AN: Hi guys! I'm so very sorry it's taken such a long time for me to get these next few chapters out, but I've been backpacking around the world for the last few months so the internet and my laptop weren't exactly handy. As an apology I'm posting three chapters to this story, it was originally one very long chapter, but I thought it best to break it up for readability. I hope there's still some interest in this and I'd be delighted to know what you all thought, either through PM or reviews. Much love!

Far from the Goblin city, beyond the Deadwoods and past the Dust Lakes, stood a seldom-traversed land they called the Shadow Fields. And deep within the Shadow Fields stood a cabin.

Jacques supposed no one would ever find it if they did not know what they were looking for.

It was an ancient thing, the wood clumsily cobbled together, splintering as it bore the weight of time. Gnarled trees shrouded it too heavily to happen upon it by mere chance, the withering branches covering the entrance. The only clue to its existence was a faded trail, a groove made in the dirt that had long since been abandoned. He remembered this place well. He remembered it had been his…well…it had been theirs.

As he stood before the cabin the silk of his coat did little to keep the chill of the fading night from his spine. It was so cold here, too cold.

He remembered the cabin used to be filled with such warmth, a golden candle in the window guiding him towards the place she waited for him. Yet the candle that rested beyond the smudged glass at that moment was dim. It wasn't warm anymore. He thought it was terrifying.

With a swallow, Jacques bowed his head, scowling at the ground. What was he doing? Why was he even entertaining such nonsense? Why did she ask him to meet her here?

A bitter sadness flooded through him.

It was because she was punishing him. Even after all this time. Of course.

With a heavy sigh he gathered what little courage he could pull together, straightening his spine.

"You can do this." He whispered to himself, determined in the face of his greatest tormentor.

And with that the Duke strode forwards, ignoring the harsh crunch of dead leaves beneath his boots to knock firmly upon the door.

As it swung open he winced at the dreadful groan it gave, he thought it sounded rather like a warning. Blinking slowly against the darkness, he could see only the small amber glow of the candle in the window to light his way. It would take a while for his eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom, but he supposed that was no matter. He knew every nook, every secret spot of this place. He knew beyond the threshold stood a simple wooden table, a faded yellow cloth covering the cheap wood. He could smell the ashes of the fireplace that lay beyond that, damp after being abandoned for so many years. After the haze started to clear and shapes broke groggily into his vision he saw that the place was coated in dust, cobwebs hanging from every crevice.

And then he saw her.

The small figure was standing by a frosted window, her back towards him as the shadows and the starlight shrouded her in a strange kind of luminance.

His mouth ran dry.

It wasn't as if he had been starved of her image, he had seen her often enough at the balls and the dances, drinking her fill of wine through every dinner.

But to see her like this…stood in the very same place, by the very same window in the very same room like so many years ago…there was something rather indescribable about the feeling it gave him.

Even in the gloom he thought she still had hair that shone like sunlight. But it was longer now, flowing down her back and to her waist. He cocked his head a little, marvelling as he thought. She was such a small thing wasn't she? Her pale frame was sheltered from the gusting winds in nothing but a crimson dress. She wore that colour often he remembered that well enough. And he thought he could almost recall the body beneath it. It was a marvel that once upon a time he could remember every faint pattern across her skin, ever mark, every vein, and yet now when he closed his eyes he saw nothing but darkness. When it came to her it was all just darkness.

He opened his mouth, words poised at the tip of his tongue, but they wouldn't take flight. She must have felt it, the tremor in the air as he stalled, because her fingers twitched against at her side, her dress fluttering as she turned.

There was a moment when her head was still bowed, still focused on the ancient floor, that he thought was safe from the trembling in his heart.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, she raised her eyes to where he stood.

Even in the darkness he could see the emotions sparkling in them. Within those cerulean irises he thought he could see every forgotten hope they had wished for, every forgotten dream that had died, every promise he had broken. He had once compared her gaze to shards of ice, and they still burnt right through him. But God, she was still just as beautiful as the day he met her.

He found himself struck rather dumb.

"You came then." A voice like blackened honey seemed to hang in the gloom. His skin prickled with the bitterness of it.

"You wrote to me. You asked me to come." Was his hushed reply, still lingering in the threshold. He watched her pale hand glide through the gold of her hair, strands parting like water between lean fingers.

"Still. It is a surprise." She whispered. Jacques exhaled as quietly as he could, trying to calm himself at the defeat her voice brought him.

He glanced around a little, clasping his hands behind his back as he tried to meander nonchalantly into the shack. He could feel those frosty eyes watching him all the while.

"It's been a long time since we spoke." He said lightly. The girl before him raised her brow, eyes squinting a little incredulously at him.

"If you call 200 years a long time then I suppose you're correct." She frowned, gliding towards him with a confidence that Jacques found remarkable in their circumstances. It seemed he could hardly contain the quiver that pulsed through his body, yet here she was, composed like always.

"Marie, what are we doing? Why did you ask me to come here?" Jacques whispered, desperately, as he caught the scent of her fragrance on the wind. She had always smelt like vanilla. She still smelt like vanilla.

She stopped short at the sound of his voice, just a few paces from him and cocked her head…almost like she was evaluating him.

"You look different." A small furrow appeared in her brow as she spoke. She was telling the truth. Somehow, he did look so very different.

That silver hair of his still shone bright, she always pondered that it looked rather like moon dust. It should have looked ridiculous, laughable even, but to her it had always been a little magical. That was the same as always. He was a little thinner than he had been though, the strong line of his jaw just a little more defined, the hollows of his cheeks catching a few more shadows.

But his eyes were the same. They reminded her of a fire on a winter's night. She could see the chestnut, the woody hazel centre of them. But one step closer and she knew she'd find flecks of gold, perhaps in some lights a little crimson, as if they were burning before her. She once thought they used to burn for her.

But despite that, she found the air around him had changed. He didn't feel the same.

"You don't." Jacques gave a boyish grin, one a little too familiar as he laughed in wonderment. But it seemed too close for comfort, too similar to the way things had been between them for the Marie. She bit her lip and turned away. There was no point dwelling on the past she told herself, not when there was a future to craft.

"I have a favour to ask of you." With her gaze trained on the frosted glass of the window she stiffened her spine, awaiting his response. In truth she wanted, needed, him to say something. There was such a great shadow in this place and in their hearts. She was so desperate to talk about it but she never could, she had tried to muster the courage for years. Yet he had always done the talking for them…she rather hoped he would take the mantle upon himself to do it again and let the shadow be lifted. But her hope was misplaced, as always.

"What favour?" Was his simple reply.

Despite herself, Marie felt her lip tremble a little. Was that it? What favour?

She had always had a problem with her anger, she knew that well enough, and she had been told often enough. She had fought hard to contain it, to be composed and poised at all times. But those two simple words…what favour…they were threatening to unravel the shield she had thrown around herself for so many years.

Sucking in a deep breath she turned back to him, trying to contain the coldness in her voice.

"Is that it? Is that all you have to say?"

Jacques swallowed, looking away. She could tell he was nervous; his thumb had taken to twirling his wedding ring as he stood, unsure of what to do with himself.

"What do you want me to say?" He whispered, a little helplessly, still not looking at her.

Marie felt her delicate features contort into something deadly, something that made her feel weak. He was toying with her, surely. He had to be.

But still, he refused to so much as glance at her.

She hated him like this. She hated the man he had become. So arrogant, always determined to be the centre of attention and the life of the party. She had watched him for many years, trying to figure out just what it was that had made him change in such a way. And in the end she supposed it was what plagued all men. Pride. The desire for power. The hope to be seen as greater than he was.

She missed the boy though, the youth who had smiled nervously and whispered her name like a prayer. He had brought her a bouquet of wild roses once, picked from the forest because he had no fortune to call his own yet. He had even made her a ring of twine and told her that they would be married.

How stupid she was to believe that.

It was when his father was elevated and eventually given a Dukedom that things had changed. That was when he had decided that she was no longer good enough. It wasn't at first, no. But it happened, slowly and surely, like the sun setting. Every look he gave her had begun to seem a little tortured, their embraces somehow colder than before. If she recalled correctly, and she knew she did, it was years until he finally had the courage to tell her that she wasn't wanted. Even though she knew it was inevitable, it still shattered the soul of her.

Then she had had to watch him give others rings of gold, bouquets of Twilight Roses, cloths of silk and lace that cost more than all her assets combined. Yet she thought none of it meant as much as the crafted ring and wilting flowers he had once given her.

She loved the boy he was, but she hated the man he had become.

But right now…with his stance meek and his eyes downcast he looked so very much like that boy again. She fought the burning in her eyes and the shortness of her breath, defiant in the face of her sorrow. Affecting the confidence she wish she felt, she stepped into his path, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"You've said nothing for years, why should I expect anything different?" Her bitter smirk hurt him, she knew that. But she wanted him to hurt. Gods, she wanted him to break.

Yet he shook his head, almost in disbelief.

"I was always there. Every ball, every ceremony, and every dinner…I was always there. You could have said something." He said, jaw set tight, barely breathing as he watched her body tremble inches before him, coiled like a predator, waiting to pounce.

"I could have said something? You betrayed me. You ruined everything. So why should I come to you?" Her lips were parted as she awaited an answer, an infuriating depiction of incredulity.

Jacques' nostrils flared a little, trying to control his composure. So she could still make him furious then. Of course that hadn't changed. As sweet as their time together had been there had still been moments of poison, pure intoxicating poison that engulfed the both of them. In his youth he thought it romantic that only she could make his blood boil so much. But now, it wasn't addictive; it wasn't like a drug anymore. It hurt. The rush was gone and it left only the pain of his fury for her.

She didn't understand. She never had.

She had wanted him to run away, to disobey his father and take her somewhere, anywhere, so that they could live their lives in peace. And what a lovely idea that was. And that was it. An idea. They had whispered about it often enough, but to do it? He would have had to abandon his family, abandon the fortune his father had amassed for him…God, it would have been so shameful. They would have been outcasts. He had saved them both from that fate. Penniless, runaways, living off some romantic dream that would have died and left them starving. They would have ended up hating each other.

So he did the honourable thing.

He walked away and told her to go on and live her life with another. How could he have allowed her to destroy her name and her life for him? How could she have wanted him to do that to himself? To his family? It would never have worked. But she had a stubbornness that never allowed her to see reason.

And she was punishing him now, that he knew. Ever since that day she had punished him. Although he never spoke he watched her at every party, swaying her hips and whispering sweet nothings to men and women alike. She was punishing him. And he would accept it because he knew he deserved it.

But to say he was the reason they fell apart? Nonsense. They had both torn apart their world together.

He scowled.

"What happened to you, Marie? When did you become so bitter? Maybe I would come and speak to you if you weren't draped over anything that showed you the slightest bit of attention-"

"You're married. Why do you care?" She pouted, mockingly, eyes triumphant.

Closing his mouth, Jacques bowed his head. And wasn't that what it all came down to? An arranged union that he had no wish for but could not deny, that had been the ruin of everything.

"I didn't want that marriage." He whispered to the floor, hoping that the words would quiet the anger within her. For a moment it seemed that it did, he could feel her deflate, hackles lowering.

"But you went through with it."

Oh, that wasn't fair. That was worse than anger. That quiet sadness in her…he had almost forgotten that he had preferred it when she screamed. It was better than the defeat.

"My father commanded it." He said, a little more weakly, fighting a battle he knew he would not win.

Marie spied a glance at him, watching the shadows of the oncoming morning against his face. How time had changed them both. And time…time had made her tired. She just didn't have the energy anymore.

"It matters not. I believe we have business to discuss." She murmured with a clear of her throat, folding her arms as she walked slowly towards the table. Jacques kept his eyes to the floor until he heard the scrape of a chair being pulled. Glancing up he saw her expectant gaze as she perched lightly in the seat, and with a sigh went to join her.

It was only when he was settled in the wooden chair, awkward and stiff, that she spoke.

"What did you think of Sarah?"

The words were simple enough, but they seemed to throw Jacques completely. He blinked once, twice, before seeming to grasp the meaning of the words.

"Sarah?...I did not speak to her." Was his slow admittance, brow furrowed as he watched the golden haired girl nod thoughtfully.

"What do you think of Sarah in relation to Jareth then?" She continued lightly, fingers tracing the faint patterns in the pale yellow tablecloth. Jacques shifted, straightening his jacket as he thought.

"I spoke to Jareth. And in truth, I think it strange, the hold she has on him." He spoke cautiously, eyeing Marie as she smiled.

"You think him enchanted?" Her nose crinkled dubiously at that.

"I think it's something, and to be plain it worries me. He's different." Jacques began to narrow his eyes as he spoke, the air bristling with something a little bit strange. This was something he hadn't expected of her. She had never taken too much interest in politics or gossip in court; she never had the time she had said. So this, this wheedling of information was beginning to feel very strange indeed.

"I agree. And I think he's a liar…I think they're both liars." She declared, like she had some higher knowledge. And as Jacques regarded those cool blue eyes, watching the irises churn like clockwork as she thought, he believed she did.

"I don't see where the lie could be?"

Arching one delicate brow, Marie sat back in her chair.

"She is a Bride of Conquest. She proclaims to be in love with the man. Yet when I spoke to her she seemed unsure, she was rather…hesitant in her declaration." She said slowly, thoughts dripping from her lips as they came to her. Yet Jacques chuckled a little, shaking his head.

"So she doesn't love him…Brides of Conquest never love their captor. It's hardly the greatest deception."

"Yes, but you remember all the stories about those sorts of brides…I recall one tried to burn a King long gone in his bed just to escape. They kick and scream and shout before the King eventually breaks them. And Sarah is no broken Philly." The way her eyes grew wider, a revelation on the tip of her tongue intrigued him. He leant forward across the table, scrutinising her gaze.

"What are you saying?" He whispered curiously. She merely kept that peculiar smile.

"She has come more or less willingly as his bride, and yet she does not love him. What other reason would she come? He wishes to rekindle our world, breathe new life into it…but why does she care? Why does she want to help? She has nothing for her here. So why is she invested?" The words were coming faster now, whispered and almost lost beneath the low whistle of the wind in the ancient cabin.

"I suppose it's not out of the goodness of her own heart?" Jacques felt his own heart start to sink, almost as if he were dreading the answer. To his dejected acceptance Marie scoffed, as if his suggestion was ludicrous.

"Of course not. It's something deeper than that. She must have done something, something terrible, to willingly become a bride of conquest. She owes him something, and I want to know what it is. She wouldn't accept this so easily if she hadn't. So they're lying. There is something about their arrangement that they have to hide." She tapped the table lightly as she reached her point, beaming triumphantly. Jacques however, sat back in his seat, gazing at her a little sceptically.

"Your ever so brief conversation with her told you all this?" He said, doubt laced through his words.

"I'm perceptive." She shrugged. Indeed she was. He could never argue with that.

"Then what do you want me to do? It has nothing to do with us." He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease his worried mind. He knew there was something wrong from the minute he had laid eyes on Jareth at the ball. He had been thinner, weaker; he had looked so very tired. It was nothing like the man he knew. And Jacques had pushed him; goading him into a revelation or confession. But the King had been steadfast in his story and he feared now all he had done was angered his old friend. But despite the clamouring protestations in his heart, he knew Marie was right. There was a lie in that story, and if it was having such an effect on Jareth, then it was dangerous.

The golden haired girl sniffed, the delicate sound tearing him from the reverie as she stood.

"I want you to rekindle your friendship with Jareth. And I will ignite one with Sarah. We will find out, together, what it is that they are hiding." She said simply.

Why was everything so simple with her?

Jacques felt a coldness spread throughout his body at the thought of such a deceit. He and Jareth, they were more like strangers than friends these days. But he could not deny that once upon a time the man had been his closest confidant. To betray him like that…it left him with a strange taste in his mouth and a tremor in his heart.

"You are the only one who was ever close to him. You need to be the one to do this." Marie said as she watched his body stiffen. But still he remained defiant, a deep glare crossing his face.

"Why should I?"

She reeled at that. Why? How could he even ask why?

"Because you owe me something. For everything you did, you owe me this." Her lip trembled as her gaze snapped to the window, trying to conceal her emotions. After all this time he still felt like she had wronged him, that was clear. But yet she was the one still living with the pain, she was the only one that still seemed to even remember it.

"What will you gain though? Why would you ask this of me?" He exclaimed, frustration taking him as he clawed a hand through the silver strands of his hair. Marie turned her eyes slowly upon him, nostrils flaring as the anger threatened to consume her.

"When I find out what it is, I will hold the greatest piece of information in this Kingdom. The one thing, the only thing that the King is trying to hide. And whatever I need he will have no choice but to give." The words were almost a hiss, the desperation seeping through them. Jacques stood slowly, aghast.

"You want to blackmail him?"

"Everyone knows me as some ruined harlot, Jacques. How else am I supposed to get anything in this world if not by deceitful means?"

"That's not true-"

"Yes, it is!" She cried, pounding her fist against the table in some hope that the pain of it would staunch the tears that were threatening to spill over.

"Yes it is. You have everything. You have money, a wife, you have power. What do I have? You know, I still hear people laugh about it? I still hear people laugh about how you took me, had me and tossed me aside. They laugh at me." Her voice broke as she finished her breathless tirade, one solitary tear spilling over a porcelain cheek. Jacques felt his heart break as he saw it.

"No one laughs, Marie, no one does." He whispered desperately, some all encompassing feeling flooding through his chest. His body screeched at him not to, but helplessly he drew her into her arms, ignoring the weak protestations from her lips.

"It's alright, Dove. It's alright." He stroked the golden hair beneath his fingertips as her body started to shake, unable to hold back the quiet sobs. He felt his eyes burn as he held the broken woman in his arms, her frame still so frail and small that he feared she might snap in two if he clutched any tighter.

In the quiet he heard a little sniff against the lapel of his coat.

"You haven't called me Dove in years." Marie whispered, gaze stuck steadfastly upon his shoulder, counting the threads in an effort to calm herself. Jacques looked down, dying at the sight of her reddened nose and watering eyes.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I am. For everything I've done, I'm sorry." His hands were tangled in her hair, the silken strands falling through his hands like a river.

"I need to do this. No one wants to marry me. Bed me, sure. They want to have their way but what security do I have? I'm getting older…and what do I have to show for it?" She murmured anxiously, giving in to the embrace to grasp at his shoulders and the little comfort he could offer her. Jacques swallowed, tucking her head beneath his chin.

"Nonsense. Everyone loves you, every woman wants your friendship and every man wants to be near you." There was a weak laugh in his words, incredulous that the woman who was so envied was in truth to so very miserable. He knew the reason why though, it was him. It was all his fault.

She returned his laughter, hopeless and quiet.

"I don't want any of them. I want to be by myself. I trust only myself. If I can hold this over Jareth then he'll have no choice but to give me lands, money, the means to look after myself for the rest of my life. And are you not concerned for your old friend? Do you not want to help him?" She peered up at him then, her eyes shining like the sea on a winter's night. Jacques stilled. She had him there.

How could he say no to this? To her? Perhaps this was a chance to right his wrongs and slay his demons. Perhaps it would give him a decent nights sleep for once….and maybe in some far flung dream, one day, there would be hope for them. They would never be the boy and girl they once were…but maybe every once in a while, every decade or so, she would look at him and just maybe she would smile. Yes, he thought. A glimpse of that smile would be worth it all.

"I'll do it. I will. For Jareth and for you." He frowned, swallowing the bitter taste the declaration left in his mouth. Her lip quivered as her eyes widened, a smile coated in disbelief on her plump lips.

"Thank you." She whispered, the words falling from her mouth like a song. He could feel the breath caress his lips, and it was too much. It hurt.

He detangled himself from her, clearing his throat and stepping back a few paces. This was too much. He needed to leave. And by the way Marie awkwardly folded her arms and turned away; it looked to him as if she felt the same.

"Go to the castle, talk to him. Suggest me as a handmaiden to Sarah, she liked me well enough, she'll accept it. I'll meet you tomorrow night." She said quietly, walking towards the old door of the cabin. But just as Jacques opened his mouth to say something, anything, she had gone.

And all that remained were the ghosts of their laughter and a life now lost.