A/N: So we can all agree I'm the worst at updating. But here we are, at the final chapter...I don't know what I feel! This story has been my life for the last year. No matter how busy I've been these characters have lived inside my mind and begged to be written about. When The Awful Thing happened with David, this story was a refuge. But I feel that it's time to end it now, the loose ends have been tied, the plot run its course. There will be one-offs and spin-offs from me in the future, related to the universe I've developed here. Whenever I feel that I've missed something in this story I will probably flesh it out in a little one-off. I don't think I'll ever want to stop writing these characters and the ones I created. I'm aware that my lack of updates has probably lost me a few followers, but I don't mind. Thankyou to everyone who ever gave me a good word, and who challenged my ideas and pushed me to constantly rework my chapters. I feel like a better writer for having been through this, and I've talked with some wonderful people because of this fandom. You are all loved. xxx

P.S: If you want to look me up on facebook, feel free. I've started selling some of my artwork as prints/bags/jewelry, a lot of which is Bowie related if you happen to feel like having a look. Not trying to sell you anything. Just wanting to share the things I love in my life. :) My name is Tonia Nash on facebook.


Sunshine on the Wasteland: Part Two

Sarah could still appreciate the beauty of the Drop, even if she had been pushed right over the edge of it. Mystic and silent as ever, the water thrashed against the rocks on its journey down. The sun shone brilliantly on the spray, turning it luminescent, while a flock of distant birds broke the skyline over the ravine. Cool air swept by without moving her hair an inch. It wasn't difficult to be swept up by the sight, yet Sarah kept a watchful eye on the man behind her. She might enjoy a pretty view but she wasn't stupid enough to be complacent.

Malibar seemed absorbed in his reading anyway, with little interest in her. He'd been scouring those damn books since she'd arrived, only looking up briefly when Idris had brought Sarah in. She didn't have a watch but she'd guessed twenty minutes or so had passed by since then. This was only her second visit to him and so far he seemed much the same as before: likeable enough, granted she kept her wits about her. There was also his tendency to ramble entire one-sided conversations under his breath. Sometimes she caught words that might've been Fae language; others seemed complete gibberish. "You have surprising patience for one with so little time," he remarked finally from the table inside. His voice carried clear on the motionless wind around them.

Sarah stood and stretched, readjusting her skirts. She'd taken to Lina's style, the raggedy bohemian skirts comfortable and cool. Jareth had remarked on the way they 'swished' when she walked, but that had nothing to do with the choice. At all. "Yeah well, I don't have anything to do today unless a wish is made."

He shook his head. "I was referring to your life in general. Humans decay at an alarming rate." Licking a finger, he marked a page at the corner of an old tome and put it aside.

She shrugged. There were few ways to react when Fae spoke about her lifespan that way. "Guess we do. Considering that, do you think we could talk about what I came here for?"

He tilted his severe head to the side, contemplating her with those piercing eyes. "You try to pretend you're not afraid," he said curiously.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He liked to make comments like that quite often. "Of what?"

"Of the possibility I might wish to experiment with your abilities again." His gaze flicked over to the waterfall just long enough for her to understand.

She was quite proud of her ability to remain by the edge after that. "You've proven that point already," she replied, forcibly casual. "Didn't think you'd need to do it again."

"Quite right." He was suddenly standing right in front of her, close enough that she could see the hundred creases in his skin and the fevered gleam of his eyes. "Though I would also mention that fear is unnecessary. If I'd intended for you to fall again, you'd have already done so."

Was it rude to kick an old Fae where it hurt? Probably. Sarah raised her chin to him. "Not without me taking you down with me," she replied sternly.

Malibar chuckled, taking her by surprise. Who knew the old Fae had a sense of humour? He must have found it buried somewhere among the waspishness and vague madness. "You wanted to know if you could give your years to Jareth," he said from his position back at the table. These Fae could move so quickly when they wanted.

"Yes," Sarah nodded, joining him on a seat. Her throat was suddenly dry.

Malibar began sorting books on the table, apparently ignoring her again. "I would wager it cannot be done."

Half of her wanted to sigh, the other leap about with joy. "So there's a chance that I could?"

"There's a very great chance that it could be done," he said slowly, "Though not without an equally great possibility of you dying in the attempt."

The sigh won out. It slumped her shoulders and tucked her feet under the stool's wooden bars. "What makes you think I would die?"

"Your humanity," he answered predictably. Like she hadn't expected that to come up. "No transference in recorded history has ever been successfully reversed. The Fae giving the years has always succumbed to illness shortly after. Lifespans aren't something to be tossed back and forth; it leaves us dangerously vulnerable the first time. To transfer them again…" he unrolled a span of parchment, scanned it, and re-rolled it. "I doubt a human would survive the act itself."

"But you can't know that," she pushed desperately. It had been a small hope to begin with, the last possibility left to her. Without it, Jareth was condemned. She was doomed to lose him.

"You are ignorantly persistent in matters you aren't familiar with," Malibar commented.

"You don't understand," Sarah sighed.

"There's very little I don't understand, child."

He was probably right, when it came to Fae history and magic and laws. But not in this. There was no point arguing though. Fact was fact. If he didn't think it could be done, it probably couldn't be. "Okay, so scratch that. Someone that's already done it can't do it again. But a person completely new can, right? Someone who hasn't done it before?"

"Of course," he replied, laying a few books before her in a pile. Then, in his irritating way of knowing before she said anything, he added: "The Princess could perform the act without any danger to herself."

"That's what she asked you about, didn't she?" Sarah got to her feet and rounded the table to stand beside him. He went on sorting books, apparently uninterested. "You didn't show her how to do it, did you?"

"The business of the royals is not mine to discuss."

"Oh come on. What else would it have been?"

"Enough," he snapped. "You did not come here to gossip about my meetings with princesses. What's done is done, what happens thereafter is beyond anyone's control." Turning away, he mumbled a stream of heated reprimands to himself, slipping in and out of the Fae language. He began rifling through draws in a cabinet behind him, pulling out all sorts of bizarre instruments and casting them aside with disinterest.

Sarah bit her tongue. She'd forgotten he mightn't be the most stable person to annoy. There was too much to learn from him yet that she could afford to piss him off. "You're right," she conceded. Brynn would just have to do his best with talking to Lina, and that was all there was to it. "So this magic stuff then…where do I start?"

"With this." Malibar turned swiftly and grabbed Sarah's hand, thrusting into her grip whatever it was he'd been searching for.

It was a flower bud made of stone, cool and smooth, that fit snugly in her palm. It shimmered faintly though there was little light for the time of day. "What is it?"

"A channelling stone. We give them to children to practice with," he explained. "It helps to concentrate on something tangible when first beginning a relationship with magic. You must try to make it bloom."

Sarah frowned, tossing the thing between her hands, feeling the solid weight. It was definitely one hard piece, and yet… "Show me how?" Nothing was ever what it seemed. No point in asking him just how the hell she was meant to make stone bloom.

Malibar's mouth twitched at the corner, a hint of a smile. It was so unusual a look from him that at first Sarah didn't notice what was in her outstretched palm. When he turned his amused gaze toward it she followed, grinning with delight. A shimmering flower now sat curled in her hand, indigo like the night and real as any spring blossom. Its petals were soft as silk but the base was prickly with delicate thorns.

"It will appear differently according to who opens it and the effort you put in," Malibar told her.

"Cool trick," Sarah murmured, holding the flower carefully to avoid the thorns. "But I didn't see how you did it."

"You can never see it done," he replied, touching the flower with just one finger. It curled in on itself and was stone in the blink of an eye. "You weave the flows by instinct, feel your way through. Magic is blinding. It reduces you to faith in the senses. You need to learn how to move while blind."

"But you'll teach me how to start doing that, right? Otherwise I'm totally lost here." Curious, she touched the stone bud as Malibar had and pictured a flower. Nothing happened. She frowned.

"You will come to me once a week," he instructed her, turning to sort through books on the table once more. "I will see you started on your way. One day, the magic will be as natural as breathing to you."

"And in the meantime…?" She raised a brow.

"You will take these with you." A pile of books slid unbidden towards her. "Study them."

Sarah examined the covers of the books. They frayed at the edges, gilded with silver and feint glitter. Disappointingly, they were all written in Fae language. "I can't read these," she told him sullenly.

"I take it you spend quite a bit of time with the little prince," he said pointedly.

"Who, Jareth? Oh. Right." She was sure Jareth would just love the idea of being appointed her teacher. He'd have some smart comments about behaviour and discipline, no doubt. A thought struck her. "Why doesn't your language translate for me? I can understand people from all over the world when they run my Labyrinth, but I need Fae things translated for me."

"Above languages will bleed into understandable form when in the Domain," Malibar told her.

"So you're speaking English now, right? I can understand you."

He made a vague gesture with his hands. "Yes and no. I am not speaking English, but you are not speaking Fae."

"So what are we talking in?"

"The Third Voice. There is a universal language that exists between every world. It has always been there. Those moments in the Above between humans, when you understand one another without words? That stems from the Third Voice."

"But then why doesn't that translate Fae when I'm here?"

"You are in our world. Why should we alter ourselves for you?"

That seemed a petty, marginalising answer to her, but she resisted the urge to comment. That was probably an argument for another day. Time was never on her side. "So what are these about, anyway?" She gestured at the books.

"They are parents' manuals for teaching children how to adapt to their magic. In our very early years we struggle with the concepts of instinctual casting. The books will instruct you on technique."

"So they're My First Spell books? Like A is for Abracadabra and that sort of thing?" She flicked through one at random but found not a single picture, just unreadable script.

Malibar just blinked at her, clearly not understanding the references. "If you work from those manuals you should find the visions subsiding."

"This is crazy," she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. It hadn't occurred to her until that moment just what was happening. The visions had seemed an illness to her for a while now, something she longed to be cured of. Her younger self would have been ecstatic about being given homework on how to learn magic. But mostly she was just relieved. If this worked, she'd never have to see Jareth's future again. Still, a tiny part of the old Sarah made her examine her hands, and imagine them bristling with lights and fire and power. She managed a curious smile. I wonder what I'll be capable of.

"Be sure to pace yourself," Malibar told her sternly. He seemed to like plucking the thoughts right out of her head. "You are a human with Fae powers. There is no way of guessing your strengths and limitations."

"Of course," Sarah nodded emphatically. "It'd be out of character if I could do something without great personal risk."

"Precisely," the old Fae agreed.

Sarah didn't think he quite grasped the sarcasm in her voice.


A thorny indigo blossom sat on the desk beside him. He'd found another channelling stone after the girl had left. Sharp, that Sarah Williams was, and a little surprising, if not quite remarkable. Malibar suspected she might prove to be an interesting project in the years to come. He also suspected she would reject any notions of being regarded as such. A student, she might've preferred to be called.

A gentle gust of wind knocked the flower about – that happened from time to time, the wind having a momentary effect on the world – he caught the blossom deftly in his palm and studied it. They were such simple tools, the stones. So insignificant in the world of magic he knew at his age. Yet he couldn't bring himself to turn the flower back to stone. Vague memories stirred in him as he stroked a dark petal, but blurry and indistinct they remained. He was not bothered by having lost recollections from such early years. Had he ever struggled so with the blindness, needed such physical guidance to weave flows? It seemed impossible to him now, when he could turn the blossom to cinders without blinking. But there must have been a time when he had. Everyone had to start somewhere.

One of the thorns caught at his skin as he lay the blossom on the table. He bled a little, surprisingly. Or perhaps not so. At his age, the facets of Fae strength could fail. It was inevitable. But then again everything was.

He had just gotten comfortable in his chair for instance, when there was a knock on the door. Of course his reading would be interrupted. He called for Idris to answer it, but received no reply. Remembering she was out for the evening, Malibar sighed. With a grumble he got to his feet and went to the door. It was likely to be the girl again, having forgotten something in her haste to leave. Another wish had been made, she'd said. She'd have to learn to slow down or she'd be two hundred before she knew it.

He swept aside the curtain at the door, finding an unfamiliar face waiting patiently before him. "Who are you?" he demanded gruffly. "What do you want?"

"I need you to teach me about transference, Sir."

Malibar studied the stranger intently. The Williams girl had spread that term about like a wildfire. He stepped aside. "You'd best come in then."


Learning how to use magic was difficult. But even more so, Sarah decided, when your teacher acted like a sex-starved teenager with the attention span of a gnat. Which she wouldn't have minded any other time, except that they'd been practicing for over an hour without any result. She didn't blame him for growing restless, exactly, but she'd expected him to last a little longer than that.

"Eyes up here, Jareth. Tell me what I'm doing wrong. It's not working."

With visible effort, he brought his attention back to her face. "For starters you're trying too hard, precious."

"So I'm just supposed to stand here and do nothing?"

"That's not quite what I meant either."

"I feel ridiculous." The channelling stone lay cold and useless in her outstretched palm, mocking her pitiable attempts to open the bud.

"Perhaps we should take a break, hmm?"

She wasn't entirely blameless when it came to stirring him up, but how was she supposed to resist such temptation? Jareth was more tights and chest than anything else today, dressed like that, and sat cross legged on the library table reading Fae books to her in a low voice. He was talking about things like 'inner rhythm' and 'mindfulness' and damn it if it didn't just do things to her insides. He shifted to the edge of the table, hanging his legs down so that Sarah fit nicely between them. When his mouth was deliciously in reach, he traced the shell of her ear with a finger and she almost decided to hell with the lesson.

Almost. With a frustrated groan Sarah turned her face away. "Jareth, one of us needs to have some self-control," she groaned. "I thought maybe you could do that for a change. Especially since you're supposed to be my teacher."

"Is this not what teachers do?" Jareth said facetiously. "I've been doing it wrong all these years." He seemed to be measuring the space between them and apparently found it unacceptable.

"Ha. Funny. Seriously, I need you to focus. Don't let me mess around."

He arched a scarred brow, fingers leaving her waist to tap a rhythm against the tabletop. "Are you suggesting I take a more…disciplined…approach to your lessons, precious?"

She rolled her eyes. No good would come of entertaining that comment. "And no more pet names while I'm practicing. It's cute and distracting."

"Yes ma'am. I thought I was the one meant to be giving orders here?"

"Direction, Jareth. Guidance. Not orders."

"Ah. I see. Well then," he clapped his hands together, jumping from the table. "Shall we make a proper go of it?"

Another hour later, blindfolded (she'd had to viciously stamp down any ideas he got from that), Sarah was deep in a state of meditation when the stone turned hot in her hand. She dropped it with a cry of surprise and pain.

"Are you all right?" asked Jareth, getting to his feet.

Sarah tugged off her blindfold and stared at the stone on the floor, beaming. It hadn't bloomed but it was something at least. "I did it!" she cried excitedly, while Jareth inspected her hand. There was a red mark, but nothing serious. She was too proud to care anyway.

"Well done," he commended with a smile. He collected the stone from the floor, rolling it between his fingers. "I thought the blindfold would do the trick."

"That was so cool." Sarah plucked it from his hand, feeling its residual warmth. She had done that. With magic. "Let's try again."

She knew that he might've preferred to do some reading, or take a break and walk together. Instead he nodded, planting a kiss against her nose before replacing the blindfold over her eyes. "Practice makes perfect, love."

"Hey. One little success doesn't mean the nicknames can come back."

She could hear his smile without seeing a thing.


Sarah was a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen. He'd never had the opportunity to witness it before; their usual meals were either pre-pared, conjured or thrown together. This was a side of her he hadn't seen before. Sarah the Chef, Sarah the Dinner Host, was a daunting figure. She moved through the kitchen with furious intent, stirring things here and turning things there. It seemed she had six pairs of hands – there was far too much happening in the freshly cleaned kitchen that one person could handle. Yet Jareth could smell nothing burning – the air was thick with the juicy scents of roasting, sautéing, simmering. Something hissed as she laid it artfully into a roaring pan over the stove and threw a sprig of herbs over the top. An impressed smirk settled on him. She didn't even seem to realise he was there, being so caught up in her frantic cooking. Her haste was understandable – dinner was in a few hours, with rather important guests, and who knew when a wish would take her away?

"A dinner party? For me?" Lina beamed. "She doesn't have to do that."

"She wants to," Jareth assured her. "She says she wants to do something normal. Something humans do. I think she's starting to feel a little homesick, strong as she is."

His sister nodded in understanding, scribbling furiously at the papers on her desk. He wished she had more of a talent for playing with time, watching her work so hard. Couldn't one of the Councillors slow things down for her? Wasn't that the point of them, to help? Ha. That's what they thought they were doing, most of the time.

"I'm supposed to dine with the Council," Lina went on. "They won't like it if I go against custom."

"All the more reason to do it, I say," Jareth replied with a smirk. "Though Sarah has also requested that I officially invite them too. She doesn't want to cause trouble, if you can believe it."

Lina laughed, a sound like bell chimes in the wind. "Very well. Why not? Tomorrow is my last night as Princess before the coronation. Tell Sarah I'd be delighted to dine with the Goblin Queen."

He contented himself with watching Sarah for a few moments. Deeply engrossed in her tasks, she flowed from pot to pot with an easy grace borne of experience. She'd tied up the length of her bulky skirt into a knot to keep her feet clear; it flashed her tanned thighs on occasion. She'd pulled her hair into a scruffy bun at the nape of her neck. She reminded him of some beautiful gypsy, swishing and swaying and flushed with purposeful heat. His affection knew no bounds; it spread within him like a warm glow and pooled in the pit of his stomach. Her existence was a marvel. How had he ever gotten so lucky as to find her? She dipped a finger into a bowl, tasting something with a satisfied smile, and by the Fates' design it was more than affection pooling in him.

"It's safer to stay out of her way, if you ask me."

Jareth hadn't noticed Wick sitting at the wooden table, peeling carrots. His smirk vanished with disappointment, but not with any ill-intended feelings for the Elf. Watching Sarah was doing things to him. Things he'd like to share with her, but couldn't if they had company. Still. Wick didn't deserve the frustrated frown he'd been about to deliver. Smoothing it into a kindly smile, Jareth eyed the carrots and realised why they were bothering him. "You're peeling them by hand?" he enquired.

Wick shrugged. "Apparently Sarah wants to do it 'properly', whatever that means. No magic allowed. Except to conjure the supplies."

"That's absurd," Jareth replied with a shake of his head. Did all humans prepare things that way? "Magic would save her hours of toil and labour –"

"Is that mutinous talk I here in my kitchen?" Sarah appeared before him, blowing stray hair from her face, mixing something in a large silver bowl. "Are you questioning my authority over here?"

"Not at all love," he replied warmly, reaching out to wipe flour from her cheek. "I was just questioning your methods."

She grinned at him, for all her mock severity and harried expression. "I don't need magic. I need more hands."

Behind him, the Elf snickered.

"What?" Jareth asked him, but turning back to Sarah he understood. "Oh. You wish to recruit me?" He remembered his brief stint in the Above and his failed attempts at cooking. "I'm not sure I'd be much help to you."

"I disagree. Wait here." She set the bowl down and disappeared into the pantry.

While she was gone, Jareth inspected the contents of the bowl. It was a strawberry compote, still bubbling from the stove. The smell was inexcusably enticing. It conjured images of licking the mix right off her stomach. Without such options readily available, he contented himself with peeling off a glove and dipping a finger into the sauce.

"Hey!" Sarah smacked his hand away. She juggled a chopping board, a sheathed knife and a bag of onions under her free arm. "There'll be no taste testing in my kitchen. Ask Wick, he'll tell you."

"No taste testing in her kitchen," Wick recited, barely suppressing a chuckle at Jareth's glare. "She banished Hoggle an hour ago for trying the brandy, and Didymus before that."

"What did the Fox Dog try to nibble away at?" asked Jareth mildly.

"Nothing," Sarah told him. "He used my potatoes for target practice. Now." She thrust the items into his arms. "Anybody can chop onions; magic or no. Get to it."

Unable to decide if he was offended or aroused, Jareth took a seat across from Wick and emptied the bag before him. "Where's the other one? The big fellow."

"Ludo? He's too big to not be in her way. Took it upon himself to just steer clear from the start."

"How wise of him."

"Mmm."

The conversation died after that. He hadn't had many experiences with Wick, apart from whenever Sarah was involved or that awful time Jareth had physically threatened the Elf. His mind chose that awkward moment to replay the scene for him, making him cringe. He glanced at Wick and wondered if he was recalling the same thing. Deciding silence would be best, Jareth concentrated on his task. Peeling the onions was easy – a matter of slicing the ends and working from there. Chopping them after that was something of a challenge. His eyes burned. They watered within seconds of his first slice, stinging without reprieve. In a moment of poor judgement, he pressed his fists to his face, seeking relief. That was a mistake. The burn magnified, leaving him blurry-eyed and gasping like a fool.

"Here," came Wick's voice from his shoulder. He pressed a wet cloth to Jareth's eyes, soothing the sting immediately.

Jareth sat there holding the cloth to his face, happy to hide see his flushed complexion. It had never bothered him that he didn't have these skills before. He'd never needed them, not in a world that used magic for everything. But watching Sarah in action left him feeling…a soft type of jealousy. Physical skills were different from magical. He had his own talents, granted, but not in this. She'd have to teach him how she did it all.

"Thank you," he murmured to Wick, who suggested mildly that he should rinse the onions before cutting them further. It would wash away the burning odour. He did so, fastidiously ignoring Sarah's giggles from the corner, and returned to the table determinedly. The Elf hadn't laughed once, which made Jareth realise he actually quite liked him. It said something about a person who could offer help to someone who'd once threatened them. Instead of silence then, they worked companionably together. They shared appreciations for what could be done with magic that couldn't be achieved by hand. They smiled over which of the Councillors would attend and just how their buttons could be pushed. When Sarah came to check on them they were long finished working but had spent the time conversing instead.

"You're no good to me if you're just going to joke around," Sarah teased them, her demeanour noticeably softer than before. "Wick, could you go see how Ludo's doing cleaning the dining room? Some of the stuff up there is a bit delicate for his big paws."

"Of course." The Elf got to his feet, sharing a smile with her and a nod with Jareth, before vanishing.

"You two got along okay," she commented, collecting the fruits of their labour. "I wasn't sure, considering you –"

"Believe me, I need no reminders," Jareth cut in, gathering the scraps together. "But yes, I rather think we've reached a common ground."

"Now if you can just do the same with Brynn..."

Jareth groaned. "Don't push your luck, love." Scraps disposed of, he washed his hands in the sink.

Sarah was adding the onions to a pan, steam hissing and oil spitting. Abruptly, she burst out with another chuckle.

He had the feeling it was directed at him. "What?" he asked flatly.

"Rubbing your eyes…" she shook her head, giggling, stirring the pan. "I never thought you'd be so hopeless in a kitchen."

Her frantic haste seemed to have lessened; they were alone. Jareth seized his opportunity, moving to gently squeeze her waist. "I'm skilled with my hands in other pursuits, wouldn't you agree?" he murmured.

She turned the heat down on the food and turned in his grasp, cupping his face between her fingers. To his annoyance, she laughed again. "Your eyes are bloodshot, onion boy. You look like a stoner," she chuckled.

"A what?" he asked vaguely, distracted by her proximity, the sheen of sweat beading on her brow. Things were…pooling inside him again.

Turning back to the stove, she reached for the wooden spoon. He slapped his hand down over hers, pinning it to the benchtop. "Come on Jareth, I've got a dinner to cook," she murmured. The lack of conviction let him know he was winning.

"Should have thought of that before you mocked me so." He pressed his hips forward, trapping her against the stove.

She shivered at his breath on her neck. "But I need to keep you in line, don't I? Wouldn't want that ego staging a big return."

He ignored that, one hand twisted with hers, the other trailing up the side of her breast to her throat. "I appreciate the practicality of this," he tugged at the bun at her neck, "But I prefer your hair down, you know." One sharp pull and the black flowed over his hand and down her back.

"Seriously Jareth, I'm going to catch fire –"

"That good, am I love?"

"No you idiot, the stove – my hair!"

Eyes wide, Jareth peered over Sarah's shoulder. She was dangerously close to the flames beneath the pan. He swore softly, standing back so she could move. "Are you all right?"

She was perfectly fine. She was bloody laughing again. "You have no kitchen sense at all, do you? Listen to the head chef. Wash the onions first. Don't crush your girlfriend against open flames."

This time he was determined not to be bested. "I would cease that laughter if I were you," he growled.

"Oh yeah?" she raised a brow, folding her arms. "Or what – hey –"

He pinned her against the bench this time, void of hazards, trapping her hands beneath his. Leaning in, he pressed his mouth to the shell of her ear. "Or I'll have to find something else for your mouth to do." Her shudder was deeply satisfying. "That being said, I would like once again to boast the skills I possess with my hands. Let it never be said I pass up opportunities to demonstrate."

"You mean show off," Sarah reiterated in a breathless whisper as he lifted her onto the bench.

"You say tomato, love…"

She was very definitely no longer laughing at him. However, after a few blissful moments of ravaging kisses she broke off, panting. "The onions," she breathed. "Have – to turn off the –"

"Don't bloody care," he growled, capturing her mouth again, slipping a hand up her skirt.

They burnt the onions.


It could just have been her imagination. She tended to let that get the better of her sometimes. Nobody else seemed to notice anything beyond two people who weren't on familiar terms. Sarah couldn't help reading into the lack of engagement between Brynn and Lina. Was there a hint of tension between them, or was it just awkwardness? Did the Fae even feel awkward around people they didn't know very well? She had to force herself not to stare at them, desperate for a clue as to what had gone on between them. It shouldn't have mattered; Brynn had told her there was 'no longer anything to worry about', if that was meant to be reassuring. Still, Sarah couldn't trust any of them enough to leave Jareth alone with Lina. She loved the woman, but what if she decided to act anyway, no matter what she might have said to Brynn?

A booted foot kicked her shin surreptitiously, breaking her focus on the pair beside her. Wick was the only other person she'd told about what was going on with Lina. He was taking it upon himself to distract Sarah from worrying too much. She gave him a look somewhere between smile and frown, something like gratitude and irritation mixed together, but refocused her attention elsewhere.

Despite that small doubt niggling at her, the evening was going well. The dining hall in the Castle had been beautifully transformed by her friends, cleared of mess and dust and nasty lurking goblins. The table had been polished to a fine sheen by Wick, and more chairs collected to seat all the guests. A gorgeous array of candles had been scattered along the length of the table, bathing everyone in gentle light. Music was playing somewhere in the background, violins accompanied by a lady's siren song. Sarah suspected a little magic on Wick's part there, as it seemed to come from no definable source. Painfully structured dinners with Karen and her father had left her with little desire for three course meals, thus the food filled most of the table in its entirety. Nobody could grasp her meaning of the word smorgasbord, but after initial confusion they embraced the idea of tucking into everything as they desired it.

It was a lot of food for a surprisingly large amount of people. There was Jareth, of course, seated between Sarah and Hoggle, with Didymus on a stack of cushions so he could reach the table and Ludo large enough to sit without a chair, to the left. Across from them sat Wick and his cousins, Tork, Brax and Rade, who seemed unable to believe they were guests at the dinner and not serving. To her right sat Lina, gracious and light-eyed, laughing at something Wick had said and twirling the stem of her wineglass. Next to her was Brynn, regal and dignified even when struggling with a slippery piece of potato on his spoon. He was deep in conversation with Dovail, the navy-clad twin to silvery Marina, who looked as if she'd had to drag her brother along and was tired from the journey. Sarah was glad she'd had enough food for them all, thankful that nothing else had burned during her brief distraction with Jareth.

Flushing at the memory of his hands and his hot mouth, she didn't hear Lina's question until Wick gave her leg another kick. Apparently he thought she was worrying again. Suppressing the urge to glare, she rubbed her shin under the table and turned to Lina. "Sorry, I didn't catch that. What did you say?"

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" Lina asked, waving a fork for emphasis. "It's all so divine."

"My mother," Sarah blushed proudly. "She used to have a lot of dinner parties with her showbiz friends. When it was my weekend with her we'd spend the day cooking up fancy meals."

Lina frowned in confusion. "May I ask what 'showbiz' means?"

"Oh, sorry. My mother is a stage performer on Broad – on a, ah, famous strip of land where people do entertaining. You know, plays and musicals and things. It's called showbiz. As in, the business of putting on a good show for people."

"Sounds like a right waste o' time and energy if yer ask me," Hoggle announced, deep into his wine and dinner. He'd been self-aware at first of the Council members and the Princess sitting at the same table as him. Enough time had passed, and perhaps enough liquid courage, that he was feeling more confident.

"I think it sounds delightful," Lina replied, smiling wryly as Hoggle jumped to agree. Maybe not completely self-confident just yet. "But can you explain something else to me Sarah? What do you mean by 'your weekend' with your mother?"

"Well, my parents divorced when I was a kid," Sarah explained easily. She'd told people so often that it didn't bother her anymore. "So I used to spend alternating weekends at their separate houses."

"Divorce is a word humans use when they don't stay married to each other," Jareth explained, predicting his sister's question without looking up from his plate. "They separate and leave sweet little black haired sprites to crawl into fairy-tales in search of emotional comfort."

Sarah stared at him, slicing his chicken with precision, apparently unaffected by the conversation. She knew better. "I grew up just fine," she murmured, laying a hand on his arm. "I wouldn't be who I am today if all those things hadn't happened around me."

"That's not how you felt at fifteen," he replied just as quietly, no longer touching his food. "I saw what you wanted, the things you dreamed of. Your family whole and together –"

"That was ten years ago," she cut in gently. "I was a kid. Of course that's what I wanted. But they were so unhappy…it wouldn't have been fair for them to stay together for my sake."

Jareth studied her face, reading, seeking honesty. His expression was intense, eyes focused solely on her, voice a serious whisper that took her by surprise: "Our children would never have to worry about that."

Fuck, he took her breath away. And not in a fleeting, momentary I-can-see-your-collarbone-through-that-shirt-and-want-to-bite-it kind of way. In an I-love-you-so-fucking-much-it-paralyses-me way. She would have kissed him then if she could move, would have crawled into his lap and picked up where they'd left off in the kitchen before the smoke had gotten to them. As it was, with a room full of people who seemed to have carried on conversation without her, Sarah took his hand and gripped it tightly in her lap. Flashing his sharp teeth in a tender smile, Jareth draped an arm over the back of her chair, running a thumb down her spine every so often. He'd worn his open-throated shirt for her sake just as she'd worn the backless dress for his.

His touch wasn't the only thing making her skin prickle, though. A quick glance in Brynn's direction revealed him studying them intently. Upon being caught out, he became very interested in his food. Weird.

"Sarah," Wick called worriedly from across the table. "Why would anyone want to do that?"

She blinked in confusion. "Do what?"

"Separate. Abandon their family," Lina put in, her concerned expression mirroring the Elf's.

"Oh." Sarah shook her head. Jareth's clarification had left them reeling, apparently. "Divorce doesn't mean that, exactly. Not all the time. Some people just fall out of love with each other. It happened to my parents, so they decided they were happier living apart and sharing me. Seemed to work better for all of us, so I stopped questioning it a long time ago."

Lina was quiet for a while after that, contemplating a world she didn't understand. Hell, divorce was nothing. The tip of the iceberg when it came to the messed up things humans did to each other. Sarah kept this to herself though. There was a determined lightness to Jareth's sister that Sarah suspected was there because of all the darkness she'd faced. No need to add more grey to her view of the Above.

The conversation drifted from topic to topic, ebbing and flowing as everyone ate their fill and made their way through the wine. Sarah eased herself back against Jareth's arm, hazy with contentment, laughing as Didymus used breadsticks to teach swordplay to the Elves. Hoggle engaged Jareth in a debate about who'd really won their latest poker game. Sarah was too busy being surprised that they actually played poker together to hear someone calling her.

Lina tugged on her elbow, drawing her attention to Marina.

"Miss Williams," said the silvery Councillor, voice rich and polite with just hint of pointedness. "I've been told you have yet to attend a meeting with the constituencies of the Goblin Realm. I suggest you take interest soon, for the good of your reputation."

She had no idea what the woman was talking about. "I – I don't – what meetings?" Something drew her eyes sharply to her second-in-command. "Brynn, what meetings?"

The Fae took his time answering. He chewed and swallowed his mouthful of food, washed it down with a sip of wine, laid his fork on his plate. Then told her matter-of-factly, without any preamble: "I've been attending the necessary audiences on your behalf, to give you time to become accustomed to your new role."

Stunned, Sarah couldn't help but flounder a little. Nobody had told her about that. "How – how many 'necessary audiences'? What have I missed?"

"Trivial affairs, I assure you. A few small meetings with local councils to satisfy them until you are ready."

"An interesting move to make without your superior's consent," remarked Dovail, sipping his wine and looking at Brynn sternly. Not that that meant anything. The Fae never seemed to look anything but stern.

Ignoring the comment, Sarah addressed Brynn directly. "Who said you could do that?"

In response his gaze flicked just beyond her and she rolled her eyes, turning to Jareth. Of course he had something to do with it.

He'd obviously caught wind of the conversation and looked, surprisingly, ready to pick a fight. With her? "Tell them all how well you've been sleeping, Sarah," he said quietly, slowly. "Think back over the last few days and tell me how you might've had the time and energy for unimportant meetings."

Sarah's glare was equally hard as his, chin just as high, but only for a moment. He was totally right, of course. There was no way she'd have had the strength to bother with politics after the last week.

When she said nothing, he went on. "I will not make decisions for you, as you've asked of me before. But nor will I put strain on you when I know it isn't necessary. You don't have to do everything yourself."

"You did," Sarah muttered stubbornly.

"It was the only choice left to me after I'd pushed everyone away. You have a handful of good people here who will help you in all this. I suggest you let them."

Didymus was still toying with the Elves while Ludo and Hoggle watched enthusiastically. Most of the attention on her was Fae in nature, stoic and measured, even on Lina's face.

"I wouldn't be too upset, Sarah," she told her simply. "You haven't been officially announced yet. It hasn't been strictly necessary for you to see people. Not quite at the moment anyway."

Reluctantly, Sarah agreed. "All right Brynn, you're spared my stubborn rant." Then, as an afterthought: "Thanks for looking out for me."

The Fae shrugged loosely. The wine was softening him up nicely. "I simply did what Jareth asked."

Grinning, Sarah leant back into Jareth's arm again. "I'll make friends of you two yet," she muttered. "So when do I have to start going to all these things?"

"Once my dear sister is inaugurated, you will be named Queen of the Labyrinth," Jareth told her, tension finally easing in him now that she wasn't going to shout. "From then on, you'll have any number of droll affairs to attend."

An idea occurred to her, making her grin again. "Well then, you'll be coming along with me, won't you?"

Marina and Dovail spoke over the top of each other:

"I don't think that's wise –"

"His history stands against him –"

Sarah threw a hand up and to her total surprise, they quietened. If only just, and with a shared unhappy look. "I know absolutely nothing about Domain politics and running a Goblin Realm. The maze stuff I can work out, but the rest of it? I think Jareth has more than enough experience with that. The only reason he's not still King is because he let me distract him. I'm taking him with me and that's that." She beamed at Jareth, raising her glass. "I'm hiring you as my advisor. What do you think?"

Jareth pretended to consider the notion. "Does it pay well?"

"No idea. Probably not. You in?"

He raised his glass to hers. "I'd be delighted, precious."

"Excellent. Then I'm making a toast before dessert." She stood with only a little sway, the wine rushing to her head. Tapping a spoon against her glass, she called everyone's attention. "This is how they do it in the movies, right?" Blank expressions surrounded her. "Oh, why am I asking any of you – never mind." She swept her gaze over them all, taking note of the cheeky glint in Didymus' eye and the curious gleam in Dovail's, the proud expression on Lina's face and the not-so-blank-for-once look on Brynn's. "To the friends who've helped me get this far, even when I've been a total pain. To my fellow Queen-to-be, who hasn't once made me feel like anything less than a sister. To my second-in-command, who acts like a stone while somehow also being my rock." She settled a hand on Jareth's shoulder, smiling down at him. "To you and your persistent crush. Who'd have thought stalking could make wonders happen?" He put his hand over hers and grinned wryly, beautifully sombre. "To the big changes and little moments ahead of us all. To...people coming together, finding things lost for too long, wonderfully weird friendships…and to the end of life as we know it."

They raised their glasses and toasted to the future.


It was rudely early in the morning to be battling it out with inadequate makeup tools. Sure, she'd been awake long enough to have showered and eaten. That didn't mean she was conscious enough to deal with clumping mascara. Patience was never her forte when it came to cosmetics. In that respect, Sarah thought she'd probably do better facing the hordes this morning. She was only bothering because Lina had specifically invited her to the coronation. It seemed the least she could do was attend not looking like something the goblins had dragged in.

"I wish I could blame Jareth," she muttered, carefully attempting the eyeliner. "Him and his 'everything's better with glitter' motto."

"And yer don't?" Hoggle asked from his position on her bedroom rug. He'd taken a few books on gardening from the library and was flicking through them.

"Please," Sarah snorted. "He wouldn't care if I showed up wearing nothing. In fact, he'd probably prefer it." She swapped eyeliner for lipstick, suppressing the urge to glower. "Not that I'd give him any such gift after the way he carried on this morning. You know he still doesn't think I should go, even though his own sister sent the invite?"

It was Hoggle's turn to snort. "As if you'd listen to him anyway."

"I know, right? He said there's enough going on today without adding my presence into the mix. I get that he might be nervous about Lina's big day, but that's no reason to try cutting me out of it to make things easier. I want to see her with that crown. It's important. Plus, it's already been put out there that the new Goblin Queen is human. So what's the point in hiding?"

"An' what did his Highness have to say to that?"

"Nothing. I think he's still trying to come up with an argument." Grinning, she started brushing out her hair. "So I'd steer clear of him if I were you. I think I saw a vein popping on his temple at breakfast."

"Hoggle don't need tellin' twice," he replied. "But just you watch yerself around them nobles, Sarah. Funny type, they are."

"Thanks, Hoggle. I know." She set down her brush and turned to him, hands dramatically framing her face. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"How do I look?" she asked exasperatedly.

"How should I know?" Hoggle shrugged. "Humans all look the same to me." He went back to perusing his books.

Rolling her eyes, Sarah went to the bed and gathered up her favourite dress. It was the one Jareth had made her for the Harvest, emerald and silver and patterned with poetry. "I take it you're not so blasé about us humans that you can watch me get dressed?"

"Oh, right." Hopping to his feet, Hoggle began collecting his books under one arm. "I'll be off then. Mind if I borrow these? I won't keep 'em too long."

Sarah shrugged, clinging to the towel she had wrapped around her. "Keep them as long as you like. I'll see you later. Oh! Try and look angry when you get out of here. Let the nasties think I've got you on some stupid errand."

Left alone, she shed the towel and slipped into the dress. It was odd to be wearing it again, in such different circumstances to the last time. At the Harvest she'd worried it would be too revealing of the true relationship between her and Jareth. Today she donned it as a direct proclamation of that.

The difference between then and now seemed obvious, studying her reflection when she was dressed. She looked better without the Fae makeup, without anything to detract from who she was. There was something inherently mature about the woman in the mirror. It will be fine, those eyes told her.

"They can't take him away from you this time," she murmured. There was nothing the Fae could do to them anymore. Jareth had said it himself: he had nothing left to contribute to the Domain, so they couldn't technically ban his involvement with her. Not for the usual reasons, anyway. She wouldn't put it past them to think up new ways of denouncing her. But if she let that thought worry her, she'd never leave the Castle. "Come on Sarah. They can't touch us. You're fine." For good measure, she tied Jareth's pendant around her neck and let it hang for all to see.

In the entrance hall she found the men waiting in a state of mutual aggravation. With Brynn it was tricky to tell, but she knew the signs: that crimson brow was drawn tightly together, fists bunched behind his back. It might've looked like he was just wandering the hall with those careful steps, but Sarah could tell he was pacing. She wasn't exactly sure what he had to be anxious about, but his pacing did increase a little at the sight of her. Still, he looked good in burnished ebony silks and frilled cuffs. She couldn't spare too much time for admiration though, when Jareth was standing by.

Kissed by glitter, he pulsed with effeminate grace and powerful otherworldliness. He was draped in ivory and gilded fawn to emulate Lina's royal colours. Shimmering knee-high boots engulfed pale tights, which disappeared snugly beneath a snug vest. Silk spilled forth at his wrists and throat, pearlescent, throwing contrast to the deep gold of his coat. His frown and the lazy way he seemed pinned to the wall, glowering, gave him the look of an icy prince. He looked like the man she'd first met as a teenager, the one who'd been frightening and entrancing all at once. Even upset with her he was terrifyingly beautiful, and she was overcome with determination that nothing anyone could do would tear them apart.

They can't touch us. She would never let them.


She did like to drive him mad, didn't she? Jareth couldn't remember ever being bothered so by other women. But then other women weren't Sarah Williams, and whose fault was it that he'd sought her so insistently? If catching the wind turned out to be just as maddening as chasing it, then he had no one to blame but himself. She was a vision, draped in that dress he so adored on her. The gown itself mightn't have been an obvious statement to anyone but himself, but with that pendant around her neck…she may as well have written I love Jareth across her forehead. Which would delight him any other day, except they'd argued about it that very morning.

"No." He pushed away from the wall and strode towards her. "Absolutely not, Sarah." He pointed at the pendant. "Take that off this instant."

"Do you see what I put up with, Brynn?" Sarah enquired of the other man, talking as if she'd done nothing wrong. "He's so rude, isn't he? Not so much as a 'you look lovely, precious'."

Jareth took hold of her arm and stood close. "You do look lovely," he told her in a low voice. "So much so that I'd like to rip that pretty little dress right off you. But why the pendant, Sarah?" he demanded. "Must you rub it in everyone's face?"

Sarah didn't try to pull free of his grip, nor did she falter beneath his stern gaze. "You're damn right I'm rubbing it in some Fae faces."

"That much of a conquest am I?" he couldn't help replying.

"No but you are an idiot," she snapped. "You think I'm going to just tag along as your plus one and keep my mouth shut? Jareth, we're together now. And if any stuffy noble thinks they can change that, or make some smart ass comment – well, let's just say I've had it with people jerking us around." Her slender fingers rested on the pendant. "This will make it pretty obvious that I don't give a shit if people know who I am. I figure they'll be less inclined to start with me than if I just cowered behind you all day."

It was difficult to remain frustrated when she was the very image of grace and beauty, that chin turned up as if daring him to challenge her logic. Still, she'd called him an idiot in front of Brynn, and that warranted at least a sharp kiss of reprimand. "You may well be too clever for your own good, precious," he whispered against her gasping mouth when he was done. "Very well. Keep the pendant. Let's see what the day has in store for us."

"Give me a second," Sarah told him, sounding just a little less cool than before. "You smudged my lipstick."

While she busied herself with that, Jareth beckoned Brynn over. "Remember that –"

"I'm responsible for her safety, yes," the man cut in. "I will keep an ear out for trouble. Although, your lack of magic doesn't mean you aren't able to protect her when she needs it."

Jareth blinked in surprise.

"Are we ready?" Brynn asked as Sarah re-joined them. "I'll deliver you both to the royals' entrance, before –"

"I still don't see why you can't just come with us," Sarah interrupted, linking arms with him for the transportation. "You were Goblin King too, even if it was just for a little while."

"Be that as it may, I possess only a status as a lower noble now. I'll attend with the others of my rank and then meet you in the grand hall after the ceremony."

Still curious of the man, Jareth nodded in silence and took his arm, holding Sarah's hand tightly as they whirled away.

There was a private reception hall for members of the royal family and high ranking Councillors. Brynn delivered them outside this hall and then disappeared promptly. It was inappropriate for him to stay, even if they'd had no way of getting there without him. Jareth would have thanked him for the help, had he stuck around. As it was, he mentally prepared himself for the day ahead and did his best to see Sarah equally ready.

"Bow to no one," he instructed her. "Much as they might think of themselves, my cousins and elders are no more than blood relations. They aren't Kings or Queens, and your deference to them will only lower you in their eyes."

"But they're royalty, aren't they? They're related to you, and you're the Prince, so…"

"You are the soon-to-be Goblin Queen, Sarah. Technically speaking, you rank higher than most of them even now. Trust me. Do. Not. Bow."

She nodded, looking nervous for a moment. He caught the hand she was smoothing down her dress with. "You'll do fine, love. You've faced much worse than the people on the other side of those doors."

Her smile was tight but she touched the pendant with her free hand, squaring her shoulders, and pulled him into the hall.


For a second Sarah thought she might get through the day without much notice. There definitely didn't seem to be much interest in newcomers, as everyone was deep in conversation with each other. It gave her a moment to assess the situation: forty-odd Fae, all dressed to the nines in royal garb and sipping wine at their leisure. Faint music played without a source, something with strings and woodwind instruments, while Elves bobbed through the crowd offering refreshments. Everything was bedecked in flowers and vines, infusing the air with that cloying floral perfume that itched Sarah's throat.

She had just enough time to note all this, forcing her hand to relax in the crook of Jareth's elbow, when the murmurs started. Over the music played a different kind of tune: the whispers of judgement. As Jareth led her into the fray, emanating fierce protectiveness with every step, she felt stares falling directly on her pendant. A flushed heat crept its way up her chest, but Sarah refused to look cowed. Toying with the piece around her neck as if unaffected, she smiled and nodded at the people they passed. Some glared at her in return, while others schooled their faces into carefully blank expressions. One woman actually snickered into her hand, and that's when Sarah found herself resisting the urge to laugh.

"Something funny?" Jareth enquired, leading her to a small group of pale-haired men and women.

"It's just like high school. Like I'm the weird exchange student and I've turned up at the prom with the quarterback."

"I have…no idea what you're talking about."

"It's okay. Just something silly." But another thing she noticed was that they weren't just looking at her with their noses in the air. Their appraising stares and curt expressions fell just as often on Jareth. And she realised how far he must have fallen in their eyes, giving up all his Fae traits to be with a human, endangering his people, betraying them. No more was he the esteemed Prince of the Domain. Now he was the weird kid too. She tightened her grip on his elbow. "I love you," she whispered to him.

Faltering, surprised, Jareth smiled at her in confusion. "And I you, precious."

"Okay. Let's get this over with. Introduce me to your family."


The key to navigating conversation with Fae, he'd told her, was to be unyielding without being insulting. It was important for Sarah to appear confident without coming across as an aggravator. Given her track record, Jareth couldn't help but be a little anxious that she would fly off the handle if poked too often. It was all very well and good for her to stand firm against the Council as she had before, but today could easily earn her a nasty reputation if she was too aggressive in her responses. As the morning progressed, and they met different groups of his relatives and peers, he started to think he needn't have worried so much. Sarah was a natural. She could have walked the fine line blindfolded. Polite but self-assured, she allowed them to question her without batting an eye. At first, the attention stemmed from disdain or mistrust. They remarked on her age or asked how she felt about infringing on their way of life. When they acknowledged her at all. A fair few people had questions only for Jareth: what did he think he was doing, wasn't he ashamed, what did he intend on doing with himself now that he'd been ousted from his position? He answered with aplomb, more than used to smart-talking his way out of conversations with relatives.

Sarah was more direct in her responses. She told them of her life Above in plain detail, casually enough to divert interest while still answering questions. As for the more pertinent demands, she told the same story over and over: how she was grateful for the opportunity to change things with the hordes, how she had been given years and magic and would use them wisely, how she was interested in learning more about Domain history. Clearly the months spent scouring through his library had helped. Odd pieces of information would slip out from time to time, knowledge she'd gleaned from maps and history books. She received surprised stares on those occasions, and even impressed nods. At one point, flashing him a mischievous look, she started to recite a poem in perfect Fae language as if not quite intending for others to hear. It was a love sonnet that he'd recited syllable by syllable until she could repeat it verbatim. He'd kissed the words into her skin on many a warm afternoon. The overheard little recital stunned their company into silence. If Sarah could only say the words and had no real clue what they meant…well, they didn't have to know that.

"She's a well-versed little parrot, isn't she? An excellent memory for repetition."

Jareth turned sharply toward the source of the jibe. His cousin Romman stood leering at Sarah, a smirk on his thin face. Luckily Sarah was too busy talking to have heard. "Romman," Jareth acknowledged coldly, flashing his pointed teeth in a mocking smile. "What nasty little crevice did you crawl from today?"

"I bet you filled her little head with wonders, cousin," Romman continued quietly. "I'm sure she was quite the willing vessel, after a few lessons in discipline." He winked.

Jareth wanted to tear the man's throat out. "Leave, Romman," he said low, trying to avoid drawing attention.

"Oh I'm sorry, am I meant to believe you didn't pump her full of information before today? Or have I gotten it wrong?" He tilted his head, studying Jareth. "Are you the one that's been tamed? Has she filled your head with pretty human nonsense, hmm?"

Jareth's face twisted with a feral snarl before he smoothed it down. There was much to hate about his cousin, least of all the man having any interest in Sarah. Rumours of his treatment of women were not exaggerated, and Jareth knew what Romman might attempt if he found anything in Sarah to be curious about. Forcing down a torrent of rage, he leant in to lightly brush off the man's lapels. "You ought to be more careful with that tongue, dear cousin," he commented, gaze trained just beyond him. "Else I'll find a goblin who'd enjoy ripping it from your mouth." Romman tensed as Jareth looked him square in the eye. "If I am indeed the puppet master as you infer, do you not think me quite capable of arranging a meeting between you and the hordes?"

Romman had turned a pale shade of white, and not in outrage. "You – you can't –"

"There is nothing left in the world that's beyond my capabilities, in some way or another.' He gave the threat a moment to sink in. "Now. I suggest you leave us be, indefinitely."

His cousin nodded silently and vanished into the crowd. Jareth linked his hands behind his back to hide their furious shaking. Licking dry lips, he edged closer to Sarah and pretended to follow whatever she was talking about to his aunt.

If that was the only encounter, Jareth would have been happy. There were others, rude relatives who spoke out of turn and Councillors that tried to take Sarah down a peg. They handled these moments well, considering. Marina showed up out of nowhere to call away a Councillor who was on the verge of going too far. Jareth intercepted an uncle who was known for his sharp tongue. Sarah took on the rest with impressive ease, keeping her cool under scrutiny and only throwing back what she was given. After a while he realised he was more proud than worried. He also noticed a shift in attitudes. The people that sought them out did so out of curiosity rather than a desire to needle them. Not that being studied as a creature of sudden interest was much better, but at least he didn't have to stand at Sarah's back like a bodyguard.

"How am I doing?" she murmured in the few seconds they were granted a reprieve.

"Spectacularly." He drew her hand up to his and kissed it swiftly, pressing it to his chest. "You were made for this, love."

"Don't know if I'd say that, but it's easier now they've stopped looking at me like I'm a leper." An Elf passed by with a tray of wine. "Should we have a drink? Biting my tongue is making me thirsty." She reached for a glass but he halted her hand.

"Best not," he told her gently. "Fae alcohol is far more potent than even Goblin ale, Sarah. You'll be on the floor with one sip."

She shrugged, momentarily disappointed before something caught her eye and she lit up with joy. "Wick!"

The Elf was clearing empty plates from a low table beside them. Or at least he had been, until Sarah slipped around Jareth and pulled the Elf into a hug. "I didn't know you'd be here! Why are you here? You're not cleaning, are you? Did you ask Lina about this? I…" she babbled on happily, clearly glad to see a friendly face.

Jareth could feel every pair of eyes on them, and knew Sarah had made a mistake. While his relationship with Elves was growing every day, it hadn't yet occurred to Sarah that maybe others' would take time. And that of all places, a royal event was not an appropriate venue to boast affection for servants. It wasn't her fault, of course. Years would have to pass before Fae began to see Elves as anything other than 'the help'. Around the room murmurs started again, the kind that bore snickering and scoffing. Sarah, innocently oblivious, actually made to help Wick clear the plates before Jareth stopped her with a gentle hand.

She stared at him, puzzled, before realising just where she was and why her friend wasn't quite making eye contact. Putting the Elf's furious blushes together with the faces in the crowd, she wilted. "Crap," she muttered. "I messed up, didn't I?"

"I'm afraid so," Jareth murmured, subtly tugging her arm so she stood closer to him than Wick. "This may have knocked your progress back somewhat, love." His skin prickled at the sidelong glances thrown their way.

"I'm sorry," Wick muttered. "I asked to be stationed here so I could keep an eye out for you. I forgot you'd be so – well – Sarah about it."

"What, you mean happy to see you?" Sarah asked incredulously.

The Elf blushed deeper. "It's a very 'you' thing to do."

Damage was being done with every second they prolonged the conversation. "I suggest you take your leave, young Wick," Jareth instructed softly. "Find another task to complete, hmm?"

Wick shook himself of his unease, determined not to cause any more trouble. "Of course. Right." At the last minute he refrained from touching Sarah's hand, turning instead to the plates without another word to her.

"Sorry," Sarah mouthed to him, before taking Jareth's elbow and leading him away. "Why did you let me do that?" she hissed. "Now I'm back to square one!"

"I'm not a bloody mind reader Sarah," Jareth replied. "How was I to know you'd find a friend here?"

"Have you met me? I have friends everywhere!"

Which was true, for the most part. She did seem to cultivate relationships at an alarming rate. That instilled in him a faith in her ability to amend this little faux pas in the future. "The ceremony will start soon," he said. "Shall we make our way to the grand hall?"

"Please," she nodded in agreement. "Before I say damn it all and get stuck into that wine."

He chuckled, surprising them both, and drew her away. His sister was to be crowned soon enough; the realisation gave him a little much-needed perspective. "They'll get over this," he assured Sarah, leading her out of the hall and down a corridor. "Everybody knows change is coming. Your little display was just another piece of proof."

Sarah glanced back at the reception hall momentarily, heavy-eyed. "And I did such a good job with the poetry too," she said with a shake of her head. "Win some lose some, I suppose." She frowned as they turned a sudden corner, disappearing down an empty corridor. "Hey, where are we – mmph –"

Jareth spun her against the wall, pressing them both into a hidden alcove, and kissed her hard. She responded quickly despite the shock, curling fingers in his hair and tugging him firm against her with a faint moan.

He wasn't quite sure what had come over him. Maybe the morning's strain had finally plucked a nerve too many. She'd been damn impressive in that room, mistakes and all. He'd never seriously considered making her his Queen in the early days of his infatuation. Wallowing deep in the marshes of self-loathing, he'd hoped for a distraction. Someone clever enough to keep his interest, to entertain him. There had never been a genuine hope for finding his equal. In the years he'd spent watching her grow up, he'd realised her true potential. And now, oh, how happy he was that she'd turned him down that first day. Though he thought he'd loved her then, she would have been nothing more than a trinket. Now here she was, royal in her own right, a Queen by her own design and damn if he'd had much to do with it. He knew what it meant now to love someone in earnest, without wanting to possess or bully them. Cupping her face, Jareth inhaled the delicate perfume of her.

Sarah's hands fell to his wrists, settling there, while she stared at him in a daze. "What the hell was that for?" she asked, even as she nudged against his lips in search of more.

He kissed her again, fervently, awash in the frustration and bliss of loving someone like Sarah. "If I was still King, I would have asked that you be my Queen," he murmured aloud, contemplative, skimming a hand along her throat. He could feel the twin pulses of her heart and his magic beneath the surface of her skin.

When she trapped his hand beneath hers, he felt a warm trickle down his spine and shivered. It was at once painfully familiar and completely foreign, the kiss of magic in the air that had once been his. Now it was Sarah's, infused with her humanity, diluted by her inexperience. "I don't need titles," she told him firmly, flushed with heat.

"And yet you will have them soon enough, your Majesty, even if they are not taken from myself." The warmth of her beneath him was intoxicating. The heat pulsing between their joined hands was strong enough to burn, but neither of them let go. "I have given you my all, Sarah. My heart, my years, my magic…is there nothing else you would wish to take? What about my name?"

"Jareth…"

"Would you like my name, Sarah?"

She nodded mutely.

"Then take it," he replied hoarsely, feeling that slow burn where their hands touched. He wondered if she knew what she was doing. "I would promise myself to you, Sarah."

Eyes wide, biting her lip, Sarah nodded. "Same here, Goblin King," she whispered, gasping at the sudden fire trapped between their hands.

He kissed her, marvelling, transcending, knowing what they'd find when they stopped.


There were many things Sarah would remember about the coronation of Lina El'Maven. The Elf who spotted them hurrying away from the alcove and the way Jareth laughed at his expression. The fact that the Palace's rich perfume no longer seemed to bother her. Jareth pointing out a window to the crowds that lined the Palace gates, all manner of Domain inhabitants of every age, creed and colour. The details of their faces were a mystery at such a distance, but their sung praises told of how much the young Queen meant to them. Her deep-seated rush of joy at being part of such a momentous moment in Domain history, and her gratitude for being part of it in a personal capacity.

She'd always remember the quick glimpse of Brynn standing further back in the grand hall, resplendent and solemn, and the happiness she'd felt at having found something kind in the man who'd once killed her. Taking her place with Jareth among the highest standing Fae and the faces she'd remember in years to come, when they finally befriended her. The odd tune that signified the start of the ceremony, bells tolling that seemed to her a death march, while others' faces shown with rare passion. Lina's beautiful gown, spun gold and shimmering as she made a slow path down the aisle, every bit the regal heir to a Throne that was older than anybody knew. The look brother and sister shared as she passed by, a look so potent with love and meaning Sarah felt an intense longing for her own siblings. Of the formality itself Sarah would recall very little. The Council droning about history and birthright and honour, while Lina stood like a statue and gave responses in a clear voice. The crown, thinly wrought and gleaming like blackened sunshine, disappearing in the curls of her faded auburn hair. The abrupt end to the ceremony and the events that took place afterwards: meeting for drinks in the royal reception hall, Lina being whisked away by every second person for something, a few of Jareth's cousins getting so drunk they were asked to leave.

Yes, there many things Sarah would remember about that day. But most of all she'd recall the soft delighted squeal from Lina upon spotting the matching marks on Jareth and Sarah's wrists. She'd remember the strength of the woman's arms around her waist, holding her close, and she'd remember thinking my sister-in-law is the Queen. Hell, I'm a Queen. She'd look back on the oddly stiff exchange between Brynn and Lina when they thought nobody was watching, and understand what it meant, with hindsight. Later, examined for authenticity by a string of befuddled lawmen, it would be decided that the weave Sarah had cast was sound, however unorthodox, and that the promises made between she and Jareth were up to interpretation.

She'd remember Ezra in a fit of rage, as usual, snapping at her: "You cannot just...just take a husband in that manner."

And she'd remember the warmth of her hand in Jareth's, their wrists freshly scarred but beautifully marked all the same, as she smugly replied: "I already did."


It was not so much a honeymoon as one uninterrupted day together. And it wasn't so much one day as a few blissful hours. Still, they deserved it. Sure, some people were sceptical about accepting their definition of marriage. But Sarah had taken Jareth's name for herself and rings were involved, on wrists if not fingers – really, what else did you have to do to be with someone for the rest of your life? To her, it was enough that they'd said it to each other. And reason enough to demand a few private hours to celebrate. Or so she'd thought.

"Unbelievable," Sarah groaned, shutting the door forcefully behind her. This was the fourth time in as many hours she'd been called to her office to receive a messenger from the Palace. Elves were being sent left right and centre on behalf of the Council. They wanted her approval on missives being sent out to declare her seat on the Labyrinth Throne. They wanted to keep her updated on how the announcement was being received. They wanted her to know any little thing that was happening that morning in regards to her and the Goblin Realm. "They're punishing me, I know it." She found Jareth lounging in the bay window of their bedroom and made a beeline for his lap. The fact that she'd been called away so many times he'd actually given up and put on pants was disheartening, but not something she couldn't remedy. "Ezra's pissed because we did this –" she flashed her wrist vigorously – "and they're sending all these messages to mess with me."

"She is capable of being so petty," Jareth agreed, welcoming her into his lap with greedy hands. "And possibly Jini is too, but I doubt the others are involved. Else this wouldn't be happening."

"Well, the woman needs a tighter leash. I'd ask Lina to reign her in if she wasn't so busy." It didn't take much for him to divest her of clothing. She hadn't even bothered to put on a bra for the last interruption. As her blouse fell away Sarah arched into him, savouring the abandon with which he touched her.

"You could threaten to a bog a few of them," Jareth murmured against her collarbone, preoccupied with finding the clasp on her skirt. "That always stemmed the tide of goblins running to bother me."

"And is that any way to run a Kingdom?" she chastised. "By shooting the messengers? Besides, it's not the Elves' fault. They're just doing their jobs."

"Mmm," he grunted, frowning. "You've far more patience than I, love."

"I can see that. You need a hand?" He was clearly struggling to remove her skirt, glaring at the delicate clasp as if it were doing him a personal wrong. Laughing, she smacked his hands away and did it herself, standing and letting the skirt fall to the floor. It never failed to thrill, the wonder of his gaze on her. "Still seeing those stars and moons, huh?" she asked, reaching out a hand.

"Always," he replied, catching her fingers, letting her tug him to his feet. "Now come here, wife." He pulled her flush against him, hands settling on her lower back, chin dipping into her shoulder.

"Hmmm, I like the sound of that," she purred, lips brushing his collarbone, hips swaying against his. They moved like the tide, a languid waltz of to and fro. Sarah heard some old tune from yesteryear, bluesy and sensual with piano. He stepped back just enough to twirl her with ease. She spun slow, delighting in his eyes on her body, their fingertips barely touching as she curled beneath his arm. The frustrations of the morning evaporated. "Say it again," she murmured, coming back to his chest, dipping fingers beneath the waistband of his pants.

"Wife," he hummed, forehead against hers, and then: "Sarah," in a low growl as she pressed her hips sharply into him.

When had she become this Sarah, who was a wife and a queen and whose name could sound so illicit coming from Jareth like that? The beginning of the year seemed a lifetime ago, when she'd sat in morning traffic five days a week and slept late on weekends. It didn't feel so long ago that she'd stressed about having Karen and her mother in the same room over Christmas, and that the courier always knocked over her delicate mailbox with his van. Nobody knew her in the Above anymore, but they would when she found time to deal with it. And then she'd have to move her belongings to the Castle, quit her job – Gladys will miss the crap out of me – explain to Adele why she was out of a roommate, leave some kind of magical forwarding address for all her mail…the list was complicated and endless, but she wasn't overwhelmed. No, she was excited. Because she was Sarah the Goblin Queen, wife of Jareth El'Maven, the babe with the power – and her new life would be well worth a little time spent sorting out her old one.

Jareth found he was adjusting quite well to his new sense of freedom. It should have been a shock to the system, being cast from the Throne and all its duties after so many years. Yet he'd been so absorbed in the complications of Sarah taking over and Lina being crowned that he hadn't had time to think about it. The day after their self-proclaimed 'honeymoon', Jareth stood on their balcony overlooking the Castle gardens and contemplated his new purpose in life. That he would counsel Sarah in her endeavours was a given, but while she did need him and his experience, she also had Brynn for those matters. So what was he to do, magicless and mortal, when she and her second-in-command went off to answer wishes? He thought of his favourite moments with Sarah, in the Library pouring over old texts and maps, reading and learning and philosophising.

"Tea's ready," Sarah announced, padding barefoot across the stone to join him. She wore one of his shirts that barely fell to the knee and carried two steaming mugs. He smiled, taking the one she proffered, enjoying the ease with which she settled against him at the balustrade.

"I'm thinking about returning to my old studies," he said, surprising them both.

"Great idea," Sarah replied, sipping gingerly at her tea. It was very fresh; he waited for his to cool. "Then I know you won't be getting into trouble while I'm at work. Think Malibar will take you on again?"

"Perhaps. He did give the Two Cuts. All should be forgiven." He could see Hoggle working in the gardens not far below them, hacking away at weeds that had overtaken a fountain. It was a familiar sight, comforting in its simplicity. To think once he'd have bogged the goblin for the fun of it. "It would require travelling, sometimes." He eyed her sideways.

"Even better," she remarked, watching Hoggle too. "You could get out of this Castle every once in a while. I could come with you."

He grinned for more than the excitement on her face. He'd been about to ask if she would join him. "That would be wonderful, precious."

"It'd be fun to see other places in the Domain. Maybe even spend a bit of time around the Goblin realm, you know, get to know my people."

"You already think like a Queen," he commented proudly. He sipped his tea. It was wonderfully warm and sweet.

Sarah made a thoughtful humming noise against the rim of her mug. There was a spark in her eyes, a familiar colour he saw whenever she was deep in contemplation. "What do the Fae do with criminals?" she blurted out.

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

She ran a thumbnail along the railing with a free hand, clearly contemplative. "I've been thinking…you were in a serious amount of trouble because of me. You were pretty much sentenced to death because of the whole 'thou shalt not love a human' thing. What about everyday crimes like theft? How do you punish murder and rape?" Her voice hardened, expression sombre. She encircled her mug with two hands and inhaled the steam absently.

"You have no need to concern yourself with those thoughts, Sarah," he told her gently. "There is a system for dealing with such discrepancies."

"So it happens, then. Even in a world like this. Even with Dwarves and Elves and silent waterfalls, there are still rapists and killers and thieves."

He wished he could tell her she was wrong. "What's brought this about?"

"I've seen the way some of your people look at me, or the Elves – hell, even each other. They're dangerous looks. And I thought…why wouldn't they have those feelings for other people too? What would stop a Dwarf from being a common thief, or a Fae beating his wife? Just because they aren't human doesn't mean they aren't flawed just like us. And I've been wondering what's going to happen when the hordes are sick of losing in the Labyrinth. If I'm so busy fighting to keep humans safe from them, what are they going to eat?"

"They don't need to eat," he replied, latching onto the only answer he could provide. "Goblins only kill for sport, Sarah. You don't have to nurture them in any respect."

"But I could distract them," she replied. "They're going to feel cheated eventually. And what happens then? They'll blame me and we'll be back at square one, with my head on the chopping block. So…what if people in the Domain who commit crimes have to prove their worth against the hordes? Humans have to do it, so why not others? The worse the crime, the more difficult their time is in the Labyrinth. The people who really deserve punishment will find it, and the ones who don't can learn their lesson. I remember you saying that you kept the worst of the goblins out near the borderlands, right?"

"That's correct," he replied slowly.

"There's lots of space out there?"

"…for what?"

"I want to clear out the Goblin City for the more innocent ones to live in again. You know, the ones who used to be people, like Diego. I want them to feel safe without having the Castle packed with little half-goblins. So, I want to propose an idea to Lina: split the Labyrinth into purposes, first to test the moral worth of people who wish away others, and secondly to trial criminals. Organise the trials so they take part only along the western territory of the Labyrinth, towards the borderlands, so that we can persuade the hordes to move out there. In a few years' time, with enough trials happening to serve as a distraction, the Goblin City will be relatively fit for habitation by the little ones. The Castle won't be overrun, the hordes won't feel cheated and the Domain will have a lower crime rate for fear of the punishment." She was breathless by the time she concluded, mug clutched tightly in one hand as she gestured emphatically with the other. "Well, what do you think?"

What did he think? It was bloody marvellous. It made sense politically, economically and logically. She'd drive the brunt of the hordes away to the less inhabited lands without insulting them, and clear the Castle of any potential dangers. And he knew that her reasoning for all of it was genuinely heartfelt. There was no notion of manipulation or power in her ideas. She wanted safety for her more vulnerable subjects, for her dangerous ones to feel acknowledged, and for people to feel less inclined to do wrong by others. They were all very Sarah things to want, and he glowed with pride for it. "I think," he murmured low over the rim of his tea, "That the Domain has been waiting a very long time for a leader like you."

She beamed at him, suddenly shy with the praise. It was so endearing he felt compelled to kiss the blush from her. She complied as he gently pushed away her tea, tilting her chin up to receive him –

"Hey! Yer Majesty!"

Hoggle's voice was gruff and obnoxious, just the right pitch to dampen his ardour.

"Yes?" he and Sarah both called at once, sharing a smile, while inside he thought perhaps he wasn't so far above bogging the Dwarf-goblin.

Sarah, a little more diplomatic, sought out Hoggle below, leaning over the balustrade. "What's up, Hoggle?"

Jareth, contenting himself with slipping a hand up the back of Sarah's – his – shirt, had little interest in the Elf who'd joined Hoggle down in the gardens. The ill-fitted clothing left plenty of room for wayward fingers to entertain themselves. The skin of her hips twitched under his attention.

"An emissary here for Jareth! Says he's to see the Queen today!"

Sarah met his gaze, shuddering beneath his hand, biting her lip.

"It can wait," he told her. "One hour, at the very least."

"Very least," she agreed, nails noticeably digging into stone. Good to know he wasn't the only one easily worked up. "What's your name?" she called to the Elf.

"Loot, Miss!" replied the messenger, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Thanks for the invite, Loot, but can you come back in a few hours? I'm not done with Jareth just yet!"

She wasn't done with him? From the flush of her chest and the breathy catch in her voice, Jareth rather thought it was the other way around. Yes, Lina could wait a little while longer.

"I would advise against delaying."

Again, his advances were stilled.

Sarah groaned and turned to face their new companion on the balcony. "Oh, for the love of – Brynn, what are you doing up here?"

The Fae took care in brushing his coat off, straightening the cuffs while Jareth pulled his hand from Sarah's clothing and tugged the hem down over her legs. He stood partially in front of her for good measure, though Brynn showed no interest in her once he locked eyes with Jareth. "I have little options when you insist on barring the door with goblins," he remarked. "How did you persuade them to stay at their posts, might I ask?"

"By promising them the hide of anyone who tried to interrupt us," Jareth commented dryly.

Sarah lay a hand on his arm. "It's kind of rude to just appear in our bedroom, Brynn."

The Fae spread his hands out. "We aren't inyour bedroom," he countered easily, still watching Jareth with unerring concentration. "I might point out that it's also quite rude to lock oneself away during one's coronation. You are aware of the announcements going out, aren't you Sarah?"

"Oh, I've been kept very well up-to-date," Sarah replied. "What do you want, Brynn?"

"I've been summoned to the Palace myself by the Queen. I wondered if Jareth would prefer to accompany me, given that this visit concerns us both."

"Both of you?" Her surprise matched his own. "What's it about?"

"Trivial matters, I assure you. Political agendas."

"Nothing I should be worried about?"

"Of course not."

Jareth was confused by the suspicious tension between Sarah and the other Fae. They seemed to be having a completely different conversation with their eyes. He had no clue what was being said, but by the final look on her face she was appeased about some worry or another. "If it isn't pressing, then what's the harm in delaying?"

"It's important to your sister." The man stared at him blankly as if making a point.

He narrowed his eyes. "Well then, I wouldn't dream of upsetting her," he responded tightly. "Let's be away." He took the man's arm gruffly.

"Looks like you can head off, Loot," Sarah called to the Elf below. Jareth had completely forgotten about him. "We've got it covered. Tell Lina she'll have company soon." She turned to them. "Let me just get changed –"

There was a sharp tug in his navel, a dizzying lurch, and the colours of the world faded to black. He heard a mug smashing on the stone floor and then the balcony was gone, Sarah was gone. Jareth shut his eyes against the transportation, thrown off guard, barely keeping hold of Brynn's arm.

When it stopped, he felt another sharp twitch in his abdomen – no, not a twitch, a blinding stabbing howling pain.

Something was very wrong.

He stared down at the blade jutting from his stomach. Not just a blade – a sword. Reeling, mouth hanging open in shock and agony, Jareth blinked at the weapon stuck deep within him. His hands moved reflexively over the hilt without finding purchase.

Soundlessly he gaped at Brynn, who returned a grim expression with troubled eyes. "It had to be done," he declared. "There was no alternative."

Jareth had never expected this, conflicted as he was over the man's history. It was disappointing, to be proved right on one's worst suspicions. His legs buckled without warning but Brynn caught him swiftly, lowering him carefully to the floor. He cushioned his head with something. Rage boiled within now that the shock was wearing off. You're taking me away from Sarah. He pictured her face, smiling and kind, crumpling with grief. Oh, Sarah. No. He bared his teeth in a rictus snarl, trying to pierce Brynn's arm with his nails.

The man ignored the attempts, brushing away Jareth's hands.

Someone screamed.

He knew it was Sarah before twisting to look – the movement jarred his soul, scraped glass along his spine and he fell back to the floor with a gasp.

"How did you – no." He heard Brynn's voice. "It doesn't matter. You shouldn't have come, Sarah. I'm sorry."

He didn't know why Sarah wasn't upon them now, throwing herself down, attacking the Fae – but he couldn't move again for the life of him.

"It had to be done this way," Brynn murmured to him. "You have to be on the verge of death for it to work."

Jareth blinked, registering the words as he met Brynn's eyes. Understanding dawned, before being washed away by a blistering wave of agony. The copper tang of blood filled his mouth; the fire roaring through him drove away conscious thought. Lights flickered at the edge of his vision.

"I do…regret that it must be this way. For many reasons. You best brace yourself."

The sword was ripped from his body, throwing him into a gushing, blazing pulsing frozen hell – Jareth groaned, long and guttural, convulsing in delirium. Sarah's shouts became white noise. Brynn was moving – something silver flashed beside him, another dagger, and then the man was crushing his hand against Jareth's gaping wound. Fae language fell from the man's lips, but he was too far gone to make out the words. Those lights were flickering still, fighting against a creeping darkness that threatened to envelope him. Jareth threw his head back and howled in pain, tears streaming down his face for the gift he'd never expected, from the person he'd been so unwilling to trust.


Sarah was yelling. That seemed about right.

The rest of it was…admittedly hazy. He was lying on cold stone, head cushioned, with someone's shadow falling over his prostrate body.

Ah. His body. That was an interesting sensation. For just a moment, upon stirring, he'd felt horrendous pain. His innards should be gushing out with a pain such as that. But reaching a hand down, slowly, gently, he felt only torn clothing. The skin beneath was intact and that pain was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Don't move too quickly. You'll be weak for a while," said the shadow kneeling over him.

A quick study found it to be Brynn, and it all came rushing back to Jareth so that his head spun. Despite the dizziness, he pushed himself up – or tried to. Brynn's firm hand on his shoulder kept him down.

"I'm serious," he said, as if he was ever anything else. "You'll do yourself harm."

Sarah was still yelling. Why was she not with him – oh. She was a few feet away, hammering her fists against an invisible wall that he suspected had been hurriedly put in place. Smart man. Nothing short of magic would have kept her at bay. "Release her," he ordered, eyes drifting shut momentarily. He felt the need to be sick, as if gravity were toying with his senses.

"I tried earlier. She only attempted to beat at me."

Despite himself, Jareth smiled. He looked over at Sarah, who was in tears with fury and fear, her fists pummelling the solid air, and the mirth was gone. He longed to have her in his arms. "Release her," he said again.

As soon as she was free Sarah ran and threw herself at Jareth, knocking Brynn out of the way. She sobbed, leaning right over him, pressing her face into his neck. She was shivering; he weakly patted her on the back. She was a miracle in his arms after that horrid worry that he would leave her behind in this world. "I saw the whole thing," she wept angrily. "That sword went through you like you were fucking paper and there was so much blood and when you fell down I felt like I was dying too –"

"I'm very much alive, love," he assured her. "Alive and perfectly all right. How did you follow us here?"

"I don't know," she sniffed, calming down, fists curling his shirt to flowers. "Magic I guess. I just – something felt really wrong to me, the way you both disappeared like that. And I wanted to be with you, and I heard you thinking about me and the next minute I was standing there and –" She broke off, whipping around to face Brynn. Jareth thought she might start yelling again, but instead she started hitting. Smacking the Fae up and down his arms and chest, pushing at him while he took it all in silence. "You stupid fucking idiot, what the hell did you think you were doing? I thought you'd killed him! And what did you do? I know what you did – you gave him your years, didn't you? You – what the fuck, Brynn? What the –"

"Sarah." Jareth touched her shoulder from behind. "Stop."

"It's quite all right," Brynn said over Sarah's continued tirade. "She has her reasons."

But it didn't seem right. Of all the times he'd laughed at her blasé treatment of the man, of how often he'd wanted to beat Brynn himself…it didn't seem funny anymore. They needed to talk, but couldn't do so with Sarah losing control. Yes, she'd just watched something obviously traumatic, but he was fine now. He loved the way she wore her emotions like a crown, though it wasn't always helpful. With monumental effort he pushed himself into a sitting position and took hold of her shoulders from behind. "I said stop, Sarah. That's enough. Listen to me."

His unusually stern tone must have gotten through to her. "I knew something was wrong with you and Lina," she growled at Brynn, shaking her head furiously, sitting down beside Jareth. Her leg quivered with a restless beat against his thigh. "I just knew it."

He very much wanted to ask what any of this had to do with his sister, but they would get to that. "Can you remain calm enough to have a conversation?" he asked her quietly. "Or should you perhaps take a walk?"

She looked like she was struggling not to glare at him. He had just been violently attacked, after all. It granted him safety from her anger. For a while. "I'm not leaving you two alone," she insisted, getting to her feet and starting to pace the room.

Well, it was better than nothing. Jareth flicked his attention back to Brynn, studying the man who had just sacrificed his years. He looked exactly the same. Maybe a little paler, though that could have been the lighting. Jareth didn't really expect Brynn Fel Vaden to show any signs that he'd just given up his immortality. He lifted his chin, meeting the man with a level gaze. "So."

"We had no choice," Brynn offered, the beginnings of an explanation.

"We?"

"You. Me. Sarah. Lina. The web was tangled. I had to make the only logical decision left to us. I had to cut us free."

"I don't understand."

Brynn gave no indication that he was aware of Sarah's intent stare on his back. "Your sister was intending on giving you her years, Jareth."

"What?" He was surprised by the flat disbelief in his own voice. "How do you know that?"

"She told us. Sarah asked me to dissuade her, but she wouldn't hear it. She wanted to do it for you."

"By the Fates' design, why?" Jareth cursed, though he already knew.

"So that we could be together."

He met Sarah's eyes across the room. She'd stopped pacing and was watching him with teeth worrying at her bottom lip. How had he not known of this? Why had his own sister not discussed this with him? "We are together. We are going to be for a long time."

"She wanted to make it as permanent as possible," Brynn replied. "And wouldn't let me tell Sarah that our attempts to stop it had failed." He finally turned around to acknowledge Sarah. "She made me swear as her subject," he said, almost asking forgiveness. "I had no right to disobey my Queen."

"You and your stupid loyalties…" Sarah shook her head. "So you undermined her instead? How is that any better?"

"The Domain is to undergo much change in the next few centuries, under Lina's reign. It needs her. For as long as possible. She could not be allowed to diminish herself in such a way."

"And what of you?" Jareth asked, already thinking of the long talk he would be having with his sister. "Do you not realise what you have done to yourself?"

"Of course I do," Brynn replied tersely. "I've given it considerable thought. In the end, my life matters little in the scheme of things."

"Bullshit," Sarah snapped. "It matters to me. Don't you remember why I asked you to talk with Lina in the first place? Because I'm sick of people sacrificing themselves for me! Jareth and I had talked about all this, Brynn! We were fine with it!"

"I think we all know that is a lie, Sarah."

Jareth watched her argue with the Fae, lost to his thoughts. He'd thought he would die in this room, shedding blood like clothing, the floor cold beneath him. All he'd been able to think of was Sarah. Even if they had ninety years together before age caught up with him…he knew now that he'd be dismayed having to leave her. He couldn't begin to imagine how truly terrified she must have been, thinking of it day and night. Now…they wouldn't have to face that. Not for hundreds and hundreds of years.

Sarah was still mad, but losing steam. She looked ready to concede defeat. Which would be best, given there was nothing she could do to reverse matters anyway. "But…you said you wouldn't even give up your years for your brother."

"My brother is an idiot." Brynn blinked, looking to him with clear eyes. "Jareth is not."

He half expected a dry comment from Sarah at that…but it seemed he wasn't the only one humbled by the Fae's words. It was difficult to think of a response. He'd never thought it possible for someone to redeem themselves so completely, especially in the wake of his actions against Sarah. He offered his hand to Brynn, who took it solemnly. "Thank you," he said simply.

"You are the best possible support for Sarah," he replied. "She needs you." The man could bury his actions in as much reasoning as he wanted, it didn't make them any less selfless.

Behind them, Sarah sniffed. Before either of the men could move, she'd bent down and wrapped her arms around Brynn from behind, pressing her face into his back. "I can't believe you did this."

Jareth could see the man's face from his position, and it had never looked less Fae. He was openly shocked at Sarah's weight on him, tentatively touching her arm around his neck. "You're welcome," he murmured.

And then he did something Jareth had never seen him do: he smiled.


It was funny, the things you could get used to with enough time. Fanged nightmares lurking in the shadows of your home. Being on call 24-7 to answer the wishes of humanity. Debating with Dwarves over the necessity of pest control when it came to Fairies. Sarah took these things in stride, rolling them up into her new understanding of reality. She was careful never to take any of it for granted, though. That was a lesson learnt long ago. Complacency was dangerous in the Domain. So she took careful note of the goings-on in her realm; appreciated her alone time with Jareth; forced herself to be grateful for the chances to meet with the Council on occasion. Though gratitude for the latter didn't mean she couldn't complain once out of earshot. It was normal to dislike some of the people you worked with. Stepping through the gateway provided – she hadn't yet learnt to make her own – the sight of the Castle entrance hall filled her with relief.

"That woman is a pain in my royal ass," Sarah groaned, stretching her stiff muscles. Two hours spent hunched over a desk while arguing with Ezra would do that to you.

"And a rather lovely one it is too," Jareth mumbled from behind, no doubt making good use of his vantage point. "Completely undeserving of such discomfort."

"Down boy." She headed over to Wick, who was waiting to take them to their next appointment. "What's next, Mr Secretary?"

The Elf beamed at her. Discharged from Palace service for 'misconduct', Wick had leapt at the opportunity to work for Sarah. He was now in charge of organising her week, enjoying every moment of the well-paid, True-Self-allowing position. More than that, he was glad to be helping her as a friend. Sarah had thanked Lina for the idea a few times. "The midday meal, actually."

"Already?" Sarah was surprised to find she wasn't even hungry yet. "Well doesn't time fly when you're trying to justify equal rights to a stuffy old Fae elder?"

"To be honest, it's more of a mid-morning meal," Wick admitted as they made their way to the kitchen. "Sir Malibar contacted us and asked for your lesson with him to be brought forward. Said something about going out for the afternoon."

Sarah shrugged, unsurprised. The old Fae changed their meetings a lot. He found it hard to keep track of time. Still, she was excited at the prospect of what she might uncover this week. She thought of her proud moment in the last lesson, placing in Malibar's hand a perfect ivory magnolia in bloom, which had once been the channelling stone. "At least we get the afternoon off," she winked at Jareth, who was stepping lightly beside her. They kept their affection to a minimum in certain areas of the Castle, where goblins might notice and question his 'servitude'.

"Perhaps her Majesty would like to attend that private meeting that was talked about." Jareth kept his voice neutral, though his fingers did brush against hers momentarily. "I would of course offer my service for the time. I am rather skilled in such matters."

"Yeah you are," Sarah muttered, heart beating fast at the thought of how they could spend the time. Apparently Jareth's immortality was directly linked to his libido. Since being given those years, he'd become almost impossible to be around without some innuendo or another. Not that she minded in the least. They made good of those dirty suggestions often enough. Claiming him as her husband, lawfully or not, had done something to her switch, in that was perpetually turned on. Being granted immortality to match her own seemed to have done the same thing to him. "I hope you haven't already filled in the afternoon Wick," she commented. "You know how I like my spare –"

I wish…the goblins would come and take you away…right now.

She slowed her steps. That wasn't the usual tone people used when wishing others away. It was panicked, heartbroken, desperate. It gave her chills.

"Sarah?" Jareth touched her arm.

Right on cue, Brynn blocked their path to the kitchen with the severity of his gaze. Being made mortal had barely affected him. He did tend to seem softer around them, if she took the time to notice. Not today. She was too preoccupied with the bundle in his arms. She hurried towards him.

"I thought protocol would be…inappropriate," Brynn remarked. "So I intervened before she could be sent to the dungeons."

Sarah's heart hammered painfully against her chest as she stared at the tiny baby in Brynn's arms. She was so little, a pure creature that made her think of clouds and sunshine and laughter. A totally helpless, innocent life. Her face was scrunched with worried sleep, forehead wrinkling beneath a whisper of black hair. Toby's early months hadn't had much impact on her selfish teenage self, but Alice was another matter. Alice's fuzzy newborn face, soft like the skin of a peach, had nurtured the sisterly love in her fiercely. Sarah remembered helping with diaper changes and bottle feeding, dancing to slow music when she wouldn't settle. These memories resurfaced as Sarah reached out to take the little girl. Her instincts kicked into overdrive, the need to protect burning hot. "Who would wish away a thing like you?" she whispered, smiling as the girl's eyelids fluttered open, nestled in the crook of her arm.

"How old is it?" Wick asked, oblivious to such things. He stared at the baby the way someone would consider a puppy.

Brynn was no use either – he made a non-committal gesture and mumbled that children made no sense to him.

"Only a few days, at most." Jareth surprised them all by stepping forward and smoothing a hand over the baby's forehead. His touch was delicate, tender, contrasting with the grim set of his mouth.

"The mother sounds desperate," Sarah told him quietly. "Like she didn't mean it at all. How can it work if you don't mean the words?"

"That depends on what you hope to gain from the wish," he told her solemnly. "Just because you don't want to give up your child, doesn't necessarily mean you don't need to. I've heard many a last-ditch effort to have someone taken away because they couldn't care for them."

"That's disgusting." Sarah shook her head. "I'd never give up my baby. No matter how bad things got."

"You don't know the woman's situation," he told her gently. "You can't judge another's choices when you haven't lived their life."

"You may get a chance to understand," Brynn intervened pointedly. "You must answer the call, Sarah. We have work to do."

"But…" she gazed at the baby, starting to stir with all the voices. "She needs me to look after her."

"You need to answer the wish," Brynn reasserted. "That is your duty."

"Who will I leave her with? Wick doesn't know anything about babies. You'll be busy helping me –"

The baby started to howl. It was ear piercing, gut-wrenching. She wanted to clamp hands over her ears. Everyone winced. "See! She's upset! It's okay, ssh, hey little one, sssh…" she rocked the girl back and forth, pleading with Brynn to let her stay. What was she supposed to do? "I can't leave her like this –"

"Give her to me." Jareth's voice was soft but commanding, the fatherly tone of one who could take control.

Sarah's brow shot up in surprise. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course." He looked amused. "I've done my share of babysitting, you might recall."

He'd told her about the time he'd spent with the younger children who were wished away, keeping them occupied while their futures were fought for. She hadn't quite been able to picture it until he reached out and took the baby, settling her easily in the crook of his arm. It looked as natural to him as breathing, humming to the girl so she would stop crying. He smiled down at her, a kind light twinkling in his eyes.

Sarah and the others just stared at him. "Well then," she said after a pause. "You've got the job, Jareth. I'll… go meet the mother, I guess." Part of her wanted to stay and watch him work his magic; it was fascinating to see such tenderness on his face. It was a different kind of softness than the expressions he reserved for her. Ugh. Come on Sarah. Concentrate. "Wick, can you cancel my appointments today? I doubt I'll be finishing with this anytime soon."

"She may be willing to relinquish the child," Brynn said. "You might be done sooner than you think."

Sarah glared at him. "I won't let her do that. We're going to help this woman. Then we're going to help her in the Above too."

"Your power doesn't quite extend that far, Sarah."

"My willpower does. That's enough."

Brynn nodded. He knew when not to argue. "At any rate, don't cancel meetings. I'll reorder time for you once we're done here."

She still couldn't get used to that. It felt like cheating. Maybe because Jareth had used it to trip her up on her own run of the Labyrinth. Still. It was a useful tool. "Great. Thanks." She turned back to Jareth, about to double check that he would be okay – but didn't need to ask. The baby was fast asleep in his arms. Smiling despite her usual nerves, she leant down and planted a kiss on the girl's downy head. "Don't worry, we'll get this sorted out," she whispered.


He'd always found newborns to be the easiest. They slept a lot, couldn't ask endless questions, and generally did very little get on his nerve. Though Jareth was concerned with how he might go about feeding the babe, without magic to conjure up the appropriate substitutes. He'd just have to hope she stayed asleep.

"Are you going to be all right with it?" asked Wick, still studying the girl as if were a curiosity. "I have some scheduling to do."

"It's a she," Jareth corrected lightly. "And we'll be just fine together. Aren't you going to eat?"

"Not really hungry," the Elf shrugged. "I was only going to eat early because Sarah had to. Now I think I'll just get some work done."

"Suit yourself, young Elf." They parted ways, leaving Jareth alone with the girl. She was so light in his arms, barely weighing a thing. He wondered what her name was. Once, he'd liked to think up new names for the children he'd collected. Now it didn't seem appropriate anymore. "What shall we do with you then, hmm?" he murmured to the babe. She twitched her nose. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry himself, so he took her to the Library to catch up on some reading. There'd be no goblins sniffing around his ankles either, hoping for a whiff of potential new meat. Not that they were allowed to touch any newly bred half-goblins. Sarah was doing a commendable job of keeping the nasty creatures out of everyone's hair and away from the new additions to the Castle. There'd been only three since her taking of the Throne, children wished away for good. He saw them scuttling around sometimes, addle-brained and devious. They mostly kept to their own mischief.

Something along the way made him glance to the side, spotting one of the more dangerous breeds dozing in an alcove. It made little sound, curled up, oozing malevolence even in sleep. Jareth's arms curled tighter around the babe in passing. He wouldn't even have seen the beast but for that niggling urge to look. That was happening often lately. Was it intuition? It felt like hypersensitivity, a stronger awareness of the reality around him. It felt almost like – no. That was impossible. Shaking his head of the idea, Jareth pushed his way through the Library doors one-handed and sighed in relief at the book song that greeted him. Don't be absurd. You're reading into things. Looking for what isn't there.

The humming was a pleasant distraction, calling to him, soothing. He eased carefully onto the lounge, settling the girl in one arm. The book he'd left on the cushions last night hadn't moved, so he collected it and flicked through the pages. It was another anthology of works by one of the Kiri. They weren't well known for their poetic ability, so the book was a rare find. He couldn't quite remember how he'd come by most of the books in the room. Luck, he supposed, and good old fashioned time. He propped the book open on his knee and tried to read.

Tried. Something was digging into his thigh. Frowning, Jareth carefully eased a hand under his leg and pulled out the culprit – one of Sarah's channelling stones. A memory came to mind: the bud blooming ivory, petals unfurling, her delighted squeal as the scent of magnolia filled the air. She'd never produced something so substantial before. Grinning at the memory, Jareth pocketed the stone bud – no doubt she hadn't meant to leave it lying about – and resumed reading.

The style of the prose was complicated, heavy with the usual ironic Kiri syntax. It took the better part of an hour to familiarise himself with the flow of it. The babe slept on, unaware of his frowns and movements, shifting to stay comfortable. She was a peaceful little thing. Blissfully ignorant of the moral battle her mother was fighting for her, right now. He started to read the poetry aloud when she fussed, his measured cadence lulling her back to sleep. Jareth was genuinely enjoying himself, enraptured in the simplicity of reading to the girl, when he heard the gentle whoosh of the Library door opening.

"Done so soon?" he called, unable to see the visitor from the lounge.

Nobody replied.

"Sarah?" Nothing. "Wick?" A scraping noise. Jareth's hair stood on end. Frowning, he got to his feet, holding the babe to his chest with one arm, and edged around the shelves that blocked the view of the doorway.

It was the creature from the alcove he'd passed. The goblin was staring at him, frozen, as if caught sneaking in. Prowling. Hunting.

"Her Majesty has forbidden your presence in these quarters," Jareth spoke coldly, mustering all his royal self-assurance. "You will leave."

The goblin blinked red eyes. New meat.

"What?"

Its nails clacked together like knives. Fresh meat. So fresh.

"You will not touch this child," Jareth spat, all too aware of how little he could do to stop the thing, should it decide otherwise. "The Queen will be most displeased if you –"

Tender morsel one bite all it takes – it crept forward, tail lashing, trying to intimidate the man who had once been its King.

He'd ruled these creatures for more than a century. He wasn't afraid. Feet planted firm, Jareth cradled the babe tight against himself and held his free hand up. "This contravenes the goblin code," he announced, voice clear as ice. "You shame yourself with these advances."

The goblin slowed, considerate, hesitant. Yes, he still knew how to handle them. The girl was stirring against him, snuffling against his chest.

"Leave this room," he commanded, inwardly pleading she would stay sleeping. "And this will go unmentioned."

Bloodlust roared in those red eyes.

Too late, Jareth realised his mistake – the creatures were too simple for shaming to override their baser instincts. When the girl moved, she caught the goblin's attention again. He should have said more but he was distracted.

And that distraction would cost them their lives.

The goblin leapt forward, nails unsheathed, mouth twisted in a feral grin – Jareth curled protectively around the girl and threw out a useless hand to ward off the attack.

Something surged inside him, so familiar and pure it brought tears to his eyes. Heat roared through him, rippling to his fingertips, pouring out invisible threads that stopped the goblin in its tracks. The creature froze mid-air, furious but helpless as it began to disintegrate. There were no screams. Jareth watched as the goblin simply fell away into nothing, into ash, into unravelled threads of existence.

He blinked and it was completely gone.

They were alone, he and the girl, his heart hammering as she stirred against him, his mind racing with thoughts of what he'd just done. He blinked again, for there were still tears in his eyes. No mistaking it. Magic. That was – magic. Curious, fingers trembling somewhat, Jareth sought out the channelling stone in the pocket of his vest.

He held the smooth bud in the palm of his flat hand. It was easy to remember his old lessons, to think of the time he'd spent teaching Sarah lately. He calmed his mind, soothed his pulsing heartbeat, reached out for that familiar sensation of walking blind.

And watched with a smile as the bud bloomed into a perfect magnolia.


Sarah had seen teenage mums before. Sure, the parents who'd enrolled their kids at West Kemp High had probably thought they'd dodged bullets. People who were lawyers and doctors and psychiatrists didn't expect their children to get just any old education. It was the kind of school where teen pregnancies just didn't happen. Not on the books, anyway. But with a college campus only a short car ride away, and impressionable sixteen year olds trying to act like sophomores…well. Sarah had noticed a few girls disappearing mid-term over the course of her high school years, after looking unwell and putting on weight. So she hadn't been altogether shocked when she'd met Annalise, who'd looked terrified and miserable and no older than seventeen.

The shock had come at the difference between her and those West Kemp girls. Where they'd dressed in light pinks and driven cars newly bought by Daddy, Annalise had worn tattered jeans and a fraying sweater and looked a few days late for a bath. Her story had broken Sarah's heart: no family, no support, virtually homeless. No wonder she'd thought that giving away her baby would be the better option. But Sarah had struck her a deal: defeat the Labyrinth and live in the Domain as a free woman. And she had. So Sarah was on a wonderful high, brimming with hopes for the mother and child's future, imagining them happily settled into a quiet corner of Domain land. She'd squared it with Lina already, who was willing to grant refugee assistance. All in all, Sarah was feeling quite pleased with the outcome as she and Brynn searched for Jareth and the baby. Annalise was bathing in the private quarters, exhausted and overwhelmed. Sarah had promised to bring her baby straight to her.

She'd expected Jareth to be in the Throne room after her Return, as he usually was. Finding no such thing, they headed for the kitchens. He was probably trying to feed the baby. She hoped not. Newborns couldn't handle cow's milk so early. Would a Fae know that?

"I can't boast of my own knowledge in that area, but Jareth does seem to have more experience," Brynn said when she asked him.

"He's full of surprises, isn't he?" she replied, warmed by the memory of the girl tucked comfortably into Jareth's arm, perfectly settled.

Her point was proven when they found him in the kitchen, lounging in a chair with the girl resting in his lap. She was gazing up at him in wonder as he sang, playing with her tiny fingers, grinning down at her. The kitchen table was full of food and drink.

"Thought you might be hungry, love," he called without looking up, a curious lightness to his voice.

"You know me well," Sarah replied, grabbing up a croissant as she planted a kiss on the top of Jareth's head. "Did you two have fun?"

"There were some interesting moments," he replied. "I take it the run went well?"

"Sarah has quite enviable motivational skills," Brynn answered, taking a seat across from them and helping himself to bread and cheese. He ate a lot more now that he was mortal, Sarah noticed. "She'd have made a fine General in my old regiment."

"You were in the army?" Sarah caught the glass of milk floating slowly towards her and drank from it eagerly.

"Mmmm," Brynn replied, staring at Jareth for some reason.

Another croissant made its way over to her, already buttered and layered with cheese. It landed neatly on her plate, next to a blooming magnolia. "Oh! Did I leave this here?" She picked up the flower. It was more beautiful than she remembered.

"You left the bud in the Library," Jareth remarked in an oddly careful way. The baby had one of her petite hands wrapped around his thumb.

"We should get her back to Annalise," she commented, distracted, nodding at the baby as dots connected in the back of the mind – "Wait." Her gaze flicked from the glass in her hand to the croissant on her plate, before gazing in shock at the magnolia. It's more beautiful than I remember. "Who's –?"

Jareth was smirking at her, lip curled to reveal the tip of his pointed tooth. "Who's what, Sarah?"

She looked to Brynn, who had a weirdly knowing expression on his face. "You're not doing that?"

He shook his head.

Jareth was grinning. Silently he reached over and picked up the flower. It sat perfect and fragrant in his palm for a moment before folding in on itself and becoming a stone bud once again.

"You – you're – you can –!" She burst out with a delighted squeal, jumping to her feet, throwing her arms around Jareth's neck. He held the baby carefully in his lap with one hand and reached up to hold her with the other, laughing. "Jareth, you have your magic back!"

There were a few blissful seconds of happiness, where Sarah thought that everything might just be completely perfect and that the world had been put right somehow. But she knew by then that nothing came without a cost in the Domain. And as she felt the excitement simmer down, worry filled its place. And questions. "How did that happen? Just like that, with no warning?" She took up her seat again.

And as Jareth explained, detailing his recent sensitivities and his disturbing encounter with the goblin, Sarah knew for sure that no good thing came without something to balance the scales. So one of the goblins had gone against her rules?

"It's worrying," Jareth admitted. "But not too difficult to counteract. We will spread news of the dissent, but tell of your anger and punishment for the disobeyer. The hordes fear virtually nothing save for what I did to that one. Non-existence terrifies them. It should restore some sort of order."

"What exactly did you do?"

At the question, Jareth looked pointedly to Brynn. "I think perhaps you should tell her. I suspect you know more of this than any of us."

Sarah rolled her eyes. Again with the secrets and plot twists? What the hell could possibly be left? "Brynn. Explain please."

The Fae met her gaze without flinching and told her that he'd given Jareth part of his magic.

"You're kidding." Sarah felt the urge to glare, but what was the point? What was done, and all that. "How?"

"Sir Malibar taught me more than just how to perform transference. It's not a simple procedure, to split one's magic without burning oneself out. You may have noticed my…healthy appetite of late. I have been feeling rather drained, but that will pass. I instilled in Jareth my ability to touch magic."

Sarah looked at Jareth briefly, imagining Brynn's magic pulsing through his veins. How had she not noticed the difference? "Okay, I guess the next question is obvious but I'll ask anyway: why?"

Even Jareth sat up straighter at this. "Yes, I'd rather like to know that myself."

"You voiced your concern for protecting Sarah without magic," Brynn told him. "While I do maintain that you don't particularly need it to do so, now at least you have the option. And I'm quite glad I did; it came in handy today."

"That it did," Jareth said quietly. "Thank you, Brynn. Again."

"I only did what I thought right."

"No, I mean it. You are…a remarkable man. And I apologise for thinking differently."

"You had your reasons."

There was an awkward pause after that, where they seemed to feel they'd shared too much. Sarah decided to fill the silence. "So what did you do to that goblin?"

"It's called Unravelling," Brynn answered, "And it is my particular…skill." He looked to Jareth. "I'll admit I was unsure of what you might inherit, but I'm quite pleased with the results. The ability to erase threats from existence is helpful for a man in your position. And you're right, it will deter any further occurrences. Goblins hate what they cannot understand, but they are terrified of the power involved in Unravelling one's existence."

"How did he pick it up so quickly though?" Sarah asked. "It's taken me weeks to get where I am."

"I'm Fae, love. I already know the language of magic. It's in my blood."

Brynn picked up a glass of milk and turned it to water. "You will have to keep it secret from certain parties, of course. The Council. The goblins."

"Right. Of course. Why?"

"To avoid being reclassified as enough use to the Domain that your union once again becomes forbidden."

Sarah met Jareth's eyes. She hadn't thought of that. He was to all intents and purposes a fully-restored Fae. That old law might be tricky to navigate again if anyone found out. The panic on her face must have been clear as day. Jareth stood, manoeuvring the now sleeping baby to one arm, and tucked a finger under her chin.

"This will be our little secret," he murmured. "Nobody will separate us again, Sarah. I swear to you."

She nodded past the lump in her throat. "I know."

His touch lingered, the promise glowing in his eyes, before he turned to Brynn. "I'm quite surprised at the strength of your magic, comrade. Splitting it in two should have left us with weakened abilities. You never mentioned just how…talented you are."

"It didn't seem necessary to tell," Brynn answered mildly.

"And Unravelling? Where did you learn that? In battle?"

"I didn't learn it as much as I…"

Sarah leant back in her chair and watched the two of them, their conversation fading to background noise. Jareth had just called Brynn his comrade. His friend. There'd been a time when she'd thought they were never going reach that point. Hell, in those early days as Brynn's prisoner she'd never have imagined that they'd all be where they were now. So much had changed and they'd all changed with it. Hoggle, braver than he'd ever been, helping children through the Labyrinth. Wick, confident and reborn with purpose. Brynn, becoming more and more human with each passing day. And Jareth, oh, Jareth…did he realise he was rocking side to side, keeping the baby asleep? Probably not. So much of him was raw instinct. He'd flourished like a bird set free, shedding heady burdens, taking flight into the wordless unknown with her. Loving him was something spiritual. It had saved her life in ways she couldn't fully understand, in ways she didn't know she'd needed. To think of life without him was incomprehensible.

He caught her watching him and smiled, more with his eyes than anything else. "Shall we take the little one back to her mother then?" he asked.

"Good idea," she nodded, joining him, slipping an arm around his waist. There was a little time before dinner, now that they'd cancelled the day for the run to take place. She could think of a few ways to spend that well-earned time. Brynn went his own way at the door, after receiving her affectionate kiss on the cheek with a fairly flustered expression for once. Laughing in triumph, Sarah threaded her fingers with Jareth's and tracked a slow path to where Annalise was waiting. The reunion would be beautiful. With her visions of Jareth's future subsiding, it was difficult to know what was in store for them all, but that was just how she liked it. Anything could happen and it probably would. But that was okay.

She had her favourite people and one hell of a long lifetime.