brow, nose, lips, ear. She glowed with warmth at the touch. "How the hell did I ever hate you? It seems so stupid now."

"I put it down to youth and misconceptions," he murmured, the same fingers now brushing down her neck and the length of her side.

She tried not to shudder and failed miserably, covering it with a snarky comment. "You mean we got off on the wrong foot? Tends to happen when you force me to run a maze to win back my brother."

He was completely unfazed by her response, brushing his palm down to the small of her back. "Are we doomed to repeat this argument forever, pet? It became rather tiresome after the first sixty times."

"Well hey, we've got the time now, right? Maybe in another hundred years we'll have figured out who was in the wrong first."

"You might have the years," he responded, head pressed to hers, fingers working their way underneath her shirt. "Perhaps you'll have it sorted for the both of us once I'm gone."

All the heat that had been pooling inside her became frost, turning her stiff in his arms. "Don't joke about that," she snapped. "You could die and I could live forever without you. Don't you ever fucking joke about that."

Jareth drew back, eyes wide as if she'd slapped him. "I'm – I'm sorry, Sarah," he told her earnestly. "I suppose I've had too casual a relationship with death. It never concerned me before."

"Well it damn well should now," she replied heatedly, slipping a hand into his shirt, so that her palm rested over his heart. "This is mine now, got that? And it's as vulnerable as any human's. So you'd better start remembering that. No joking about leaving me behind. You have to look after yourself, Jareth El'Maven."

She was startled and a little embarrassed to find tears stinging her eyes.

Jareth reached up and wiped her cheek dry with a thumb. "I'm sorry, love," he murmured drawing her into his arms tightly. She allowed every part of her to be encompassed by him. "I shouldn't have said that. I promise I'll take care of myself."

"Isn't there something we can do?" she asked heavily. "Can't Lina do something as Queen, or – or maybe Brynn could help – what?" He'd stiffened instantly at the mention of the other man. She could practically see the hackles raising down his back.

"He put a dagger through you, Sarah." Laden with love as his words had been before, now they were heavy with hate.

"You know, I haven't really given that a lot of thought yet," she told him honestly. What Brynn had done to her seemed a lifetime ago. Well, maybe it was.

"Haven't given that a –? Sarah, he murdered you."

"But I'm here, aren't I?"

"Only because I saved you –"

"Well I didn't ask you to do that, did I?"

"So you wanted to die?"

"No! But you can't blame Brynn for defending himself in a situation like that. What was the guy supposed to do?"

"You're on his side? Sarah, the man put a knife through you –"

"Stop saying that!" she snapped, finding her own hackles raised. Without realising it they'd both moved and were now sitting at opposite ends of the bed, rigid with anger. He had no right to be mad for her when she couldn't feel it herself. Too much had happened. Didn't he understand that? "Don't you think I don't remember, Jareth? Don't you think I can't still feel that blade going through my back like it was butter? Because I do, and I can." She was shaking, quivering with irritation and repressed pain. "But I choose not to. Do you know why?"

He glared at the blanket in silence, arms folded and legs crossed.

"Because he's saved my ass more than a few times since then. He's proven to me that he can change, that the things he did to me were the only choices he had at the time. But now he's ready to be on my side no matter what a thousand other Fae think. Doesn't that remind you of someone?"

His teeth, sharp in places and gleaming, flashed in a cold grimace. "I would never have killed you Sarah," he said in a low voice. "No matter what I had to put you through in the Labyrinth, I would never have let you die."

Her anger softened into frustration. She moved towards him across the bed and laid a hand on his knee. "And that's why I love you," she told him. "Because you're the most human Fae I've ever met." Finally, Jareth looked up at her. His gaze was intent, focused, brimming with emotion enough to prove her point. "But Brynn is only Fae and he's got a whole lot of flaws to work on. I can forgive him for what he did because of everything he's done since then. I'm the one with the right to be pissed but I forgive him. So that means you can as well." She slipped her hands around his, threaded their fingers together. For the first time she noticed the thin bandage on his hand where he'd cut himself to save her. He did have some right to be mad…but she couldn't let him know that. Things were going to be difficult enough without trying to stop a brawl between the men every five minutes. "Okay?"

He stared down at their joined hands. "I don't like him and I won't forgive him," he muttered. "But I suppose I can work around him. For you."

"Good enough." She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him in for a kiss. He was tense at first, still sulking, until she worked her fingers into his hair and crawled into his lap. She was suddenly very sick of all the talking, sick of the damage control and overthinking and the million things demanding their attention beyond that door. There were a few fun ways to delay the inevitable, to stave off the cold reality of unknown futures. But more than that, she wanted him. Wanted to be cloaked in that earthy scent, to have his damp hot skin pressed into her own, to be lost in a world that was only theirs. "Why are we arguing when we could be doing this?" she added, grinding into him, planting kisses along his jaw. "Seems a stupid waste of time to me. Who knows how long we've got before duty calls again?"

"You're a little all over the place love; it's difficult to keep up. Where are we now, exactly?"

"We're making up."

"Right. Because it seems like you're just trying to distract me," he replied, though without an ounce of commitment to the complaint. His hands found their way beneath the back of her shirt again, fingers trailing her waistline.

"Yep. Is it working?" She ran her tongue around the shell of his ear, grinning at his strangled half-moan. "Guess that's a yes."

"Don't we have…some very important things…to be getting on with at the moment?" he asked between kisses, nails digging into her waist.

"Probably," she answered, amazed that he could even find the coherence to argue when she was grinding hard against him. His compliance seemed to be increasing with each roll of her hips. "A whole list of stuff, I'd say."

"World-altering things. Social-change-related affairs." He exhaled hard against her neck and couldn't help a quick nip at her skin.

"Mhmm." She tugged his head back and licked a slow line from the hollow of his throat along his neck. "Don't really give a damn right now. What do you think?"

The growl in his chest was deep and primal. "I think it's been far too long since you were naked underneath me," he rumbled, and that was their last intelligible conversation.

They moved like creatures in a wild wind, driven by purpose and mutual vulnerability and need, need, need. She was topless and arching backwards in his lap; she was naked and dropping kisses to his jaw, collarbone, lifting his hand to press it against her bare heart. The metal of Jareth's pendant was cool against her fingers as she pulled it up and over her head, laying it aside. He was kneeling before her, stripping clothes off whenever he could bear to stop touching her. It took some time but she didn't care. Just as long as he kept coming back, kept pressing his lips to her hand, wrist, elbow, smoothing his fingers over her thighs, along her breasts, always touching. Never stop. Never again.


Later, when their breathing had slowed and hot skin had cooled, Jareth couldn't help growing contemplative. "Why didn't you tell me you remembered Brynn's dagger?" he asked gently, playing with the digits of her fingers. Her back was pressed into his chest, head resting in the crook of his shoulder. The plane of her naked body stretched out before him like a horizon, yet he was too curious to appreciate the view.

Her fingers stiffened in his grasp momentarily. "There's a lot of things I don't tell you," she replied vaguely. "You've got enough on your plate without hearing my every thought and memory."

"Sarah, what am I here for but to be your audience? I'm supposed to be your confidant, aren't I?"

"It's not a matter of bothering you with stuff. I just…don't want to upset you."

"I'm afraid you've negated the purpose of such intentions with that sentence, love."

She grumbled and shifted against him. "Can't we just kiss some more?"

He planted one on the crest of her head. "There. Now tell me what's wrong."

"All right, fine." She rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on his shoulder, glaring up at – glaring? She was angry with him? Her hair was a mad waterfall spilling over her skin, but he had the feeling if he reached out to touch it she'd bite his finger off. "You want a glimpse into my head, Jareth? Come on in. Yes, I can remember having a big knife shoved into my back. It fucking hurt. It was the most painful thing I've ever felt in my life. But do you know what was worse? When you pulled it out of me and I saw you cut yourself. I was living my own nightmare. I'd dreamt of that exact moment, where you spilled your own blood to save me, and I felt horrible because I'd still let it happen." Tears trickled down her face. "I feel like I don't deserve you, Jareth. You were living out this self-designated sentence for Lina, doing your own thing, surviving, and I came along and messed it all up. I've gotten people killed; I've gotten you stripped of your immortality and magic; I've made so many high-up people angry that they've probably already planning my 'accidental death'. Yeah I stood up for my friends and for myself but you know what? Most of the time I was just terrified and bluffing. I don't feel like I'm capable of keeping control. Especially not over thousands of monsters. How am I meant to keep pretending for the next hundred years without anyone noticing I'm just this stupid human who backed herself into a corner?"

So she still didn't see it, did she? He reached out to sweep her hair back; she didn't bite him. "Oh love," he murmured, "What makes you think you're the only one who's bluffing all the time?"

She sniffed. "How can I not? I'm surrounded by people who wouldn't flinch if you threw a brick at their face. My friends are always ready to jump into fights for me; Keel kidnapped the fucking Queen without hesitation; you and Lina pretty much have a monopoly on self-sacrifice. It just makes me feel…small. I've been making everything up as I go along. How does that mean I'm fit to be Queen of the Goblins?"

He didn't answer right away. It was too important a moment to rush into. Sarah was pleading with her eyes for reassurance, his Sarah, who'd done so many remarkable things and still felt insignificant. How could she really not see it, after all this? Jareth threaded his fingers into her hair and massaged her scalp. "I'd like you to do something for me," he told her. At her questioning expression, he continued carefully. "Close your eyes."

It took a moment but she did. He'd make her see. He'd make her understand. "Now listen. There's a spot in the back of your mind that's different to the rest. It was never there before. It will feel shadowed and thick, difficult to ignore but hardly there at all. Can you feel it?"

"What's this supposed –"

"Can you feel it, Sarah?"

Her brow wrinkled in concentration, mouth a thin line. His thumbs brushed at her temples lightly. The room was quiet but for their breathing and the scratching of his fingers through her hair. "I can feel something," she said after a while. Her frown didn't go away.

"That's your link to the hordes. It's a very small part of you that they can communicate with, in a way. Can you tell me what they're feeling?"

"I don't –"

"It's not difficult. It's just a feeling. A sense. You'll know it when you touch it."

The frown deepened, her brows knitting together in concentration. And then her entire expression opened with surprise. "They – they don't hate me. It feels like…like respect. They aren't exactly happy, but they…get it. They respect what I've done."

She opened her eyes and stared at him in wonder. There was a very tiny, very hopeful smile lurking at the corner of her lips.

"They're never happy," he told her firmly. "Trust me, Sarah. You can feed them a hundred children and they won't be satisfied. So for them to say they understand this new regime, and that they respect you? That's very important." He wiped a lingering tear from the corner of her eye. "It doesn't matter that you're afraid or just feeling your way around or worried about the future. You've got the goblins in the palm of your hands, Sarah Williams. As for not deserving me…" he smiled affectionately. "I cannot even begin to tell you how backwards that is. I am the small one, I am the insignificant worm basking in your glory hoping for a scrap of adoration. I used to have an ego once, before I met you."

"What do you mean you used to?" she teased softly.

He brought his hands down to her cheeks and caught them gently, leaning down to kiss her. "Do you see it now? Do you see how bloody magnificent you are?"

There was another tear in her eye, but a smile this time to go with it.