Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 "Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power."

 The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss

"Uh huh."

"No seriously. You have no idea what it's like. It's… it's…"

"The worst?"

"Exactly. THE worst."

"I think you mentioned that."

"Sometimes I just wish-"

"Stop. Never wish for things you don't mean. Trust me."

"But I do wish-"

"Toby, I-"

"I do wish you still lived at home."

Sarah exhaled with a laugh. "Why, so I could help change diapers? Been there done that. And you're right. Baby brothers ARE the worst."

"You're hilarious."

"Aren't I though? Beware my rapier wit."

"I think Karen refers to it as a 'smart mouth'."

"She's not wrong. My mouth is a genius. And Karen's name is mom to you, bucko," Sarah chided gently.

"Smooth segue. You call her Karen."

"And you call her mom. Nice try. Look, I've got to go. Talk later, okay?"

"Mmhmm."

"Look at it this way, Karen can't baby you anymore."

"No, now I will suffer from middle child syndrome and end up with sociopathic tendencies."

"Help your mom and lay off the daytime TV – even on break."

"Fine… whatever."

"Later, kiddo." Sarah hung up the phone and snorted. All things considered, Toby was handling the newest addition to their family with more grace than she had in his shoes. And he was only 10. To be fair, the newest addition was a bit of a "surprise" to them all, not least of all Karen who'd assumed her sudden hormonal changes were the early onset of menopause, and her father who'd assumed his vasectomy had… well, worked. He joked about suing the doctor. At least they all assumed it was a joke. Hard to tell with lawyers.

Baby Max, while unexpected, was a dimpled, little ball of delight and despite the wide age range of his children, Robert Williams was pretty darned happy to be a father again. He'd assumed the next babe on his knee would be a grandchild, but he'd take another son. He'd not always been the best of fathers – work demanded so much of his time – but now that he was a senior partner he was able to delegate more. He planned to make up for lost time and he'd made that clear to all of his children, not least of all his oldest.

Sarah flicked on the coffee maker, while mentally tallying how many cups she'd had already. Fuck it - the mantra of beleaguered grad students everywhere. It was Saturday but that meant nothing in her world. She glanced longingly at the TV and the stack of VHS tapes next to it, then reluctantly pulled her eyes back to the dining table strewn with library books, all likely overdue, and the stacks of papers festively dotted with coffee rings. She'd take a dirty diaper right about now.

One last glance at the TV.

She knew Willow was still sitting in the VCR. It was due back at the video store today. It would be silly not to watch it one more time before it had to go back…

Sarah determinedly sat down with her back to the living room and switched on her ghetto blaster. The angsty croon of REM soon drown out the furious scratches of pen on paper.

Theses. Theses are THE worst.

She should have taken that opportunity in Ireland. Another furtive glance at the TV. Or not. If binge watching TV was too much of a distraction, then an adventure in a foreign country would probably completely mess up her life. She'd treat herself to a trip when it was all done and she'd successfully defended it. She'd drink too much beer, dance all night in pubs and kiss a dark-haired Irish rogue in the moonlight… in the ruins of a castle… with the sounds of the Irish Sea in the background…

GOD DAMMIT, concentrate, Sarah! Even her fantasy life was beginning to sound contrived.

Fuck it. She clicked the music off and began gathering up her books and notes. Half an hour later found her in the Master's section of the library, crammed into a little cubicle. She promised herself that if she could get a solid four hours of research done she'd give herself the rest of the day off. Maybe take a run, do a little shopping, Thai takeout for dinner.

It wasn't that her research was dry. It was a topic that held a lot of interest for her, but doing the same thing every day, ad nausea - forever it seemed, could make even the most dedicated of academics go crazy. Whoever said forever was not long at all was an abject liar.

Sarah stilled, her skin prickling. She didn't often let little slip-ups like that happen. In fact she did what she could to avoid them – stave off memories that were as vivid as they were confusing. She knew exactly who'd said that. The eponymous figure of girlhood fantasy. One she'd logically reduced to pure delusion. Boxed, crated and stored away... this made these occasional slip ups all the more pernicious. It was easy to deny. It was not as easy to forget.

The sound of a book hitting the floor broke her reverie and Sarah turned to see the offender. Barbara, one of the library's senior librarians, was bent over trying to coax the fallen book back into her stack. Naturally she dropped them all. Some very un-librarian like words followed, coupled with murderous glares from the other Master's students who considered even sneezing to be an unconscionable transgression.

Sarah slid out of her chair to help.

"Oh, Sarah, thank you."

"No problem, Barbara," she whispered back. She'd learned right away that if you wanted your research to go smoothly you always befriended the librarians. She followed her back to her desk and sat the books down on the corner of it.

"I don't normally see you here on Saturdays."

"Yes, well, I needed to concentrate."

Barbara chuckled. "And how is that going?"

"Fantastically awful. Doesn't help that I'm working through some of the dullest stuff right now. Not everyone can write. And of those that can, not every one should."

"I'd be out of a job if they didn't."

"And I'd have nothing to blame my procrastination on." Sarah smiled ruefully. "Point taken."

"To terrible writers then." Barbara took a sip of her coffee and gagged. "And terrible cafeteria coffee." She took another sip and then eyed it. "Actually this might have been from yesterday."

"Well, rest assured that once I graduate, my lofty degree will guarantee me a career where I will brew only the very best in caffeinated beverages."

"Oh that reminds me! THE book you requested FINALLY arrived." The older woman fumbled in her desk drawer and withdrew a set of keys. "It came in yesterday and I finished processing it this morning. Do you want to go now?"

"THE book? Oh God, yes! Just let me get my stuff." Sarah hurried over to her workstation, sweeping her texts into her over-sized bag in one motion, and catching up again with Barbara at the little used elevator. Barbara was holding the doors open.

Once inside, the librarian inserted the key into the lock beside the 5th floor button before pressing it. It was the only elevator in the building that led to the equally little used windowless fifth floor. All the others ended at the fourth. Old architecture and budget cuts meant that it had never been changed. Sarah surmised security was also a factor.

When the doors opened again, Sarah was hit with the distinctive scent of vellum, parchment and dust. She could feel the air change of the climate controlled floor. 'The Rare Book Collection', read a prominent sign at the end of a short hallway, and below that a lengthy list of rules that Sarah knew were rigidly enforced. She deposited her coffee travel mug - rule number 3 - on a small table and pulled a pair of cotton gloves out of the adjacent box - rule number 2 - as Barbara unlocked the door. The room was swathed in the dim red glow from the security lights. There were no windows; sunlight was anathema to both leather and ink as old as that housed within. Barbara turned on one of the few table lamps. Sarah pulled a pad of paper and a pencil out – no pens was rule number 8 - and stowed her bag under the large oak table.

Sarah had loved this room from the moment she'd first been permitted inside as a thesis candidate. Words held power and this room was manifest. Part of Sarah always felt like a little girl allowed to use fine bone china for the first time. There was the constant fear of breaking such a delicate thing, but to be invited into this realm was, in and of itself, an honour. She was being trusted with something precious. A little girl in an adult's world. One of knowledge. Of magic. Looking around at the tall shelves and locked glass cases, she hoped she never lost that awe.

Barbara returned and carefully laid a leather book on the table before her. "Here you go. I'm surprised those stingy bastards let it leave their sight. It only took, what months, for the approval?"

Sarah nodded absently and ran a cotton-clad finger lightly across the dyed leather. She traced the embossed knot work design.

"From what I gather, a wealthy donor died and bequeathed it. And with another copy in their collection they agreed to lend it out. Quid Pro Quo, naturally."

"Naturally-"

The sound of a pager interrupted.

Barbara glanced at the number and then her eyes widened. "Dammit! I forgot about the meeting!" She flicked her watch in accusation and grimaced. "I have to run… and you know the rules. A staff member must be in the room at all times…" Her eyes softened. "…But it's Saturday and we're understaffed today anyway. And I am ridiculously late and being paged by his holiness." As if to punctuate the point the pager went off again. Barbara hesitated and then pulled something from her pocket. "I am leaving you this key. You know where to put it when you're through. This is the only key. ONLY. Key. DO. NOT. LOSE. IT. And don't bring anyone else in. Understand? Or I'll be out of a job and you won't get to graduate and nab that cushy coffee house career you're so looking forward to."

Sarah's lips twitched as she accepted the holy grails of library keys - not counting the one to the staff liquor cabinet they thought none of the grad students knew about. It paid to befriend librarians.

"Don't forget the lamp. The book goes back in there," Barbara pointed to one of the glass cases, "when you're through. Lock the door. I won't be back in today, but I'll stop in tomorrow to make sure everything is fine." Barbara emphasized the last word.

Sarah solemnly nodded again. I won't break the china, mum.

"You know how valuable that book is." Barbara opened the door and then hesitated again. "Seriously. Please. Or forget about coffee, we'll both be asking if you want fries with that."

"I promise. And thank you. Honestly!" Sarah heard the pager go off again, if possible, even more shrilly. "Run. Or you really will be looking for a new job." Sarah was on the Dean's list and as such had hob knobbed with his holiness on numerous occasions. She did not envy Barbara. Luckily Barbara was well-endowed and the Dean had both wandering eyes and a conveniently estranged wife. As a librarian, Barbara was well versed in managing her assets.

The staccato click of heels and the faint hum of the elevator followed and then went silent, leaving only the white noise of the carefully controlled ventilation system. The desk lamp was the only real source of light, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. Barbara hadn't bothered turning on anything else. And Sarah didn't bother to either.

The university boasted a surprisingly well-stocked rare collection. Most of it had been gifted by the original family of the university's founder. It has been fleshed out by subsequent donors. And as such, the library was able to rotate the collection out and in turn borrow exquisite treasures from other collections. The security measures and the climate control were relatively modern, but the rest of the room was period preserved. The ornate shelves were solid stained oak, as were the few tables and chairs. What little of the walls was not covered in wood, were painted a dark matte burgundy. The desk lamps were brass. Gleaming glass cases punctuated the room. The security lights lent everything an under glow of red. Sarah realized she had never before been alone in the room and probably never would be again. The feeling was momentous, decidedly eerie, but not entirely unwelcome. It felt like finding a secret room and being in danger of getting caught any minute. This, while unlikely, was not far from the truth. And the thrill, Sarah found, was more than a little delicious.

Her eyes dropped to the book in front of her. And oh God, what a thrilling Saturday it had turned out to be indeed.

Easing the cover open carefully, mindful of the fragile binding, Sarah held her breath for a moment. The Poetic Edda, otherwise known as the Codex Regius, was in her cotton covered fingers. It was the most important source on Norse mythology in existence. She had read Hollander's translation of it, arguably the best, and even owned a copy of Cottle's translation, the oldest known English translation, but this copy was on an entirely different level. In her hands lay one of the original rebound editions from the 17th century, possibly even earlier. The fact that Iceland had lent it at all was a miracle, and no doubt a bureaucratic minefield. She could only thank her thesis advisor for that boon. An ex-pat of prestigious reputation and notable connections, he'd no doubt pulled some serious strings. Part of her felt guilty for getting to see it first, but thank God for Saturdays because she'd never learned to wait.

Bending down, she pulled out a translated copy of Sturluson's The Prose Edda, Hollander's translation of The Poetic Edda, and an Old Norse to English reference dictionary from her Poppins-esque shoulder bag. She set them to the side of the manuscript. Sarah showed a natural aptitude for languages and had been taking classes, with additional tutoring from her thesis adviser, since beginning her research. All of it felt like a crescendo to this moment.

An inked-copy of the knot on the leather cover similarly adorned the first page. Sarah examined it more closely. The presence of the knot in and of itself was not unusual, but the fact that she had never seen it replicated in any of the later or modern editions was surprising. She skimmed through Hollander's translation just to be certain. Sarah chewed her lip. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she rubbed them absently, adjusting her mess of hair, and glancing once more around the dark room. The silence was suddenly heavier. She couldn't even detect the thrum of the ventilation anymore, although the lack of an ear-piercing alarm suggested it must still be working.

The uneven pages of the manuscript were of a texture Sarah couldn't immediately identify. Given the nature of her research, she had come into contact with many types of vellum, parchment, and paper. She'd have to follow up on it later. She assumed some type of thorough dating had been done on it. Barbara would have the records somewhere for insurance purposes. The Old Norse was recognizable though and the lettering incredibly well-preserved. She carefully flipped forward in the book, stopping to marvel at the clarity of the artwork throughout. Beasts and knots and gods and mortals… The printing looked to be similar to Iron Gall ink, as in the more famous Book of Kells, although the colours were somehow more vivid. Occasional words and even entire passages jumped out at her, assuring her that her language training had been well worth the cost and the energy. Words had power. Translation was like filtering light; it muted and dulled. This was pure and unadulterated, she thought giddily. Frig, she was such a nerd.

She paused on another page and the wayward hairs on her neck prickled again.

"That can't be right…"

She flipped back to Hollander's translation. There appeared to be an extra lay with a title she'd never seen before. Sarah dug through her bag to find an Icelandic edition and began thumbing through the copy, counting as she went. She did the same with Hollander's edition. And then meticulously began again with the ancient tome. "Impossible…"

Her eyes skated over the leather, noting the pages and studying the ink. She'd need to consult with the professor on Monday. It had to be a mistake. The idea was patently ridiculous. So it was likely just a oversight… a very old oversight? And yet she couldn't help but wonder if she held one of the, if not the, oldest editions of The Poetic Edda in existence.

She had no idea what possessed her to do it, especially if it was true. She'd certainly question why she'd done it later. Sarah peeled the cotton gloves from her fingers and dropped them on the table beside her. She knew how fragile old manuscripts were, how damaging oils from skin could be, and she knew, inexorably, that she was holding a Skaldic cultural treasure. Her fingers trembled. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears, but she had to touch it without a barrier. Just like Sleeping Beauty touched the spindle, she thought deliriously. Tolkien himself could not have resisted. There was no choice but this one.

The page was cool beneath her finger tips and surprisingly smooth; the ink was raised enough that she could feel the words even as she read them. They thrummed against her skin - like a guitar string that had been plucked – the vibration working its way up her arm. Into her. The animal part of her brain kicked into control.

Take your hand away, Sarah!

She immediately noticed that the room was darker - the red glow of the security lights had gone out.

Ding...

Sarah startled, her fingers still splayed on the page and her eyes darting to the door, and through its glass, the elevator.

Ding...

Just a fellow student likely. She'd forgotten to wear a watch today, but the library saw students come and go at all hours.

Ding...

The third floor was the most popular. It had cozy couches and a slew of rooms for study groups. It also housed the majority of the general collection.

Ding...

Sarah blinked, watching as goose bumps broke across the surface of her skin - her hand still frozen in its illicit act. The grad students used the 4th floor. She waited for the telltale swish of the doors.

Nothing.

The hum of the cables was louder now. Closer. Her eyes dropped to the key on the table. Only key. It wouldn't stop on the 5th without it. And then turned back to the elevator. The hallway seemed to narrow and expand in an ocular illusion.

Sarah snatched her hand off the book, clutching it to her chest guiltily – wide eyes trained on the elevator doors.

Ding...

The doors opened.

Chapter Text

"If thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought."

 George Orwell

Sarah exhaled in disbelief.

The fluorescent bulbs in the empty elevator flickered and buzzed.

A short circuit maybe...

And then they exploded in a shower of sparks.

Sarah screamed.

The doors snapped closed.

Silence.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… Her thoughts fell into rhythm with her heartbeat.

She strained her ears to hear the elevator hum as it descended and then nothing again.

The whir of the ventilation and then the red glow of the security lights switched on.

"Jesus H. Fucking Christ!"

Her hands were shaking, her body jittery, and it came to Sarah in a rush that all she'd had today was coffee. Had she expected a tidal wave of blood? In the Overlook she was not. A janitor somehow able to bypass elevator controls? She could have brazened out a convincing lie. She'd always been particularly adept at lying. Her eyes dropped to the discarded white gloves.

No… that wasn't who she'd expected at all.

After 10 years with no contact, nothing extraordinary, nothing fantastical at all, a traitorous part of her - one she thought she had expunged - had imagined…

She would not say it.

On shaking legs she proceeded to turn on every desk lamp in the room until all of the shadows had been expelled. Only then did she return her attention to the book. The charm of being alone with it was lost. She had been an only child for 15 years before Toby had entered the picture. Solitude was something she prized, and was the reason that she'd settled for a much smaller apartment in a less charming part of town in order to avoid the need for a roommate. But right now the thought of being alone was choking her. It was irrational and on a pragmatic level she knew she was being ridiculous. There was nothing in the closet. Nothing under the bed. Monsters existed only when you believed in them.

…Even if you don't believe in the devil, he believes in you…

The stray thought burnt a path through her reason. The appeal of the Rare Book Room was lost for today. Sarah stowed her texts back in her bag and then turned to the Edda. It's just a book. She subconsciously wiped her hands on her jeans and then snatched up the cotton gloves, pulling them back on again. Very carefully she closed the manuscript and walked it back to its case. When the lock clicked into place, she felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief. She would not be alone with it again and she had wasted it on fantasy.

She cast a final cursory sweep around the room to make sure there was nothing out of place – nothing for Barbara to nitpick, and then turned off each desk lamp until the room was again lit only by a red glow. Gathering her bag she headed to the door and stepped out into the low light of the hall. She locked the door and picked up her travel mug before turning towards the elevator.

She'd never cared for elevators. They were enclosing without being cozy. She didn't like the sound of the cables and she never trusted them not to fail, leaving her trapped – alone in the dark. Or worse, falling into nothing. The door to the stairwell was clearly marked as an emergency exit only, a warning that an alarm would sound upon opening, and still Sarah hesitated in front of it. Reluctantly she pushed the button and waited.

A few moments later she heard the hum as the elevator reached her floor. The doors opened. The interior was still dark, and the distinct smell from the burst bulb lingered. Glass crunched beneath her feet as she stepped in nervously and pressed the button for the 4th floor. She'd take the main set of stairs from there after dropping off the key. She supposed she ought to call facilities about the light. The doors closed, stealing the last of it.

…alone in the dark…

The hairs on her neck prickled again as the whir of the cables started. When you lose one sense, the rest overcompensate. Something danced against her back. Sarah whirled around blindly, swallowing a scream, just as the fractured bulb crackled overhead. A shower of sparks flashed to life and fell. Sarah dropped her bag and threw her arms up protectively.

The doors opened.

She dropped her arms and blinked at the sudden influx of bright artificial light. A fellow grad student passed, laden with books, and glanced at her – his bleary eyes straying to the broken glass and then moving on without comment.

Sarah snatched up her stuff, shaking off the glass and quickly stepped out, doors swishing closed behind her.

She could see through the windows that the sun was already setting. Her stomach reminded her that she'd had nothing to eat. She quickly made her way to Barbara's desk and returned the key to its proper place. She found a post-it and scrawled a quick "thanks" before sticking it to the monitor.

Sarah picked up Thai food on her way home. She'd shovelled in two absurdly large bites of the Gang Garee Gai when she noticed the light on her answering machine flashing. She'd won a trip to Florida! Delete. The next message was her father asking if she wanted to come over for dinner – they were ordering take out. Her favourite. Chinese. Sarah snorted and took another bite. It had been her favourite when she was 12. She could hear Max cooing in the background and Karen scolding Toby for something. She smiled slowly before closing the container and storing it in the fridge.

She called home to let them know she was on her way. Toby answered, relayed the message to his dad and then informed Sarah that if she wanted to eat "their" food, she'd better be prepared to change some diapers. Sarah promised.

Ten minutes later she was out the door in a fresh change of clothes, with combed hair and a washed face. She'd refilled the cat's dish before slipping out. Loki was on his own tonight. Sarah's apartment was only a 20 minute drive from her childhood home. At first it had seemed silly to pay rent in the same city she already lived, but when she began to fully appreciate the demands of completing her thesis, coupled with the demands of a newborn roommate, Sarah pulled out the apartment listings in the newspaper. Robert and Karen both fully supported her desire for space and a place to study, and Robert insisted on paying for her rent. Her tuition was covered by her academic scholarships. Karen only voiced concern that she'd chosen to live alone and wondered if maybe she should get a dog. Sarah knew she didn't have the time for a dog and hadn't ever wanted to replace Merlin after he passed away anyway. A cat was the perfect compromise. Toby was resentful that she was leaving and had made his feelings on the matter emphatically clear. Those feelings were greatly tempered by the realization that he'd be upgrading to Sarah's room. He failed to convince Sarah that she should take Max when she left.

When she walked in the door, the food had already arrived. Karen was laying out the dishes on the table and Toby was breaking apart the chopsticks, mildly cursing under his breath when they broke unevenly. Which they all did. Karen was pretending not to hear. Everybody swears when they break that way. Her father and Max greeted her at the door with a kiss. Sarah dropped her purse and eagerly scooped the baby out of his arms, bouncing him as she wandered into the dining room to say hello. Max's chubby fingers curled reflexively in her hair, tugging every few seconds. No wonder Karen kept hers short.

"Wine, sweetie?"

"Yes. Please."

"Rough day?" Karen handed the glass to Sarah.

"You could say that." Sarah adjusted Max on her hip to take a sip with her free hand. "Oh, that's good. All I've had is coffee today."

"Oh, well this is much healthier then," Toby remarked with a smirk.

"Shut it, kid. How's that coke tasting?"

Toby took a dramatic slurp. "Whatever. I'm young. I'm supposed to make irresponsible choices and look to my elders for guidance." He smiled toothily at Sarah. "I guess I'm doomed."

"Hey now, I just made a very responsible choice." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "I've just decided never to have children."

Max cooed.

"Oh, I didn't mean you, chubs. You're just perfect. " Sarah nosed him gently. "But you need to stop growing like a weed. Before I know it you'll be a mouthy little 10 year old who drinks too much Coke."

Robert scooped Max out of her arms and popped him into a high chair with a bottle. Toby was already piling his plate with chicken balls coloured a red so bright Sarah was sure they were toxic. Karen topped up her wine glass with a smile. Sarah pulled out a chair and tucked in. It wasn't Thai but it was hot and plentiful, and doused in soya sauce it all tasted delicious. It felt good to be sitting around the table. She didn't make it home as often as she'd like – as often as any of them would like. Toby smiled at her with a mouth full of red goo and tried to playfully kick her under the table.

The events of the afternoon now seemed innocuous in the warm light of the dining room. Too many movies, not enough sleep, no food, bad timing…

Toby snatched an eggroll off her plate. "What? Stolen food always tastes better."

Sarah pointed a chopstick at the baby. "Never learn to talk, Max. No good ever comes of it."

She glanced over to see her father grinning.

Karen noticed it too and winked at Sarah. "So, how is the research coming?"

Sarah waved her hand dismissively. "Oh fine." She paused. "Actually, I got my… er, hands on a very old manuscript today. I'm still shocked they lent it to us, but they did. I think it will really help me out of my slump."

"Slump?" Robert's brows waggled. "You know it's never too late to apply to law school.  Make something of yourself."

"No, dad," Toby interjected, "Sarah would rather ask, 'one sugar or two'?"

"Hey now, it's only funny when I say it!"

Karen frowned. "Toby, don't be rude."

"But she says it!"

"And when I say it, it's funny."

"Fine!" Toby sighed dramatically. "Anyway, why pay Sarah to argue when she argues for free?"

"Pot–kettle."

Toby pulled a face. "Shouldn't you have a date tonight?"

Sarah swiped his last egg roll and then licked it.

Robert laughed indulgently. "You see, I could open my own firm one day with you both at my side."

"Jokes on you. I already licked it first." Toby reached for the fortune cookies and began sliding them across the table. "We have to open them at the same time. And say 'in bed' at the end."

"Toby!" Karen squealed. "Where did you learn that?"

"I'm ten, not two. But if I blame Sarah, does she have to do the dishes?"

"I'll do them anyway, because I'm a good daughter."

"You're the only daughter. But Deal." Toby grinned and broke his cookie apart. "You will win all your arguments." 'In bed' he mouthed defiantly.

"Let me see that." Sarah reached across the table, but Toby popped it in his mouth.

"Joy is found in your home," Karen interrupted.

"In bed," Robert added suggestively.

"Gross," intoned his children.

Sarah snapped hers in two. "If you speak of the devil, you will hear the flap of his wings." She frowned. "Weird. Isn't that more an Amish proverb?"

Karen nodded. "Yes, but I've heard it differently." She refilled Sarah's glass again. "How did it go? Something like, 'you need not call the devil, he'll come without calling…'"

Sarah choked on the liquid.

"What?" Karen asked at the incredulous looks on her family's faces. "Did you all forget I grew up around Pennsylvania Dutch country?"

"In bed." Toby grinned at his sister tauntingly.

"Huh?"

"You need not call the devil, he'll come without calling… in bed."

Sarah stared at him.

"Alright, that's enough. Unless you want to go to bed right now," warned Karen. She began wiping the cereal off Max's face… off his tray… off the chair… off Robert…

Sarah stood and began to collect the plates. Toby helped without being asked for a change and followed her into the kitchen.

"God, I miss this," she sighed.

"Us?"

"No, the dishwasher." Sarah laughed at Toby's frown. "Okay, you're fine too."

They loaded it together and had the leftovers put away in minutes. Karen told Sarah she should take them home with her, much to Toby's dismay.

When they were finished, they joined their parents in the family room. Robert was already watching Jeopardy while Max finished his bottle in his lap. Karen looked content but exhausted. No doubt, she'd once thought sleepless nights were long behind her by now. But she looked happy as she sipped on her wine.

Toby surreptitiously helped himself to another Coke and motioned Sarah upstairs. Kissing Max on the forehead first, she followed him.

Toby collapsed on his bed. Sarah plopped herself down in his desk chair – formerly hers - and looked around at her old room. The wallpaper was long gone. And her bed had been dismantled to remove the canopy. Most of her childhood mementos had followed her to her apartment and what hadn't were in the attic. Only the bones remained. And Lancelot. Lancelot was tucked into the bed. She smiled at that but wisely said nothing.

"So what's up?"

"Nothing. Just bored. Mom said no to a horror movie tonight. SO lame."

"Maybe she didn't want to have to change your sheets."

"Very funny, grandma."

"Hey – I'm in my prime!"

"Yah, yah. You're a brilliant academic." Toby finger quoted. "And Max is a wittle, bitty baby. Meanwhile my cuteness factor is expired. Stocks have plummeted."

"Are you sure you're only 10?" Sarah gaped. "I thought middle child syndrome was a myth. Anyway, you'll always be an adorable and annoying baby brother to me."

"Very funny. But Max is the baby with all the power."

"Where do you come up with this stuff? Jealous?"

"Maybe."

"They say the first step is admitting you have a problem."

"Hey, I get that he's cute but he didn't keep you up all night."

"Touché."

Toby scanned the room. "Want to play Risk?"

"Meh, I should really get home and do some more work…" Sarah trailed off at the eager look on his face. "Or I could stay and hone my procrastination skills more. You're on."

Toby dug through his closet and pulled out the game. They passed Karen on the stairs as she was putting Max to bed. Sarah stole him for a moment to pepper his face with kisses and squish his chubby thighs.

When she got downstairs, Toby was already setting up the game. "Want to play for the last fortune cookie?"

"There were only four. That must be dad's."

Robert happened to walk into the room on his way to the kitchen.

Toby snatched up the cookie. "Hey dad, you forgot your cookie. Sarah was totally going to eat it."

Robert accepted the cookie and eyed the game. "Try and avoid flipping the board this time around, hmm?"

"No promises."

Robert broke the cookie and slid out the slip of paper, adjusting the glasses on his nose. "Your children will avoid upending any furniture in their quest for world domination."

"Well that's a bust," Toby snorted.

"It's better than what I actually got," his dad scoffed. "You will lose something precious." He shook his head and dropped the paper back on the table. It landed on the board amongst the armies.

Sarah stared at the paper, frowning, until Toby knocked it out of the way.

He began placing his pieces. When he was through, he dramatically steepled his fingers and narrowed his eyes. "And so the game begins."

It took three hours before they called it a draw. Out of respect for Max, they kept the shouting to a minimum, though Toby crowed victory.

"You did not win. We both won. Or we both lost. You took way too many risks and wasted too many pieces. Plus, I'm sure you cheated," Sarah added with a poke.

"Did not! We can't both win. And you have to take risks in RISK. Gah!"

Sarah's laugh morphed into a yawn. "I do have to get home now, kiddo."

"You could just sleep here," Toby suggested hopefully.

Sarah ruffled his hair. Toby allowed it with complaint. "I wish I could but Loki will destroy my place if I don't come home."

"You know he's just a cat, right?"

"Have you ever lived with a cat? I chose his name for a reason."

Toby sighed.

"Look, I'll be over again soon and we can have a vicious rematch to the death." She drew him into a hug, realizing yet again how tall he was getting. Without needing to bend her head, she whispered in his ear, "I'll even forget to take the leftovers."

"Now there's the sister I love."

Sarah tiptoed to her parents' bedroom and wished them good night. Karen was already asleep. Robert gave her a peck.

At the front door she told Toby to get to bed, pretending he wasn't going to watch that horror movie he wasn't allowed to, and made him promise to lock the door as soon as she left. She waited until she heard the click. Her drive home was quiet and uneventful.

Loki greeted her on arrival.

"Oh, deigned to make an appearance because I fed you? How kind." He wove between her legs and then arched into her touch, sleek black fur and limpid eyes blinking.

Sarah kicked off her clothes and stepped into a blissfully steaming shower. Hands on the tile walls, she let the hot water beat against her back, trailing scorching rivulets down her body. She watched it swirl down the drain.

When she got out, she brushed her long hair. Thought again about cutting it. But then what would Max tangle his fingers in? She smiled and scooped her clothes to shove into the hamper. Two slips of paper fell from her jeans. Sarah crouched down slowly and picked them up, already knowing what they were.

Hers: 'If you speak of the devil, you will hear the flap of his wings.'

Her father's: 'You'll lose something precious.'

She fingered them both for a moment, pretending that she had accidentally put them in her pocket until she almost believed it. A glimpse in the clouded mirror reminded her that she was standing in the bathroom naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. She dropped them in the toilet and flushed, and quickly pulled on an oversized t-shirt.

She crawled into bed and cocooned herself within the duvet. She left all the lights on that night.

In the still, sudden silence of her apartment, her mind made her process what she'd felt in the elevator when she'd jumped. Before the light had sparked again.

Fingers. Fingers on her back.

Impossible.

Sarah felt the bed dip, her body freezing, but she relaxed again when she realized it was Loki settling himself at her feet. She forced herself to think of toxic red chicken balls. Karen bouncing Max. Toby plotting world domination. Her dad smiling at his children…

You will lose something precious…

…you need not call the devil, he'll come calling…

"There aren't any monsters under the bed," she whispered.

So naturally, that's when the scratching started.

Chapter Text

 I'm friends with the monster
That's under my bed
Get along with the voices inside of my head
You're trying to save me
Stop holding your breath

 The Monster, Eminem, featuring Rihanna

Forcing yourself to peer over the side of the bed in the middle of the night, all alone in the dark of your empty (or not so empty) apartment, is akin to jumping out of a burning plane without knowing if you have a working parachute or a dud on your back.

Those are the thoughts that would have been going through Sarah's mind if her brain had kept functioning. It didn't. She really regretted not getting a dog or a burly live-in boyfriend, because Loki was apparently inclined to act for neither.

All she knew for sure was that at some point her heart had lodged in her throat and all higher functions in her head had ceased.

"There are no monsters under the bed," she whispered again.

The sound grew louder.

…I don't need you to believe in me…

"Oh god…"

For the first time in too many years to count, she wanted to call for her mother. The same mother that had essentially abandoned her. Paralyzing fear skews the mind, even brilliant ones. And in the end, all babies remember where they first felt safe.

By sheer force of will, she pulled the covers from around her head. Fight or flight called for some kind of action either way. She refused to freeze. The room felt colder than she remembered leaving it. The skin on her face tightened and her breath inexplicably misted in the dim light.

Gently, she rolled onto her stomach and inched towards the edge of the bed. Her knuckles bled white against the sheets. Propping her weight on her elbows, she eased her head towards the side, her damp hair falling into a curtain around her face, and held her breath.

The scratching grew louder, more persistent and closer.

Why couldn't she be like most students and just have a mattress on the floor?

Just do it, dammit. Like a band aid.

She opened her eyes slowly, one at a time, inhaled and craned her head over the edge.

The scratching stopped.

Something shuffled forward and Sarah's remaining sanity fractured.

Loki poked his head from beneath the bed. Blinked his eyes at her, stretched and batted playfully at Sarah's hair.

"Oh Jesus… you little shit!" Sarah exhaled. She collapsed onto her back, one hand falling to her chest in an attempt to quiet her erratic heart. Laughter bubbled out of her uncontrollably.

"Of all the days…" and that's when Sarah realized there was still a weight at her feet.

Her eyes popped back open just as all the lights went out.

Toby turned off the TV as the credits rolled. He didn't have much experience with horror movies, but he knew enough to know that it had been a thoroughly effective one. Not that he was scared. He looked around at the empty living room and mentally counted how many lights he'd have to turn off on his way upstairs. The front door was locked but he should probably check it again. Just to be safe. That was the smart thing to do. The adult thing. That second Coke was a probably not a good idea. The third was definitely a mistake. The caffeine/ sugar combo was making him jittery.

A definite positive of Max's arrival was his parents' constant need for sleep. They tended to collapse when the baby went down. And when they did go down it was the deep slumber of the perennially sleep deprived. It hadn't taken him long to realize he could capitalize on that fact. He considered watching whatever he wanted to on TV to be his reward for putting up with an unasked for and sometimes unwanted baby.

His consolation for Sarah leaving.

If he'd been his father he wouldn't have let her leave. Toby suddenly very much wanted to call her.

He forced his feet to move and began to switch off the lights, trying hard not to think about the encroaching darkness; how it felt like he was being swallowed by it. The front door was still firmly locked. Not that it had helped the family in the movie, his mind reminded him spitefully. He stopped by the kitchen and flipped the timer on the coffee maker for his parents. He knew Max would have them up early. As he neared the landing, the furnace kicked on, making him jump. He told himself that he was just tired, and that was why he ran up the stairs, not because there was anything behind him. Ten year-olds shouldn't be afraid of the bogey man anymore. He passed his parents' room. He could hear his father snoring. His mother too, not that he'd ever be brave (or foolish) enough to tell her. When he got to his room, he found his window open. There had been an open window in the movie too. Toby had scoffed at that part – at their foolishness. Bad things only happened if you let bad things in. He shut the window firmly. And then drew the blinds and curtains for extra measure. He pretended it was for privacy.

He got undressed quickly and changed into superhero pajamas - ones he would deny owning if anyone asked. His room was cold, not surprisingly, given his window was open, so he scooted into bed quickly. He debated leaving his night table light on. He thought long and hard about it – weighing the pros and cons. When he finally decided to pull the cord, he spied a wadded up piece of paper on the table. It was his fortune from earlier. The one he'd shoved in his mouth and then spit out later. He'd forgotten about it.

The paper was gummed together from his saliva, but as a ten year old boy, he'd touched much worse. He pulled it apart carefully, having not actually read it at the table in his haste to annoy his sister.

'Sometimes all you have to do is wish.'

Toby snorted. If that were true, he'd still be in Max's room and Sarah would be home right now. Where she belonged. Fortunes were always lame. Even with 'in bed' at the end. He tossed it back on the table. The cookies kind of sucked too. There should be Chinese Twinkies instead.

He turned the knob on his lamp and drew the blankets over his head. It was just because he was cold, he reasoned. He certainly knew that hiding under blankets was no protection. It hadn't worked out for that one girl in the movie anyway.

Not that movies were real.

They aren't, he decided emphatically, just as the music started.

Toby froze. At first he thought it was some toy from Max's room. Max had all manner of annoying toys. The music was of a tinny type. Definitely a toy, he reasoned, and waited for it to turn off. When it didn't he tried following its direction. He grabbed for Lancelot when he realized it was coming from his closet. He wanted to call for his mom, but found he lacked the capacity to speak. She'd be mad that he woke her up anyway. He'd probably wake Max too. Then he'd have to explain about the pops and the movie. Still – he wanted to yell for her. Or he could phone Sarah. Sarah always knew how to make things better. But the nearest phone was in his parents' room. Or worse – downstairs. He waited, hoping the music would wake his parents. Or Max. Max would get the whole house up.

If he strained his ears he could still hear their snoring. Useless baby. He pulled the covers off and swung his feet over the edge, keeping his eyes trained on the closet. He blindly reached over and turned on his lamp. When he reached the doors, he was embarrassed to find that his hands were shaking. And for a moment they mutinously refused to listen to his brain. He didn't notice that he was still holding the bear.

When he finally pulled the doors open, the muffled music grew louder and he could see slight movement on the shelf next to his cap collection. Reaching between the hats, his fingers closed around something metal. When he pulled down a music box, he stared at it in confusion. A doll turning inside a mirrored carousel. He vaguely recognized it as Sarah's. She'd kept it in a trunk in her room - his room now. He'd assumed it had been hers from childhood, though he'd never seen it out anywhere. Always in the trunk he wasn't supposed to touch.

It was strangely warm in his hand, the figurine turning and turning to the laconic music. Music that was disturbing for no discernible reason. Examining the doll, with its long dark hair, he had the sudden ridiculous notion that it was Sarah in the over-sized dress. He let it play for another moment before he flipped it over. No batteries. It was a wind up box – he forced the crank until it stopped. Probably defective. Old things usually were.

He had no easy answer for how it got in his closet though, and he possessed the mind of an imaginative 10 year old. Any ideas he did have were better left as ideas. Sarah had taken almost all of her things with her when she'd moved. Anything she'd left was in the attic…

An instant, awful shiver shot down his spine.

His need to pee was forgotten. Or maybe he'd peed himself already. He placed the music box on his desk and reached over to turn on the light to his bedroom. Only then did he open his bedroom door. Only then did he let his eyes wander out into the darkened hall and up to the ceiling.

Up to the ceiling where the attic crawl space hatch was open.

All the lights went out.

Sarah bit her lip to hold back a sob. The metallic tang of blood pooled on her tongue. She curled her feet up towards her body as carefully as possible. Pulling them away from whatever was on the end of her bed.

Move, Sarah. Do something! Anything!

She suddenly very much wished she'd taken Toby's offer and spent the night at home. Her body was hyper aware that her t-shirt had ridden up and was bunched around her waist. And that she was wearing nothing underneath. Her damp hair was clammy against her face and neck, prickling her over-sensitive skin uncomfortably. The darkness was absolute.

She knew her phone was on her desk. Just out of reach. When nothing happened she'd almost convinced herself it was all in her head.

And then the weight moved.

She thrashed in her efforts to extricate herself from the tangle of covers, and then froze again when she felt something move against her legs. Through the down, it felt like the splayed digits of a hand – gripping lightly. She knew then that she needed to react, but shock had momentarily paralyzed her. The touch, muted by the blanket, slid towards her knee and then up her thigh 'til it settled on the jut of her hip. Leisurely, she thought wildly. It continued its path upwards, across her ribs, just skirting her breasts until it skimmed her collar bone – soft and subtle and ghosted over her pulse point. She swallowed reflexively, still frozen, when her hair was brushed away. Her eyes strained wildly in the dark, hands forming white knuckled fists at her side.

The shrill ring of a phone cut through the silence, and with that she thrust up violently - both arms swinging defensively and the scream finally tearing free from her throat.

The lights flickered back on and Sarah scanned the room wildly. Empty. She threw herself from her bed so quickly that she ended up on the floor. She scrambled to her feet, legs boneless, collapsed again. She scooted backed into the desk painfully.

Sarah grabbed above her blindly for the receiver. "Hello?" she shouted.

"Sarah? It's Toby."

"Toby?" she asked in confusion, her eyes still darting about the room. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?" In the background she could hear Max wailing and she belatedly registered the shaky quality of her brother's voice.

"Um, no. I mean yes, everyone is fine. We're fine," he repeated. "How are you?"

Sarah's brows furrowed. "Toby?"

"Did you lose power? We lost power here. It's back now though, I mean."

She relaxed marginally, realized her own voice was little more than a warble. "I did. So you did too, huh? Did it scare you? It scared me."

Max had quieted and she could hear Karen saying something to Toby.

"I… er, yes," he admitted. "I, um, watched that movie I shouldn't have. And then I got… scared and the power went out…"

"So you called me to see if I was okay?" Sarah supplied smoothly. "That was sweet of you."

He laughed nervously. "Yah, pretty much. The lights going out made me scr… er, jump and I guess I woke up Max, who then woke up everyone else."

"I'm sure Karen and dad were thrilled with that."

Toby held the phone out so Sarah could hear for a moment. "Very thrilled it sounds."

"Look, sorry if I woke you up…"

"You didn't." Sarah whispered. "I was awake."

"I didn't mean to scare you… You, er, sounded kinda not okay when you answered the phone?"

"Don't worry about it." She looked around her room again.

"If you are scared you could come sleep here."

Sarah was sorely tempted, especially by the hopeful lilt in Toby's voice. But it would be too much to explain and it was already really late. She rubbed her forehead. "Thanks for the offer, kiddo, but I don't think I should be driving right now. You get some sleep, huh?"

"Yah. Okay. You too. Sorry for calling. Karen, I mean mom, says it was rude."

"No worries. Call me anytime. I mean that."

"I know."

Sarah heard dial tone and immediately wished she'd kept talking to him. She reluctantly replaced the phone in the base and then cradled her temples again.

She had to be going crazy. Pushing up off the desk she checked the window to make sure it was shut and locked. She padded out into the hall and did the same with the bathroom, before turning off the light and shutting the door firmly. She checked the small linen closet and then made her way to the front door. She calmed a little more when she found it still firmly locked. Dead bolt included. She checked the tiny galley kitchen, eyeing her sink full of dirty dishes distastefully before turning off the light. The similarly small dining room was empty save for the remaining work she had piled on top of the table. She checked the living room, verifying again that the few windows were locked. She pulled the curtains closed tightly and left the lights on.

When she made it back to her room, Loki was curled up on her pillow. He blinked at her blearily when she yanked open her closet and checked inside. Before she could chicken out, she ducked down and checked under the bed too, closing her eyes in relief when all she found was dust bunnies. When she stood back up, her attention was drawn to the end of the bed and she stared at it for a full minute. There seemed to be an impression of… something that had settled on the end. When she tentatively put her hand on it, her mind warred with itself whether or not the spot felt warm. Sarah snatched her hand back and then whipped the duvet off the bed and slid the pillow out from under her disgruntled cat. He padded to the foot of the bed and lay back down with his back to her. He found a warm spot, her mind supplied warningly. Sarah tugged on a pair of shorts and then returned to the living room, leaving the light on in her room when she left. She switched on the TV and pressed play on the VCR. The familiar opening bars of Willow started a few seconds later. Might as well earn that late fee. She curled up on the couch into a fetal position with her duvet and pillow, and tried to focus on the screen. Her eyes kept drifting back to her bedroom.

Her mind could convince itself otherwise, using reason and logic and evidence, but her body couldn't deny the touch in the dark. Sarah shivered and a fitful sleep did not find her until well-past the credits rolling.

Across town, Toby's eyes were still open too. They'd started to burn in fact, but he didn't want to shut them. Max had finally settled again and if he listened hard enough, he could hear that his parents had too. He promised himself he'd never watch another horror movie again – even knowing it was a promise he'd likely break.

Testing the silence of the house, he waited a few more minutes before he stole from his bed with his comforter and pillow and Lancelot. He made his way to the hall, refusing to look at the ceiling and then crept into Max's room as quietly as he could. He knew he'd be murdered if he woke the precious baby up again. He made himself a little pallet on the floor next to the crib, curling the covers over himself and Lancelot like armor, and focused on Max's soft, even exhalations.

"Don't worry, Max," Toby whispered. "I'm here."

Sarah pushed through the glass doors and yawned. She knew she looked awful. She felt awful. Sleeping on the small couch not much bigger than a loveseat, had left her cramping in all the wrong places. She'd had awful dreams, ones she couldn't remember when she woke but had left an imprint – like a bruise that had faded but still ached. She nodded at a fellow Lit grad. The other girl looked awful too, but for all the right reasons Sarah supposed.

When she had woken that morning, her TV was still on – a blue screen with a low hum. In the final quicksilver moments between sleep and waking, all the events of the night and day settled back into place and the rationalizations began.

As a result, Sarah found herself at the library, with strong coffee in hand. It was public. Innocuous. Anonymous.

And tainted.

Sarah needed to work. She also needed to speak to Barbara.

She took the stairs to the fourth floor, her cramped legs protesting.

Barbara looked up when Sarah approached. "You!"

Sarah stilled, surprised in a half-started yawn.

"I thought we agreed that you'd follow the rules? I put my job on the line, Sarah," she hissed. "You're lucky I was going to reset all the tapes today anyway."

Sarah stared blankly until it registered. Tapes. The Rare Book Collection would naturally have surveillance cameras as part of its security. Her fingers itched guiltily.

"Oh God, Barbara, I am SO sorry. I couldn't resist! It was only for a few seconds and only one page…" She trailed off at the look of confusion on the librarian's face.

"What are you talking about?"

"…What are you talking about?

Barbara shook her head in annoyance. "Follow me."

Sarah followed the older woman into a small windowless room. Inside were various types of AV equipment.

"I'm talking about this." Barbara reached over and pushed a button on a small TV. The grainy feed dimly showed Sarah seated; her attention to the door. There was no sound. Even in the distorted tape she could see the white of the discarded gloves beside her. She side-eyed Barbara but the librarian said nothing.

The video Sarah jumped and then settled.

"There, see?"

The outline of a figure moved into the frame and stopped behind Sarah, so close it was almost touching her.

Sarah's hand flew to her mouth and trembled.

The quality and lack of lighting meant she could discern nothing other than shape. Tall. Cloaked by shadow.

She recalled the hairs prickling on her neck. They prickled again in remembrance.

She watched the screen with horror as the figure reached towards her and then paused, turning its head towards the camera. The video went black.

"I don't know what happened to it from there, or what you did to the lights, but it doesn't matter as I was going to wipe…" Barbara trailed off at Sarah's white pallor.

"Sarah?"

"You… You saw it, right?" Sarah whispered, aware of how stupid her question must seem.

Barbara pursed her lips. "I saw that you weren't alone-"

Sarah mewled like a wounded animal.

"Wait… did…" Barbara studied Sarah's face. "Oh, my god, you didn't know…"

Sarah shook her head wordlessly and then found she couldn't stop shaking.

Barbara stilled her gently. "That doesn't make any sense. You had the only key. There was no one in the room when I brought you in there."

"Just books," Sarah whispered.

"Well, let's rewind further. There's an explanation somewhere." But when she pressed play again the tape showed only snow. She tried rewind and forward a few times. "Dammit, I must have hit something by accident!"

"You didn't do anything," Sarah said dully. She then straightened, shouldering her bag. "I have to go, okay?"

"What? Wait!" Barbara called, but Sarah was already striding out the door.

Barbara followed her and caught up to her by the stairs. "Sarah. We have to investigate," she whispered. "We have to report this. I still don't understand how this even happened."

"Report what? That you left me alone in a room I shouldn't have been in in the first place? That you had security tape and now it's blank? Forget it."

"Sarah," Barbara paused, "are you certain you didn't let anyone in? You can tell me. Honestly I won't be mad. No harm done. I was young once too, you know…" She trailed off at the look on Sarah's face. "Okay. But we have to do something! If it wasn't you, then there's a serious security issue. What if this happens to someone else?"

"It won't." Sarah began walking down the stairs. "I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

"Maybe it was just a trick of the light." Barbara chewed her lip. "It's an outdated system and there are hardly any lights in that room."

"Probably," Sarah called over her shoulder. Barbara nodded absently. Neither woman believed it.

When Toby opened the door, he was thrilled to see Sarah.

She ruffled his hair by rote when she passed him.

"You look like crap."

"Thanks," Sarah mumbled. She eyed herself in the hall mirror and agreed. "Just came to eat all your leftover chicken balls."

Toby grinned. "Too late."

"Brat."

Robert poked his head from the landing. "Oh, Sarah. Hi, sweetie." He placed a finger over his lips. "Karen's down with Max." He eyed Toby. "Some of us didn't get much sleep last night."

Toby studied the floor.

"I'll keep it down. Just, uh, here to do some laundry."

Her dad nodded and headed back up stairs.

"You know they have places called laundromats, right?"

"You know they have places called orphanages, right?" She poked Toby in the arm playfully. "It's where they send mouthy kids."

"Well you should have gotten rid of me when you had the chance. You don't live here anymore. So you have no power."

Sarah's grin faltered and she adjusted the basket on her hip to hide her expression.

Toby must have noticed because his face sobered too. "There's still some rice and stuff."

"I'm starving. I'll just put these in the wash." She headed to the basement stairs but then poked her head back up. "Got any superhero PJs you want me to throw in?" She waggled her brows.

Toby reddened. "Don't be surprised if a dirty diaper ends up in your load!"

"Yours or Max's?" Sarah parried and then disappeared downstairs.

Toby scowled and then laughed. She was good. He felt a hundred times better with Sarah under the roof. Sarah was… just right. He loved his parents. He idolized his dad. He still needed his mom like all little boys do. But Sarah was somehow his. She made him feel safe.

He heard the washer kick on and moved into the kitchen to get the leftover Chinese. He was fixing her plate when she walked into the kitchen.

Sarah accepted it with a smile and popped it into the microwave. Toby snagged a bag of chips from the cupboard.

"So no work today?" he asked, mouth full.

"Not today. I'll get back at it tomorrow. Grab me the soya sauce, would you?"

Toby slid off the stool and then passed it over.

"What about you?"

Toby snorted. "Well I won't be watching the TV I'm 'not allowed to touch'."

"That bad, huh?"

Toby shrugged and then fell silent. The chips forgotten beside him.

Sarah eyed the bag. "What's up? Just how bad was that movie?"

Toby fidgeted. "It wasn't just the movie. Not really. I don't know, I can't explain it."

Sarah swallowed another bite. "Try."

"Something… doesn't feel right. And then last night, when that stupid music started…"

Sarah stilled, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth. "Music?"

"Yah, your music. So it should really be you who can't watch Power Rangers."

"Toby, let's pretend for a moment that I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Your stupid music box started playing! It was in my closet for some reason." He glared at her accusingly. "If it was a joke, it was a dumb joke."

Sarah put her fork down. "What box, Toby?"

"The cheesy one with the dumb girl. It's still in my room."

She gripped the edge of the table. "I got rid of that thing when it wouldn't play anymore."

"Well it had no problem playing last night. Wait – what do you mean you got rid of it?"

"I mean I'm pretty sure it was thrown out years ago."

Toby's eyes widened. "Well it didn't. And it ended up in my closet."

Sarah pushed her half-finished plate away. "Of course it did."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Forget about it." She leaned back and then stood up. "I'm going to get it okay?"

Toby nodded and preceded her up the stairs.

Sarah noticed that his head darted up to look at the attic and then shot back down again.

She gave him a questioning glance but he shook his head.

"Here," he said, thrusting it into her hands.

Sarah held it lightly, examining it for a moment. She had loved it for a time. And then, like so many things, it had stopped working. She pretended not to remember when the music had stopped exactly, but she knew it to the day. She turned it over and cranked the tiny shaft.

Music started.

Then Max started crying.

Toby rolled his eyes. "Now he cries!"

She heard a groan. A few moments later Karen appeared in the doorway, Max on her shoulder.

"Oh, Sarah. You look about as good as me," she said, though not unkindly. "Rough night?"

"Probably better than yours," Sarah lied.

Karen smiled again. "Oh, Toby. That reminds me, you need to start thinking about what you want to bring with you. You need to start packing soon."

Toby rolled his eyes. "I dunno. Do we have to go?"

Karen pursed her lips. "Yes. We. Do. She's your grandmother and she wants to see you."

"She wants to see Max."

"Toby…"

Sarah recognized the warning note. "Hey, sounds fun to me," she supplied.

Toby regarded her mutinously. "Yes, if 8 hours in a car with a baby is fun."

"But family trip. Hotel with a pool…"

Toby folded his arms. "You aren't going."

Karen eyed Sarah sympathetically. They had navigated these waters before. Karen's mother was technically a grandmother to Sarah too but it wasn't the same. Living so far away and Sarah so grown when they became a family, she had never built up a strong relationship with Sarah, though she had always been cordial. That had once been a weapon in Sarah's arsenal during her early teenage years. Now Sarah was better able to understand the intricacies of a blended family. Toby hadn't gotten there yet.

"Sarah is an adult and is very busy."

Sarah nodded. "Very true. Norse gods are demanding."

Toby rolled his eyes. "She's so busy she's here eating my leftovers. You could come if you really wanted to," he added seriously.

"It sounds great and I promise. Next time."

Sarah realized she might have broken that promise once before. Toby's expression told her she had.

"There's not really room with Max's car seat," Robert added helpfully. He'd come to stand beside Karen. "But next time we'll rent a van."

"Or take two cars and you can ride with me," Sarah agreed. "Stick the olds with chubs here." She tucked the music box under her arm and scooped Max from a grateful Karen. He immediately stuffed his fists full of her hair.

Karen mouthed a 'thank you' and shuffled back into her room. Robert ruffled Toby's hair and followed her.

Sarah wandered back downstairs, making exaggerated faces at Max on the way down.

Toby remained in his doorway, staring after the pair with an inscrutable expression.

Later that night, he sat on his bed with his hands clasped loosely and listened to the muffled sounds of his parents putting Max to sleep. Sarah had left a few hours earlier with her clean laundry and the music box.

Right before she'd left he'd asked her if she'd been like that with him when he was a baby. Like she was with Max. She'd paused mid bounce, Max giggling.

Not at first, she'd admitted. But later, yes. Toby had pressed her for more, but she'd said she had to go. Promised to come again soon. And that she wouldn't eat any leftovers next time.

Next time.  It was always next time.  They all said it to him.

She'd kissed Max a dozen times at the door. She'd hugged Toby once.

Toby frowned and unclasped his hands, looking around his room. Her old room. His eyes lit upon the tiny slip of paper still on his nightstand.

All you have to do is wish…

Sarah drove home, with the radio playing loudly. Anything to drown out her thoughts. Nevertheless, she was aware of the music box on the seat beside her. Part of her wanted to just get rid of it, but mostly she wanted it far away from Toby.

Some memories have teeth, she thought. And oh, how they'd slid into her.

…everything is dancing…

Going home had been an attempt to escape; a last chance to deny and to forget. But ten years of nothing could dissolve in an instant.

Her sanity felt shredded and her reason raw. She'd heard grad students sometimes went crazy. She felt crazy. She was crazy to be bringing that thing home with her. She stopped at the red light.

…he'll come calling…

…you will lose something precious…

Elsewhere lips parted in a smile, uneven teeth glinting. "Soon."

Chapter Text

Alone in the wind and the rain you left me
It's getting dark darling, too dark to see…

 Thistle & Weeds, Mumford & Sons

Sarah awoke to a pair of eyes peering back at her intently.

"Ergh, Loki!" she chuffed in exasperation. The feline was perched lightly on her chest. She rubbed him behind his ears and he arched into her touch with an instant rumbling purr.

"I don't suppose you've put the coffee on? No? Typical."

The sound of heavy rain belatedly registered and Sarah craned her neck to check the window. The blinds were drawn tightly. It had rained steadily all through night, the heavy droplets beating against the glass with a measured but insistent pace. Her last thoughts had been of a metronome in the dark.

She caught sight of the music box in her peripheral vision. It sat on her vanity where she'd left it the night before. Sarah rolled upwards in bed, unceremoniously dumping Loki to the floor. His tail twitched in irritation.

Why now? But it was more resignation than question.

Nothing had gone bump in the night. Her drive home had been equally uneventful; her sleep uninterrupted and dreamless. No twilight calls from Toby. But looking at it made her skittish. She hadn't known what to do with it, she'd just wanted it well away from her brother.

That night – the night she'd returned from the place she would not name - it had stopped playing. Her father had valiantly tried, but nothing could fix it. The music had just died.

Until it had played for Toby.

Sarah frowned at that. The porcelain girl in the dress stared blankly back at her - disclosing no secrets, though Sarah had told her plenty of her own over the years.

"You broke a long time ago," she whispered accusingly.

Loki meowed stridently from the kitchen, reminding her that he didn't care about her skeletons or the fact they were escaping their closet. He liked to be fed. Regularly. And she might have forgotten to feed him yesterday. And that if she didn't want to be murdered in her bed, she really ought to rectify the situation. Sarah grinned at the mundanity and padded into the kitchen to dump some kibble into his dish. She flicked the coffee maker on at the same time and then hopped in the shower while it was brewing. A little over half an hour later and she was dressed, damp hair drying, and dabbing on some make-up before the mirror in her room. She'd brought the vanity with her when she'd moved, leaving Toby her desk and bed. It was no longer spackled with newspaper clippings and photos, and she'd refinished it at some point, staining it a rich brown to match her other furniture.

Rolling her tube of lipstick, she paused – the music box reflecting back at her – and suddenly she wondered if it was possible for objects to be branded by memory. If they remembered just as people did. And if she looked hard enough would she see past reflections? Past selves staring back... red lips and a striped hat...

I need you…

The words suddenly irritated her mouth like a hair on the tongue. She wanted to spit them out just to be rid of them. Just to prove that they held no power.

That she held no power.

But that was precisely why she'd never spoken them. Uncertainty meant possibility. Possibility permitted belief. And more importantly it bred disbelief.

"Say your right words," she scoffed and then smiled just a touch too widely.

Sarah replaced the lid on her lipstick and stood it next to the girl in the box. She'd do something with the trinket later. It didn't matter anyway; she'd shattered her cage a long time ago.

Before she left she remembered to grab the overdue movie.

She failed to see the flashing light on her answering machine.

Sarah shook out her umbrella and knocked on the wooden door, opening it a moment later when she was bidden.

"Morning."

"Ah, Sarah. Good morning," Professor Gunnarsson replied warmly. His back was to her, watering his plants in front of the window.

Sarah lightly dropped her bag on the floor and settled into one of the chairs facing his desk, smoothing the damp hairs away from her face as she sipped her coffee. When he finished he turned and wiped his hands on a handkerchief, before sitting down in his own chair.

"I prefer to water my plants when it's raining. Gives them the impression they're outside. A little illusion never hurt anyone."

Sarah's lips twitched at his eccentricity but she merely nodded.

"So." His shaggy brows rose and he clasped his large hands together a shade too loudly. "It's here!"

Sarah nodded again, inwardly smiling at his obvious enthusiasm.

"And? I haven't had a chance to see it myself though I heard you got your hands on it. Greedy girl."

Sarah reddened slightly but composed herself with a cough. "It was… surprising. The condition was incredible… the colours, the binding… Honestly I am shocked they lent it to us at all."

Professor Gunnarsson grinned and waggled a finger. "Never doubt my powers of persuasion. Or rather the power of money where hungry academic bureaucrats are concerned. It's the one good thing I can say for my dissolute family."

The professor, Sarah knew, was a man whose average looks and modest dress belied his pedigree. If you were skilled at reading people you might pick up that he'd been no stranger to affluence, but for most observers he flew under their radar, which Sarah suspected, was something he preferred and had carefully cultivated. Even his office was modestly decorated to everyone but those with a keen eye for expensive first edition books, most humanities professors, even tenured, would never have been able to afford.

She sometimes wondered if he treated the whole world like his plants.

Overall, Sarah quite liked him, and his genial attitude more than made up for his oddities. He tolerated no fools – Sarah eyed the red marks scribbled across the undergraduate papers littering his desk - but was generous with those he found rapport; a boon considering his font of knowledge on Skaldic mythology. She knew where to get her bread buttered.

"The timing couldn't be better, for you I mean," Gunnarsson offered. "Your last draft was appallingly dull and lacking in any new insight."

Used to his frank delivery, Sarah only betrayed minor discomfort.

"Don't take it personally, dear girl. We all hit roadblocks. It can be difficult to know the way forward." He thumbed through some of the papers. "And sometimes we must go back…"

Sarah's hand twitched involuntarily, her coffee spilling over onto her lap.

"… and revise our initial ideas," he continued, once he'd found the paper he was looking for. Sarah quieted and watched as he scribbled a large D on the essay and directed the unfortunate student to come and see him immediately in a florid scrawl. He eyed it distastefully before dropping it on another pile. "And sometimes we need to just scrap those ideas altogether." He adjusted his glasses. "But returning to you, do not mistake me, I believe your work thus far has potential. And I hope you'll find inspiration to write something new and worth reading."

Sarah nodded. "Speaking of new, I'd be very interested to go with you when you look at it… because I could have sworn that there was an extra lay included." She continued at his sudden silence, "I mean I only looked at it briefly... so I could have been mistaken, but…"

"What exactly are you saying?"

"I don't know, really. Another poem? A forgery? An oversight?" Her hands gestured futilely.

Gunnarsson sat back in his chair thoughtfully. "It seems unlikely that it would have come to us in any of those scenarios."

"Right. But that's why I wanted you to see it."

He adjusted his glasses again after another moment's digestion. "And you read it?"

"No… not exactly. I didn't get the chance. There was a problem…" Sarah waved her hand dismissively when he opened his mouth. "Just with the elevator and lights. Anyway, I'm nowhere near fluent enough to do it any sort of justice."

"Of course, of course. I will take a look at it. I had planned to anyway, but now you have me intrigued. The implications of what you are saying…" he trailed off and Sarah noted his expression changed again. "If it's so, they'll want it back."

"Naturally."

"Naturally nothing! It's ours at the moment and I have no intention of sending it back anytime soon." His accent had become more pronounced. "Would you let it go so easily?"

"No." Sarah was almost surprised by how quickly the word escaped her mouth. Later she would wonder if the question was more nuanced, and if it had been a final chance at reprieve. Don't open the box. Don't bite the apple. Don't read the book.

He nodded. "Then we shall discover its secrets together, Miss Williams. Happy Monday." He stood, straightening his vest as he did. "Shall we?"

"Now?"

"And why not? These papers can wait. I've already spent more time grading them than most spent writing them."

Realizing it wasn't really a question, Sarah collected her bag and mutely followed him out the door. At his behest they used one of the underground tunnels to cross campus to the library.

The tunnels, while lacking any architectural charm, were very functional in the inclement weather and led, in their ad hoc patterns of twists and turns, to all of the major buildings on campus. The overhead fluorescent lights painted everyone a sickly shade of green and the cement walls sorely needed a new paint job. They also housed the various boiler and maintenance rooms. Sarah rolled her nose at the underlying smell of damp and mold. The morning's rain had not helped.

Various flyers for frat events and college clubs, as well as dubious phone numbers, marked the peeling walls. Epithets – some pithy, most asinine, completed the window dressing. Sarah had never been a fan.

They passed several groups of students on their way; the weather sending most of the Monday-morners underground. At the end of one branch of the tunnel, Professor Gunnarsson pulled open a heavy set of metal doors and ushered Sarah through into the basement of the library. During regular hours the doors were unlocked; afterhours they required a swipe card or an active student ID. The basement of the library housed storage rooms, washrooms, a few unlucky adjunct offices and a small café – which, given the hour, was predictably packed. The smell of fresh-baked goods made Sarah's stomach rumble.

"Did you want to stop for something?"

Sarah shook her head in mild embarrassment. "No, no. I'm fine. I'll get something later. Thanks though." Cold Thai food was not the breakfast of champions.

Professor Gunnarsson nodded and clicked the button for the elevator. They rode it to the fourth floor and made their way to the main desk in comfortable silence. The librarian was clicking away at her keyboard.

"Good morning, Barbara. You look fetching this morning."

"Morning, Asael. Thank you." Her eyes swung to Sarah before nodding. "And Sarah." Without being asked she pulled a key from her desk and passed it over to the professor. "Do you need me to come up?"

He gestured at her cluttered desk. "No, no. You have your hands full. We'll be fine."

At the last word, Barbara's eyes skated back to Sarah, and for a pregnant pause Sarah was sure Barbara was going to say something. The older woman finally pursed her lips and nodded, returning her attention to the computer.

Sarah exhaled. The professor frowned at the silent exchange but said nothing, leading the way to the elevator. She tensed again when he accidently brushed against her back once inside the confined space. She rolled her shoulders in an effort to mask her reaction but he apologized awkwardly nonetheless. When the doors opened on the fifth, Sarah wondered if he could hear her erratic heartbeat in the silence.

The professor pulled two pair of gloves from the box and passed one set to Sarah wordlessly, before unlocking the door. She put her coffee mug on the table and leaned her umbrella against the wall. Once inside, the distinct drop in temperature made Sarah's skin prickle in memory. She hadn't bothered to blow dry her hair considering the rain, and the damp strands were uncomfortably clammy against her neck. She looked around the room cautiously.

Professor Gunnarsson turned on several lamps and then made his way to the locked display case. She heard him suck in a breath in marked appreciation. Sarah turned the rest of the lights on before seating herself in one of the chairs. She watched his face crease in delight as he gently lifted the book free. He ran a hand along the cover and then grinned at her over his glasses. Sarah mirrored it, thinking he suddenly looked quite boyish despite his age.

He placed the book down between them, before pulling a chair beside her.

"Astounding, no?" He didn't wait for her response. He traced a finger over the knot. "And this, this is unexpected."

"I thought so too," Sarah offered eagerly. "I've never seen it associated with the Edda before."

"Perhaps a stylistic choice… or it may have been a later addition. This also might have been rebound at some point." He tilted the book on its side to examine the spine. "If so whoever did it was an expert."

"The knot's inside too. May I?" Sarah took the book, telling herself that her hands were shaking in a mixture of excitement and cold, and carefully opened the cover. "See?"

"Mmmhmmm!" He lightly tapped a finger on the inked knot. "I wonder that I didn't hear about this before it was sent to us. And the parchment…" He fingered the pages and then raised it to his nose. Sarah saw his nostrils flare. "It is unusual. Not vellum, I should think. Perhaps sheep, but I don't think so either." His touched the page again. "Not skin at all, I think, though in that case I am surprised at the quality."

"I was thinking the ink might be Iron Gall, but the colours are almost too vivid."

He nodded in agreement and Sarah flushed with a twinge of pride.

He turned to the first lay and Sarah watched raptly as his finger skimmed the text, his lips forming the words in his native tongue soundlessly. Catching her interest, he inclined his head and then spoke:

"Brœðr munu berjask
ok at bönum verðask,
munu systrungar
sifjum spilla;"

Sarah paused, mouthing the sounds to taste their meaning.

"Brothers shall… fight and fell each other, and sisters' sons shall kinship stain."

Professor Gunnarsson nodded before skipping ahead, his finger still leading his way on the page.

"Ask veit ek standa,
heitir Yggdrasill
hár baðmr, ausinn
hvíta auri;
þaðan koma döggvar
þærs í dala falla;
stendr æ yfir grœnn
Urðar brunni."

"And ask I know, Yggdrasil its… name, with water white… is the great tree wet?" Her mind blanked. "Uh…then…"

"Thence come the dews that fall in the dales, Green by Urths well does it ever grow," he supplied. "Still, an excellent effort, my dear."

Sarah had long suspected the Professor had an eidetic memory.

"Simply marvelous!" As he spoke he jotted a few notes to himself on a pad. His writing was barely legible and may have been in English or Icelandic, or some combination thereof. "I've no doubt I'll be paying for this 'favour' for years. And now…"

He placed the pencil down and carefully raised the book to better turn the pages. With a measured pace that almost frustrated Sarah, he skimmed through each lay in even succession. When he reached Hamthesmol, he slowed even more and by the time he reached the last page of the poem Sarah's fingers were itching in expectation.

Her breath caught as he turned the page, her eyes on his face. She watched as a series of expressions contorted his features, before they settled into a frown.

"So?" Sarah asked after a tentative pause. At some point she'd fully sat on her hands to contain her nerves.

The professor leaned back in his chair, one gloved hand still resting on the book lightly; his face pensive. He said something under his breath that Sarah didn't catch but which she assumed was some type of curse word because he reddened slightly when he noticed her attention.

"I have never seen this piece before."

"Really? So… it was included by mistake then?"

"No. I have never seen this piece before. Ever."

Sarah took a moment to digest. "So what does that mean?"

"I do not know. The form is in keeping with the rest but the style is slightly different and the dialect both recognizable and yet alien. I cannot even make sense of parts of it."

Sarah mouthed an 'oh'. He examined the book closely again, studying the ink and the stitching. "It doesn't appear to have been added later and the print work was done by the same hand and at the same time, I would venture."

He skimmed the words of the text. His finger pausing now and then before splaying his hands helplessly. "I have never heard mention of some of the characters in this. It speaks of magic and of powers given, of a forest, a lady; that is normal enough. But I-" he trailed off. "I don't know." He looked like a man who was rarely at a loss and was not enjoying the experience. "I must consult some old dialect texts I have. We will be compelled to notify the owners of this discovery. But not just yet I think. No. Definitely not yet."

He began copying some of the passages on his pad, his pencil flying across the paper.

"But won't that… cause trouble?"

"Undoubtedly," he answered without looking up. "But let me worry about that. That's what money and influence are for. Regardless, it was their oversight, our gain."

Sarah shifted uncomfortably. There were rules understood in academic circles.

The professor eyed her. "Don't fret. All will be well. We're bending, not breaking."

Sarah laughed nervously. "That sounds dangerously like semantics."

"My ancestors used to pillage what they wanted and burned what they couldn't take. They changed history. I use wealth and words. Again semantics. Surely you understand that the playing field is never fair?"

"Oh no, of that I am well aware."

"Good. Then we are in agreement," he said firmly. "And after all it's only a book."

Sarah nodded but she suspected that they both knew that wasn't true.

"I will consult my reference books." He glanced at his watch. It had taken considerable time to go through all the lays. "And I have a phone call to make to an old, very discreet friend who might be of some assistance. I believe I can still catch him if I hurry." He stood and then looked down at Sarah.

"Would you like to remain? It will probably be several hours before I can return. I could send Barbara up."

Sarah looked around the empty room again and then rubbed the back of her neck. "No," she replied reluctantly. "She looked busy. And I should work on some revisions anyway." Her stomach grumbled. "Maybe eat something too."

Professor Gunnarsson nodded. "Would you mind putting this away? I need to use the facilities. I'll meet you at the elevator." He slid the key along the table to her and then gathered his things, switching off a few lights before stepping out into the hall.

Sarah watched him open one of the few doors on the floor. She adjusted her gloves and returned the book to its case – leaving it turned to the final lay. As she lowered the lid, the metal locking mechanism scraped against the skin of her wrist. Sarah hissed at the sudden, stinging pain, and watched as a fine line of blood immediately welled to the surface. Before she could properly react, a small bead slid down her arm and dropped onto the open page.

"Oh Fuck!" She immediately dabbed at the spot on the page with her glove and whistled in surprise when she saw that it had left no trace. Well, thank god. She flipped the book closed anyway, and then locked the lid. Sucking on her damaged wrist, the metallic tang was sharp in her mouth.

She grabbed her bag and turned off the rest of the lights before sliding out the door and locking it securely behind her. She dropped her stained gloves in the trash discreetly.

The professor was waiting by the elevator. Sarah hastily dropped her arm and pulled her sleeve over her wrist. Bleeding on the books was most definitely against the rules.

When the elevator doors had shut, and the whir of the cables started, she belatedly remembered her umbrella. "Oh shoot, I forgot my umbrella." The doors opened to the fourth.

Gunnarsson stepped out, but he turned and braced the door. "Do you want to go get it?" He glanced at his watch. "Would you mind if I left you to it? I'm sure you can get the key back to Barbara."

Sarah waved him off. "Of course. I'll just be a minute."

The professor nodded and then winked. "And I will do a little bit of research and share whatever findings with you at our next meeting. And my door is always open to you of course."

The elevator doors shut.

Sarah inserted the key back into the panel and pressed the fifth. Her wrist throbbed and she rubbed it absently.

She hadn't made it but halfway down the hallway when she saw the light. One of the desk lamps was on in the rare book room. She frowned, certain she'd turned them all off.

Unlocking the door, she paused on the threshold. It was amazing how innocuous it had been when the professor had been with her. And how keenly alone she felt now. How clearly she remembered the video tape. She shook the feeling off and crossed the room to turn off the lamp.

What the…

The book was lying open to the final lay in the case. She swallowed a nervous giggle as her wrist throbbed again. The damp hair on her neck clung like fingers. Sarah turned defensively. Nothing. Another giggle. This time more a whine.

After unlocking the case with shaking hands, she remembered she hadn't grabbed gloves. For a moment she hesitated, debating going back out to fetch a pair. What's a third time?  She nudged the cover as gently as she could with the barest tips of her fingers. In that moment a droplet of red blossomed on the page, welling from within. The dark stain writhed and curled into knots, intertwining with the lettering like twisted branches of a tree. And in a blink it was gone again. Sarah swallowed, eyes wide in disbelief. Pulling her sleeve over her hand she quickly flipped the book shut and locked the case, her heartbeat a wild thrum in her ears.

Her hair was heavy and cold on her neck again and she flicked at it irritably, only to brush against fingers.

Sarah screamed soundlessly, fear robbing her voice, and her body dropping and ducking even as she turned defensively.

Nothing.

She pressed herself back against the wooden case, her knees tight against her chest and her hand still clutching her nape. Her eyes tracked every shadow.

"It's not real, it's not real, it's not real…"

"Sarah?"

"Sarah?"

Sarah swallowed and rose on unsteady legs.

Barbara stood in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.

"Here! I'm right here!"

"Oh there you are... What were you doing on the floor?"

"N-nothing… I-I tripped."

The older woman pursed her lips. "Mm. I saw Asael leave. He told me not to let anyone near that book until he said so. And then I didn't see you."

"I just came back for my umbrella. I noticed a light left on. I was just about to leave and give you back the key."

"Lucky then I can disable the alarm and took the stairs. Well, come on then." Barbara reached across and switched the light off, noting Sarah's visceral quiver at the action. She followed the shaken younger woman out the door. "That silly man should never have left you alone."

"No. No it was my fault. I said I was fine. I am fine," she added at Barbara's pointed look. She passed back the key and smiled weakly.

Barbara pocketed it. "Your umbrella?"

Sarah looked around. "Oh, did you grab it?"

"No. I didn't see one."

Sarah looked around again in confusion. "Oh…"

"Maybe you left it downstairs?"

"Maybe."

Barbara pressed the button for the elevator. They descended in uncomfortable silence. Sarah trailed Barbara to her desk. "Do you… could I maybe look at the video feed again?"

The librarian studied Sarah's face. "You could if it was working. It hasn't worked since yesterday. We've raised a ticket." A pause, her voice softening. "Sarah, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Nerves? I don't know… Really, it's nothing."

"Nothing? La ti da?" Sarah winced, but Barbara continued. "I'm supposed to believe that? Is it an ex-boyfriend?"

"Oh, definitely nothing like that," Sarah scoffed

The librarian pursed her lips again. "Well perhaps you should speak to someone. It doesn't have to be me."

"No, really. Thank you but I'm fine. And there's nothing to talk about. I promise I won't go up there alone again. I've broken enough rules."

Barbara shot her her best librarian look.

"Honestly." And Sarah meant it in that moment.

Another young student sidled up to the desk, her arms buried beneath course catalogues. Sarah took the momentary distraction and headed for the stairs, waving over-enthusiastically at Barbara's concerned look.

Sarah descended to the basement. The line at the café had thinned considerably. So had the selection, but she snagged a buttery scone and a bottle of juice. Before Karen had tied on the proverbial apron strings of the homemaker, she'd been a nurse. She had drilled into Sarah, amongst other things, the need to keep blood sugars up after a shock. She'd actually treated her father after a car accident. It was how they'd first met. Even Sarah had noticed the spark, though at the time it had made her nauseous. Sarah downed them both embarrassingly quickly and felt considerably more settled with a full stomach. When she'd wiped her hands clean, she pulled an elastic from her bag and wound her long, thick hair up messily. Noticing the time, she realized she'd be late for her literary theory class if she didn't hurry. The rain was still in full force and her umbrella had gone on an adventure without her.

Resigned, Sarah headed back into the tunnels.

The throngs had largely dispersed, most students having found their respective buildings or having decided to skip the rest of the day altogether. The steady deluge above meant some run off had found its way below, and a rhythmic dripping echoed throughout.

Sarah turned down an empty hall way. The smell of loam and damp increased, and the fluorescent lights flickered again. It was appalling that the university didn't do something about what was very likely a safety hazard. No, but the football team had new locker rooms.

She turned another corner and met a dead end. Amongst the colourful anecdotes about a rival school's mothers, someone had scrawled 'Go Back…' Sarah snorted and turned around. On the wall beside her, 'This is not the way' was written with an unsteady hand.

Sarah frowned. Too close. Far too close…

She stared in confusion at the various tunnel ways. It was a truth universally acknowledged that she was terrible with directions. The irony, of course, being that…

The lights flickered. More water dripped.

Sarah heard laughter and relaxed slightly – happy not to be alone – and moved in the direction of the voices. She turned a corner into another solid wall. There were no flyers this time, only a large graffitied 'Beware!'

Sarah took a stumbling step backwards, gripping her bag so tightly that her knuckles burned.

More laughter.

She turned and hurried towards the voices. "Hello?"

The lights buzzed and flickered overhead. She rounded another corner and shook her head violently.

'Soon it will be too late.'

The red paint was shiny… fresh. Sarah touched it carefully. Red stained her fingertips. Her wrist began to throb.

Laughter erupted. Closer. Louder.

Wrong.

Sarah's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.

"This isn't funny!" She dropped her heavy bag to her hand, readying it as a weapon if needed.

She turned in the opposite direction – a long hallway stretching out before her. It looked vaguely familiar. She tipped her head upwards, following the archaic system of pipes, trying to discern which building she was below and which she was heading towards. The Arts Hall? The Engineering Labs?

She was halfway down the tunnel when the first light went out. She heard a quick spark behind her. Turning, she saw that farthest bulb had gone out. The rest flickered and buzzed. And then the next one went. A moment later the third, casting the path behind her into deepening shadow. She didn't wait for the fourth, instead tripping into an awkward run. She listened as more followed, darkness dogging her steps. The bulb over her head flickered just as she rounded the corner and then died.

A strangled sob escaped her throat at the dead end. One last light swung lightly overhead, flickering as it illuminated the concrete wall, paint still dripping.

'Too late.'

And then it went out.

In the still darkness the rest of her senses jolted into hyperdrive. And so she felt the words against her neck even as she heard them.

"Hello Sarah."

Chapter Text

 "Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality."

 Edgar Allan Poe

Disarmed.

Sarah said nothing. It wasn't so much fear – though the strength of it was heady – as it was of being at a loss. The wordsmith didn't know what to say. Anything passing her lips would be an acknowledgement. An admission. And she'd been so careful to avoid those.

When the silence stretched, the sound of her heart a steady thrum in her ears and acutely uncomfortable with the presence at her back, she finally turned. Reaching blindly behind her she pressed herself back against the wall.

"Can you see, Sarah? Or are you as blind as a newborn animal before its eyes open?"

Her chin lifted. "I think you already know."

A low chuckle – closer this time. "Just as you know I can see very well in the dark."

"All predators can." She tensed, eyes darting defensively.

"Yes."

One word.

Breath against her face. Sarah could feel the smile beneath the tone.

"Did you miss me?"

It was Sarah's turn to laugh, although even to her own ears it sounded brittle and hollow.

"Such a pity. I'd hoped for a much warmer reunion."

"Really? Because I'd hoped never to have one."

He tsk'd. "Barely a dozen words said and she's already lying. And here I'd thought to find you all grown up." The last words held an inflection that made Sarah's skin prickle again.

She wanted to ask what he wanted, but instead bit her tongue. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Do you always harass girls in the dark?" she asked finally.

"Girls? No." She heard a flick and then the space was infused with a low, warm light. "Better?" It wasn't. Not even remotely. He pretended to study her for the first time. "But then you're so delightfully… mature."

Sarah refused the bait and instead took the moment to return the favour. He looked unchanged in the ten years that she had. In her mind it was a mockery of her attempted denial; like remembering a dream and then finding it was real. He was again cased in the unrelenting black of his armor; his angular face pale and his silvery-hair wild. In that instant she was right back in the nursery and time hadn't passed at all.

Sarah cleared her throat uncomfortably and raised her chin. "Yes. Too old for your tastes then?"

"I don't rape children," he replied dryly, "even ones on the cusp of womanhood."

"Really? Because you seemed happy enough to mess with one ten years ago. God knows what you do with the children you steal."

Instead of being angry, he merely looked disappointed. "I have no interest in 'messing' about with children. And I'd say you escaped the Labyrinth relatively untouched." He canted his head. "But you're hardly a girl anymore, are you? And we both know you're no longer untouched." He drummed his fingers together lightly in a move Sarah assumed was meant to draw her attention to his fine hands. When she looked back at this face, his expression confirmed her assumption. It pissed her off.

"And? Did you really come here to discuss my love life? How sad."

"This conversation or your love life?"

Sarah's lips thinned.

"But no, I'm not here to discuss your proclivities. In fact, you should really thank me. I'm here to warn you."

"Warn me?" It was part scoff, part question. "You?"

"Yes, me. Confess your sins, Sarah."

"My sins? You're one to talk."

"Are you really trying to claim the moral high ground?" He splayed his fingers in the air and smiled. It was anything but kind. "Always keep your gloves on, Sarah."

Her eyes widened and for a second she merely gaped before she collected herself again. Her wrist throbbed.

"Fine. I've said things I shouldn't have… and touched… something I shouldn't have. So?"

His smile deepened. "How wicked. Tell me more."

Sarah stiffened. Even though she knew his tactics were always meant to unsettle, she couldn't help her small reaction.

"What you've been doing is playing with things you don't understand. One would have supposed you'd learned your lesson." Before she could stop him he grabbed her hand and raised it between them; his gloved fingers intertwining with hers. "These greedy fingers have led you astray."

Sarah reddened and tried to tug her hand back, uncomfortable with the contact that seemed far too intimate and not innocuous enough by half.

Unconcerned with her struggles, he peeled back her sleeve, inexorably revealing her wrist. He raised it to his face and for a wild moment Sarah thought he meant to taste her.

"You foolish girl."

"It was all just an accident!"

Jareth snorted at her lie and released her hand.

She cradled it to her chest. "Why are you here now? Why not before?"

His lips twitched. "That was entirely on you. You locked yourself away very well, didn't you? I was… unable to… cross the divide until you so kindly invited me back in."

"Invited?!" Sarah could hear the outrage bleeding through her words. It subsumed the panic in an instant.

"Yes, invited. You opened the doors," he clucked his tongue, "that's right, plural. I merely took what was offered. I wonder what else will do the same. "

Sarah swallowed, never supposing there was more than the Goblin King to be worried about. Her mind returned to the book.

Jareth smiled again. Wolfish now. "I'm honoured to see that I was the sole figure of your thoughts. However naively."

"Then I invite you to leave through the same damn door."

He looked amused. "Ah. But I'm afraid you have no power over me."

"You've always wanted to say that, haven't you?"

"Dreamed about it. Now tell me, Sarah. What do you dream about?"

"About never seeing you again."

"So you do dream about me. How intriguing."

"Just leave." Sarah swallowed again. "You still have no power over me."

Jareth laughed. It echoed through the tunnels wildly. More laughter followed.

"Stop it!"

Jareth's eyes dropped to her wide angry eyes, dipped further to her mouth and lingered for a moment, before he turned away back into the shadows. The spider-thin silk of his cape brushed her cheek.

Sarah swiped at her skin in annoyance. "Why are you really here?" She hated the tremulous warble to her words.

"I told you. I'm here to help you. Consider this an olive branch. I think we both know you're out of your element once again." He held out his hand, palm up. "So, Sarah, would you like my assistance?"

She stared at it, alarmed by the overwhelming instinct to take it, before decidedly shaking her head. "Not when everything you offer comes with a price."

"Naturally. It's just a matter of what you're willing to pay." His fingers curled teasingly.

"Nothing. I don't want anything from you."

"Oh, I think you'll find that you do. And the longer you wait, the higher the cost." His hand closed into a fist.

Sarah snorted. "And why would I even want your help when I defeated you?"

Jareth's mouth thinned. "So that's a no then? Are you quite sure?" He sighed dramatically. "I suppose that concludes my visit."

"W-what? That's… it?"

"Why?" He crowded her then, moving so suddenly she didn't register it until she could feel the warmth from his body. He laid one hand on the wall beside her head; his thighs ghosting hers. "Was there something else you wished to discuss?"

Sarah's chest heaved in panic.

"My, my." His eyes flicked down and then back up. "We have grown up after all, haven't we?"

"Just leave!"

He inclined his head mockingly. "If you change your mind - and you will - you know the words." His smile returned at the renewed look of outrage on her face. He smoothed her damp hair behind her ear, fingering the strands for a moment as though delighted that he could touch her again. He moved away reluctantly. "It's been a… peach. Give my regards to Master Tobias."

And then he was gone.

The overhead lights flickered back on. After a moment she could again hear the boilers, and over-laying it the sounds of students chatting. When she turned around again she was no longer in a dead end and the walls were no longer slashed in red paint, but replaced again with a mosaic of student ephemera.

She stood there for a full moment longer, eyes glazed and chest painfully constricted.

She never made it to her literary theory class.

When Sarah got home she was drenched and still shaking. Kicking her wet shoes off at the door, she headed to her room and grabbed a robe. Loki wove between her feet in welcome. Sarah shooed him off and then eyed the music box still sitting on her vanity. With a whimper of disgust she knocked it into the garbage, cringing only slightly when she heard the tell-tale tinkle of broken glass.

She had already unbuttoned her blouse when she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stilled. Tugging the sides of her damp shirt together she tiptoed through her apartment and checked every room. Feeling like a fool, she draped a towel over the bathroom mirror before she undressed completely and slipped into the scalding shower. She began to scrub her skin raw. When she was finished, she pulled her robe on tightly and had almost convinced herself that she was hallucinating.

She paced her apartment for the next ten minutes, chewing her lips until they too were raw. Loki watched her.

Think, Sarah!

If he could have taken her he would have, she reasoned. So either he didn't want to or he couldn't. That logic calmed her slightly. But then why warn her? Unless he wanted to trick her into asking him for help. And the cost? Sarah didn't want to consider that… But what was his connection to the book? And what did he mean by doors? Doors to where? Sarah's mind began to reel as panic set in again.

She needed to speak to her advisor. If anyone could find anything about the book's origins, it would be him. And she needed to read that last lay. They key would be in the poem. If she had somehow opened a door, she could perhaps close it again. But how to ask for Gunnarsson's help without giving too much away? He'd think she was crazy…

Unless he wouldn't. If anyone would believe her story it would her eccentric professor - the one who had arranged to get the book in the first place. An insidious thought took root. If he was not as he seemed…

Sarah shelved that worry for later. He was her only option at the moment. Pulling her books out of her bag, she rifled through them until she found her day planner. Flipping it open to where she'd scrawled his office number down, she picked up the phone and was on the point of dialing when she noticed the lack of dial tone. She pressed the button a few times to no effect. Following the cord down to the jack, she found it unplugged. Loki batted at the loose end playfully.

"You little bugger." She plugged it back in and then registered the answering machine blinking. Returning the receiver to its cradle, she pressed play.

"Six new messages," droned the robotic voice. "First message. Today. 1:13am."

Sarah heard the crackle of static as if someone was muffling the phone.

"Sarah? Sarah? Are you there? Please pick up! Sarah?" Dial tone.

Toby… He'd called last night. She'd slept through it because the phone had been unplugged.

Give my regards to Tobias…

Oh, God…

"Second message. Today. 1:18am."

"Sarah? Sarah, are you there? It's Toby. Please pick up. I need you. I think… I think… there's someone in the house." Dial tone.

"Third message. 1:24am."

"Sarah." Toby was whispering now and he sounded far younger than his ten years. "Call me right away when you get this. I can't wake up mum and dad." She heard a loud creaking. Toby audibly whimpered. She could hear plaintive crying in the background. "I'm gonna… check Max out." Dial tone.

"Toby, no!" Sarah cried helplessly, angered at both time and distance.

"Fourth message. 1:32am"

"Sarah? Sarah?" More fumbling, and still the plaintive cries in the background. "I went and got the cordless and my flashlight. I know you can't hear me, but I'm taking you with me okay? Okay."

She could hear more background noise. Wood creaking, metal scraping on metal and then a tell-tale thump. More creaking followed. It took her a moment to reason that Toby must have lowered the attic stairs and was headed up the ladder. Sarah gripped the phone so tightly she heard the plastic casing crack.

"Why did you leave, Sarah? You'd be here right now." A sniffle. "It's not fair. This is your fault…"

Silence. Breathing. Then another thump. The flashlight hitting the attic floor? A louder bang. Static. Dial tone.

Sarah could feel the blood drain from her face.

"Fifth message. 2:01am."

"Sarah? It's me… again. Sorry 'bout calling so much. Everything's… fine. I had another bad dream. I think it's the storm. I don't like the thunder. Don't tell mom and dad okay? I don't want to lose more TV privileges." A yawn. "I'm going to bed." A pause. "Sarah? When you get this… I'm sorry, okay?"

Dial tone. "End of messages."

Sarah continued to hold the phone to her ear for a few moments, before pressing the button to hang up. She didn't delete the messages.

She immediately dialed home. She had to dial twice before finally getting it right, her fingers were shaking so badly they refused to cooperate. Every ring seemed to last forever. Pick up, pick up, pick up…

"Hello?"

"Karen? Oh thank god!"

"… Sarah? Are you okay, dear? You sound upset."

"I'm okay. You? Are you okay?"

"Fine… why? Sarah, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." A weak laugh. "I just got a weird message from Toby, that's all."

"Toby?"

Sarah choked, ice spreading through her limbs as her worst fear took root. "Toby… Your son Toby!"

Karen laughed awkwardly. "Hey now! I'm not that old. He called you?'

Sarah exhaled, slapping a hand to her forehead. "Yah… no big deal though," she lied. "I'm just checking on him. "

"Well, that's sweet. He's playing Nintendo next door. He's been a little off today. I don't think he wants to go on this family trip. Still disappointed you're not coming, I'd bet. What would I know though, I'm just his mother."

Sarah swallowed thickly and nodded before realizing Karen couldn't see her.

"Right. And everyone else is okay?"

"Hmm? Oh fine. Your father's with a client this afternoon, but we're planning on leaving first thing tomorrow morning."

"That's good. I'll... call again later. To say goodbye to everyone."

"Sounds good."

Sarah hung up and then stared at the phone frowning. Finally forcing herself to stand, she turned on the coffee maker and switched the TV on for some ambient noise. She went into the still steamy bathroom to collect her sodden clothes and pulled the towel from the mirror. 'Too late' dripped on the damp surface in fingers marks and then faded, gone so quickly it might never have been. Sarah dropped her clothes shaking.

Give my regards to Tobias.

The words danced in her head as she hastily dressed. Everything was coalescing in her head into a shrieking warning. Sarah again felt a prickle of wrongness that sparked her nerves into overdrive.

"It's nothing," Sarah breathed. Toby is fine. He would have made his move if he could have. Regain control. No more slip ups going forward. Watch your words. Keep your hands to yourself. Make sure Toby is fine. Find out more about the book. Get on with your life.

This was the mantra she repeated to herself as she drove herself to her old home. She composed the cryptic warning she'd deliver to Toby, both relieved and worried that he'd be heading out of town. She couldn't watch over him, but he'd be away from her too. That would probably be safest.

The rain had stopped at some point but the sky was still overcast. When thunder struck Sarah jumped, swerving her car into oncoming traffic. She swore and pulled the car back into her lane. Relax… just relax…

She made it home without further incident and dashed into the house without knocking.

"Hello?"

"In the kitchen."

Sarah hurried into the room just as Karen was preparing to head to the basement with a load of laundry. Thunder struck again.

"Hey… uh, I was in the area and thought I'd say bye in person."

"Wonderful. You can help Toby finish packing. Stay for supper? It's probably just pizza and leftovers. Cleaning out the fridge. That okay?"

"You really don't have to feed me again. I swear I can look after myself."

"Don't be silly, we know that." Thunder struck again. "Can you believe this weather?"

"I know." Sarah glanced around the kitchen and frowned. "Ridiculous."

"I'll just pop this into the washer."

"Sarah?" Toby was standing in the doorway. He smiled at her briefly but his eyes were hollow and his skin was ashen.

"Hey, kiddo. Are you okay?" she asked carefully, aware Karen could hear. "I got your messages."

Toby glanced at the basement door wordlessly.

"Come on, let's go to your room."

He nodded and led the way up the stairs. Sarah eyed the attic hatch as they passed. Toby avoided looking at it altogether. Another shiver of wrongness ran down her spine.

Once in his room Toby plopped himself on his bed. Sarah pulled out his desk chair and faced him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked after a moment.

He shook his head, but his expression was one of a wounded animal in distress.

"Toby. It's me. What happened last night?"

He shuddered. "Why didn't you pick up? I called you!" The words came out in a hushed sob; uncharacteristically raw for the precocious child.

Sarah immediately moved to the bed and pulled him into her arms even though he was getting so big, he barely fit comfortably anymore. "Shh, shh! It's okay. I'm sorry. I'm here now, kiddo."

"You won't believe me."

"Try me."

"Mum and dad didn't..."

"You'd be surprised at what I'll believe."

Sarah felt him hesitate. "You'll be mad at me… please don't be mad at me." The last came out as a broken whisper.

"Shh! Just tell me. Maybe I can help."

"I did something… bad. I didn't mean to. I just thought, I mean… I just said it! It came out. I didn't even think it would work. I'm so sorry! I thought it would be fun at first but then I tried to fix it. Honestly. I can't!"

Sarah could feel his body stiffen and spasm in her arms, until she felt like she was trying to control a wild thing.

"Fix what, Toby?" The feeling of wrongness assailed her again, spurred by the look of defeat in her brother's eyes.

"I wished him away, Sarah."

Sarah felt the blood drain from her face at his words. Toby saw it too, and he cowered from her in shame.

She schooled her features and then laughed. "Wait… wished who away?"

Toby's face whitened further. "Not you too. Max! I wished Max away!"

"Max?" Sarah's brow furrowed. "Is he one of your friends?"

Toby burst into tears. Toby was not a crier. Sarah used to tease him that he'd gotten out all of his crying when he was a baby and had cried himself dry. Sarah tried to hug him again, but he shook her arms off violently.

"Max was my brother. Our brother! A baby!" Toby stormed from the room, pausing only long enough for Sarah to follow, and threw open the spare room. "His crib used to be in here!"

He pushed past Sarah back into that hall and pointed to the pictures on the walls. "He used to be in some of these. See this spot?" Toby pointed to a family photo taken a few months ago. "He was right there. In mum's arms!" Karen's arms were folded restfully in her lap. Empty. Sarah remembered agreeing to sit for the photo, but the memory was hazy when she revisited it.

Toby was staring at her entreatingly. "No one remembers. No one but me, don't you see?"

Sarah looked back at the wall of pictures. Her eyes stopped on a photo taken some ten years earlier. Toby was wearing a striped sleep set, a sloppy grin on his chubby face. Karen was smiling, her dad looked goofy. And she looked like a fifteen year old sullen teenager who would make a very grave mistake less than a month later.

"You left because of Max. You said it was because you needed your own space, but it was because of him. He was always fussy and up at all hours. You should have stayed here. I needed you. And then you were always paying attention to him. And I-I…" Toby started to sob again.

"Wished him away," Sarah finished bleakly. She closed her eyes tightly and searched her memory. She could see Toby as a baby reaching for her face and then the baby changed, his face similar but different, and her squeezing his thighs. And then the image faded like a chalkboard being erased.

"Chubbs…"

"Yes! Yes!" Toby gripped her hopefully. "You convinced mom and dad to name him Max. After the book!"

Sarah could see it all, but it was shrouded. Unfocused. Distorted. She'd felt that way once before.

Give my regards to Tobias.

You will lose something precious…

"That bastard!"

Toby recoiled from the venom in her voice but still clung to her arm like he was drowning. "You believe me though?"

"Oh, I believe you, Toby."

"So you remember Max?"

His tone was so hopeful, Sarah didn't have the heart to tell him that she only had a vague sense of loss. That his pain, though palpable, was not hers."

"I'll get him back." Sarah hoped blind conviction was arsenal enough.

Just then Karen came up the stairs humming a lullaby - one she probably didn't even notice. Toby winced and pulled Sarah back into his room, shutting the door behind them.

Sarah rubbed her temples. When she looked at Toby's tear-stained face, she felt a sharp stab of shame. If she had lost, if she had failed to make it to the castle, that would have been her. No one would have remembered Toby. As no one did Max. She should have warned him a long time ago.

"Toby, this is not your fault. This is his fault." And mine.

Toby stared at her glassy-eyed.

"Where did you… where did you even get the idea to wish Max away?"

Toby picked up a piece of paper and handed it to her. A fortune. His. 'All you have to do is wish…'

When she remained silent, Toby laughed awkwardly. "I am never eating Chinese again. Honestly, I didn't know they were real."

Sarah crumpled it and threw it in the garbage. "They're not." She gripped his arms. "How else, Toby? It wasn't just a cookie."

"I don't know… I just knew I could do it! Dreams? Like I heard whispers in my head that I just had to wish. And then last night… I heard something moving upstairs. I was scared. You weren't here and I couldn't reach you… there was so much thunder! I hate thunder! It was so cold and Max wouldn't stop crying and… And I-I just said it. And then everything stopped. And then… then he came. It was so dark. He took Max and… I was all alone in the attic. At first I thought I was dreaming. I ran downstairs and looked in Max's room and he was gone. So I crawled into mum's bed and no one yelled at me for waking them up… and mum hugged me like she hasn't in forever and dad ruffled my hair and it felt… so good." Toby started to choke on the words. "And wrong. All wrong! But good. Like a dream. I went to sleep and when I woke up it was still all wrong. And it wasn't a dream at all but it was too late. I'm so sorry Sarah, please don't hate me. I'm an awful brother."

"No, Toby, you're not!"

"But how could it be real? Am I crazy?"

Sarah wrapped her arms around him tightly, trying to draw the shame from his body. "Not your fault, kiddo. I'm going to fix it all, okay? Don't you worry." She pushed him away enough to see his face. "Did he offer you anything in exchange? A way to get Toby back?"

"Huh?"

"Did he?"

Toby looked at her funny. "You mean Max. You said Toby."

She stilled. "No, right, I meant Max."

"No… he didn't say anything. There was just laughter and then he was gone."

"Bastard."

"You-you know who took him?"

Sarah laughed until it turned into silent, hysterical spasms. Toby looked alarmed but tried to pat her back awkwardly. A knock on the door made both siblings go quiet.

"Toby? Oh hi, Sarah!" Robert smiled warmly. "All packed yet?"

"N-not yet, Dad. I mean almost."

"Hmmm… well hurry up. I'm going to order some pizza. Double anchovies, right?"

Sarah and Toby forced a laugh at their father's predicable joke until he left satisfied.

When they were alone again, Toby threw himself at Sarah. "I can't go tomorrow! I have to get Max back! This whole stupid trip was for him!"

"Shh! Calm down. I'll figure this out okay? Look, let's finish throwing stuff into your suitcase and then you go downstairs. Wait for the pizza. I'll be down in a minute."

Toby nodded reluctantly and then did as he was asked, haphazardly filling his bag. Karen would later wonder why he'd packed a seersucker blazer, Bermuda shorts, three socks – none of them matching – and no underwear.

Sarah waited for Toby to reach the kitchen before she reluctantly pulled the attic hatch open and released the stairs.

She'd never liked the attic, or more accurately, it had been a love-hate relationship. For a child with a vivid imagination, attics were entirely another world – filled with the potential for both good and evil. Sarah reminded herself that she was an adult, and even though she was privy to the knowledge that the bogey man did exist, she still had to act like one.

Once up she fumbled for the chain-pull for the light, the one Toby would not have been able to reach, and tugged it on. The naked bulb flickered to life. Sarah rubbed her arm and looked around.

The large space was haphazardly filled with boxes and a few scattered pieces of old furniture. It was organized chaos. Christmas decorations overflowed their storage. A couple of carpets were rolled up, probably never to be unrolled again. The round attic windows cast striations of overcast light across the floor. The air was damp, with a tinge of mold from the insulation. Karen had recently placed moth balls. Sarah's nose curled. At her feet lay a flashlight – its dim bulb still on. Sarah picked it up and scanned it around the room, imagining it through Toby's young eyes, before she flicked it off.

It only took her a few moments to locate the box she was looking for. Someone had written 'Sarah' on the outside in black marker. It had once been sealed with packing tape, but had recently been opened. Sarah pulled the flaps back. Some trinkets, part of a costume, a statue… Nothing remarkable, and nothing she wanted to dwell on right then. She rifled through them until she felt the smooth leather of a small book. Prying it free, she smoothed the dust from its red cover. It felt familiar in her hand, like it belonged. She found herself again wondering if objects could remember…

Without opening it she tucked it into her coat. Just in case.

Taking a final look around, she pulled the chain and made her way back downstairs. Robert, Karen and Toby were seated around the table – pizza, a small bit of leftover Chinese, and half a mushroom soup casserole were laid out before them. Someone had set her a place. Toby immediately looked to her, his expression hopeful. Sarah shook her head minutely. She could see that he had mostly pushed his food around but not eaten. His eyes kept wandering to a space beside Karen. Where a high chair might sit, Sarah's mind supplied hazily. Max.

Accepting some pizza from her dad, she refused the wine from Karen. She needed a clear head. They ate mostly in silence, Robert trying vainly to engage them, Sarah – for her part – doing her best to supply the expected answers.

"Well, this is nice, right? Another dinner with all of us altogether," Karen remarked with stilted brightness.

Toby choked on his milk and before he could betray himself further he asked to be excused, not waiting for permission.

When dinner was finished Robert loaded the car while Sarah offered to clean up.

"No, no. I'll do it," Karen insisted.

"No, really I'll do it. You have your hands full with…" Sarah trailed off. "I don't mind. Really."

Toby popped his head in the doorway. Sarah could see that he'd scrubbed his face - hard. "I'm going to bed, okay? I'm really tired. Long day tomorrow and stuff."

"Really? Okay… if you're sure. Want me to tuck you in?"

"Mom, I'm ten…"

"Right, I forgot. Double digits. No tucking. Can I still get a kiss?"

Toby obliged and then eyed Sarah before leaving the room. Sarah followed him to the base of the stairs.

"I'm going to take care of it tonight, kiddo. When you wake up Max will be back in his crib. This will all just be a bad dream."

"I want to help." He said determinedly. "This was my fault."

"No. Absolutely not. I will handle this by myself. Trust me when I say that this is not your fault and I will fix this, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he said solemnly. "You always do."

Sarah winced. "Sometimes it can't be helped but this time it's true. Just trust me. This is… I have to do this on my own."

"That's just dumb. You should always take help when it's offered."

"It's... it's just how it's done. Go to sleep, Toby." Sarah kissed on him his forehead and lightly pushed him upstairs. "Do not… wish for anything though, okay? Even Max." The name sounded alien in her mouth. "Don't investigate any noises. Just sleep. If you get scared crawl in with mom and dad. Promise me?"

Toby stalled. "How exactly are you going to fix this?"

Sarah deflected. "I just will. Now go."

She waited on the landing for a moment and then found her father and step mother drinking tea.

"I'm off. Thanks for dinner."

"So soon?"

"Yah, I have some things to take care of. But have a safe drive and yes I have the number for Gran's."

Robert rose to hug his daughter. "We're only gone a week. Be good, okay?" He kissed her on her forehead.

"You know me." She hugged Karen, collected her things and made her way out the door. The sky was terribly dark and overcast; the stars and moon well-hidden. Sarah pulled her coat closed tightly and palmed the book before getting into her car.

She was almost home when she heard the movement in the backseat. Her heart thudded and she forced herself not to slam on the brakes. She pulled over as soon as it was safe and very carefully peered over the seats.

"Toby?!"

Toby half waved at her sheepishly.

"What the hell? Seriously?!"

"Sorry, I just-"

"Just what? Had to give me a heart attack? Does dad know?"

"Not exactly…"

"Not exactly! Of all the stupid… I'm turning around right now."

"NO!"

"Toby…"

"Just hear me out! I want to be there. I need to be there. For whatever you're going to do."

"No way!" Sarah slammed her hand on the console. "It's too dangerous."

"And it's not dangerous at home? By myself? You know mom and dad can't help. And what about you? Who's going to take care of you?"

Sarah sighed and gripped the steering wheel. Toby was so good at finding her weak spots. And he was right, Sarah didn't want to leave him alone. Not until she was sure he'd be safe.

"Fine," she hissed between her teeth. "But you are going to… to hide in the closet while I do it. And cover your ears. And not say a word. Got it?"

Toby nodded.

"And what if they check on you? Did you even think about their reaction?"

"They didn't notice their last son going missing." His tone was mutinous.

"Toby…" Sarah warned.

"I stuffed some clothes under my blankets, okay? They won't notice."

"You watch way too many bad movies. You realize this isn't a game, right?"

"Trust me, I know."

"I'm such an idiot," Sarah muttered and slid the car back into drive. "I'm taking you home again right after, and if you can't sneak back in you're going to confess sneaking out."

"But if this all works, everything will be back to normal, right?"

"Right," Sarah returned. She just wished she believed it.

Once inside her apartment, Sarah turned on all the lights. Toby bent and scratched Loki under his chin. Loki allowed it, as though realizing the boy needed a distraction and deigning to permiy. Sarah belatedly noticed that he was wearing his superhero pyjamas and felt a pang. He was still a child in so many ways.

She ducked into the kitchen and took a few deep breaths before downing a glass of water. You can do this… again.

"You need to do your dishes." Toby was standing in the doorway, holding her cat.

Sarah rolled her eyes and led Toby into her bedroom. She motioned him to the closet.

"Stay in there. Do not, no matter what, open that door. And don't say a word. Not. One. If… if something happens, you just wait until you are alone and then call mom and dad. Or run next door. Understand?"

Toby nodded wordlessly, his bright blue eyes wide and confused. Sarah was again struck with how young and vulnerable he appeared when he wasn't being a snot. He needed her and Sarah found that it was a lot easier to be brave when it was for someone else. She smiled then, and it wasn't forced. She ruffled his hair and then watched as he closed himself in the closet, leaving the doors open the barest crack.

Slipping her hand on the book, she sat herself at her vanity and stared into the mirror. Her wan face reflected back. Sarah smoothed her hair down, convincing herself that the actions were merely by rote.

She licked her dry lips and then parted them.

Thunder struck, as though in eager anticipation. Daring her. She heard Toby startle and then settle again in the closet.

The book was warm in her palm. Her wrist ached.

...Say your right words…

…You know the words…

And she did.

"I wish…"

Chapter Text

I knew you were
You were gonna come to me

Sometimes very bad ideas sounded just that. They forewarned their arrival; broadcast it, so to speak, in physical twinges and nervous exhalations.

And sometimes bad ideas were the only ones available.

Sarah cleared her throat. Toby had gone completely silent. She imagined him watching her with hopeful anticipation - the kind that would ebb the older he got, until he realized that she couldn't perform miracles and she wasn't invincible. She very much hoped that today was not the day.

"I… wish-" The words tangled again. "I...I… Hoggle, I need you!" The words came out in a rush and so unexpectedly that even she was surprised by their arrival. In that moment of confusion, before she had a chance to speak again, the mirror began to shake, battering against the wall violently, and then stilled. Hoggle appeared beside her reflection.

"H-Hoggle? Hoggle!"

The dwarf looked almost as surprised as she did and he scrutinized her disbelievingly for a full moment. "Sa-rah?" he asked cautiously.

She smiled tremulously, her initial exuberance replaced with an awkward distance. Ten years was a long time to some.

The dwarf's pronounced brows rose in recognition. "It is you! But… but you're all grown up!"

Sarah nodded, not sure why she felt embarrassment at having become an adult.

"And you... you look the same."

Hoggle shrugged. "Why bother to change if you don't have to?"

Sarah laughed.

"Well, maybe a might more worn. My knees ache now and again."

A telling silence descended.

"I… um…sorry, I haven't… called." Sarah knew the apology to be weak.

Hoggle's head dipped. "I expect you was busy. Growing up and all."

"I was I guess." Sarah nodded slowly. "But I was also scared."

"Of him? Don't blame ya."

"Yes, but not just that. I was scared that it was all real… and… and I think I was also scared that it wasn't. If that makes sense?"

Hoggle craggy face scrunched.

"Have you ever heard of Schrodinger's Cat? No, of course you haven't…" Sarah shook her head. "Forget that… I just thought if I never asked, never called that you'd be both real and unreal, depending on what I wanted. And that would be safest. Understand?"

"'Suppose. Yah."

"It actually sounds terribly selfish now that I say it out loud. But you also never called me?" It was more question than statement.

"Couldn't. I have no power. And it only works one way… or did, anyway. Word is that magicky ones can go both ways now. Don't know what changed. Not my business," he finished perfunctorily.

Sarah didn't offer to explain even as his words hit home. "So… How are you, Hoggle?"

"Me? Same. Keeps to myself. Like usual. Gardens to tend, fairies to kill. Usual."

Sarah smiled. "Horrible."

"It's Hoggle." He smiled back.

"And Didymus? And Ludo? Still friends with rocks?"

"Fine, fine. Didymus still guards the Bog. Insists there's no smell. Furry twit. Ludo still collects friends like, well, like he collects rocks."

Sarah nodded.

"I could... go get them if you want?"

"No! No... not this time."

Hoggle watched her face change.

"And…um…"

"And you want to know about Him," he supplied.

Sarah waved a hand in denial. "Did you-did you get in trouble after I left?"

"Not really. He had a fine time fixing what you'd broken. What we'd broken." Hoggle paused to grin. "He was gone for a while too. And he was very… let's just say most just kept their distance. Those that did also kept their heads. But why? What's the matter, Sarah?"

"Everything. He wants something from me. I wish- No, I'd like to know what."

Hoggle snorted. "I could give a good guess." He then reddened. "But that's nothing new, really. Whatever it is it ain't nothing good."

"So you don't know anything?" Sarah tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.

"Well, he's not exactly the secret sharing type, is he? He'd never trust me again anyway."

"Right. Of course not. Silly. I'm just glad you're safe… I was also scared that you'd… that he'd… Well, I'm happy to see you, Hoggle." And she meant it.

Hoggle heard the truth in her words and visibly relaxed, as though he'd been carrying a weight.

Sarah felt the weight shift to her.

"Hoggle?" She suddenly sounded like a young girl again. "I think I am about to make a very bad mistake."

"Why?"

"Because I have to. Because I never really stopped making mistakes?"

"Don't say that, Sarah. You was the best and truest friend I ever had, I mean… before-"

"I'm still your friend, Hoggle. And I don't regret anything that happened in the… then."

"Good. 'Cause you won fair and square."

"I know," she sighed. "The universe doesn't seem to though. Thanks for not forgetting me, Hogwart," she added ruefully.

"It's Hoggle," he snapped in mock outrage. "And no one could forget you. No one has. Especially not him."

"I know."

"Sarah… what are you going to do?" Urgency crept into Hoggle's tone.

"I'm glad you answered. I'm glad I opened the box again and it was all real. I think… I think it will make me stronger. Thank you. Just wish me luck, okay?"

"Wish? Sarah? Wait, what are you going to do? Don't do nothing foolish! We can talk about this-"

"I don't have a choice, I'm afraid."

"Sarah-"

She reached out a hand and touched his reflection. "'Til next time. Bye, Hoggle." He disappeared with a mixture of pity and worry on his lined face.

Sarah smiled to herself and then looked at the closet, nodding silently. She straightened her spine and rolled her shoulders, choosing her words carefully. No mistakes this time.

"I wish I could speak with the Goblin King here," she emphasized carefully, "right now."

Thunder struck again. The apartment shook and the lights flickered. She heard a muffled sniffle from the closet. The sky lit up violently and then darkened again.

And then nothing.

Sarah exhaled slowly and looked around the room. Shock and disappointment tickled her spine. Her eyes narrowed in an absurd thought.

"Please?"

"That wasn't so hard was it?"

Sarah jumped and spun in her chair. The Goblin King lazed against her window frame, his arms crossed.

His thin lips twitched at her silence – the barest glint of teeth – and then he looked around her room with interest.

Sarah immediately felt invaded. Violated. She was acutely aware that her personal things littered the room, giving an intimate glimpse into the things she valued.

His eyes lingered on an Escher print and his lips twitched again. She got the impression he was amused.

Her attention trained to the rumpled bed and a pair of lacy underwear escaping her drawer.

Sarah exhaled through her teeth to calm her breathing, drawing his eyes back to her face. "I want my brother back."

"He's in the closet," Jareth replied dryly, without looking away.

Sarah started.

"Why don't you join us, Toby?" He relished the marked look of discomfort on her face. "Your sister apparently misses you."

Sarah could hear a thump and a shuffle, and then the closet doors opened slowly. A white-faced Toby, looking far younger than his years, shuffled out in wrinkled superhero pyjamas.

Toby skirted the room until her came to stand slightly behind her. She could feel his hand fist into her shirt.

"Leave him alone. He's just a boy."

"And yet he didn't run away. Give him his due."

Toby cleared his throat. "I-I'm Toby."

"Yes. We've met before."

Toby looked up into Sarah's face, questioning. Sarah nodded slightly and then looked away. "It was a long time ago."

Jareth's smile widened, his teeth glinting. "And apparently not worth telling him about. How… interesting."

"And you knew him then too, Sarah?"

Sarah watched the Goblin King sharply. "Unfortunately."

"She did indeed, Toby. She made quite the impression on me. And an even bigger one on my kingdom."

"You have a kingdom? A… a real one?" Sarah could hear the interest in his voice.

"Oh yes. And it stretches farther than you can imagine. At its centre sits my castle, surrounded by my labyrinth."

"Cool!"

"Yes. It is. Although your sister didn't think so."

"Well, I wish I could I see it!"

Sarah clamped a hand over Toby's mouth and yanked him into her.

Jareth met her eyes above his head. "I'll let that one go."

Sarah exhaled shakily and nodded with mutinous thanks.

"Perhaps one day I can give you a tour. Your sister can even come too."

"No. Leave him alone." Sarah hissed. "You've done enough, Goblin King."

"So formal? We're old friends you and I. Call me Jareth."

Sarah realized she had never called him that name. Not once. He watched her expectantly. Sarah pursed her lips. "You know why I called you," she said instead.

"Do I?" Jareth looked around her room, pausing on her bed. "It's customary to offer your guests refreshment."

"You're not a guest."

Toby sucked in a breath. He couldn't imagine being so rude to a king. Especially a magic one. And he'd never heard his sister snipe like that at anyone.

Jareth's voice softened but his meaning was anything but. "There are expectations of guests, certain rules of etiquette that both the guest and host must abide by. If I am not a guest… then said rules of etiquette do not apply to me."

Sarah shrank back lightly. "Fine."

She ushered Toby ahead of her out the door, but kept a side eye on Jareth as he followed; uncomfortable with his presence at her back.

She pulled a glass out of the cupboard and half-filled it with water from the tap and then handed it to him.

"How generous," he mocked.

"At least it's not drugged," she bit back.

He silently toasted her and took a sip. He made a face, swirled the glass once and the liquid darkened to a deep red.

"Whoah!" Toby whistled. "You're like Jesus!"

Sarah choked. Jareth looked amused. "Hardly anything so benign, my boy."

Sarah could see Toby struggling to discern his meaning. She moved to the living room, feeling ridiculous having the Goblin King crowded in her tiny kitchen, with her dirty dishes piled high. "So… can we discuss terms now?"

"Are you surrendering? I accept."

"Never. I want my – our – brother back."

"Yes, I believe you've said that."

"So… so give him back!"

"It's really not so simple."

"Of course it's not. It never is. So what is it? Running the labyrinth again? Or have you gotten more creative?"

His uneven teeth glinted again. "You really don't want to test my creativity, Sarah."

"You're twisted."

"And you've lost another a baby. I don't think a career in child care is in your future."

"Then what do you want?"

"As I said before… it's a matter of what you're willing to pay."

"You're waiting for me to say anything." She folded her arms. "I won't. So just tell me what you want."

"Shouldn't I have to pay?" Toby interjected, struggling to follow their rapid exchange. "Since I wished him away. I have a piggy bank and a savings account-"

"No. Whatever the cost, I'm paying," Sarah continued. "Do you accept?"

"Ever the hero."

"Always the villain."

"Yes. We both just keep sliding back into our roles, don't we?" he sighed. "How tiresome."

"Well? Do you accept?"

Jareth's lips twitched. "I think you know the answer to that."

Sarah allowed a slight nod.

"So… I return your brother to you and in exchange you…" Jareth paused, his eyes flitting down her body slowly.

"I could run the labyrinth again," Sarah offered impetuously; uncomfortable with his slow perusal.

"You could. But that is a test for a child." His eyes slid to Toby.

Sarah immediately moved in front of him. "If not that, what then? Just name it!"

"So eager?"

"To rip the Band-Aid off."

Jareth straightened a picture frame. It was an inked drawing of a twisted forest, the branches curling and weaving high into the sky, leaving everything below in shadow.

"Very well then, here is my offer. And bear in mind it's as generous as it is because you called on me sooner than expected. I will return your brother to you in exchange for truthful answers to twenty questions of my choosing, asked when and where I choose." Sarah's brow furrowed. "If you fail to answer truthfully, you will forfeit. And the forfeit will also be of my choosing."

She exhaled in surprise. "That's… that's it?"

"I said I could be generous."

Sarah mulled over his wording. Toby looked at her entreatingly; his hand fisting tighter in her shirt.

She dropped a hand on his head. "And who will pay the forfeit? Certainly not Toby. And not Max either. You won't keep either of them."

He folded his arms. "You're not really in a position to bargain."

"I could refuse altogether."

"And then what of poor Max?"

"Sarah, please?!" Toby whispered desperately. Jareth smiled.

"I will pay the forfeit. But I want to know what it is."

"Yes, you will. And no, I will not tell you what it is. Those are my terms."

"Twenty questions can't be too hard anyway," Sarah said it to reassure Toby. She said it to reassure herself. Because nothing was ever as it seemed.

Toby nodded uncertainly.

"And I have to answer truthfully only, right? Not correctly? You could ask questions I don't know the answers to."

"You'll know the answers. It's whether or not you will answer them."

"But wait… you could stretch out asking them forever. That wouldn't be fair."

"Clever girl. I will ask them all within a month of your time." He held up a hand to forestall her protest. "Or faster. It will depend on how generous you leave me feeling."

Toby squeezed her hand.

"What about our lives here? My parents' lives. A month is a long time to us."

"Only you and Toby know anything is amiss." When she said nothing more he added, "Take care. I'm starting to lose patience and feeling less generous as we speak. I may decide to change the terms."

Sarah held up her hands. "No, don't. I agree. I agree to your terms!" She felt better and worse for having said it.

Jareth's lips curled slowly. He extended a hand to her. Sarah stared at it doubtfully and only reached out to shake it when it looked like Toby might. When their fingers connected, he twisted them and withdrew leaving Sarah holding a crystal. Before she could react, it vanished into her palm with a tingling feeling that wove up her arm. Sarah clawed her arm furiously, as though trying to excise it.

"What was that?"

"Merely an oath binding. Do calm yourself. The deal is done. And recriminations will get you nowhere."

"That was unnecessary! I'd already agreed!"

"A promise from a practiced liar's lips is not worth much. And there are other ways to bind an oath; ones that are far more… invasive. Be thankful."

Sarah believed him. "So now what?"

"Now we find your brother."

It took a moment for Sarah to process the words; to fully articulate their meaning. When the understanding settled, her skin prickled.

'What do you mean find him? You have him! He should be in your castle!"

"Why? Did you think I took him? How unfortunate." His smile belied his words.

"But you said-"

"I said that it was not so simple. That I would return your brother to you. I never said I was the one to take him. And you never asked."

Sarah looked to Toby questioningly.

"I… I… it was dark. I never saw his face!"

Pieces fit together like a puzzle - his cryptic remarks, his warning about opening doors. Multiple. That Toby didn't recognize him…

Sarah shook her head. "That's not fair."

"Nothing ever is to you."

"The deal's off!"

"Then you'll… what? Find your baby brother by yourself? I didn't think so. Be thankful I've offered my assistance at all. I'm not the only one who answers the impetuous and foolish wishes of spoiled children. I am, by far, one of the more merciful. You'd do well to remember that."

Sarah sobered at the realization that Max could be with anyone. Anything. Oh, God. Please!

"A deal is a deal, Sarah." His voice deepened, resonating throughout the room. The air felt charged; smelled of ozone and magic. "I said I would get your brother back and I'll keep my word. I'm a formidable ally. I'm a far worse enemy. You're not a child anymore and the rules have changed. You'd much prefer me on your side."

Sarah's heart pounded in fear but she nodded. She'd been played but he was right. She was out of her league. If she'd ever had powers, she'd long forgotten them. It galled her but she needed him, for now anyway. He'd called her a practiced liar; she would flex her muscles if needed.

"Do you – do you know who has him at least?"

"I have my suspicions. I need to arrange a few things first. I will call on you tomorrow evening. Be ready then."

"Ready for what?"

"To leave."

"Leave? Where?" Sarah shook her head at the look on his face. "No, oh no, I am not going anywhere with you!"

"I beg to differ. You both are in fact. If you want your brother back, I'll need the one who made the wish."

Toby beamed. Sarah looked livid. "This was all a part of your plan wasn't it? I never really had a choice."

"You did and you made it. Now deal with the consequences. Fulfill your part and I'll fulfill mine."

Sarah squeezed her hand into a fist. The one the crystal had disappeared within. The one with the mark on her wrist.

"I can't just leave … I mean, I have classes. I have deadlines… And Toby? My parents are leaving tomorrow with him for a family vacation!"

Jareth sighed, as though the minutiae of human life bored him. He produced two crystals and spun them intricately between his fingers. Toby watched raptly, his mouth open. And then he released them to float through a window Sarah didn't remember opening. "There. Your deadlines have been moved, your absence in class will not be noted, and Toby is asleep in his bed, ready for his 'vacation' tomorrow."

Toby looked down at himself, confused. Sarah was still irate.

"You can't just do that!"

"I can and I did. You'd be amazed at what I can do. Changelings are very effective. Your parents won't notice a thing. Mostly."

"So cool! Could the other me do my homework too?"

"Toby!"

"Probably. But you wouldn't want it to."

"How can you just manipulate people like that?" she snapped.

"Practice."

Sarah shook her head in obvious disgust.

"Would you rather I let them feel the pain of missing two sons? I can assure you that as much as they don't remember Max, they feel his absence like a hole in their pitiful mortal hearts. So I would suggest you waste no more of my time with petty human morals." He nodded at Toby and then returned his eyes to Sarah. "Until tomorrow, Sarah." And then he was gone.

Sarah sank down on the couch and held her head in her hands. Toby curled into her side.

"I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"No, no it's not," she offered after a moment.

"You knew him. From a long time ago. How?"

"It was just that – a long time ago. Not worth talking about. Just know that he is not trustworthy and there is no way things are going to be simple."

"Where are we going?"

Sarah snorted. "I wish I knew."

Toby yawned.

"Come. Let's get you to bed. No sense in worrying about it tonight." She nudged Toby to his feet and shuffled him to her room. "You can bunk with me. Don't hog the covers, kay?"

Toby nodded and crawled into her bed, Sarah tucking him in. Loki jumped up and settled himself against Toby's side. The boy visibly relaxed; his hand curling into the cat's silky coat. Sarah waited until he was asleep before she left. She paced the apartment for a few minutes, her thoughts jumbled and distorted. When she'd walked her floors bare, she did her dishes and then tidied her dining room table purely by rote. It took her a few moments to recognize that she always did that when she was going away for an extended time. She watered her plants next and straightened up her living room.

It was only then that she noticed the light on her answering machine was still blinking. She pressed the button.

"6 messages. 1 skipped message, 5 saved messages."

"First skipped message. Today. 6:01pm."

"Sarah? Sarah, this is Professor Gunnarsson. I apologize for calling at suppertime." Sarah could hear a heavy accent, meaning he was excited.

"I found out some information, Sarah. Something quite unusual! Something… it's difficult to explain. But I think you will want to see it. I'm headed back to take another look at the book again. I'll be in my office first thing in the morning. Come and see me straight away if you don't return this call. You'll want to hear this."

Dial tone.

The five messages she'd heard from Toby played again. Sarah listened to them all again, white faced and chilled - now knowing that her brother had been dealing with something altogether unexpected.

When they finished she deleted them all and hung up the phone. Her mind would not slow, but her body was showing its exhaustion. She forced herself to take a shower to try and relax and then crawled into her bed. Once again she left the lights on in her apartment.

Toby's body heat and his rhythmic breathing, bordering on a light child-like snore, eventually lulled her to a fitful sleep.

Loki stayed between them the entire night; his lambent eyes a beacon in the darkness.

Elsewhere, beyond a twisted wood, where the branches curled and wove towards the sky - blocking all but the brightest starlight - a lone babe cried in the still night.

Strong arms rocked him indifferently. "And so it begins."

Jareth sat before a fire, a glass of wine and an open book at his side. He fingers were steepled against his mouth; his lips curled in a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.

A goblin sentry stood in the doorway. Jareth turned slightly and nodded. The goblin saluted and left. Jareth returned his attention to the flames devouring the wood.

"And so it begins."

Professor Gunnarsson sat at the desk in the rare book room; his spectacles low on his nose as he read and then his eyes widened.

"Og svo byrjar það…"

Sarah awoke to a sharp elbow in her ribs. She wheezed and pushed at the offending appendage in annoyance.

"Ergh, Watch it!"

"Mpfh, 'orry," came the reply from beneath the comforter.

Sarah chuckled until the last traces of sleep left her, and reality sank in again. The smile faded. She lay in bed a few moments longer, tying vainly to imagine her room a haven. If she never left, time would not pass. Bargains would not count and debts would not be paid.

Toby's elbow intruded again.

"Alright – that's enough. Get up. I'll see what I have for breakfast."

Toby popped up from beneath the bedding. "Oh, you actually have food here? I didn't think so since you're always over in our fridge." His smile then faded too. "I forgot... for a minute."

"It's okay."

Sarah turned the coffee maker on and then rifled through her cupboards. She found a box of Special K, checked the expiry date, close enough, and then poured some into two bowls and set them on her clean dining room table.

"Homemade," Toby snarked, as he sat himself down.

"It's what I have. It's either that or ice cream…no don't answer that."

Toby reached for his spoon. "It's fine. Mum buys it. I actually like it."

Sarah quirked a brow.

"I do." He then proceeded to pour half the sugar bowl onto his cereal.

"My teeth hurt looking at that. That's so gross, Toby. I think you mean you like Frosted Flakes."

Toby shrugged and tucked in just as the phone rang. The siblings stilled and then laughed awkwardly. Sarah answered it.

"Hello?'

"Oh hi, Sarah. It's dad. Just heading out now. Sorry if we woke you."

"No, no, it's fine, we're both up."

A pause. "Both?"

"Oh… I-I meant me and the cat."

Silence. "Sarah, you're an adult now." She could hear the strained awkwardness in her father's voice. "I know you… might have… friends over now and again. Just be… safe, okay."

Sarah cringed but they were both spared a moment later. "Hold on, Toby wants to say goodbye. You have our number. Be good now. Love you."

Sarah's heartbeat increased.

"Hi, Sarah."

Conscious of their audience, Sarah swallowed. "Hi… Toby." She could hear her brother drop the spoon in his bowl behind her.

"Just wanted to say bye." The voice was perfect. So perfect Sarah actually turned and looked at Toby to reassure herself.

Don't worry. I'll take good care of mum and dad for you."

Sarah immediately seethed, whispering into the phone viciously, "Don't you dare do anything to them!"

"Good luck," the other Toby ignored her. "You're certainly going to need it."

Click.

Sarah put the phone down violently, then checked herself when she saw Toby's questioning look.

"It's all good. Mum and Dad are leaving now. Sorry you're missing out on the trip to your grandma's."

Toby rolled his eyes. "This is way better."

"Toby, you know this is not a game, right? We can't trust the Goblin King."

"Duh! I'm not stupid. But he's going to help us get Max back, right?"

"He will. Probably. But he's going to help himself too. That's what I worry about."

"Then we'll stick together." An earnest look crossed Toby's face. "I won't let him do anything to you, Sarah." And Sarah knew he believed it.

"I know, Kiddo." She downed the rest of her coffee. "Let's get dressed okay?" They both realized the problem at the same time. "Okay, so I'll get dressed and then we'll drive home and get you clothes."

Toby nodded. "And then?"

"And then…" Sarah trailed off. "Then you'll come with me to school. I need to meet with someone." She checked the time on the stove. "Hurry up."

Toby tipped the bowl up and finished off the sugared milk while Sarah ran to her room and pulled on jeans and a shirt. She brushed her hair, tying it back into a braid and dabbed on some makeup.

When she passed the bathroom, Toby was brushing his teeth with her tooth brush. "Gwha?" he asked; his mouth full.

Five minutes later they were in the car and headed to the family home, Sarah thankful that she always carried keys. The weather was in sharp contrast to the storm of yesterday. The sun was bright and the sky almost too vivid. Once inside the house, Sarah waited in her old room while Toby filled a bag – offering the occasional suggestion: yes - underwear, no - comic books. The entire time she couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness - the underlying chill in the air. She wandered into the empty nursery and the feeling only increased. As they were leaving she swore she could hear movement in the attic – a soft scraping across the aged floor boards. Toby said nothing, but his hand crept into hers and they both hurried down, tripping over their own feet in their haste.

Not long after, they pulled into the university student parking lot. Sarah ushered Toby up the stairs to Professor Gunnarsson's office and knocked on the heavy door.

"Come in." The voice was gruff.

Sarah opened the door. "Sir?"

"Ah, Sarah, come in. Sit." His eyes dropped to Toby in question.

"Um, this is my brother, Toby. Toby, this is Professor Gunnarsson."

"Hi," Toby offered shyly.

"Hello, young Toby." Sarah noticed that the professor looked markedly tired. A moment later he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brown. "You may sit too of course."

Toby obediently sat and looked around the office with interest, his eyes covetously tracing the various Viking weapons and adornments that decorated the room.

"I did not know you had a brother."

"Oh, I thought I had mentioned him before."

"She has two actually," Toby added. "Max is a baby."

"Right, I meant two. Second marriage," Sarah offered by way of explanation of their age difference.

The professor eyes flickered but he said nothing.

Sarah cleared her throat. "I got your message. I take it you found something out?"

"Yes!" He eyes swiveled to Toby again, but he pulled some papers out of a folder. "I spoke to my contact at the Árni Magnússon Institute, at a most ungodly hour in fact, and I translated the lay, as well as could be anyway. As I said, the language and word choice was… off. Likely older than the Codex Regius in fact." He slid a single sheet over to Sarah.

Sarah saw that he had transcribed the full lay in its original form and had made notations in English beside it where he could discern its meaning.

The first stanza spoke of a warrior maiden with dark hair and eyes the colour of the great wyrm, one that had felled a kingdom to rescue the blood of her kin. He had underlined several passages and added question marks. He had scrawled what looked like the "dark one" with a question mark.

Further on it told of a bargain made. And a babe lost to the seas. "A journey through…" The professor had circled, "flækja skógur" and had written "Tangled Wood?" And beside that "Yggdrasill?"

Sarah looked up. "So it's another heroic poem?"

The professor adjusted his glances. "Not exactly. What is strange are the tenses. It's almost as though it has not happened yet, and yet has."

"So more a prophecy like Ragnarok?"

"Yes and no. For it does mention a reckoning of sorts. And that the mortal warrior maiden was gifted certain powers."

Sarah stilled.

"But it's the end that perplexes me. For in all of its telling, it offers no real conclusion and instead invites the reader to take up the mantle and fulfill the rite with a blood oath."

"A blood oath?"

"Yes. Literally. It asks only the worthy to spill their blood on its page." He pointed to a spot on her page.  "That was the only part I could read.  Everything else was indecipherable though I feel as though I could read it.  Very strange."

Sarah paled and gripped her wrist reflexively.

The professor's eyes followed her movements. "Are you quite alright? You look as though you have seen a ghost."

Sarah nodded wordlessly.

"I wonder at it being suppressed. Perhaps due to superstition or fear it would be defaced? I cannot say.  Or perhaps because the rest is in fact nonsense."

Sarah skimmed the rest of the document, but her eyes blurred and the words lost all meaning.

"And its origin? Did you find anything out?" She asked finally.

"Not precisely. But my contact did mention that he'd heard mention of it in a few rare manuscripts. But in all cases the reference had been struck out or vandalized at a later date in history, so that it was impossible to get a true sense. No studies have been done because it was believed not to exist. No one knew to look for it. All signs would then point to it being authentic. And perhaps even the original. It's likely unique in all the world."

"Does it mention anyway to undo the blood oath?"

The professor furrowed his brow. "What a strange thing to ask when I've just told we may possess the only copy. But no, it does not."

Sarah nodded slowly. "Anything else I should know?"

"Nothing much more than what is on the paper. Give me more time though and I shall crack its secret like a nut. Oh, but there was one thing, funny I did not notice it yesterday when we were together. Someone wrote "And so it begins" in what looks like blood at the bottom of the last stanza. Certainly, it does not match the original writing. It's very faint but an interesting addition nonetheless, no? Perhaps a warrior once tried to fulfill the call."

Toby, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, whistled, "Creepy. Real blood?"

"Could just be unusual ink, young man. We certainly won't know until it's tested."

But Sarah knew.

Her wrist throbbed like a ticking clock…

Chapter Text

You stir my soul
And whet my hunger
And weave that spell

"Hmm? Pardon?"

"I asked if you were alright."

Sarah looked between the professor and Toby, both staring at her expectantly. "Oh, fine. Yes. Sorry. My mind just wandered," she added numbly, keenly aware that she failed to convince anyone.

"Ah. Well mine wandered away a long time ago and has yet to return." Gunnarsson winked at Toby, who still bore a look of concerned confusion. "I hope it's having the most marvellous adventures."

Toby smiled politely and then looked back to his sister.

"Thank you for keeping me up to date." Sarah held the papers up. "I can take these with me?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Read them at your leisure if you can discern my chicken scratch. I'm afraid I was rather excited when I made my notes."

Sarah slipped the notes into her bag and rose, motioning for Toby to follow suit.

"It's rather timely that all deadlines have been extended, no? A rather surprisingly generous decision of the administration to send our department heads on out-of-town academic conferences."

"Right... The conferences."

"So do make the most of your downtime. I don't know how long I'll be able to hold onto this momentous discovery, but I'll try. For now I've asked Barbara to keep it under lock and key. We don't need any accidental discoveries," he paused, "and do try to get some sleep. You look like you've been burning the candle at both ends." His eyes fell to Toby. "And you, my boy, I hope you have some adventures planned while you're off?"

"Oh yes!" Toby nodded excitedly, quieting only when Sarah nudged his leg.

"We should be going." Sarah smiled and then moved towards the door.

"Naturally. But, Toby, would you mind waiting outside for a moment? I have a final boring point of academia to discuss with your sister that I should take care of before I leave." He fished in his pocket for a bill. "There's a candy machine at the end of the hall that might be of interest to you." He patted his middle. "I myself find it most compelling most days."

Toby took the money with quick thanks and left the room before Sarah could protest.

She sat back down hesitantly.

"Sarah." Her advisor clasped his hands and dipped his head, as though mulling over his words. "Barbara mentioned some… concern about you. Amongst her chief concerns was something about a video tape that went blank? Of you possibly being in some sort of trouble?"

Sarah swallowed dryly. "That was… kind of her to be concerned, but it's really none of her business and she really shouldn't have bothered you about it."

"Well, she seemed to think it was important. And may I say that you do sport a look of one hounded by demons."

Sarah snorted indelicately. "It's nothing. Just some stress in my personal life. Sorry if I've given any cause for concern."

"I'm here to help, Sarah. And not just as your advisor."

She paused. For an insane moment she felt an overwhelming desire to tell her professor everything - as though the idea of him believing her wasn't at all ridiculous. The moment passed. "That's very… generous. But this is something that I have to work out. Myself I mean. I promise it won't interfere with my work. And I'll-I'll have it all sorted out soon. It's nothing. I'm embarrassed she mentioned it all."

The professor remained quiet for a moment; his eyes trailing to her hands which gripped her bag tightly.

"I see. So it's not related to what we discovered in that book? For may I say that the mention of the text and the child seemed to… arrest you. Or perhaps I read too much in your body language? As I am doing now. Is your wrist bothering you?"

Sarah forced herself to relax under his shrewd gaze, unaware that she clutched her wrist. "Sometimes coincidences just startle you. It's normal to… read too much into stories. That's the point right? A cautionary story for children? But I realize it's just a fairy tale." She waved a hand. "Silly really."

"Silly? I've made it my life's work to believe in fairy tales. What I've found is that the real ones aren't very nice. They often teach us who to trust and more importantly who not to."

"Are you suggesting that there's truth to these myths?"

"I'm suggesting that belief is a powerful motivator. Belief in and of itself is power. Belief fuels myth. Myth fuels belief." The professor held up a pen. "And not everyone who put ink to paper did so for the betterment of humanity."

Sarah laughed uncomfortably. "Have you jumped fields to theology? You speak like the legends about gods and monsters are true."

"Do I?" He put the pen down. "Here I thought we were merely discussing fairy tales."

Sarah blinked back a sudden onslaught of irrational tears. "Was that it, sir? I should really check on Toby."

Gunnarsson looked like he was about to say something else but decided against it.

"If I may overstep my bounds as your advisor and speak as a silly old man, allow me to warn you not to get lost. It's possible to get so… tangled in these tales that you never truly find your way out again." He held up a hand when she went to speak again. "Permit me to become sillier still. It's an old Skaldic tradition to give a token of luck to someone in need." He stood and turned to unlock a case on a shelf behind him, pulling out a pendant. "Take this."

Sarah shook her head uncomfortably.  She knew the value of his collection. "I couldn't possibly."

"I insist. It's just a trinket, really. Only of value to some and easily parted with by others when they are feeling sentimental." When Sarah shook her head again, he reached forward and pressed it into her hand. His own were warm and large. "If you must, return it to me when you've sorted out your troubles. Permit an old man his family superstitions."

The necklace, by contrast, was cold against her palm. When she unfolded her fingers it looked like an archaic knot, perhaps even a stylized tree. 'Gibu Auja' was inscribed in Old Norse.

"I give good luck," Sarah murmured. She held the pendant uncertainly and then hesitantly under his watchful eye, slipped it into her pocket. "Er…Thanks. I'll-I'll take care of it. It looks quite old."

The professor nodded. "I told you I was a silly old man. But perhaps it will provide inspiration.  It has always done well by my family."

When Sarah went out into the hall she took several shallow breaths before she spied Toby mowing through a Babe Ruth like his young life depended on it.

"Ready?"

Toby obligingly fell into step with her. "Where are we going now?"

"Back home."

"To do what?"

"I don't know." Sarah's hand closed around the necklace in her pocket. "Get ready I guess."

Toby shrugged and threw out the wrapper.

"Hey, Sarah!"

Sarah paused mid-step and turned, smiling politely in recognition when a dark-haired young man approached. "Oh… Hi, Alex."

"Thought it was you. How's it going? Haven't seen you in a while."

"Work. You know how it is. Alex, this in my brother, Toby. Toby, this is my friend, Alex. He's in my doctorate program."

Toby held out his hand just as Alex ruffled his hair. "Hey, buddy."

Toby's smile thinned and he patted his hair back into place. "Hello."

"So I was thinking that now that we've all got a little extension, maybe you wanted to catch a movie. Or there's that TA party on Friday?"

"Oh…I-"

"There's also that Escher exhibit at the gallery. I know you like his work."

"Well… I-"

"She's busy."

Sarah and Alex both looked to Toby in surprise. Toby stared back.

"What he means is that I've actually got some family things to take care of out of town. So now is not really the best time," she finished lamely.

"Oh, right. Of course." The young man forced a laugh and then winked at Toby conspiratorially. "So is that true, buddy?"

Toby winked back. "Mostly."

Alex looked embarrassed. Sarah looked somewhere between mortified and livid.

"It's a long story. Why don't I just call you when I get back and we can go grab coffee or something? On me?"

Alex recovered admirably, his grey eyes warming. "I'd like that."

"Great. So see you later." Sarah ushered Toby out the doors and into the parking lot before anything else could be said. "What was that?"

"An awkward guy trying to get a date?"

"Funny. Really funny." Sarah unlocked the car and got in.

"I was wasn't I?."

"One of these days that smart mouth is going to get you into trouble."

Toby's lips quivered. They both fell silent.

Sarah gripped the steering wheel and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. You know… you know that's not what I meant, right?"

"I know. But you're right anyway. Sorry, I just didn't like him, okay?"

Sarah laughed. "You don't even know him."

"So you like him then?"

"I… yah, I guess. I mean he's a nice enough guy. Certainly not hard on the eyes," she added, merely to watch Toby gag. "We've got a lot of stuff in common."

"He likes you."

Sarah flipped her hair dramatically. "Of course! Who wouldn't?"

They both laughed and then fell silent again.

"Toby, you know we're going to get Max back, right?"

"I guess."

Sarah squeezed his hand. "Want McDonald's for lunch?"

Toby nodded.

They blared Queen the entire way home and sang along at the top of their lungs.

The Goblin King leaned on his balcony and surveyed the expanse below. The structured chaos never ceased to soothe him. His thin lips were slightly bowed, suggesting the barest hint of a smile lying in wait. He picked absently at a non-existent hair on his sleeve. The change in the air was palpable and he found it hard to remain still. He ignored the presence at his back.

"You seem almost… happy." A note of disgust coloured the word. Jareth ignored it too.

"Do I? Perhaps it feels good to be… unfettered."

"It is dangerous."

"Yes."

"She is dangerous."

Jareth's lips twitched – a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Yes. But then so am I."

A sigh. "She's not a child anymore."

"No, she isn't it." The king's teeth glinted. "And the rules have changed."

His companion sighed again, as though the conversation had been played many times but the lines still needed to be spoken. "You're risking much."

Jareth straightened, releasing his cold smile in full force. It was neither cruel nor kind, but teetered somewhere in between. "She risks everything."

It was time to test his wings.

Sarah shivered and rubbed her neck. She glanced at the clock on the VCR and then back at Toby who was eating french fries and watching Legend. The Tangerine Dream soundtrack was turned up, but she welcomed the distraction. He'd raided her movie collection and burned though Ladyhawke before that.

Gunnarsson's notes were spread around her. To the side a filet o' fish sat mostly untouched. Loki was eying it covetously from across the dining room table. Gunnarsson had transcribed the entire lay in its original form and translated where he'd had the time and was able to. It was heavily punctuated with question marks and strike-throughs. There were numerous mentions of Yggdrasil and a 'tangled forest'. It wasn't clear if they were one and the same however. And Yggdrasil was described both in the traditional form of the great tree and as something else entirely. Many of his notes were only in his native language, making the deciphering more labourious for Sarah. He had underlined the word 'völundarhús' three times but then had struck each out.

Sarah dug through her bag to pull out a translation dictionary while absently taking a bite from her now cold sandwich. She stared down at it and then started to laugh - slowly at first but then uncontrollably. Toby scowled and pointedly turned up the volume further, which only made her laugh more. It felt surreal to be eating fast food, 80's music in the background, when in only a few hours he would be returning; the figure of childhood fancy. Or of nightmares. This time because she'd asked him to.

Invited him.

No, she reminded herself, she'd bargained with him. The ridiculousness of it all left a sour taste in her mouth. Or perhaps it was the fake fish. No longer hungry, she dropped it on the wrapper and pushed it across the table towards her cat.

Sarah studied the angry mark on her wrist. In desperation she'd considered destroying the book. It went against everything she'd ever believed in but… but she'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant ending whatever she'd set in motion. The only thing that stopped her was the fear of making it worse - of losing Max forever, of Toby's unending guilt, of Karen singing lullabies to no one forever. It would break them all. She forced her eyes back to the pages. She needed to fix it. And preferably without his help.

"Völundarhús… völundarhús" Sarah skimmed through the dictionary. 'Maze'.

Or labyrinth, her mind supplied.

Because of course. She slammed the dictionary shut.

Labyrinth.

Gunnarsson had warned her not to get lost in her work. Her story. But perhaps it was too late. Perhaps she'd never really found her way out.

Two packed bags sat in the hall. They were just out of view but Sarah could feel their presence. It had been a trial to decide what to bring; what would be needed. In the end she'd repacked three times. A couple of pairs of jeans. A few shirts. Underwear. Nothing fancy. Some toiletries. Matches, because that seemed practical. A pocket knife, because again it seemed like something she should bring. The little red book, which she'd wrapped in a sweater. The necklace Gunnarsson had given her, tucked into a sock. In the other sock was a bit of twisted iron she'd pried off her balcony on a whim. She'd read far too much as a child. She'd also squeezed in as many granola bars and bottles of water as she could. They'd stopped at a convenience store on the way home. She'd had no idea if she should pack sleeping bags or what, before deciding it wasn't a camping trip. She'd settled on light jackets.

If this had been a Tolkien story someone should have given her a magical weapon by now. Something useful. Anything really.

Sarah looked down at her papers, the Icelandic and English blurring together. She'd be bringing those with her too. There was no mention of undoing any blood oath and the professor had made no mention either.

But there were plenty of notes on devouring. Of an offering. Of bloodshed.

Max…

"Sarah?"

"Yes, kiddo?" She answered by rote.

"Movie's almost over. You missed all the last one. Come watch."

Sarah glanced down at the words that had long ceased to have any meaning. Defeated, she stacked the papers and joined Toby on the couch. He passed her a cold french fry. She ate it by rote too.

Lily was seated at the table. Darkness had spread a feast before her - inviting her to eat. Tempting her to.

"So is she faking it or is she really going to the dark side?"

Sarah snorted and ate another fry without asking. "It's not Star Wars, Toby."

He pulled a face. "You know what I mean."

"You've already seen it. You know how it ends. Good wins. They dance, they sing. The way a story should end," she added as an afterthought.

Another face. "I know. I'm just wondering if she was like really considering it or whatever?"

"Maybe. I guess so. It's just a movie, Toby."

Sarah glanced out the window, watching the remaining light ebb.

"You're worried. Is it because of him?"

"I told you we're going to get Max back."

"I know. That's not who I meant."

"No..."

"Liar."

Sarah jumped. Toby dropped his fries on the carpet.

There was no fanfare this time, no crack of thunder, just a Goblin King looking decidedly out of place in the tiny living room.

"Jesus! Why do you do that?" Sarah looped an arm around Toby's shoulders, pretending it was for his sake.

Jareth's lips twitched. "Should I have knocked?"

Sarah cleared her throat at the ridiculous image that presented. "I wasn't sure you'd come." In truth she wasn't entirely sure he would. She found she was torn between relief and trepidation.

He smiled then. A slow curling of his lips that was in no way meant to comfort. "Still clinging to the hope that it's all a dream? I rather thought you'd had enough of those. We have a deal. Of course I came."

"Naturally," her tone acerbic.

"This is so cool," Toby interjected, completely unaffected by the rising tension in the room. "So do I get a sword or something?"

"A sword?" Jareth quirked a brow in amusement. "A sword would be of little help to you. No more so than say, a scrap of iron."

"How did you…" Sarah frowned. "It's in a lot of books. I didn't really know what to bring. You didn't exactly give me a list."

"And did you bring it to protect yourself from me?"

"No. Is that your first question?"

"No. Is that your first lie?" Sarah whitened but Jareth continued unfazed. "You don't really need anything. Certainly not illusions of protection. But by all means bring whatever provides you your measure of comfort."

"I already packed a bag for both of us."

"How very eager of you. I half thought I'd have to drag you away kicking and screaming." Sarah detected an underlying note of disappointment in his voice that he made no effort to hide.

"I-I agreed to go with you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

"And just how long will we be gone?" When he didn't answer she added, "because I am coming back. I just want to make that clear. We all are."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Noted."

Sarah frowned again but nodded curtly. "I'll… I'll be back in a minute." She looked to Toby and then back at the king in indecision.

Jareth appeared bored. "I'll do my best not to eat him while you're gone."

Her eyes narrowed but she left them and locked herself in the bathroom.

"You wouldn't really eat me, right?" Toby asked nervously after a moment's silence.

"Certainly not. Mortal children taste absolutely horrible."

Toby's uneasy laughter trailed off at Jareth's placid expression.

"So… what's your armor made of?"

The kings lips twitched. "Children who taste horrible."

Sarah stared at her reflection in the mirror.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

She'd left purely on pretense. She just needed to steel herself; to strengthen her resolve. She'd felt overwhelmed, as though events were unfolding too quickly. She needed to stay composed. Poised. Honed.

"You can do this. Again." The mirror offered no words of moral support.

She fixed her braid and pinched some colour back into cheeks, before making her way back into the living room. She paused in the entryway and watched, lips parting slightly, as Toby brought Jareth up to speed on the storyline. A few other fantasy titles lay before them.

Only Jareth looked up when she approached. He studied her silently.

At that moment Loki wove between her feet and mewed, before blinking up at Jareth; one green eye and then the other. He padded over cautiously and arched his sable back against the king's boots. Jareth's eyes narrowed, his head tilting slightly. The cat's fur immediately spiked and with a graceful leap backwards, Loki bounded up a bookcase; feline eyes trained on the king and tail switching erratically.

"He doesn't seem to like you."

"Cats and I have never agreed."

Sarah bit her lip. "I asked my neighbour to check on him, but I'll have to do something else with him if we're going to be gone long?"

"He'll be fine," he answered indifferently, ignoring her obvious probe.

Sarah scowled and slid past him awkwardly to turn off the TV and VCR. She gathered up the two knapsacks, silently handing the smaller one to Toby. She gave her place a cursory glance to make sure everything was turned off, and then with the uncomfortable sensation of Jareth's eyes on all of her movements, she added the notes from the table into her bag.

She turned back to Jareth reluctantly. "I'm ready." Another lie.

Toby silently slipped his hand into hers and squeezed.

"So how do we-" The words were silenced by a swift tug at her navel and then a roiling wave of vertigo. The kindest comparison was that it was not unlike having the wind violently knocked from her. The same visceral panic flooded her senses and then as soon as it began it was over. It was nothing like the last time.

The walls of her apartment were replaced by grey stone walls and high-arched ceilings. Sarah stumbled from the uncanny sensation of the world being set back to right.

They stood in the centre of the empty throne room.

"So. Friggin'. Cool." Toby breathed with all the wonder of a ten year old. He didn't appear affected by the transition.

"You could have warned me," Sarah hissed; her limbs still spasming.

"I could have." Jareth circled them slowly. "It's different for children. They're supposed to come here. They're not supposed to leave." Sarah felt the last words against her neck and turned defensively but Jareth was already relaxed in his throne. Lithe limbs stretched in an elegant sprawl.

"They aren't supposed to come back either," Sarah replied sharply.

"You always did break all the rules." He watched her above steepled fingers. "So, is it everything you remembered?" His eyes flicked to Toby as he asked the question and his lips curled at Sarah's poorly masked look of outrage.

"Yes," Sarah answered quickly, "although I really tried to not to think about it."

"A luxury."

"You've been here before?" Toby sported a look of earnest confusion.

"Indeed." Jareth shot Sarah an amused smile. "Your sister left an… indelible mark on this realm. I wanted her to see that it's quite possible to come here without destroying a city."

"You destroyed a city?" Toby asked Sarah incredulously.

"Oh, she did much more than that." Something dark laced his tone and the air in the room changed enough that both siblings felt it.

"I'd do it again," she replied defiantly.

Before Jareth could react a goblin knocked and then entered the throne room.

Toby inhaled sharply, blue eyes wide.

The sentry took in the pair, his jaw slackening when he saw Sarah. "Everything is… er… prepared your majesty."

Jareth flicked a gloved hand in dismissal.

The goblin bowed again with a final glance at Sarah before leaving.

When the heavy doors closed Sarah looked to Jareth questioningly.

"We're not all so forgiving here."

She snorted but shifted uncomfortably. She felt awkward standing in the sunken centre of the throne room, a knapsack in her hand and Toby clutching her shirt. The power balance was too acute; too deliberate. And the look of victory on Jareth's face was too raw. Sarah dropped her bag beside her.

"Are we finished?"

"Have we even started?"

Toby cleared his throat. "So how do we get my brother back?"

Jareth's mismatched eyes didn't leave Sarah's. "Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered."

"Stop it. You're enjoying this!"

"I'd be lying if I said the undercurrent of fear you're trying so vainly to hide wasn't delicious."

"We have a deal." Sarah wasn't sure whom she was reminding.

"I believe you've mentioned that, yes."

"So then when do we start? This had better not just be a game, Jareth. I want my brother back." Sarah winced as the words left her lips. Her eyes darted between Toby and the cold king on his stone throne.

Jareth let the words hang between them before he laced his fingers together again. "We start tomorrow at dawn. Thirteen hours from now."

"Tomorrow? Why not now?"

"Trust me when I say you would not want to start in the dark. There are far worse things than goblins outside these walls."

"I don't trust you." She believed him though, and the realization irked her. "Fine. Then why bring us here now? Why not tomorrow?"

Jareth stood. "Because I can. Don't forget that." He strode down the steps, his boots clicking on the stones as sharply as his words cut through the air. "You called on me." Sarah forced herself not to retreat. "Tell me, Sarah, was it pleasant coming back? Did it feel like you were being ripped apart?"

She shifted awkwardly. "Is that a question?"

"You'll know when it is." His voice dropped. "I could have spared you that. I didn't. This won't be like last time. You're not a child anymore and this isn't child's test anymore. The Labyrinth didn't want you back."

Sarah recoiled, surprised by a keen sense of rejection.

Jareth read it in her face and his tone softened perceptibly. "You're here by my will. The Labyrinth bends to me. Tell me, Sarah, did you not feel differently after being here for thirteen hours? Did it not start to feel… right?" Her eyes widened. Because it had. Because she had so easily started to forget.

Jareth accepted her silence as confirmation. "You are a mortal in an immortal world. The magic touched you when you came here; left a mark that you could never see but always felt." He moved closer. "Even now you begin to feel it again. It changed you, Sarah. It's why you could never forget. You let it in. That's why you were never supposed to leave."

She let out a shaky breath.

"You'll need to let it in again if you hope to make it through this." Jareth dropped a hand on Toby's shoulder. The boy looked up nervously. "Both of you. The longer you're here, the better chance you'll have."

Sarah steeled her jaw. "We'll do what it takes to help ourselves. No more."

"Of that I have no doubt."

Sarah realized they were standing uncomfortably close; Toby hovering awkwardly at her side. She took a half step back and cleared her throat. "I assume you have somewhere for us to go until tomorrow? An oubliette perhaps?" She added waspishly.

"Now, now, don't give me ideas. You fell into that yourself. I had thought to give you rooms. Never let it be said I lack in hospitality."

Sarah clasped Toby's hand. "One room is fine. We stay together. Toby goes nowhere without me."

"Careful, Sarah," his tone was wry, "you'll give the boy ideas that I have designs on him." He brushed past her to the open doors. "We both know I only take what's given."

Toby looked at his sister inquiringly. Sarah steeled her eyes away and picked her bag back up, keeping his hand firmly in hers. "It's fine. Don't worry about it." Another lie. "Come on, kiddo."

They followed Jareth silently through the stone corridors. The wall sconces flared to life at each new turn, eliciting small sounds of wonder from Toby. Sarah tried vainly to account for the number of steps; the number of stairs. The castle itself made no sense architecturally and she got the distinct impression the hallways were changing behind her anyway, foiling any attempt at reason. Physics need not apply. Jareth finally stopped at the end of one corridor; the flickering flames casting his angular features into shadow. He raised a gloved hand and an ornate wooden door appeared. It creaked open.

"So cool," Toby breathed.

Jareth inclined his head mockingly. "Your dungeon, my lady."

Sarah hesitated but Toby was already pulling her into the room. Jareth followed the pair inside.

She rounded on him immediately. "The door's not going to vanish as soon as you leave, will it?"

His lips curled. "Still so distrustful? I can always remain if that would make you feel more comfortable."

Sarah ignored the taunt and looked around the space. The room was spacious and well furnished. A large bed carved out of a dark wood occupied the centre of the room. It was hung with finely embroidered fabrics in silver and deep midnight hues. A large fire place stood opposite with dancing Fireries etched into the stone. As she watched, a spark kindled and caught; the logs quickly enveloped by bright flames. Tall bookcases stacked high with leather tomes flanked it. Another door led to what she imagined were the facilities. Between a few well-stuffed chairs arranged before the fire was a low polished table in the same dark wood. On it stood two crystal pitchers, a pair of silver goblets, a bowl of fruit, and a small platter of bread and what looked like aged cheeses. An armoire and an ornate writing desk were the only other pieces of furniture.

Toby had already tossed his bag haphazardly into a corner and had thrown himself onto the bed, bouncing experimentally. "Dibs on the bed."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "If you can share my double, I think we can manage with this one."

"If the room's not sufficient, I can always suggest another one."

"It's fine." Her eyes flickered to the king. He smiled with feigned innocence. Sarah looked away uncomfortably. She crossed to the far wall and pulled open the heavy drapery. Stone. "No windows."

"Mmm. Not tonight." His tone was unapologetic.

Sarah snapped them shut again. "Why?" Though she already suspected the answer.

"You could hardly expect me to let the girl who turned the world upside down have free-reign. That wouldn't be very wise."

"So it is a dungeon."

"Call it what you will, Sarah. It's as much for your protection as it is for my kingdom. We have a deal. And I'll stand by my word. You'd be wise to get some rest, safe in here, and be mindful that there are many things that go bump in the night in these parts."

Jareth moved towards the door, which again opened by itself. "I trust you'll both be comfortable. Everything you require should be here. Do get some sleep while you can."

"And just where will you be?"

He canted his head. "Going bump in the night of course." The door closed behind him with an audible click.

Sarah swallowed thickly and watched the door for a full minute to see if it would disappear. When it didn't she pulled it open, reluctantly surprised when it complied. An empty hallway. She shut it softly and then turned the lock, feeling a hollow sort of comfort when the bolt engaged.

Toby bounced again. "No TV though."

"You watch too much TV," Sarah replied tonelessly.

Toby shrugged. "This is still way better.  Wonder if he has swimming pool."

"Don't get used to it. We won't be here long." She sank into one of the chairs by the fire, propping her head on her fist. A moment later her other hand snapped close around Toby's wrist, his fingers clutching a shiny red apple.

"Hey!"

"No food, Toby. None. Do you understand?"

Toby's brow creased but he released the fruit. "Why? Is it poisoned or something?"

"Just trust me. No mistakes, okay?" When he nodded, she relaxed slightly and let go of his hand. "I brought bottled water and some energy bars and stuff, but I think we should save them. Just in case. You can't be that hungry."

Toby nodded again.

Sarah forced a smile. "Don't worry about it. Just trust me." She picked up the bowl of fruit and emptied it into the fire. The bread and cheese followed. A sickly sweet smell of burnt sugars filled the room. "There. No temptation."

"Um, Sarah?" Toby indicated the bowl, full once again.

Sarah stared at it, her expression deceptively neutral. "Just. Don't. Eat. Anything."

Toby saluted and beat a hasty retreat.

She heard him pull out some PJs from his bag and the door open and close to the bathroom. A few minutes later he emerged in plain flannel. No superheroes to be found. It pained Sarah that he'd probably done so deliberately; that he'd felt the need to act grown.

He paused before the ornate wardrobe, curiosity making him pull open the doors.

"Hey check it out. Fancy. Girly." The last word dripped with disgust.

Sheer nosiness made her look. Dresses. Pants. Shirts. Night wear. Intricate items of silk, leather, and lace. Everything was clearly for a woman. Even the plainer pieces sported cuts decidedly feminine. Toby picked up a nightgown made of a shimmering fabric in the colours of a starry sky; so gossamer thin it would reveal as much as it would hide. He made a gagging sound as he shoved it back in.

Sarah nodded in agreement, even as her hand moved of its own volition to touch the fabric. Softer than water. It reminded her of his cape, billowing in the night, the first time she'd met him.  Sarah slammed the doors shut.

"So who are they for?"

"No one." When Toby opened his mouth, Sarah added brusquely, "None of our business."

"Maybe they're for you?"

"Toby!"  He'd said the quiet part out loud.

"I'm just saying! This is your room."

"This is not my room. Make no mistake; this is very much a gilded cage that we are going to leave and never see again in the morning. Okay?"

"Yah, and no TV."

Sarah couldn't help but laugh at the impish grin on his face.

"Go to sleep, brat. We've dragons to slay tomorrow." His grin widened.

Sarah sincerely hoped there were no actual dragons. But she couldn't help but worry that the dragon they needed to fear the most was the very one they were bringing along with them.

Toby crawled into the spacious bed, pulling out a comic he'd obviously stowed along. Every so often he'd look around the room again, a look of boyish wonderment on his face. It coaxed a reluctant sigh from her.

Sarah rooted through her things, finally finding an oversized t-shirt - the name of her university stitched on the front - and slipped into the bathroom. It was conveniently equipped - a large ornate tub, no shower - with blessedly hot water running from the faucets. The sink was of a patinaed metal, shaped into some type of water lily. The mirror looked like antique polished silver. She undid her braid and shook her hair loose, running her hands through the long waves to detangle it. Once changed she brushed her teeth, rinsing her mouth with cool water. It tasted clean and pure but she was careful to spit it all out anyway.

She padded back out to the bedroom, checked on Toby, and then perused the bookshelves. Most of the titles were unfamiliar, some in languages she could not read, but she pulled out a few out to skim. She curled herself back into the armchair and dragged her bag closer so she could pull out her notes. Once more she defiantly tossed each piece of fruit into the fire and watched them burn. As expected, the bowl refilled itself – the new fruit as ripe and succulent as ever. Curious, she un-stoppered one of the decanters and sniffed. Wine of some sort and delicately spiced. Her mouth automatically watered. She immediately corked the bottle again, licking suddenly parched lips.

"Not happening," she whispered to the silent room and cracked open her copy of the Eddas randomly.

"Eleven apples, all of gold,

Here will I give thee, Gerth,
To buy thy troth that Freyr shall be
Deemed to be dearest to you…

I will not take at any man's wish
These eleven apples ever;
Nor shall Freyr and I one dwelling find
So long as we two live."…

Idunn's apples for immortal life. Forbidden fruit in a forbidden realm.

…You'll need to let it in again…

A bark of uneasy laughter escaped her throat, which she choked back; head turning to see Toby, but he had already fallen asleep, his mouth open slightly and a hand still clutching his comic. He hadn't been sleeping well either.

Her eyes returned to the page.

"Often to me has a month seemed less
Than now half a night of desire." …

She craned her neck back, head sinking into the plush upholstery, eyes falling shut.

Back in the Labyrinth.

What the hell have I done?

Sarah sat up with a jerk, her eyes flying open and arms belatedly scrambling to catch the papers and books that threatened to spill from her lap. Her body felt cramped and she realized that she must have dosed off at some point. Her immediate reaction was to panic. The fire had dimmed, enough that Sarah shivered in the coolness of the shadows; skin prickling to awareness. Toby's measured breathing punctuated the silence – the even and familiar tempo soothing her nerves. Nothing had stolen him away in the darkness. Yet. Without a window it was impossible to tell what time it was, although it did not feel like she had slept for long; her limbs were restless and her thoughts fractured by an uneasy sleep. The first time she had been in the Labyrinth, thirteen hours had flown by in a panic. Especially when he'd stolen three. Now… now she worried that thirteen hours might never end.

Sarah carefully set the papers on the side table and stretched, rubbing circulation back into her cramped legs. By the dying light she could see that the door still stood. Opportunity overcame fear and before she could second guess herself she found herself padding across the room and pulling it open slowly. When no alarm sounded and no goblin sentries descended, she opened it enough to peak into the darkened hallway.

Nothing.

Sarah chewed her lip on the threshold. Taking a final glance over her shoulder at Toby she slipped into the hall, easing the door closed behind her. The thick carpet had been lush beneath her feet; by comparison the cold stone floor made her toes curl. The nearest sconces glowed. Keeping one had on the wall she slowly made her way down the hallway. She told herself she'd only go as far as a window and then return. This could be her only chance, she reasoned. She would not be coming back after all. And she was wholly unable to deny the childish frisson of delight at defying him, even in something so minute. When she came to the end of the door-less corridor, she looked both ways. Right or left, her mind taunted. Hurry, hurray, you haven't got all night. She chose right – keeping her hand pressed firmly to the stones. The end of the hallway appeared to be an alcove hung with heavy fabrics.

Half-expecting the curtains to reveal a solid wall, she let out a soft exhalation of delight when they parted to reveal an arched window. The clear sky was fully dark and the moon still high. Beneath the stars was a maddening expanse of twisted pathways that were so achingly familiar Sarah's heart fully skipped a beat.

It truly was beautiful in its chaos. She could almost imagine it a living thing that unfurled its branches like a tree. With each bend magic thrummed through its veins. And somewhere in the recesses of her adult mind, a child's voice whispered, but then you always knew it was real.

A light breeze feathered through her hair and brought with it the scents from below. She'd forgotten what the Labyrinth had smelled like.  In that instant it all came back. Clay, earth, the loamy smell of moss and... magic. Something undefinable that teased the senses and tickled the tongue like an exotic spice. Sarah took a deep breath and then stilled. Something underlying it was... wrong. Not a smell but a sense. Unease began to fester in the pit of her stomach. Her next breath misted, though it was not particularly cold. When her eyes scanned the darkness she could not shake the thought that while she was looking out, something was looking right back in.

Her wrist throbbed so suddenly that Sarah pulled her hand to chest like it burned. Wonder bled to panic; a familiar ache to pain.

Toby.

Sarah dragged the drapes shut, backing away shakily and then turned on her heel. Her bare feet scraped against the stone as she ran. When she turned down the corridor, her fear erupted in a choked sob.

The door was gone.

Sarah felt the wall with desperate fingers, banging fists against the stone futilely.

"Toby? Toby!" Even to her own ears she sounded like a wounded, keening animal. "Oh fuck."

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Sarah rounded; eyes still wild. Her chest was heaving in fractured breaths, even as she felt the residual terror begin to ebb. It was replaced with relief and then again by blossoming anger.

"The door," she said stupidly. Not sure whether or not it was a question or a statement.

A pale brow arched.

Sarah felt her jaw clench involuntarily. "It's gone."

"Yes, well I had rather thought I'd left you on the other side of it." Amusement laced his tone, but his mismatched eyes were hard, almost cold, and his expression was guarded.  He glanced down the hallway.

Though not dressed for bed, he was more casual than she'd ever seen him. He wore only a fine linen shirt, open to the waist; his strange torque against his white chest. Grey pants hugged his lithe frame and soft boots in a similar colour were his only other adornments. Sarah fought the urge to fidget, her eyes dipping to the pale expanse of his skin before returning to his face. She tipped her head in what she hoped was defiance. "I went for a walk."

Jareth merely stared at her. Though he should have appeared less imposing so unfettered – dark armor gone – Sarah found the lack as disconcerting, if not more so. There was only skin and eyes too otherworldly to be human. The stray thought crossed her mind that she was seeing only Jareth, without the artifice of the Goblin King. She should have been relieved. She wasn't.

"Yes, a walk," she repeated at his continued silence. "But now I'm done. Walking that is. And should get back to Toby to get some sleep."

When his eyes flicked down to her bare legs and rose again leisurely with a decided lack of shame, she belatedly realized she was dressed only in a loose t-shirt and a pair of underwear, just barely covered by a few inches of cotton. She felt the blush creep down her neck, beneath her collar.

Jareth traced its path, pausing at the betraying pulse point in her neck.

Sarah motioned with hand. "So could you make the door reappear?"

He merely smiled; uneven teeth glinting.

…Things that go bump in the night...

Without meaning to she took a defensive step backwards. "We have a bargain."

He tracked her retreat but didn't move. "We do indeed."

Despite the space between them, she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Her own felt hyper-aware. The sconces were dim and it suddenly felt far too intimate in the enclosed space. She was certain she could hear her own heartbeat. She wondered if he could too.

"I need to get back to Toby."

"The boy is perfectly safe."

Sarah shook her head. "You can't keep us apart."

"I'm not trying to. You're the one that left him and went for… a walk, was it?" She had the grace to wince. "Strange. I wonder what you'd hoped to find."

"It was just a walk. Don't treat me like a child."

Jareth took a step forward. "I have no intention of treating you like a child, Sarah."

"No, you said I was a guest." She emphasized the word as though it could manifest the distance she'd lost.

"Yes."

"And you offered your help. Which I reluctantly accepted. Conditionally. I left foolish childhood fantasies behind and I don't expect you'll play fair. You want something out of this and provided it doesn't affect me or my family, I don't really care what it is. So let's speak plainly."

"As adults?" She got the distinct impression he was laughing at her and it rankled.

"Yes. When this is over I fully intend to go back to my adult life and forget about all of this."

Another smile. "Liar."

"Tainted peaches don't work on me anymore."

"Then you would have nothing to fear, would you?"

It occurred to her that they were veering down a dangerous path and he was deliberately trying to rattle her. "The door. We have a bargain."

He grasped her wrist, bringing it up between them before she could deflect. He still wore gloves and she found herself thankful for the soft leather separating their skin. "Our bargain." His thumb brushed against her palm – where his crystal had disappeared. "You seem so eager to remind me. Shall I ask my first question?"

"N-now?" Sarah took another step back. He didn't release her hand and it occurred to her that were dancing again. Her bare thighs brushed the cold stone behind her.

"Yes, now."

Sarah squared her shoulders. "Fine." She tugged against his grip ineffectively.

He considered her for a moment, his thumb still brushing distracting circles against her palm. When he finally spoke, his voice had dipped lower still. "I wonder if you ever regretted giving up her dreams." Another light stroke of his thumb. "Lay awake and imagined what could have been." His tone was almost lulling and his eyes on hers. "Is there a part of you that wished you'd lost?"

The question surprised her as though she'd been waiting for something else entirely. A riddle. A trap. Nothing so open. She opened her mouth to offer a scathing reply, but his thumb had paused on her palm. His expression was again guarded, but his body held a predatory stillness that Sarah instinctively recognized.

He was daring her to lie.

She licked her suddenly dry lips. The answer welled from within; buried so deep she'd almost forgotten it existed. Pretended it didn't. She wondered if the question wasn't deeper after all. Unwilling to release it, she bit her lip until the pain forced them to part.

"Yes."

One word.

Dragged from a reluctant tongue and directed at his chest. She hoped her tone conveyed indifference. She'd aimed for dismissive. Regardless, she did not want to see his expression at that moment; and was more afraid of what he'd read in hers.

She realized he'd released her hand and she flexed her fingers reflexively. Without seeming to move, he was suddenly close enough that one of his legs brushed again hers. Sarah forced her eyes back to his. They gleamed in the darkness. His expression wasn't gloating, but there was something… something indefinable just below the surface that made her skin prickle again and her panic well anew.

"So? Now ask me if I'd do anything different?" She added hurriedly, eager to quash whatever victory he'd stolen from her admission.

His lids lowered. "Ah. I think I'll save my next question for another time. As you said… it's late."

"It means nothing, you know. You wasted a question. And I'll give you a free answer." She heard her voice crack. "I wouldn't make a different choice. And just because a stupid little girl went home and stupidly wondered 'what if' means nothing."

"No. It wouldn't." He rested a hand on the wall beside her head. "But my question was 'is' there a part of you. And as you've reminded me you're no longer a child." Sarah's eyes flew to his face. "Don't fret, you didn't lie."

His thigh brushed hers this time, and the slight contact made Sarah startle but she told herself it was only the cold stone at her back. "I-I answered your question. Now the door! Please." The final word was more demanding than pleading. Desperate.

Jareth's head dipped; his mouth almost brushing her ear and his breath fanning her cheek. "I've always loved it when you beg, Sarah."

When she took an unsteady breath, her breasts brushed against his hard chest – her shirt the only barrier between them. She could feel her nipples tighten at the contact and an echoing quiver pooled in the pit of her stomach. She felt his sharp intake of breath at her body's betrayal, even as his gloved hand curled into a fist against the wall beside her head.

She recoiled from her own reaction as much as his.

"Perhaps I should ask my next question..."

She shook her head mutely.

His hand dropped to her hip, dancing just at the hem of her shirt. Her breath caught again in her throat, paralyzed by a heady shiver of fear and anticipation. But he merely opened the door that had, at some point, appeared at her back. The sudden change caused her to awkwardly stumble backwards into the room. He didn't follow. When she righted herself, she crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

He propped a hand on the open doorway, his eyes fixing on her face, despite the fact that her stance had raised her t-shirt a few key inches. "It's not yet morning. Sleep. Oh, and I wouldn't go wandering again. You might not like who finds you next." He paused on her lips. "I was… generous. I won't be again."

The door shut.

Sarah's knees wobbled and she sank back against the arm chair. She pressed a shaking hand against her heated face.

Too easy… too easy, she berated herself. I won't let him do that again.

Toby stirred in bed, and Sarah jerked in shame, before quelling the foolish emotion. She darted to the bathroom and quickly splashed cold water on her face, not daring to look at her own reflection; not wanting to see what looked back at her. When she crawled into the soft bed she tucked Toby into her side – the way she used to pull Lancelot against her as child. He stirred again but did not wake.

Forcing all thoughts from her mind and refusing to replay the night's events, she closed her eyes and began reciting the Eddas by rote until she fell into a fitful sleep.

Beneath the lush bed linens, already warmed by her brother's body heat, she did not notice the faint breeze that should not have been. And against the inexorable pull of sleep, she did not notice the curtains on the formerly missing window begin to stir.

Chapter Text

 Off to a time and place now
Lost on our imagination

…Knife stabbing down in the dark, Sarah jerking under the force of it. Blood blossoms and wells around the blade, before sliding down bare skin...

…Pain, so much pain – vicious and bright - and then the slow knell of death as the last strands of life ebb away with the red…

Sarah woke with the instinctual apprehension that something was in the room with her. She jerked upright; her mind fractured with a fading nightmare whose strands had left an indelible mark. Toby tossed fitfully at her side, as though he too could sense something near but had not yet shed the yoke of dreams.

The room was fully dark, fire banked, and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. Her breath misted. Even mostly blind she caught the movement by the wall when the heavy curtains stirred; between the folds a window where one should not have been. From across the room she could tell it was wrong. The edges were jagged, like a hole made by force not design.

Sarah's breath misted again. Her hand clutched Toby's pyjamas. He whimpered, still not free from the bonds of sleep.

The drapery at the foot of the large bed shifted next ,and a moment later the undeniable feel of a mattress dipping under pressure.

Sarah snatched her knees to her chest.

"Jareth?" Her voice sounded small. Hollow.

A child lost in the dark.

The Goblin King reclined on a leather chaise longue, having forgone his bed. The chaise was positioned near his balcony and on certain evenings he preferred the open air and the canopy of stars when he sought rest. He liked the sounds of night; they spoke to him in a language that was wholly his. Not bothering to change, he'd merely shucked his boots and pulled his shirt tails free. He had no need for covers, the air always bent to his will. The moonlight reflected off the planes of a lithe chest and a finely angled face, highlighting the features which would always mark his otherworldliness.

A cup of something dark and strong rested on a small table, and beside it lay his discarded gloves. He slept only lightly, lashes fanning his face, though even goblin kings dream from time to time. If Sarah had seen him she would have been surprised at how innocent – almost young even – he looked in sleep. It was, he would admit, another deception for he was neither.

In the space between sleep and dreams, where the mind can still be master, he was once again in the candlelit corridor with her – the one who had so obligingly grown up and shucked the trappings of forbidden youth. Her green eyes, those guileless windows to her soul, were casting him the same look they had mere hours before. Full of panic, defiance, confusion, and just beneath that the first taste of something like desire. He'd just pulled the confession from her lips. The first of many. The answer he'd long suspected and had always wanted to hear. And when his hand hovered at her hip, this time it did not open the door to set her away, safe inside a room with her smart-mouthed brother.

Instead his fingers teased at the edge of the ridiculous shirt she'd worn, skimming the soft skin of her upper thigh. Instead of pushing away, he'd leaned in, his leg falling between hers and parting them obligingly. Against his chest, he'd feel those full breasts press. No, definitely not a child anymore. How easily it would be to slide his hand under the shirt. It would improve greatly upon the floor he decided. At some point he'd have lost the gloves, exploring the smoothness of her skin with no restrictions this time. The dip of her hip, the ripple of her ribs, and the feel of a firm breast, nipple hardening against his thumb. Her thighs would press against his – welcoming and hinting at the inviting heat nestled at their juncture; guarded by nothing more than a scrap of lace. Her breath would catch and he'd feel it in her throat against his other hand. How easily he could have leaned in and tasted it with his tongue.

No, he had been very generous indeed.

He did not think he would be so next time. Sarah was right not to trust him, though he would have preferred she did. It would be easier in the end. She would come to realize she'd made a very dangerous bargain indeed.

Jareth…

His name, so soft it was more a feeling than a word, roused him from his musings. His eyes snapped open – one light and one dark. He felt her mounting terror at the same time that he felt the other; the presence that should not be. Rage suffused his being, and the waves of it sent the cup and table crashing to the floor. The wine stained the carpet like blood - blood he was itching to spill.

There were rules.

His rules. In his castle his will alone was supreme.

When he stood, threads of something dark and ethereal spread around him like a swirling cloak. They roiled and built until they unfurled with a snap like unholy wings. With vicious satisfaction he felt the answering rage as the other was expelled.

Not. Yet.

Those with magic felt the tremor throughout his lands and shuddered in response. Those without carried on in blessed ignorance.

The thing in the dark would retreat but the Goblin King would not sleep again that night.

In the next breath the presence was gone, as though torn away. Warmth suffused her skin and Toby settled beside her. Perhaps sensing her need, the fire flickered back to life and the sconces lit to a muted glow. Her eyes confirmed her solitude, but still she pulled back the covers to slide from the bed and scan the room. It was empty and when she parted the curtains they revealed a solid stone wall. She tapped against it experimentally and then shook her head. Whatever she'd been dreaming had already slipped away, leaving only the threads of something dark and unsettling.

She wondered if she'd merely dreamed it all – like a waking nightmare. Reason told her she could no longer dismiss anything. And so despite Jareth's mocking, she pulled on soft pants and retrieved the bit of iron. After a slight hesitation, the professor's amulet too. She clutched both in her hand when she crawled back into bed, nestling Toby once again into the crook of her arm. The low lights obligingly remained lit and though Sarah doubted she would sleep again, she could sit vigil through the night. An insidious thought reassured her that she could call and he would come.

It didn't occur to her to question that she'd already decided it had not been him in the dark.

Sarah woke for the third time to an unpleasantly damp tickle in her ear. Blinking her eyes open she was met with Toby's grinning face and a belated realization that his finger was wiggling in the shell of her ear.

"Ah! Gross! A wet willy? Really?" She slapped his hand away, rubbing the blanket against her head.

Toby erupted into gleeful laughter at the look of disgust on her face.

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to know what works."

"You'd better hope I fall asleep first tonight, buddy." With the talk of another night, Sarah sobered, remembering where she was and why. She sat up in bed, Toby still chuckling, and surveyed the room. In the castle. Beyond the Goblin city. She let out a long breath – almost a whistle – and seriously considered burying herself under the covers until it all went away. That had never worked for exams; she wasn't sure why it would work now.

She slapped Toby's hand away again when he made a second assault and took a deep breath - the smell of coffee; rich, dark, hot… and decidedly fresh. Turning her head she saw that a fine china cup sat atop a tray on the side table beside the bed. Next to it was a pot of thick cream and a bowl full of sugar cubes – the kind her grandmother had always kept and which she'd always stolen - gran always obligingly looking away. Her mouth watered faster than Pavlov's dog. Coffee in bed no less.

She looked across to see a tall glass of juice next to Toby and beside that a tray of pastries; rich fillings just escaping, lightly dusted in sugar and more than enough for two. Toby had already spotted it and looked back to Sarah pleadingly. When she shook her head, no, he clasped his hands together in supplication.

"No! Water and breakfast bars are in my bag."

Grumbling, Toby hopped out of bed and began through rooting her pack – deliberately strewing her clothes out onto the floor in the process. Sarah looked back at the coffee and took another punishing inhalation, before pushing the tray to the far side of the table. Nothing had ever felt so difficult. She'd needed that after the night she'd had. Heat suffused her face at the memory. She was clearly not equipped to deal with him as an adult. And she very much needed to be.

"Oh, and brush your teeth when you're done. You didn't last night."

"Ugh – you brought my toothbrush?" Toby whined. "That is so lame."

"So are cavities."

Sarah got out of bed and snagged a bar from the bag. Normally she didn't mind that brand. It had protein and dark chocolate to mask the fibre. That morning it tasted like sawdust. Sarah uncapped a bottle of water to wash it down. When this was all over, she was going to eat the biggest, greasiest fry up ever and drink the biggest pot of French-pressed coffee she could at that expensive breakfast joint around the corner. She could taste it already. The rest of the breakfast bar killed it a moment later.

Toby was still staring forlornly at the buttery confections after he eaten. He crumpled his wrapper and glared at Sarah. "Thanks for breakfast. You're a great cook."

"Shut it, kid. Get dressed."

Mumbling under his breath he complied. Without being asked he even put his pyjamas into his bag and stalked into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Sarah grabbed a change of clothes and followed suit when Toby was done. Wondering when next she'd get the chance, she did a quick wash in the tub before getting dressed. She tied her hair back into a braid again; the damp stands around her face curling. She'd chosen jeans and a simple, fitted button-up long sleeve shirt in a sage green colour. She pulled a light jacket from her bag as well. When she returned to the bedroom to slide on her suede boots, the door to the room opened. Both siblings froze, but when no one entered they exchanged a look.

"I guess we're supposed to go to him?" Sarah snorted. She shoved the rest of their gear back into the bags, did a quick glance around the room and then ushered Toby out the door.

The hallway was brightly lit and they followed the lights, which seemed intent on leading them on their way through a series of twists and turns. Up staircases and down and up once again, with an utter lack of logic until they arrived at a set of open doors. Inside the room  long stone table was centered. It was stacked with platters of food: steaming sausages, thick-cut bacon, a roasted haunch of ham, boiled eggs, mountains of sliced fresh fruit, clotted cream, and pastries and scones in more varieties than Sarah had ever seen. A silver urn of coffee unmistakably steamed, coupled with a jug of fresh milk and more pitchers of frothy juice. Jareth was seated at the far head of the table. He was dressed simply, a linen shirt and embroidered vest. He considered them above a china cup poised at his lips.

Sarah's jaw clicked shut. "Now you're just being cruel."

"Good morning to you too." A smirk, hidden again by the cup. "Won't you join me?" Sarah noticed that there were two more chairs set on either side of him. "Apologies for starting without you."

Toby immediately took a seat, dropping his bag beside him. Sarah, feeling awkward standing in the doorway under his scrutiny, reluctantly took the other chair.

"Actually we're not hungry," she said, her eyes boring into Toby's meaningfully.

"What a pity. All this food will go to waste."

"Give it to the goblins."

His lips curled. "Actually they prefer to eat… other things."

Toby's stomach chose that moment to grumble.

"It rather looks like the boy here is still hungry. Aren't you, Toby?"

Toby looked back and forth between his sister and the king. "Um… well… er… no, thank you. I'm … fine." He crossed his arms and directed an accusing look at his sister.

"Pity," the king repeated and took a bite of what looked like pain au chocolat. Sarah couldn't help but stare. She'd never seen him eat before, never really considered that he did. He did it so fastidiously, and even though the bun looked delectably flaky, not a single crumb fell. The tip of his tongue swept along his lower lip to catch a bit of chocolate. His eyes slid to hers, abruptly reminding Sarah that she was openly staring.

"Are you sure you don't want some?" He held the pastry out towards her solicitously. "You look... enraptured. They really are quite fresh." His tongue swept his lip again.

"N-no. Thank you."

The king took a sip of his coffee. Sarah noted, without meaning to, that he liked it with cream.

"One might assume you think what I am offering you is somehow tainted, but that would be rude," he sipped again, "considering we are allies. No, that can't be it. Especially after I so freely partook in your home as a guest when you could have poisoned me."

"Didn't think of it at the time. Pity."

He ignored her volley. "So therefore I can only assume you aren't lying and you are indeed, not hungry."

"We ate. Sarah packed granola bars and water," Toby supplied. She couldn't decide if he was being helpful or ratting her out.

"How… industrious of you."

Sarah refused to be cowed. "I've read enough to know that this sort of food doesn't really work out well for mortals. Especially when offered by kings of said underworld."

Jareth grinned then, setting the cup down. "So you fancy yourself, what? Persephone, is it? How presumptuous. I had no idea you had your sights set on a crown."

Sarah reddened immediately, willing the ground to open up and swallow her for giving him an easy opening. When it didn't she looked at him incredulously.

He winked. "I read too, Sarah."

"You know that's not what I meant exactly. You can hardly blame me though considering the last time."

Jareth rolled his fingers and a crystal appeared. He curled them again and it was a peach. "Sometimes fruit is just fruit." He took a bite, his eyes on Sarah. The peach looked ripe, perfect really – summer in a little sphere. A lone trickle of juice slid slowly down his chin.

Arrested, Sarah followed its descent. She knew he was deliberately trying to rattle her with calculated words and artful affectation. Whatever game he'd started in the hallway was not over.

A snippet from a bachelor's course in literature wove its way into her head:

"She suck'd and suck'd and suck'd the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore…
What peaches with a velvet nap…"

She forced herself to look away. "Actually I don't really care for peaches. Half the time they're rotten and you can never really tell until it's too late."

Jareth dabbed his chin. A pointed glance taunted her. Liar.

"Did you know that it's customary for allies to break bread together before a journey? As a sign of peace. Proof of trust between companions."

Sarah shot him a withering glance before reaching over, eyes trained on him, and selected a roll. She gingerly snapped it two and dropped both halves onto her empty plate. "There. Bread broken."

Toby, who'd been following their exchange with a ten year old's confusion but patent interest in all things adult, let out a sudden whistle of excitement and his chair scraped back, breaking the tension. He'd just discovered the curtains on both walls obscured large open windows. He dashed to one in awe.

"I've never - NEVER - seen anything like this… and I've been to Disney World!"

Jareth rose and joined him at the window. Sarah wiped her hands on a linen napkin and then pinched the bridge of her nose.

"How do you ever find your way in there? People must get lost a lot."

"People? Almost all of them."

"Who finds them then?"

"Why do you assume anyone finds them?"

Toby frowned, surveying the Labyrinth that stretched in all directions, seemingly without end. "Well, how do they get out again then?"

"Why do you assume they ever do?"

"Then it would be filled with bodies."

"I did say goblins like to eat other things."

Toby opened his mouth and then closed it, looking back with new eyes. "… Still pretty cool though."

Jareth inclined his head and patted the boy on the shoulder. "Indeed."

"So…" Toby cleared his throat. "Is-is Max lost somewhere in there?"

Sarah's eyes snapped to Jareth's. He stared right back. "If it were that easy, your sister and I would have made a very different bargain." He looked back to the window. "No, Toby. Your brother is far from here, beyond my Labyrinth and beyond where I can see. But I have ways and I know where he was taken. Together we'll get him back."

Toby smiled, relief brightening his features. "And then we can all go home."

Jareth returned the smile but said nothing.

Sarah stood, impatience colouring her tone. "So bread has been broken. We've stayed the thirteen hours – at least I can only assume. When do we leave?"

Jareth turned to look at her. "Now."

The room disappeared and the same sense of vertigo returned. It was not as gut-wrenching as before, but Sarah could feel the protein bar churn in her stomach. They were standing on a hill top at the outskirts of the Labyrinth. The barren shrubs and dusty landscape reminded her of her first visit, no doubt chosen deliberately.

"We didn't have to go through the Labyrinth?" Disappointment tinged Toby's voice.

"I thought you were afraid of getting lost?"

"But you'd know the way."

"Mmm, yes. The idea of the king lost in his own Labyrinth is rather ridiculous isn't it?"

Sarah snorted. "I'd pay to see it happen."

He raised a brow. "Then you'd no doubt pay dearly."

Sarah realized they were suddenly having an altogether different conversation and wisdom dictated she not antagonize him further. She'd never learned to properly play the wallflower, but she was willing to try until safe in her world again. She didn't want to think about after…

"So which way?" she asked finally. The unspoken, because I will follow you, hung between them. It was the largest olive branch she was willing to give him.

Without breaking eye contact he swung his arm behind him and pointed into the distance. She had no idea if it was west or east, or even if directions like that applied in the Underground. Both Toby and Sarah followed the direction of his gloved hand. It was decidedly not the way Sarah would have chosen. Despite the fact that the sun was newly risen and the sky was awash in carmine hues, behind Jareth lay an impossible darkness. Not clouds or storms per se, but more like the landscape had bled the sky dry. Sarah saw what looked like a wooded border in the distance; an unnatural divide rising from the flat dusty plain with its glittery red soil.

Not that any of it mattered. Max was apparently somewhere that way. Even just saying his name was like trying to hold onto something transient. It had only been a few days but she realized she could no longer remember what colour his eyes were - blue like Toby's or green like hers? It was Toby who kept reminding her, whether outright or through his palpable guilt. And she admitted that she was as much invested in severing whatever tie she'd created to that book as she was in retrieving what was taken. A sudden wash of shame dowsed her grumbling. Max was slipping away because he was meant to. Just like Toby would have if she'd failed. She looked at Jareth with muted horror, ashamed again that a part of her, however small, had ever wished she'd lost. Even more ashamed that he now knew.

Toby tugged on her hand and she stopped the narcissistic self-flagellation. It wouldn't get them anywhere. Max, she repeated one more time, just to keep the name on her tongue.

We're going to where the wild things are to bring you home.

The siblings fell into an easy gait behind the king. She belatedly noticed that he'd changed clothes again. The cape and armor were gone, but he was no longer so casual. He wore a long ornate jacket, all abstract angles in dark textured leather. His pants were charcoal and his boots were made of a similar leather. His shirt was likewise dark. Not as foreboding, maybe, but still all hard edges. Regal. Powerful. She wondered if he'd be walking had they not been with him. He carried nothing save a sort of short staff, perhaps a sceptre – its claws clutching a crystal sphere.

Feeling her eyes on his back, Jareth turned his head without breaking stride. Sarah was reminded of an owl.

Before he could say something she remarked, "You're not bringing anything."

"I've got the pair of you. Anything else I need, I'll call for. And when I can't I'll take."

He didn't say it particularly threateningly but nonetheless she'd hate to have something he wanted.

Toby grumbled, "Must be nice." He adjusted his bag with another pointed look at his sister.

The Goblin King laughed. "I told her you needed nothing."

Sarah ignored them both, her eyes trained on the darkness they approached. "It doesn't seem to be getting any closer?"

"Tired already?"

Sarah grimaced. "No… just wondering. Couldn't you just," she snapped her fingers instead of saying it, "...us there?"

"Not there I can't. Not with you two mortals in tow. Were it to work," he paused, mulling the thought over, "it would not be pleasant for you. And I rather thought you enjoyed walks."

Even though his face was turned away, Sarah registered the taunt lacing his tone. Apparently she was the only one willing to offer a truce. So be it.

Sarah fell into silence but allowed Toby to pull up beside the king. Jareth glanced down at the boy but didn't say a word. Sarah remained content to bring up the rear. Eventually she just watched their feet. There was not much to see. It looked like they were crossing an arid desert, except the colours were all wrong. The land dipped and flowed in either direction. She turned only once to look back at the fading Labyrinth and the castle beyond the Goblin City. She raised a hand and waved slightly, thinking of Didymus, and Ludo, and Hoggle. Despite her misgivings she felt an acute pang of regret that she likely wouldn't see them again. She doubted Jareth would be so generous… not without demanding something in return. If Jareth caught her small gesture he said nothing.

"Whoah." Toby's exclamation made Sarah look up.

Before them lay a wide spindly thicket – barring their way like a wall. The branches were mere brambles but they sprouted wicked-looking thorns. Sparse foliage dotted their limbs and what remained was well-withered. The whole thing reminded her of bones.

"What is this place?"

"It has no name. It is merely… a borderland. This marks one edge of my realm."

Toby tilted his head. "So who owns it?"

"No one. It is nothing… A buffer between worlds."

Toby's mouth dropped open. "Like as in planets? Like in Space?"

Jareth sighed. "Mortals." But decided to indulge the boy. "Consider climbing a tree. We're merely moving from one branch to the next."

Sarah's brow furrowed at his metaphor.

At the entrance to the thicket, Jareth paused, his eyes on both of them. "This is your last chance to turn back. I don't expect you to, noble as you are," the mocking was back, "but I'd be remiss if I didn't warn you."

"Turn back before it's too late?" Sarah mimicked. She could mock too.

Jareth's lips twitched. "It's already too late, Sarah."

Hook, line and sink her. Sarah shook her head resolutely. "We have to get Max back."

That conviction did not stop her from shuddering when they crossed into the gnarled mess. The air changed as quickly as a switch; like the odd sensation of calm before a storm - when everything is charged. When it didn't relent, it felt, Sarah decided, like being stuck in limbo.

Movement drew her eye. Something skittered through the falling leaves behind her. And then again to her right, just out of sight. Whatever they were, they seemed to be running away. Scattering. But Sarah could feel eyes on her - too many – hidden but watchful.

Hungry, her mind suggested. And she got the impression that they were conveying that hunger to her.

Craving…

Embarrassed, she felt a disturbing yearning uncoil in her stomach; her skin prickling to awareness. She couldn't help the fleeting memory of Jareth's thigh against hers. A musky odour made her nose wrinkle. Reddish eyes blinked at her and then disappeared; reappearing somewhere else before disappearing again. Like a cat and a mouse.

Sarah thought she saw a long tail switch.

"So hungry…"

"Tasty…"

And this time she was certain she'd heard it, not just felt it. The sensation coiled around her legs, slowing her - shadowing the want in her core.

She fought against the inclination to rest, to stop, and closed the distance between her and the Goblin King so quickly that she tripped into him.

"Goblins?" she asked breathlessly, as he righted her with a hand to her elbow.

He shook his head. "Wasted things that belong in neither world. They pick off unlucky travellers." He eyed her. "Ones who are vulnerable anyway. They have no place in my lands and so claim the inbetween."

Sarah brushed too closely to a bush and snagged her sleeve on a lethal looking thorn. She struggled to unhook herself.

"But what are they?"

Jareth deftly released her. "Nothing that needs naming. They won't come any closer. Not with me here."

"And if you weren't here?"

He considered her carefully. "You wouldn't be." He eyed her torn sleeve. "Have a care not to shed blood in this place."

Sarah found she had nothing to say in response; she knew she hated how easily he reminded her that she was helpless. "Toby, stay close." It was a pointless order as he was already practically glued to the king.

"Oh, the boy is fine. They are not interested in him."

Sarah processed the obvious implication. "Point taken."

Jareth laughed then and it was free of any mocking. He wondered if Sarah would have been so calm had she realized just what their presence meant. He decided not to elucidate. He'd save it for a time when he could thoroughly enjoy the fallout.

When another of the creatures hovered closely just out of sight, he loosed a warning spark of magic. The yowl made both of the siblings jump. The message, though not lethal, was driven home. Mine.

The thicket eventually thinned and with it the air changed again - salt and damp and the unmistakable sounds of waves. The thorns gave way to a rocky shoreline butted against a wide-blue sea of all things. The sky was still fully dark, but now it hung with a canopy stars reflecting into the endless waters below.

"Wow," Sarah breathed, halting in her steps. Toby beamed from ear to ear. "This was… unexpected."

Jareth quirked a brow. "And what exactly did you expect?"

Before Sarah could answer, Toby was scrambling over the rocks, running towards the water.

Jareth and Sarah followed, stopping again on the pebbled beach.

Sarah looked up and down the barren coast. "So what now?"

"We wait."

"For what?"

"Not what. Whom."

Puzzled, she looked again in all directions. She was on the point of demanding further explanation when she caught the unmistakable crackle of a fire. She spied a man on his haunches stoking a small beach fire. He was dressed in a large voluminous cloak. His gaunt face was bearded and generally non-descript aside from being-weather worn. His hair was thick and peppered grey, but he did not look particularly old. He paid no notice to them.

Sarah looked to Jareth inquiringly.

Jareth reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin and without giving notice flipped it to the man at the fire. The man deftly caught it with one hand; his other still stoking the flames.

Only after he'd bitten it did he address them. "Passage for three?"

"Safe passage for three," Jareth amended.

The other man grunted once and seemingly satisfied with the fire, rose.

"Passage where and in wh…" Sarah trailed off at the boat that appeared behind them. It was made of black wood – so dark it looked burnt - and was carved with intricate knots and designs.  Some sort of sea dog was at the helm. It was longer than a row boat but did not look much sturdier. Toby was already delightedly inspecting it.

"We're going to cross the sea? In that?" Sarah demanded incredulously.

"The sea is the passage. So it's that or swim and I wouldn't recommend it."

The other man grunted again, although it may have been a laugh.

Sarah made her way to the side of the boat before hesitating again. Toby was already scrambling in over the other side and parked himself on the front seat.  He patted the wooden sea dog.

Jareth followed and settled in the middle. He eyed Sarah expectantly.

"But how far is it? You can't be serious."

He patted the seat beside him. She ignored his expression and resignedly stepped inside. She'd barely gotten her foot over the edge when the skiff pushed off with great force, sending her sprawling across the Goblin King's lap. Mortified, she tried to right herself. With a hand on her elbow he righted her beside him and blessedly refrained from offering a comment besides the telling twitch of his lips.

The cloaked-man joined them, standing in the rear. He'd pulled the wide hood over his head, casting his face completely into shadow, and slid a long gnarled pole in the water. He stirred the sea like he'd stoked the fire. Once well out into the swells, he pulled the coin from his pocket and dropped it over the side.

Sarah watched him curiously.

The water lapped against the boat gently and despite only the pole, the shore soon faded into nothing more than a thin line before it disappeared altogether.

Toby was draped over the bow, one hand dipping into the water to make ripples.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You'll wake the waves."

Toby giggled but trailed off at the serious look on Jareth's face.

Sarah frowned.

"It's their mother I'd worry about. Though I suppose he's only but half a man and not worth her effort."

It was the first time the cloaked man had spoken since the shore. She noticed his voice was deep, rumbling like thunder, and yet strangely lilted.

Sarah's frown deepened.

Toby, looking back and forth between the two men, snatched his back and rubbed it dry on his jeans.

"Who is he?" Sarah whispered to Jareth, aware she was probably being rude.

"He goes by many names. It really depends on who does the calling. Call him a ferryman or a fire-stoker, it's all the same. Doesn't really matter, you mortals never really get it wholly right. Just parts here and there, borrowed and refashioned to fit your own ideas."

Sarah processed his words – the library of her mind flipping through old tales and legends.

"Eldir?" Sarah whispered. Or Charon.

Jareth merely smiled and the ferryman said nothing save a slight tilt of his hood that was neither confirmation nor refutation.

"And what did you mean by wake the waves?"

"Oh, I think you've already guessed."

It can't be real. But she knew it could. Ægir's daughters - if that was his name – the nine waves. And his wife, Rán.

The boat rocked violently a moment later, and Sarah fought the instinct to grip Jareth's arm.

He sighed. "Too late."

The boat rocked again and when Sarah peered over the edge nervously, she saw red spreading in the water, bubbling up like blood through the surf.

A moment later a pale hand, the skin a mottled white, gripped the inside of the boat next to Sarah. The long thin fingers were webbed and tipped with claws – purplish, grey and vicious looking. Another followed. Sarah slid back into Jareth; firm against her back. She reached a hand for Toby. The ferryman looked unconcerned, never ceasing his steady stirring motions.

A head then arose, its hair blood-red, with long tendrils coiling around pale arms and spilling over into the boat like seaweed. The torso of a woman followed, pulling up and leaning into the small craft. Her eyes were the changing colours of the sea and her lips a purplish grey – like something that lived in the darkest depths. Her features were fine, almost beautiful, if not frightening in their otherness. She was also decidedly naked. The rest of her skin was the same translucent mottle, and here and there, shone a shimmer of scales, as droplets of salt water slid down in rivulets. Her breasts were smooth and perfectly rounded; darkly peaked and jutting. A few strands of hair crossed her chest like bloody slashes. She eyed the contents of the boat with interest.

"Goblin King." The voice was melodious and low. Lulling. She smiled and Sarah noted that her teeth were thin and pointed,  fish-like.

She felt Jareth incline his head in greeting behind her.

The woman looked to a cowering Toby and back to Sarah with surprise. "With two mortals? Both alive. What interesting company you keep. Or are they a snack for mother?"

"He paid their safe passage," the boatman interjected.

The sea-woman scowled, her eyes darkening like a storm, and when she spoke next her voice was more a serpent's hiss. "Don't forget your place, servant."

The boatman ignored the jibe.

"You never visit anymore, Goblin King." Her voice had dropped again,  seductively so. "I do so miss your visits." She dropped a hand to her breast and stroked her nipple playfully with claw-tipped fingers.

Sarah pushed Toby's head away, though he'd already turned, his face beet red. Sarah also averted her eyes in annoyance.

"Do give my best to your sisters," Jareth offered wryly. His own attention was fixed on the warring expressions crossing Sarah's face as she directed her gaze at the horizon.

The red-head pouted prettily, the effect somewhat ruined by her teeth. Her dark eyes flicked to Sarah. "Your loss. Mortals are ever so fragile. Especially where you're going."

When Jareth said nothing more, she directed him a final look of heat and slipped back beneath the waves. Sarah caught a glimpse of long legs and the curve of a hip before she disappeared below. Her feet were finned.

Sarah swallowed and slid away from the Goblin King at her side. She looked towards Toby, who seemed to be recovering. She wasn't naïve enough to think that was the first pair of tits Toby had ever seen – he watched far too many horror movies for that - nor was she prude enough to feel that nudity was a bad thing, but she still felt like she was unable to spare him things not meant for him and that it would only get worse the further they went. He'll come back changed, she thought. Innocence lost. And she couldn't help but think it would all be her fault.

"That was so not the little mermaid," Toby offered glibly, catching Sarah's concerned expression.

Jareth snorted. "No, not a mermaid. I warned you not to wake the waves. Be thankful only one of them rose."

"She seemed to know you very well."

"She and her sisters are a diverting bunch. Especially all together."

Sarah was certain he was trying to bait; coax her into asking more so he could shock her – or worse incite her to reveal something.

Instead she shrugged. "To each their own." She wrinkled her nose. "She smelled like fish."

The Goblin King barked with laughter and even the ferryman's shoulders rocked slightly. "I shall have to tell her than when next I see her.  When you are out of biting distance."

They fell back into silence. The waves remained steady but no more were forthcoming. The the chill in the air had deepened, not, Sarah thought, without intention. She felt it keenly through her light jacket. By contrast, unnatural warmth radiated off the figure at her side. She refused to move any closer; instead folding her arms around herself in a huddle. Despite the cold, the lulling motion of the water made her eyes droop and she caught her head dipping twice. It seemed paramount to stay awake and alert.

Naturally it surprised her then when the boat rocked forward, having landed, and she found her head pressed against the leather shoulder of the Goblin King. Her whole left side was comfortably warm and she had the phantom sensation that he'd draped an arm across her back until recently. She reeled upright and furtively wiped the saliva from her mouth.

Refusing to acknowledge she'd fallen asleep, she turned and surveyed the land. It was another rocky shore, very similar to the one they'd left. The relentless darkness had abated and the sky over the land was grey, clashing into midnight where shore and sea met.

Jareth rose and effortlessly exited the small boat. He helped Toby down and then extended a hand to Sarah. She ignored it and stood, only to sit back down again; her legs completely jelly. Rubbing her thighs she stood again, wobbled, and then took the hand with a mumble that might have passed for thanks. Once on shore she immediately released it.

"You know she'll tell her father. Payment will be much higher on the return." The ferryman had already pushed the boat back into the sea.

Jareth looked unconcerned. "I have my ways."

The ferryman nodded and set off.

Sarah watched fascinated as the skiff pushed out 20 or so feet and then was swallowed by a large swell – the horizon once again unbroken.

"What did he mean payment will be higher?"

Jareth rested a hand on Toby's shoulder. "He means that mortals aren't meant to cross between realms. They certainly aren't meant to do so more than once."

"But we will be able to get back, right?" You're not going to abandon us was left unspoken.

"I have no intention of leaving you here." He started walking inland. "And as you know, I've never much cared for rules that aren't mine."

Toby eagerly scrambled after him, leaving Sarah to bring up the rear again.

The shore, unlike the previous, had a much steeper incline and crossing the sharp rocks was more laborious. Only Jareth seemed completely at ease, gracefully navigating a steep path without difficulty. Sarah's way on the other hand was punctuated with poorly swallowed curses. When she finally reached the top, her thighs burned and she was winded.

Her remaining breath was stolen by what awaited them over the ridge.

A forest unlike one that she'd ever seen or imagined.

The trees were tall and imposing, with trunks an ashen grey, some as dark as pitch. Their roots were mostly exposed, great creeping things - like gnarled fingers that had clawed for purchase into the ground. Their branches stretched high towards the sky, twisting and weaving with their neighbours' like complex knotwork. The leaves were sparse and of a deep blood-red colour.

Toby, less winded than Sarah, was similarly awe-struck. His head craned up towards the sky.

Jareth had stopped before an opening between two large trees. It looked like the forest was waiting to swallow them all.

Sarah and Toby reluctantly followed, pausing again at the edge of the treeline to catch their breath.

"What is this place?" Sarah asked. And do we really need to go in there?

Jareth tipped his hand in invitation. "Enter the Tanglewood."

Chapter Text

‘Enter the Tanglewood.’

The words sounded in Sarah’s mind like a knell.  She was not naïve enough to trust either the invitation or the figure issuing it.  But she had no choice.

Max.  For Max. 

She glanced at Toby; his face hopeful and resolute.  And for him.  Perhaps more so.

A final look at the sea – now grey and calm; seemingly without end – and then back at Jareth with his arm still raised towards the dark wood and eyes fathoms deep.  It felt like she was being asked to step off the edge of a cliff and trust that she would not break.  If she went in there would be no turning back. 

She had no way of knowing that it was already too late.  That she’d leapt already.  Going forward now was mere formality.

And Jareth was watching her fall.

“I’m thirsty.”

Toby’s partial question, partial whine brought Sarah back.  She stared at him blankly.

“Thir-sty,” Toby repeated; the whine crossing to rude.

“Right.”  Sarah dug through her bag and pulled out an open bottle of water.  She took a few measured sips of water and then handed the bottle to Toby.  “Have it all.”

He drank greedily but stopped before finishing it.  He wiped the top on his sleeve and held it towards Jareth.  Both the Goblin King and Sarah looked surprised by his gesture; their eyes meeting over his head.

The king’s lips twitched. “Courteous,” he eyed Sarah again, “but unnecessary.  And I think you’ll find your sister does not approve.  Manners never were her strong point.”

Sarah, who had been boring a hole into the back of Toby’s head, had the grace to blush. 

Toby sensed her stare and ignored it.  He held it out resolutely.  “I’m offering.  And Sarah doesn’t mind, does she?”

Sarah tried to look indifferent. “Just don’t waste it.” Judas. She wished she’d taken a larger sip.

Jareth accepted the water with a nod to Toby, and raised it towards his lips but at the last moment deftly held the bottle to Sarah’s mouth.  The top brushed her lip and she jerked back, knocking the bottle away in shock.  Jareth let it fall and spill its contents across the rocks. 

At her look of outrage, he brushed his thumb across her lip, catching the lone bead of water, and sucked the leather dry.  “Wouldn’t want to waste it.”

Sarah’s temper replaced the burn in her legs but she refused to be baited further.  Adjusting the straps on her bag, she strode past them both and entered the wood. 

As soon as she crossed the threshold the first thing she noticed was the quiet.  Gone was the steady rhythm of the sea, the lapping of wave against stone, as though all sound had been consumed by the tall, black trees. The preternatural quiet made the hair on her neck, still slick with salt air, stand on end.  Nothing rustled, nothing moved – every crimson leaf was in its place.  Thin striations of golden light stabbed down from the forest canopy like lances still as glass. Her steps slowed. There was a path, but the gnarled roots of the large trees made walking precarious. Their twisted limbs curled and knotted out of the earth, so that the forest looked more woven than grown. 

A flurry of wings flapped overhead, too loud in the silence, and when she looked up she was blinded by the light.  She stumbled sideways, her bravado draining.  She stopped and turned expectantly, blinking.  Toby and Jareth were nowhere to be seen.  She’d only gone in a few dozen feet, but she could no longer see the path behind her nor any break in the trees. The branches were as tightly linked as cold-pressed iron. 

Sarah laughed nervously as she looked around.  “Toby,” she called.  The forest was silent again.  She tried again, her voice cracking.  “Toby!”

When she turned around again, the way forward was gone.  She pressed her hands against the branches, then snatched them back and touched it again tentatively.  The wood was cool and hard, harder than any wood she’d ever felt, but beneath the bark was a strange thrum.  She could feel it resonate beneath her skin, like a great, steady pulse.  And she within its bones.  Sarah kicked at the wall of wood in frustration.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Jareth emerged a few feet away, his hand resting lightly on Toby’s shoulder. 

Sarah pulled Toby towards her in annoyance and relief. “Why, will I wake the trees too?”

“They are always awake.”  From somewhere high above wood creaked and echoed; too loud again.

Sarah licked her dry lips.  “I couldn’t find you.” 

Hands on her shoulders, Jareth turned her gently. His mouth at her ear.  “Don’t stray from the path.”

It again lay before her.

“It wasn’t there a moment ago.”  She was more confused than surprised.  Another pang of memory.

Jareth brushed by her. “It’s always there for those who see.”  Toby trailed after him, matching his gait.  “Don’t fall behind.”

Sarah glanced behind her but kept moving.  The way back was gone.

They walked in near silence for close to an hour, Toby occasionally remarking on something of interest to a ten year old; Jareth either indulging him with a response or ignoring him altogether.  Toby did not seem to mind either way.

Sarah, keeping pace, traded several vicious barbs in her head though her lips remained sealed.  Speaking aloud would be a mistake.  Resist temptation.  Deny. Ignore.  Rinse. Repeat.

Still, she silently urged Toby to continue his prattling.  Annoyance by proxy. 

“It all looks the same.”

“It’s not.”

“But it does though.  How do you know where we are going?”

“I simply do.”  Jareth's tone was clipped.

“It’s kind of boring though.”

“How unimaginative.”

“Actually, I have an overactive imagination!” Toby parroted his mother tone.

“A family trait.” It did not sound like a compliment.

Sarah bristled, bit her lip, and avoided stumbling on yet another root.

“Are we there yet?” 

Atta boy.  Sarah grinned at the almost imperceptible tensing of the Goblin King’s shoulders.  She ticked the column for team Williams. 

Quiet words, barely heard.  “I would have wished him away too.” 

Sarah failed to avoid the next root.  Toby’s brow furrowed.  The power shifted again.

Their eyes met.   “Don’t.” 

An unspoken threat hung as heavy as the canopy overhead.

Toby lapsed into silence and a long while passed before Sarah finally spoke again. 

“Why won’t you tell us where we are going?”  She was careful to keep it neutral, almost indifferent – though it wasn’t.  “Wouldn’t it be better if I,” she glanced at Toby, “we were prepared for whatever lies ahead?”

“Better for whom?”

Sarah’s expression soured.  “We have a deal.”

“And that wasn’t part of it, or are you changing the terms now?  If we change the terms then we change the forfeit.”

“I don’t even know the forfeit!”

“And that was surprisingly foolish of you.”  He glanced back.  “Don’t fall behind.”

Unable to stop herself, she peered over her shoulder.  It was dark behind them – unnaturally so – as though shadows licked at their heels.  In the stillness, a few red leaves silently fell, twisting and turning, before staining the ground red. She quickened her pace and did not look back again.

At some point Toby fished a protein bar from his bag and ate it.  He didn’t ask and Sarah didn’t protest.  Toby’s expression was sour too and she suspected that the adventure was already wearing thin.  He occasionally glanced between her and Jareth.  Sarah couldn’t help wonder what conclusions he had drawn.  Was drawing still.

The unending wood was wearing on her too.  It was not the Labyrinth, though the black trees with their great creeping roots were as chaotic as his maze had ever been.  It felt different.  Thirteen hours were up and the clock was still ticking. The stakes were unknown and the magic was too potent.  Jareth told her she had to let it in.  Like a drug.  She glanced at his back.  Heady.  Addictive.  Dangerous. 

‘Let it in.’

Another implication there...

…Her back pressed against a door… his hands on her thighs…

The memory made her skin prickle uncomfortably, and she dropped her eyes.  Come on feet.  But they had betrayed her and begun to ache already, suggesting she should have chosen different boots.

Her wrist ached too.  

A stone had somehow wormed its way into her boot and that she couldn’t ignore.  Blowing out her frustration, Sarah propped herself on a large root. The packsack landed at her feet.

“I need a break.”

The Goblin King raised a brow but stopped. “So soon? However did you win?” He leaned against a tree, folding his arms. 

Scowling, Sarah tugged the boot from her foot and shook it until an irritatingly small rock fell out. 

Toby, who’d slid to the ground at her feet, picked the stone up and tossed it into the brush, mirroring her mood.

He grunted when something snapped him in the back of the head a moment later.  Shooting Sarah an annoyed look, he rubbed the offending spot and began to toy with some branches on the ground, first piling them and layering them like Lincoln Logs until they vaguely resembled a little house.  

When Jareth noticed the boy’s creation, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Toby, catching Jareth’s reaction, was on the point of destroying it when something small, vaguely grey, and incredibly fast hopped over his leg and crawled into the rudimentary enclosure.  He yelped, sounding very much like a ten year old, and shot back into Sarah – knocking her, still one boot in hand, off balance and onto the ground with a thud.

“What the-” Sarah swallowed the rest of the curse at the look on Toby’s face.  She followed his attention to the pile of branches and then scooted back further, dragging Toby with her. 

Jareth watched it all with a sort of weary amusement.

“What… what is it?”  Toby finally asked; eyes still rained on the little house. 

“Harmless.”

Toby slid a finger forward.

“Mostly.”

Toby snatched it back. 

The creature, aware it was being discussed, exited the pile of sticks and examined the trio with strangely lambent eyes.  Its shape and features were roughly humanoid despite its size.  Its skin was pale, almost ashen, and it wore a sort of tunic cut from deep green cloth. Its eyes flickered when it saw Jareth, but it inclined its head, and then studied the siblings with keen interest.

“Some might call it an elf,” Jareth offered, his tone suggesting he would call it something else altogether.

Toby, raised on a healthy dose of Tolkien and fantasy thanks to his sister, eyed the thing with disbelief. “An elf?”

“Disappointing, I know.  Tiresome pests at best.”

“Says the king of goblins?” Sarah challenged.

Toby held out a finger again tentatively. “Let me guess, another thing that has several names.”

The creature slapped Toby's digit away.  “I have one name, whether over hill or under it.  ONE name, my own.  It’s mine to use and not yours to know.  ” The creature snorted. “And I am not an it.”

 “It talks!  I mean, I mean…” Toby looked it up and down questioningly. “He, um, talks?”

The creature did not correct him.

“Um, well, hello.”  Toby still looked nervous but excitement had replaced his sullen expression.

“It’s not very good, is it?”

A look of confusion marred Toby's brow.  “What isn’t?”

“The house, twit.  Not sturdy at all.”  The creature kicked at a stick and the whole thing collapsed. “Nope.  No good.”

 “Oh… well, I didn’t really build it for –“

“Some invitation. More an insult, really.  I’ve seen better ones built by daft brats with no arms.” 

“Invitation?”

The creature shot the boy a withering look and muttered something too low to hear but properly nasty.

Sarah’s eyes widened and she whispered, “Huldufólk”

The creature cocked its head.  Toby remained confused. 

 Sarah continued excitedly.  “It – I mean he – I think… it’s a hidden person!” 

The creature scratched its head and looked back to Toby.  “Dim, is she? Do I look hidden to you, boy?”

Toby shook his head politely. 

“Well… I meant that’s… there are legends about Huldufólk – or hidden people.  There are books written about them.”  A touch more defensively now.  “People in Iceland still build little houses for them.  Out of superstition I guess.”

The creature sniffed again.  “Not superstition.  Respect!  And they,” he addressed Toby, “know enough not to throw rocks.” 

“They say they can take on many different forms.”

“Can you?” Toby asked, excitement making his voice sound all the more boyish.

The elf’s face split into a wide grin - a row of wicked looking teeth glinted and something flickered within its lambent eyes. “Indeed we can.” It stepped back and beckoned.  “Come, boy.  Would you like to see?”

Toby took an eager step towards it.  “There are more of you?”

 “Oh yes.  Many.  Just through the trees.” His voice was melodic, lilting. “This way now.”

Another step.

“Really?”

“Oh, all around you.”

And another one.

“Toby.”  The words, though quietly spoken, cleared the fog.

Sarah turned, having almost forgotten the king at her back.  He was still leaning against a tree, arms folded restively, but his eyes were trained on the creature warningly.  When she turned back, she was surprised to realize Toby had gotten so very far away from her.

The creature stilled, eyed the king, and then genuflected.  “Another time.  Another time.”

“No.  Not another time either.” 

 “We have as much right here, Goblin King.”  The last was almost spat, all deference gone, but it darted further into the trees when Jareth uncrossed his arms.  “Don’t threaten us! The farther you go, the more you wane.”   It poked its head around the other side of a trunk.  “Fair is fair.  If not the boy, then perhaps the girl?” Its eyes darted flashed between Sarah and the king, considering. “No, no, I see now.  Not her.  Not this hill.”  It tasted the air, “Ripe, yes, ripe. We can ensure.”   

A look of outrage spread across Sarah’s face.

It tasted it again and its grin widened.  “Oh, but something else there. Tainted.”

Jareth took a step towards it.

“Feast or famine.” It escaped into the woods, cackling, “Feast or famine!”

Toby shivered. 

“Rest time is over.”  The Goblin King, his face again a mask, ground his boot into the ruined house and turned back towards the path.  They followed in silence. 

It was several minutes before Toby spoke again.  “So what would it… have done?”  

A longer pause greeted him.  Sarah thought he would not answer.

“It would have taken you away.”

“Yes, but would… would it have hurt me? Or Sarah?”

Another pause.  “Not precisely.”

“Oh…  So why were you so mad?

A gloved hand patted Toby’s head.  “Because you were not his to take.”

Toby smiled but Sarah bristled.  “Ignore him.  I’m sure they are not all bad.”

“Don’t believe everything you read in a book, Sarah.” 

“They can supposedly be helpful.”

A pale brow arched.  “Like fairies grant wishes?” 

Sarah mirrored it.  “You sound just like Hoggle.”

Jareth pressed a gloved fist to his chest.  “How you wound, you cruel thing.”  He eyed her speculatively.  “And how is Hogwart?  How he must have missed you those long years.”

Misstep.  Recover.  Parry.

“And I him.  He’s very dear to me.”

“Really? I’ve always found him highly forgettable.” 

Sarah winced.

“And replaceable.”

 “Ah, but you haven’t.”  Check.

“Yet. I can be generous.”

Sarah snorted, but her laugh was genuine and it scared her into old habits and old barbs. “I’m surprised you disliked that… little thing. You share the same interest in taking things that aren’t yours.” 

“Yes, I suppose I could have let it take Toby, but I didn’t think you had any brothers left to spare.” 

Sarah winced again. 

“Perhaps I need not be so generous next time.”  And mate.

Green eyes met blue then looked away, silence stretched and then finally, “Thank you.”  Quietly spoken, more than a touch begrudgingly, and it was unclear who was more surprised by it.

Jareth’s lips parted then closed.  He inclined his head.

“Even if I don’t trust your motives.  And I don’t,” she added quickly.

The Goblin King smiled.

Though the unsettling notion of being watched remained, the forest returned to its preternatural silence.  The fractured light from the canopy above slowly began to dim.  Coupled with the weariness of limbs it was the only indication that time had passed at all.  The trees continued, unending, in all directions – terrible and beautiful at the same time. It was impossible to mark how far they’d come and there was no indication how far they had left.   With the dying light, the temperature had begun to cool as well, and Sarah could feel a chill settle in her bones.  The strange thrum of the forest had deepened too.  It was pervasive and unsettling.  As though things were only now coming alive. 

It was harder going too.  The gnarled roots caught at their feet and clothing like great spindly fingers.  The path ahead was losing to the dark.  Sarah pulled a small flashlight from her pack.  It flared to life, flickered and died immediately, though she had been sure to replace the batteries before packing it.   Without glancing back, Jareth twisted his fingers and half a dozen crystals appeared overheard.  Light filled from within and then spilled over, casting a silvery glow beneath.  Toby mouthed a ‘wow’.  They were ethereal and other worldly but the magic held a warm familiarity.  Sarah thought them beautiful, and strangely comforting, though she wouldn’t admit it aloud.  They held the dark at bay.

An hour further and Toby, looking peaked, no longer plied the Goblin King with any more questions.  The only sound that crossed his lips was the occasional wordless whimper.   Sarah shared his pain;  they sported matching expressions of relief when they finally drew to a halt in a small, circular clearing, surrounded by tall, rough-hewn rock.

 “You will rest here for the night.”

Sarah gaped in disbelief.  “For the night? But we have to keep going!”  She glanced at Toby and spoke lowly.  “Max is all alone.”

But he wasn’t.  And that was her real, unspoken fear.

“Your dedication is as singular as ever, but no.  You will rest.  The boy is ready to collapse and you are not far behind him.  You’ll both be quite useless to me tomorrow without sleep.  You in particular had little last night.”  He didn’t bother to sound remorseful.

Sarah was on the point of protesting further, but Toby sank to the ground with an audible groan.  He hadn’t openly complained once in the last few hours.  Chewing her lip, Sarah let her pack fall beside him.  He pulled it towards him wordlessly and laid his head on it. 

Palming a pack of matches from her pocket, Sarah began to collect what wood she could find on the forest floor. 

Jareth watched her for a moment with interest.  “Don’t.”

“We need heat.”

Before she could strike a match, Jareth stopped her hands.  “These trees do not take kindly to flame.” A wave of his fingers and there was a good-sized fire a few feet from her attempt, seemingly burning from nothing. 

She didn’t thank him, but she warmed her hands nonetheless. 

Toby scooted closer, still resting his head on Sarah’s bag.  Sarah replaced the bag with her thigh and pulled another water bottle out.  When she glanced above them she almost dropped it.

Stars.  More stars than she’d ever seen.  She was so used to the woven canopy of black wood and red leaf; she hadn’t been prepared for the burst of clear sky over the enclosure.  Every shade of indigo and midnight hue swirled together like an artist’s palette.  It was exquisite and she motioned to Toby to look up as well. 

“Best camping trip ever,” he breathed.

For a long moment they just took it in and then pointed out the constellations they knew, enjoying the spark of familiarity.  So many of them.  Too many for the time of year, as though all seasons had converged and the skies had been drawn together towards one point. 

Sarah eventually dug some trail mix out and opened the pack in front of Toby.

Toby’s hand rose, hesitated and then fell.  “Max must be hungry by now.  He eats all the time at home.  The little porker…”  He trailed off.  Sarah could feel the tension in his body. 

“I-I’m sure he’s fine, kiddo.  Magic… and all that,” she finished lamely.  She looked to Jareth but he offered no words of comfort or condemnation.  “Just eat.  You need to eat something,” she finished helplessly.

“If I need to eat so does he.”  But he ate a handful sideways and then started coughing.  Sarah pressed the bottle of water into his hand.

Toby pushed the bag away.  “Did you bring marshmallows?”

A half-smile and ruffled hair.  “’Fraid not.”

“Worst camping trip ever.”  Some levity had returned to his voice.

Jareth had been watching them from beneath hooded lids.  He’d taken a seat against a large rock, his long legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankles.  He should have looked out of place, but instead he looked entirely in his element.  And far too pristine, Sarah thought jealously.  She looked away, irritated by the uncomfortable sensation of cooled sweat across skin, dirt, and fly away hairs stuck to her face.  She felt hungry, tired and, uncertain.

“I would have brought more stuff had I known this would be… more than a day?”  It ended on a question she knew would not be answered.  She prodded the uneven ground.  “Like a sleeping bag for one.”

Mismatched eyes through flame. “I can make you more comfortable if you wish.” 

She snorted softly.  “Oh, and what would it cost me?”

“Your gratitude?” He mocked.  “A sliver of your pride?”

Love me.  Fear me.  And I will be your slave.

“Everything has a price.”

“And what’s yours?”

She stilled at the quiet question, the bottle of water half way to her lips.  She swallowed air.

“It’s not one of those.” His lips twitched at the look on her face. 

Sarah felt her shoulders relax and she took a large sip of water.  Afraid she didn’t have an answer.  More afraid she did.

“I was not lying when I said I would provide whatever you need.  And I’d ask nothing in return.” He added with the same cool amusement.  “You don’t have to suffer.  The boy doesn’t either.”

“We’re fine.” A firm answer but she eyed her bag.  For now. 

“Why deny the boy because you’re afraid?”

“I’m not afraid.”  They both knew it was a lie. 

His smile deepened.  “I know your fear, Sarah.  You ate my offering before and you were allowed to leave in the end.”

She frowned at his wording.  “And it was rotten.  I beat you. That's how I left.” The flames crackled and hissed and then quieted again. “Doesn’t matter.”  Sarah stroked her fingers through her brother’s hair. “He hasn’t and I plan to keep it that way.”

“Hasn’t he?”  

Fingers stopped their carding.  “What did you say?”

“Thirteen hours is a long time for a babe to go without mother’s milk.” At Sarah’s panicked look, he added, “The boy hears nothing.”

“Toby?”  Sarah poked gently.  Nothing, save the even rise and fall of his chest.  “Did you do something to him?”

“Yes, I made him walk all day,” Jareth replied dryly.  “The boy fell asleep all by himself.  As he does nightly no doubt.   But he will not wake from that deep sleep until morning.”

“Don’t…”

“Don’t what?  Ensure he gets the rest his very mortal little body needs?  Come, come, Sarah.  That’s cruel.  Even for you.”

Sarah’s hands clenched.  “Do you plan to do the same thing to me?”

Jareth said nothing.

“Well don’t.”  Sarah pulled a thin blanket she'd managed to cram in the bag around Toby.  She transferred his head back to her bag and rubbed her now numb thigh. 

Despite the warm fire, she could still feel the tendrils of the cold dark all around them.  Her body was shot, but her imagination was still roaring, clawing at the edges her conscious.  “I don’t think I could sleep anyway.”

“Nothing will harm you here.”

“Because you’re more terrifying?”

“Likely.  But also because this is hallowed ground.  See those stones?”  Sarah eyed the large rocks that surrounded them.  “They are known as the Watchers.  None who wish harm to those in their circle may cross them.”

Sarah examined the jagged black rocks in the dim light.  They almost looked like cairn stones and she half imagined they had faint faces.  She caught his eyes pointedly.  “And what if that wishes us harm is already within the circle?”

“If you are planning to try and kill me in my sleep, then I suggest you make the first blow count,” he offered wryly.

Sarah couldn’t help a snort of laughter. “No, but really,” she challenged again.  “What then?”

Eyes blazed in the dark.  “Why then it would already be too late.”

Sarah looked away.  She sipped her water and ate another handful of mix before closing the bag – not feeling particularly hungry after all. “I hadn’t thought of Max needing to eat.” Guilt tinged her tone and she reasoned that sheer exhaustion had made her desperate enough to confess her sins to the devil.  Though she knew he would offer no absolution.

With no other words spoken, Sarah stretched out behind Toby, using his pack and a shirt as a pillow and closed her eyes.  She opened them a moment later.  Though she could no longer see the Goblin King, she could feel his eyes on her.

“Will you sleep too?” And then another thought. “Do you even sleep?”

More amusement.  “I sleep.  But not tonight.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, strangely comforted.   Her eyes opened again.  “You aren’t just going to sit there and watch me all night are you?”

“Why, would you prefer I do something else to you instead?” His tone was taunting, but Sarah’s body twitched in awareness at the underlying current. She ignored the bait and was on the point of falling asleep when he spoke again. 

“Why have you not told the boy what happened 10 years ago?”

She raised herself on her arm enough that she could see him in the dark.  They stared across the flames - two faces half in shadow.  “I’m tired,” she said finally and lay back down.

“Answer the question, Sarah.”  Or forfeit now was writ between.

Sarah pressed a hand to her forehead and then sat up angrily.  “Why?  Why waste a question on something so trivial?”

“Why not answer something so trivial?”  He’d slung an arm across a propped knee.  Gloved fingers flexed.  “Besides, I rather thought you were too tired for my other questions tonight.” 

Sarah frowned, looked away, and then ran a hand through her hair.  “I don’t know,” she said finally.  “I never spoke to anyone about it.”  A weak laugh.  “I’d half convinced myself it didn’t happen.” 

Jareth said nothing.

“But it did, didn’t it?”  Quieter now.  “All of it.  Toby was just a baby.  I decided he wouldn’t remember and if I could forget, why should he need to know at all.  Know that his foolish sister wished him away.  Selfish sister.”  She amended, refusing to look at him.

Still he said nothing. 

Her nerves felt raw and guilt and anger vied for control.  She suddenly hated the smug look she imagined on his face. 

“Wished him away to someone far worse than I ever was!”  Sarah lay down again, her back to the fire this time.  “Then she won him back and tore the whole kingdom down.  It was her story to keep or share.  To the victor goes the spoils,” she finished quietly. “The end.” Only it wasn’t. And they both knew it. 

She waited for his snide retort.  None came. 

Sarah sniffed, “You won’t tell him, will you?”

“I won’t have to.”  He said finally; neither threat nor promise. 

Sarah stared up at the night sky.

I move the stars for no one…

Sarah wanted to tear them all down.

When her eyes opened again, it was even darker than before.  Too dark.  She shivered uncomfortably.  The fog of sleep gave way to unease when she realized the fire was out.  Unease to panic when she realized she was alone.

She sprang to her feet.  “No, no, no, no! Damnit!” 

A thousand possibilities bottlenecked in her mind and rendered her useless.  She spun helplessly.  “Toby!”  The woods swallowed the sound almost as soon as it left her lips.  She turned around and called again.  Nothing. 

Sarah’s heart skipped when something snapped in the darkness.  Her breath misted.  “Toby?”

She was half afraid something would answer. 

And then light.  Faint at first. Moving slowly between the trees. White.  Floating.  Flickering.  Jareth’s crystals?

A sigh of relief.  Then panic again as they moved further away.  “Wait!”

She hurried towards them only to snag her jacket on one of the standing stones.  Tugging at it wildly, Sarah screamed when the rock began to move.

 “Hush now, tiny mortal,” rumbled a deep, gravelly voice as though the earth itself was moved to speak.

“Yes, hush girl, else we decide to break our long fast,” came another voice, as deep as the one before. 

Even in the darkness, Sarah could see that the black cairn stones were not volcanic ash, but great sitting giants made of stone.  The one nearest her held the leather of her jacket between two thick fingers.  Sarah dropped her hands. 

“It has been ages since I ate a sweet tender man,” said another, sounding wistful.

“This one’s a girl.”

“Same difference, stupid.”

One sighed longingly.  “I don’t even remember the taste.”

“Like chicken, I think.”

“No, that’s chicken, idiot.”

“How ‘bout we compare?”

The sound of rocks heaved forward.  “Girl-thing, you haven’t got a chicken with you by any chance?”

Sarah pulled wildly at her coat.

“Calm child, we do not take flesh anymore,” rumbled the one holding her.  “Not since ours turned to stone.  Not since our first sun.”

“But we could grind her bones just for fun,” suggested another hopefully.

 “Enough.  We watch.  We do not eat.”

“Not fair,” grumbled the third. “It’s been such a long time.”

Sarah was strangely reminded of the false alarms in the tunnels beneath the Labyrinth.  The thought was fleeting as the orbs were almost out of sight.

“I don’t have time for this! I have to go!  They’re leaving!”

The stone giant did not let go.  “Stay within our circle, girl.  We are the Watchers. It is not safe in the woods tonight.”

Sarah struggled in earnest now, feeling the jacket begin to tear.  “Let me go!”

The stone fingers immediately parted and Sarah tumbled to the ground just outside of the circle. 

“Foolish child.”

“Come back,” called one.  But Sarah was already on her feet and running through the wood.

“Too late. Too late.”

“He will be mad.”

“Pity about the girl.” 

And then they spoke no more.

The roots, which had been a nuisance during the day, were lethal in the dark.  Sarah fell half a dozen times, her shins bruising and clothing tearing.

 “Toby! Wait damnit! Answer me!”  But no matter how fast she ran, she could not reach the light.  They moved too fast and too far until she’d lost all sense of direction.  

And then they flickered out altogether. 

Alone in the blackness.  She could no longer see anything at all.

“Toby?” she breathed.

Something shifted and creaked, like old wood rending and snapping, and then the lights appeared again. Far to her right.  Sarah made for them blindly.  In the back of her mind, buried beneath the fear and panic, was a keen, confused disappointment.  He’d taken Toby.

And left her.  

‘Don’t believe everything you read in a book…’

Lies bound in red.

And out they went again. 

Then a flicker to her left.  Farther away still. 

“What game is this?” she hissed, fear creeping up her spine to further fuel her anger.   “Please!”  It was half command, half supplication.

The light flickered out again.

It was cold.  So very cold.

“Stop this right now!”

Silence and then a thunder so loud she flung her hands to her ears.  It sounded like the great trees were falling all around her.

Lights flickered to life less than ten feet before her.  Relief sizzled to the surface and then boiled away.  They were not crystals at all. 

Strange, stark flames. 

They seemed to both burn and freeze with a too bright light. Sarah began to shiver uncontrollably.

And then they burned a path directly for her. 

Sarah scrambled backwards, caught her ankle on a limb and fell hard on her back, the wind knocking from her lungs.  Her hair, spread around her like a crown, snagged in the roots and held fast, pinning her to the ground. The strange fire coalesced and then split into a ring around her.  The ring parted and a figure cloaked in shadow entered and tilted its head, considering.  Sarah could feel a sort of cold amusement from it.  And beneath that a ravenous triumph.  The figure reached for her, long fingers enclosing around her wrist. Searing pain blossomed at the touch.  The other hand slid towards her neck, but as it brushed back the collar of her shirt, it released her suddenly.  The snarl of inhuman fury shocked Sarah’s burning lungs into filling with relief. 

“No!”  Only a croak.  But gloved hands gripped her and hauled her to her feet effortlessly.

“Why did you leave the circle!” The Goblin King hissed, his face a mix of anger and something else altogether.

Sarah stared at him wild-eyed, and then around her.

Trees.  Just trees.

It was still the dead of night but the pervasive dark had returned to the deep cover of night.  

Jareth shook her roughly; his jaw hard set. 

Sarah pushed at his hands, but his grip was implacable.  “I-I was following you!” she finally managed.  “I woke up and you were gone.  All gone! And then I saw your lights… but they weren’t yours – they weren’t lights at all!  Why did you leave?”  Sarah pushed against his hands again.  “And you took Toby!”  Her voice rose in accusation.

“We never left.” 

“We didn’t!”  Toby’s small voice cut in.  Sarah looked down at him, until then unnoticed.  His face was white.  Worry and fear were etched into his features and only now beginning to fade.  She looked back to Jareth and he nodded.

“He-he woke me up because you were missing.”  Toby looked between them and then shuddered.  “He was so angry! And he,” Toby lowered his voice conspiratorially, “even y-yelled at the rocks.  Then we went looking for you, but we couldn’t find you.”

“That’s impossible…”

“And yet here we are.” Jareth’s voice was more even now, but his eyes were still too focused and fever-bright. 

“I don’t understand.” Sarah pressed a hand to her forehead. “Was I dreaming?”

But the evidence was now before her face.  Bruises encircled her wrist like a brand.  Her clothes were ruined as well; her shirt in tatters.  Sarah pulled her ruined jacked tighter.

Jareth’s hands still gripped her and when she met his eyes again, she got the wild idea he was about to draw her into his arms in comfort.  His fingers flexed on her shoulders.  And then Toby tugged against her waist in a sloppy hug and nothing more was said.  Without releasing her completely, Jareth made way for the boy.  After a moment, he slid one hand down to her lower back to lead her back to the clearing.  She was still so cold and his hand was so very warm, even through the layers.  With his other arm he directed Toby and they walked in silence back to the circle. Sarah was surprised to see how far she’d apparently gone. The fire was still burning and the rocks were nothing more than rock… unless perhaps you turned your head a little that way.    

Sarah almost wanted to protest when Jareth finally let he go.  His hand lingered for a touch too long, fingers curling against her spine, and then moved away completely.  Sarah slid closer to the fire and splayed her hands.  She lightly traced the marks on her wrist and then pulled her torn sleeve over them.  She’d deal with her clothes tomorrow.  Adrenaline had given way to exhaustion.  She felt a blanket fall about her shoulders.  Toby smiled at her crookedly.  She tugged him down with her to the ground so she could tuck the blanket around them both. 

Jareth returned to his spot by the fire.  He still looked far too pristine, but there was now a trace of weariness about his eyes, as though he too was spent.  Toby had already begun to snore softly and his body had gone limp.  Sarah carefully manoeuvered them so they were both lying down, close to the fire.  The flames were so different than those in the dark.

She shuddered.  “Will it happen again?” Please don’t let it.

“Not tonight.  Sleep.”  I won’t.

And whether by her body’s bidding or his, she felt the first waves of unconscious begin to draw her under.  This time she didn’t protest.  The last thing she remembered was a flash of white wing.

From the trees above, a lone owl kept watch through the night; its hunter’s eyes trained on something watching from the shadows. 

Chapter Text

And to watch.

She looked rather peaceful in sleep. Almost innocent. He could see the pale shadow of the girl she'd once been, within the woman she'd become. He supposed that she might look like that every morning. And every morning after. It roused thoughts that were complicated. Conflicting.

Denied for ten years, he savoured this opportunity. Her mouth was slack and her darkly fringed lids were still; he knew she did not dream. Another unasked for gift that would receive neither recognition nor thanks. He'd surprised himself with his generosity and for a moment wondered if he was softening. He shook the vile thought away.

He glanced over at the boy – a more endearing fellow than he'd expected despite the incessant questions - and then back to Sarah.

He'd thought that she'd wanted him to draw her into his arms last night. Her face had been quite unusually unguarded. But his rage had been too potent and he hadn't trusted himself to be kind. Or moreover, not to do more than hold her. Push her and the Sarah he knew would run. It didn't matter that there was nowhere left to go, he much preferred when she stood and fought back.

A rueful smile then.

Truthfully though, he enjoyed the chase too.

When next Sarah woke the stars were gone, and for a wild, sleep addled moment, she wondered if she'd succeeded in tearing them all down. The sky was too bright though and she was too warm. The light was once again that strange molten gold.  It took a minute to process where she was and whom she was with in the small clearing.

It was morning - still early then - she guessed. Despite sleeping on the hard ground, she didn't feel stiff at all, and despite the fire banked, she was cocooned by the most delicious warmth. The desire to just fall back asleep tugged at her until something decidedly furry tickled her face and made her shoot upwards. Her limbs were bound, and she panicked until she realized it was only some type of covering. She disentangled herself and shook it off. It was a fur-lined cloak. The cloth was thick and rich and made of a deep moss green finely embroidered with silver knotwork. The fur was a dark ivory with even darker wisps of sable speckling it like an egg. She stroked it hesitantly and then sank her fingers into the plush. Softer than silk and warmer than sunlight. She snatched her hand back when she felt his eyes upon her.

"I assure you it's quite dead," Jareth offered dryly. "It won't bite."

There was no denying from whom it had come. Wordlessly, she folded it and set it away from her; perhaps her hand lingered first. Toby was still softly dozing, so Sarah rose to wake him.  She sank back down when her ankle screamed in protest. With the pain came the belated remembrance of the lights in the dark. The marks on her wrist had faded but were still visible. Cold-fire burning. Hands reaching for her neck. She touched her collarbone and her finger brushed something metal. She fingered the chain from the necklace she'd forgotten she wore. The token the professor had given her. She was on the point of pulling it free to examine it, but felt his eyes tracking her movement. She let it fall back down.

With some effort she stood to find as long as she avoided putting pressure on her foot, she could move without pain. Sarah tested that threshold experimentally.

After several beats he huffed. "Let me see it."

"It's fine."

"Another lie."

She flashed defiance. "I'll be fine."

"And one more. You layer them rather like cake."

Rustling alerted Sarah to the fact that Toby had awoken during their spat. He blinked at them with bleary eyes and sleep-tousled hair. "Cake? Oh, what's wrong?"

"Your sister is hurt and far too stubborn to admit it."

Toby looked to Sarah questioningly.

"It's nothing, kiddo. Really. Just my ankle is a bit… stiff this morning."

Toby looked back to Jareth. "But you can fix her, right?"

"Now that is the question."

"Very funny." Sarah collected her bag and took a shuffling step towards the trees. "Time's a-wasting."

"Come, come, Sarah. You cannot walk for any length in your condition. You'll be quite useless to us before long." He pretended to assess her. "And while I could probably carry you," Sarah bristled, "I suspect you'd object to that arrangement too."

"Sarah," Toby urged. "We need you. Max needs you."

Game. Point. Match. Stupid Toby.

Sarah glanced between the earnest expression and the smug one, and then hobbled over to a rock, trying hard not to think about their exchange the night before. She extended her injured foot and began to remove her boot. She winced as she pulled it free, and again more keenly when she removed the sock.

Her ankle was red and swollen, and though she knew it wasn't broken, it was probably a decent strain.

Jareth gracefully crouched at her feet. The leather of his gloves was cool and velvety-soft against her skin when he finally touched her gently. He slowly drew her pant leg back, one hand cradling her heel, the other sliding up her calve. Sarah felt her breath hitch and she fidgeted to cover it, watching him with owlish eyes.

He tsk'd lightly, but enough that she felt his breath ghost against her leg.

"This really is not necessary."

His long fingers drew patterns on her skin. "The stoic martyr never did suit you."

"Neither did the damsel in distress."

Those fingers stilled and then moved again. "No. Not that either," he agreed, catching her eyes.

"Do you always wear gloves?" Sarah blinked at Toby's sudden intrusion. He peered over Jareth's shoulder.

Jareth's lips bowed. "Always. Don't you like them?" He curled his thin fingers around Sarah's ankle, his thumb rubbing a pattern against her bone.

Toby nodded. "They look pretty badass."

"Toby!" and "We'll have to get you a pair then" collided in midair.

"Wait, what about when you pee?" Sarah choked back laughter at Toby's bluntness, even as the Goblin King's shoulders hitched.

"What? Ohhhh! Maybe you don't pee. Sarah said you weren't human. But I've seen you eat, so-"

"Suffice it to say," Jareth cut him off midstream, "there are some things that should remain a mystery. But yes, I've been known to remove should I really want to touch something. There." He released her foot, though his fingers still idly traced patterns on her skin.

Sarah looked down, the ankle no longer red, and flexed it experimentally – trying very hard not to think about Jareth taking his gloves off. Perhaps slowly…

"So do you-"

"Enough questions, Toby!" Sarah's words cut sharply. "We need to keep moving, right?" She quickly pulled her sock and boot back on. When she stood, she added a quiet, "Thank you."

The Goblin King rose too, still standing a shade too close. "I did warn you about midnight walks." He fingered her torn shirt. Sarah glanced down. Her jeans were ripped in several places but her shirt was in the worst shape. Buttons were missing, revealing a slash of stomach and a fair of amount of everything else.

Sarah swatted his hand away and picked up her bag protectively. "I'll be right back, Toby. I assume I can leave him here safely?"

"Or I could save you the trouble."

"I think I can manage to dress myself," she replied stiffly, her mind flickering for a moment to a silvery ball gown. Moving towards the cover of trees, she hesitated and then snatched up the folded cloak too, muttering something about showers.

Toby watched her retreat and then turned back to Jareth with surprising shrewdness. "You like my sister."

The Goblin King's lips parted. "Like is perhaps not the word." But he inclined his head, inviting the boy to continue.

Toby nodded. "Thought so… I like her too," he paused, "but why do you like her?"

"That... that is a long story; one that is far too complicated for right now. And parts of it aren't for young ears."

A belated look of comprehension crossed his face. "Gross!"

Jareth's lips twitched again. "Does it bother you that I 'like' her?"

"I dunno…" And then a fierce look suffused his face. "But you should know that she's mine. She was mine first. Before," the ferocity bled to guilt, "Max. And before you."

"Is that so?" Amusement laced the Goblin King's tone. "I admire your conviction. However, Sarah is under the impression that she is her own. I do very much plan to disabuse her of that. Perhaps you'd like to be of assistance?"

Toby mulled the king's offer. Adults often dismissed him or at best deflected. Even Sarah. Rarely were they honest. Jareth had not told him it was none of his business. That mattered, Toby found. A lot.

"I don't think Sarah would like it if I helped you behind her back. She doesn't…er, trust you."

"And do you?"

Toby fidgeted. His child-bred desire to be blunt warred with the manners his parents had carefully instilled. "I… I don't know." He wanted to though and Jareth could see that. Use that.

"Wise boy. But you like me." It was not a question.

Toby nodded honestly.

Jareth ruffled his hair until the blond locks, a bit in need of a cut, splayed wildly. "We're old friends you and I."

Toby smiled, though it faltered into a frown for a moment. "How old are you?"

One blue eye glinted. "Older than you think."

"Oh. Karen – I mean mom - calls older men who chase younger women cradle robbers."

Laughter echoed in the silent woods. "Oh my boy, you have no idea."

Once Sarah felt she'd gone a reasonably safe distance, and assured she was alone, she removed her jacket and replaced it with the cloak. It was voluminous enough that she could remove all of her clothes beneath the cover of its folds. It felt a bit ridiculous and juvenile - like a shy teen girl in gym class – but getting undressed in a preternatural forest was an unusual experience.

Her movements were quick and perfunctory, but the repeated sensation of fur brushing against her bare skin had it prickling to awareness. She stilled, her ruined clothing at her feet and the fresh ones in her hands. The silky strands teased her breasts like finger tips dancing across them. Tracing patterns. The thought sent a shiver straight to  her core and it settled between her thighs with an unexpected throb.

It was ridiculous to feel anything close to it, given the timing. If anything she was entirely vulnerable. Exposed. Instead she felt bold. Powerful even, like some sort of woodland witch.

Or a queen, whispered an insidious voice.

Cloaked in fur and magic.

Maybe the woods were having an effect on her.  Or shock had destroyed her reason.

Before she'd registered her intention, she'd dropped her clothes and cupped her breasts beneath the cloak, sliding her thumbs across her nipples. Yes, powerful. Another answering throb between her thighs.

She was like Freya. Gods would fall at her feet. It was a giddy, absurd but almost an intoxicating thought.

She'd once volunteered as a nude model for a friend's art class in her first year of university. It seemed like the sort of thing a free-thinking and confident woman would do at her liberal college. It was something her beautiful Bohemian mother would have done. She had certainly done edgy "artistic" nude spreads for magazines in Europe. Her prudish father had tried to keep them from her, but she'd found out about them soon enough at school. Guys had wondered aloud if she looked as good naked. Some had straight up asked. It stopped bothering her eventually and she stopped thinking about it.

Years later when she'd arrived at the art class, she'd been ready to drop the robe and be as confident and beautiful. And then her hands had frozen. On the wall was a framed black and white photograph of that very mother, naked and draped across Jeremy's lap in a pose that was both provocative and vulnerable. The expectant faces in the room blurred. They would laugh. She could already hear it in her head. Laughter at her naivety. That she was a pale shade of the woman before her. And suddenly she was in the ballroom again and just as out of place. Sarah had croaked out an incoherent apology and fled.

But her hands weren't frozen now and she found the memory no longer held any bite. She was punch-drunk or sleep addled, or perhaps it had been too long. She had most certainly lost her mind.

It didn't matter.

She allowed the fur to brush over more of her; imagined letting the cloak fall open as she did. Her hands trailed down her stomach. Perhaps they were not her hands at all, and perhaps, just for a moment, they would ease…

A twig snapped behind her.

The sound cut through her haze immediately. Sarah snatched her hand away and clutched the cloak closed reflexively. She turned carefully, willing her face to cool.

Jareth watched her silently.

"It's rude to sneak up on someone." They both knew he'd snapped the twig intentionally.

"I was rather doing my best not to startle you." He took a tentative step towards her. "But you were taking so long." Keeping her eyes on his face, Sarah tried to subtlety toe her clothes under the cloak. Hoping he hadn't noticed. Another step closer and his boot came to rest on her jeans. "I thought perhaps you needed my assistance after all."

"I'm fine." Her voice was a little too high to be believable, even to her own ears. "I just need another minute."

"Are you certain?" He idly fingered the fur trimming. "I think you look rather perfect. The colour is the same shade as your eyes."

His knee dipped forward, just nudging the part in her cloak. If she wasn't clutching it closed, it would have fallen open. For a brazen moment she considered letting it, if only to shock him. He always seemed to have the upper hand and he always expected her retreat. She shook the insane thought away. Focus, Sarah.

"You're not thinking about my eyes right now."

"Neither are you," he countered.

Her bravado fled and Sarah craned backwards. "I. need. a. minute. "

Jareth merely stared at her, his hand still hovering on the fur. Finally he stepped away. "A minute. This time."

Cursing her complete lapse in judgment, she dressed and balled the cloak under her arm roughly before returning to the clearing.

Toby glanced up when she emerged between the stones and then back to Jareth. She missed the look of understanding that passed between them. Discarding the lovely cloak on the ground, she repacked her bag.

They had not left the cairn stones long behind before Sarah began to hear what sounded like drizzle. A few moments later she felt the first cool drops of moisture against her skin. It had been more than a day since she'd properly bathed and it was fine enough to just be refreshing. She turned her face up into it.

Toby gasped.

Sarah's eyes widened as rivulets of crimson slid down his shocked face. She wiped her own. Her hands came away red.

The forest was bleeding.

The red rained down from above as though the leaves were shedding their colour like paint from a canvas. When a droplet met her tongue, she wiped at her mouth, half expecting the distinctive metallic tang of blood.

Instead sweetness.

Like that of too ripe fruit. She finished scrubbing her mouth and looked to Jareth questioningly. He was completely unmarked. Aggravatingly so.

"Harmless."

Sarah frowned, naturally disbelieving, and shook her arms out like an angry, freshly bathed cat.

"Consider it the forest's morning ritual. A daily rebirth as it were."

Toby, who'd just been through health class and had overheard too much about his brother's delivery, screwed his face up in disgust.

But just as soon as it had started the light rain slowed and then stopped altogether. The beads of red that clung to forest floor of tangled black roots soaked into the thirsty wood.

"How easy for you to say when you don't look like a horror movie," seethed Sarah, as she wrung out her hair.

In the next breath, she could feel it seep into her skin too, as though leeched by her very bones. A strange soothing sensation hummed through her veins and with it the unmistakable tingle of magic. Her nerves were dancing. She exchanged a panicked look with Toby and then viciously clawed at her skin as though she could excise it.

"Curious," Jareth remarked and he gingerly lifted a few strands of her now dry hair, letting them slide through his fingers. "I had wondered what it would do to mortals."

Sarah mouthed 'bastard' and slapped his hand away. He held onto her hair just long enough for it to sting. "You said you wanted a shower."

She mouthed it again but Jareth was already walking on. Toby tugged her along, still scratching at his own skin.

They walked for another hour or so, and apart from the morning's surprise it was beginning to look like it would be another day of endless trees. Sarah never thought there could be anything as infuriating as the Labyrinth with its entire disregard for order and rule, but she was mistaken. At least with the Labyrinth she'd felt as though it was a series of tests with decisions to be made. Right and wrong. Left or right. Up or down. In the tangled woods she was blindly following. Even Toby had given up his ill-conceived attempt at playing I Spy. Is it tree? Yes. Is it a tree? Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

She picked at her tingling skin again.

Toby, catching her expression, caught her hand and said in a mock-scared voice, "Sarah, what about the R.O.U.S.s?"

After a beat Sarah straightened and scoffed, "Rodents of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist."

On cue Toby pretended to attack her, snarling with all the ferocity of a thoroughly bored and imaginative ten year old.

Sarah squealed as she tried to keep walking and hold the 'rat' at arm's length. She caught Jareth's raised brows eyes above Toby's head and sobered. "It's from a movie."

"A classic movie," Toby amended.

"Yes. Your brother has told me of your penchant for fantasy."

Sarah shot Toby an accusing glance. He shrugged in response.

"Lots of people like them."

"Full of damsels in distress rescued by shining, noble heroes?"

Catching the mockery in his tone, Sarah bristled. "Sure that's one type of story. Not all of them though. There are plenty where the heroine saves the day. I can deconstruct all of the tropes for you if you like, list all the clichés, wax poetic about the hero journey, but basically it's all entertainment. Some better than others. At most a well-crafted story and at least just an escape from reality."

"The reality you are so desperate to return to?" he countered pointedly.

Recognizing they were treading into dangerous territory she ignored the question.

"Sarah usually finds the heroes boring. She prefers the villains," Toby supplied helpfully.

At his sister's look he immediately held up his hands. "Get back, witch!"

Sarah's lips twitched. "I'm not a witch, I'm your sister!"

Toby sighed, "So much worse. I think I'd rather deal with an R.O.U.S."

As though on cue, something moved in the forest undergrowth. A flash of russet tail and the skittering sound of claws scraping on wood, before whatever it was disappeared high into the trees.

"Ah!" screamed Toby, practically jumping onto Jareth. "I take it back! I take it back!"

"Be still, boy." The Goblin King shook him off with only mild irritation. "If it wanted to eat you, it would have done so already."

Toby swallowed. "So what did it want?"

"Not everything is about you. Despite what your sister may have led you to believe. This forest keeps its own council. Long before you and long after."

Toby nodded, not fully understanding but feeling properly chastised.

Sarah swallowed shakily, her own hand against the pounding of her heart. She reached to squeeze Toby reassuringly.

"Perhaps if you'd explained anything, he wouldn't be so scared." We wouldn't be so scared.

"Or perhaps he'd be more." There was no laughter in the Goblin King's voice this time.

They resumed walking. Without breaking pace, Sarah opened her bag and dug out her papers. She took stock of the remaining food and water, somehow less than she expected, but didn't feel any inclination to eat. She idly wondered if Toby had eaten anything for breakfast even as began scanning the notes.

"Do you think you'll find the way to your brother in there?"

"I think it's the only way I might get any answers," Sarah replied acerbically.

"What little faith you have in me, Sarah."

"If by little you mean none, then yes."

"How you wound, you cruel thing."

She caught his eye and smiled beatifically. "If only I had that power."

"If only you weren't so blind."

Something in his voice made her conviction waver.

The forest followed suit. Everything shifted and reset itself, like an image going out of focus and then clearing. The sensation was unsettling and both Toby and Sarah felt their legs momentarily give out. Jareth looked unaffected save for a slight exhalation of what might have been discomfort.

Sarah put a steadying hand on a gnarled root and then snatched it back when the tree moved.

No… slithered.

And then uncoiled, untangling itself from within the knots.

The forest floor undulated and rippled, while roots snapped and re-wove, until a great serpent-like creature rose before them. Its large gleaming scales were as black as the midnight wood in which it was entangled. Its angular head was fringed with long dark wisps, as jagged and furled as the roots. They splayed out like a lion's mane. Above its sharply defined snout, lambent eyes - iridescent and reflective as a prism - considered them unblinking from a great height. Within their depths, crimson flames flickered to life and when its great jaw parted, heat washed over Sarah's face, bringing with it the cloying smell of ash. Of fire.

Sarah's stomach roiled even as it spoke.

"Who disturbs my sleep?" The voice was deep and low, and thrummed not unlike the woods themselves. "Who stinks of rot?"

Sarah took a cautionary step backwards; Toby, clinging ghost-white against her leg, followed. Here be the dragons, she breathed. Terrible and beautiful. The great Wyrm of all good sagas and she without a sword.

Something landed heavily down behind her and she saw that its great body stretched farther and longer than even she'd imagined. It had coiled around the surrounding trees, leaving no way forward or back.

Sarah and Toby edged towards Jareth.

The serpent tracked them. "Ah, so the King of Goblins crosses my threshold. Did it singe its white feathers?"

Toby fidgeted then and the eyes trained back to him like the viper it resembled. "And here's the rot. You bring me dead food?"

Dead? Sarah mouthed, even as it occurred to her 'food' was of more pressing concern.

The Wyrm weaved and bobbed like a clock's pendulum. "Dead now or dying later. Makes no matter. It is the same."

Toby squeaked nervously, "But we aren't dying." Then a desperate whisper to Jareth, "Are we?"

It weaved again, steady and hypnotic. "You are mortals. You've been dying since the moment you were born." Toby's brow furrowed, but it directed its attention back to the Goblin King and voiced its displeasure. "I do not eat dead things."

"Then it's a good thing I did not bring them here to be eaten." The familiar wryness in his tone comforted Sarah and she calmed slightly. "Though you were not always so discerning, were you?"

The Wyrm hissed, expelling a noxious cloud of ash. "My palate has refined, unlike yours it seems. If not for judgement then why dare bring them, king of low? What good are they but for eating or swiving?" It considered the pair again. "I did not think your taste ran to boys. Do you plan to fuck the one and eat the other?"

Toby's eyes widened at the crassness, now understanding swiving, even as Sarah's hands clamped over his ears.

Jareth snorted indelicately.

"We've come to get my brother back," Sarah supplied with a measure of both fear and awe.

The serpent seemed to vibrate and it took a moment for her to realize it was laughing in its way. That it had been laughing for a while.

"I ate my brothers before they hatched. Much simpler. But if that is your foolish quest, dead girl, so be it. It is surely not his."

Jareth met her eyes but offered neither confirmation nor denial. Sarah's hands curled reflexively. Helplessly.

"I'm well aware… but then perhaps you'll help me, oh great…dra…wy… one."

The Wyrm cocked his head, its fringe furling, and Sarah got the impression it was waiting for more.

At a loss, she awkwardly dropped her to knees.

For a beat the other three stared at her incredulously.

"Is she… is she serious?" The serpent asked Jareth finally.

"Seriously asking for your assistance?" A thin brow arched. "It would appear so."

The great Wyrm vibrated again. "Oh no," it protested. "I have no dealings with mortals anymore. I offered but a measly fruit to a mortal once and was smeared for it forever after. Didn't really even offer it. Tempted? Bah!" He scoffed. "Try just suggesting the stupid, starving thing should bloody feed itself. A mercy really and what did I get in return? Millennia of bad press." It considered Sarah. "Though you wear a good deal more clothes these days, I'd imagine you're just as useless. Nay, I will not make that mistake again. I gnaw on wood not bones. Good day to you."

Sarah, who'd been rising in embarrassment, sank back down heavily and stared up incredulously. "You mean you're… and…"

Jareth didn't bother to hide his enjoyment. "I told you mortals never get it right."

The great head bobbed in agreement. "I was innocently maligned."

"Innocently?" the king scoffed. "Well that's perhaps a touch far."

"Semantics," it hissed right back. "They are all the same. Bringing rot and misfortune wherever they tread. A cousin once helped a simple-minded fool find her way, and in thanks the twit destroyed a kingdom. She nearly wiped out his home in the effort. What thanks! From what I know his poor wife was never the same." It bobbed at Jareth. "As you well know."

Jareth inclined his head in agreement. "Very tiresome."

Sarah eyes widened further and she motioned an inch with her fingers. "Blue hair? Cousin?"

The Wyrm towered upwards, displaying its great size. "Distant."

But in the next instant the fire behind its eyes blazed and faster than a lightning strike it leveled its great head with hers. Every breath fanned her hair outwards like a bellows; the heat blistering her face red.

"And so must you be the same she." All levity fled, leaving only dragon flame and serpent cunning. Its eyes were hypnotic, and try as she might she couldn't look away. Distantly she heard Toby keen.

And then it blinked and rounded back to Jareth.

"So the loose-mouthed tree rat didn't lie and yet another wager is lost to that feathered ass." It rounded back on Jareth. "I thought you wiser than this. What game do you play, Goblin King?"

He held his gloved hands wide. "They seek their brother and I am but their guide. We keep our own council, Old friend."

The last words were clipped, and if Jareth was intimidated by the great beast, Sarah couldn't tell. She was still quivering from the intensity of its stare and her skin burned as though singed.

The Wyrm sidled from side to side for a moment, casting them in shadow with each pass. It was hard to tell if it was angered or rattled. The Goblin King tracked it indifferently.

"We will be watching," it hissed finally. With surprising dexterity it uncoiled itself from around their clearing.

"As always," intoned the king. He looked upwards and inclined his head briefly, before clasping Sarah's wrist to pull her away. When she looked back, the forest behind them was still and the great Wyrm was already lost to the tangle.

Sarah stumbled behind, eyes glassy, and glanced unseeing at the papers still crumpled in her hand.

"Was that Nidhogg? That was Nidhogg wasn't it?"

She felt his shrug. "A name. One of many."

"Then the 'tree rat' and the 'feathered ass' are...?"

"Equally nosy? Watching right now? Yes to both."

Sarah processed the information. Toby tugged on her sleeve but she mouthed 'later'.

"And… and when he said he gave a fruit to a mortal once…"

This time she felt his laughter.

"Dear god…"

"Rather the opposite, or so your story goes. How quickly you knelt before him."

Sarah tugged her hand free in annoyance. "Not the worst thing I've ever asked for help."

Jareth's lips curled.

"And is he really related to-"

"On his mother's side I think. We all have a black sheep in the family."

Sarah couldn't tell if he was being irreverent or not, and despite feeling depleted and angry, she started laughing. Toby laughed too, understanding none of it, but beginning to feel left out.

"This is all… very overwhelming." Excitement tinged her voice and underlying that something akin to fear. Foundations were crumbling. "You have to understand, I thought they were all just stories."

"Just stories," he mocked. "And here I thought you always sincerely believed what you read."

His words were blithe but their barb pierced deeply.

Sarah rubbed her eyes. "So what is your game? Since we keep 'our own council?"

"What makes you think 'our' was referring to you?" His eyes lit on Toby and then away. A glance just long enough to sow the seeds of discord.

"You ruin everything," she hissed.

His reaction was small - only a slight tightening of his jaw that might have been missed. It wasn't. "I might say the same of you."

"You-"

"We're upsetting the boy." Jareth reached out and ruffled Toby's hair affectionately. It was more upsetting an action than if he'd slapped her.

She roughly pulled a confused looking Toby into her. "You're not his father."

Jareth laughed coldly. "And you're not his mother." Her lips parted, prepared to deny, but he pressed on. "Admit it. You love that he needs you. That he turns to you. A small part, one you've buried so deep you think you can ignore it, is thrilled every time he chooses you over his own mother." A gloved finger pressed to her chest. "Inside, you still want all the focus on you."

Nerves frayed, Sarah pushed him. It was childish and immature, and she'd have cause to regret it later, but in the moment her visceral reaction was deeply satisfying. He'd clearly not been expecting her loss of control and, like a cornered animal, she'd had more strength than she'd expected. He stumbled backwards, his feet catching the roots and only by inherent grace managed to remain upright.

"Sarah-" Toby pleaded, confused and concerned.

"I need a minute." Her voice was still vicious, but the ire was directed at Jareth. Softer then, "Just give me a minute." She backed away into the wood. The Goblin King watched her retreat, his hand resting lightly on Toby's shoulder - either comforting or restraining, it didn't matter; both fueled her anger. And he knew.

She had no intention of going far, certainly not enough to court danger. She needed a reprieve from mercurial goblin kings with their wicked tongues full of words meant to beguile and harm. Lies.

And truths.

Insidious self-doubt churned in her stomach until she collapsed against a tree and breathed unsteadily. She dropped the sack at her feet, papers still clutched in her hand, wishing for a moment that she could just drop it all. Forget about them all. Reset her carefully constructed world that had seemingly been unravelled in just a few days. Play with her toys and her costumes.

And it was all his fault. Again.

Which him though?

Self-doubt coupled with guilt. And what of her mistakes? What webs was he weaving for Toby now that she'd succumbed to self-pity? When had she'd decided it was ever okay to leave them alone? She wiped angry tears away.

Her thoughts still splintering, she was on the point of returning when a comforting hand landed on her shoulder. Another brushed her damp cheek and tipped her chin up to meet green eyes.

"Mom?" She breathed, stifling the scream. "How?"

Her mother smiled then – a kind and gentle one that warmed the greens to golden. The hands that cupped her face were soft. A mother's hands. Sarah hadn't felt those hands on her face for so long. Too long. Her skin prickled with childhood remembrance and thirsted for their touch.

"But how?" she whispered again, even as she knew it was impossible. That it was a cruel trick and that if she had any wisdom whatsoever she'd run or scream.

"You needed me." The voice, long honed on the stage, was melodic and even. Sarah hadn't heard it without the barrier of a telephone for more than two years. It was pure music.

"I've always needed you." Accusation was there, but yearning too, and Sarah covered her mother's hands with her own to hold them in place.

"I'm here now," she hummed and pulled Sarah's head towards her breast.

At the last moment Sarah resisted. "But how?"

"Don't you know that you're special, Sarah? You have such power, my child. You brought me here." And Sarah did know. Had always known. She was special. She was meant for so much more; more than even her successful beautiful mother. She'd known before the red book. Before even him. Everyone would love her. No one would ever leave her. Everyone would know her power.

Nodding, as though she agreed with all of Sarah's wild and unspoken thoughts, she pulled Sarah's head back to cradle on her chest. "They don't understand how special. But they will."

Even the smell was so right. Learned in the cradle and remembered to the grave. Mother.

Her skin was so soft and she was so warm. She needed more of it. Sarah curled her arms around her mother's back, pressing them together tightly. She felt her mother smile against her head and it was bliss.

Everything was going to be better… even as her fingers seemed to tangle in her mother's long hair. Hair that was somehow too rough and too stiff. And her hands seemed to sink into her mother's back and become ensnared further.

Sarah tried pulling back to no avail. Her mother shushed her softly, her voice still melodic and soothing.

With mounting panic Sarah realized they were sinking too, or the earth was rising to meet them. Her legs felt rooted to the ground and the smell, so distinct to her mother, was mixing with that of wood and loam. Her mother was pressed too tightly to her; she could not decide where she began and where she ended.

Sarah opened her mouth to scream but her mother, no longer looking motherly at all, was there instead, pressing her lips so tightly to Sarah's that even her breathe was stolen. Teeth, too sharp and too jagged, scraped against hers, as a tongue slid into her mouth in a parody of a lover's kiss. Sarah choked.

In that moment, three things happened: Her wrist began to ache, something burned against her chest, and the creature that had been her mother was torn away from her. Sarah fell to her knees painfully, coughs wracking her body until she thought she might vomit. Her hands and wrists were welted with bright red lines and her lips stung fiercely. The air around them was charged.

The creature that had been her mother had shed its visage and instead stared balefully at her from beneath long, pale tresses that pooled on the forest floor. Berries and leaves were woven through the strands. Other than her long hair, she was naked. She was still beautiful, too much so to be human, but her hands and feet were all wrong. Spindly and long, the skin gave way to what looked like dark wizened bark. It grinned at Sarah with a mouth that was black and empty. Sarah recoiled.

The smile faded to a scowl when it turned to the silent Goblin King. He was encased in his black armor. Cold fury burned in his eyes, and the creature skittered away brokenly, with a sound like scraping wood. It cowered, enough that Sarah could see the creature's back was completely hollow like a dead, rotted log filled with jagged thorns.

The creature canted its head between them, abject fear for one and naked hunger for the other.

"We get so few," it pleaded. The voice was still melodic in its cadence but it too was now hollowed and entirely devoid of anything human. "She was lost and pained, and her thoughts called to us." It turned to look at her again, hunger perhaps overriding fear. "Come to me, child, and I will make it all go away. You can be so much more than this to us. Special. Like you've always wanted."

Whatever compulsion Sarah had felt before was gone, leaving only revulsion.

Seeing her disgust, the creature pressed. "He'll just use you. Not love you like I can. Better than the mother who abandoned you. You won't like where you're going. Down, down into the heart. You're safer here with us." It began to crawl disjointedly towards her, limbs cracking like snapping wood.

"Enough." The command in Jareth's voice was cold and when he moved towards it with obvious menace, it screeched and shot backwards. The ground parted beneath it, roots spreading open to pull the creature down like some paroxysm of unbirth. At the last second it shot Sarah a vicious look and with an impossibly long reach snatched her bag, dragging it towards the pit.

"No!" Sarah dove forward and grabbed for the straps desperately. The creature smiled and pulled both the bag and Sarah towards the chasm with surprising strength and speed. Sarah felt Toby throw himself onto her legs, and for a moment they were all falling until she was swept upwards, hands empty, and pressed against a very solid and obviously livid body.

"You stupid girl!"

The creature howled with loss. With inhuman rage it tore the bag to shreds and slid down between the deep roots. Clothes, food, and water flew into the air and were likewise swallowed. Sarah flailed in Jareth's arms until he deliberately dropped her with a curse. She landed with a thud and immediately clawed at the roots and dirt, desperately snatching for her scant possessions.

"No, no, no, no!" She grabbed for a bottle of water, teetering on the precipice. A booted foot nudged it off the edge.

Sarah looked up at him murderously.

"What a pity," his voice was still cold. The roots snapped shut, like teeth colliding.

A moment later a chunk of broken iron shot up as though coughed out. Jareth dexterously caught it midair and then pointedly dropped it beside a still seething Sarah. He stepped away and hauled Toby to his feet and brushed him off.

"That was very foolish, boy. I expect more of you even if your sister is determined to find every possible way to get herself killed."

Toby, looking rather contrite and decidedly rattled, whispered loyally, "She was just trying to save our things."

"At the expense of her life." He eyed her. "How cheaply sold."

"It wasn't her fault." Toby's tone suggested it was as much of a question.

"No," he offered quietly. "No I suppose it wasn't."

Sarah expelled a stuttered breath and pushed herself off the ground. As she did, her hand brushed leather and she saw that the red book she'd forgotten she'd packed had somehow survived. She tucked it into the waist of her jeans as she rose to collected her crumpled notes.

"Sarah, she-it- looked like your mom," started Toby carefully.

"It wasn't," Jareth replied. "It might have been anyone that fit the need. Forest sprites are cunning."

Sarah waved a hand. "I was a fool. I knew it wasn't real." She wasn't ready to be absolved by him anymore than she was prepared to ask forgiveness, but she'd made a stupid mistake and she'd be more vigilant going forward. She wiped her mouth, her lips still stinging and her tongue tasting of wood and spit. "Toby, do you have any water left?"

Toby dug through his bag until he found a half-filled bottle. He handed it over apologetically. "That's it." Sarah turned her back, rinsed her mouth and spit, before carefully closing it and returning it to him.

She glared at Jareth. "What a pity indeed."

She made to brush past him, but he stalled her. His hand landing hotly on her hip. "For someone who so desperately wants to do everything yourself you seem to keep finding ways to play the damsel in distress."

She hadn't thanked him. "And do you think if you keep coming to my rescue, I'll mistake you for a hero?"

"I should hope not, Sarah." His breath fanned her neck. "I have it on excellent authority you prefer villains." He released her hip but let his hand skim across her back beneath her untucked shirt as she moved away.

An uneasy silence settled. One of many. Sarah realized that was how it would always be. Either burning insults or cold indifference. Mercurial as his nature. Perhaps hers as well. After another hour, she decided that like Robert Frost she preferred the fire.

The light had begun to fade again and with it the ambient heat. Toby shivered.

"Have you eaten, kiddo?"

"Not hungry," he yawned.

With the fading light, the fine hairs begin to prickle again on her neck. She'd never been afraid of the dark but there, in the deep woods, she could feel it rising behind them like a tide. Jareth had not provided any lights to guide their way and as much as she wanted that small comfort, half hoping Toby would ask, she would not beg. She hurried to keep pace with the king, slipping her hand into Toby's. He didn't protest. The long day's events had begun to weigh on her and she found herself pining for a bed.

Echoing her thoughts, Toby asked, "Are we going to sleep with Watchers again?"

Jareth shook his head. "There are none near here."

"Then where?" Toby asked, exhaustion and fear coating his voice.

Jareth glanced down at his wan face and then to Sarah's guarded one. "Not far.

And it wasn't. Ahead of them, nestled between the shadowy trees, was a sort of small stone cottage. Toby looked relieved. Around the single door were carved ruins of some sort. Sarah studied them. "Is it safe here?"

"As safe as can be found in these parts." Jareth's voice sounded strained. He opened the door and ushered them in. It was larger than it appeared from the outside, but simple. Furs lined much of the floor and a wide fireplace took up one wall. A low bed covered in more furs dominated one side of the room. A solid high backed wood chair wrapped in leather sat before the hearth.

The fire flared to life invitingly. It was far more comfortable than Sarah had thought to find anywhere in the midst of the Tanglewood. Toby dropped his bag on the floor gratefully and collapsed onto the bed without being bidden. The bedding was plush and clean.

Jareth closed the door behind them and the unmistakable sound a bolt catching followed. Sarah, looking around once more, removed her jacket and sank onto the edge of the bed beside Toby.

The Goblin King settled silently in the chair and crossed his long legs towards the fire. Before she could speak, he offered with a wave, "You and the boy will share the bed tonight."

Sarah, ignoring the inherent command, managed a mulish, "Thanks". Unable to do more, she peeled her boots off and stretched out beside Toby with a groan, curling her arm behind her head.

"Tell me a story, Sarah?" A small hand tugged at her sleeve.

"Really? You need sleep, kiddo." She did too.

"Come on… just one," he paused. "Like how did you know that the dragon snake thing was called Nid.. Nid something?"

"Nidhogg. It's-he's a part of Norse mythology," she sighed tiredly but already giving in. "People used to believe that he gnawed on the roots of the great world tree, Yggdrasil. The Vikings also believed that he was a horrific monster who would eat the corpses of people judged to be deserving. Bad."

"Bad how?"

"Oh, like, I dunno murderers and cheaters and liars. People who went back on their word. That was considered one of the worst things you could so in Viking society – break an oath. Anyway, they believed that he might eventually unleash the beast caged beneath the great tree."

"What kind of beast?" Toby sounded both intrigued and terrified.

"Scholars don't really know for sure. That's not important. He lives at the base of the tree and a squirrel called Ratatoskr runs up and down the trunk sharing gossip," Sarah ignored Jareth's snort, "between the serpent and the great eagle above. It goes something like,

"Ratatosk is the squirrel who there shall run
On the ash-tree Yggdrasil;
From above the words of the eagle he bears,
And tells them to Nidhogg beneath."

Toby breathed deeply. "That's pretty cool. I used to think your stuff was kind of boring when you talked about it, except for the bloodshed stuff, but it's way cooler now knowing it's real."

Sarah smiled weakly. "Yah. Cool."

"Can't wait to tell the kids at school!"

Sarah's smile fell. "Ah, Toby, you can't tell anyone. They won't believe you anyway. You certainly can't tell mom or dad." She tried for humour. "They'd never let me babysit." Another snort from the fire was ignored as Sarah chewed her lip. "Think of it like a secret. All of it."

Toby propped his head up and motioned. "Even him?"

Jareth winked at the boy. "Oh, especially me. Right, Sarah?"

Sarah continued to ignore him. "Go to sleep, Toby."

"How about another story?"

"Yes, Sarah, how about another story?" Sarah looked over when she heard pages turning.

Jareth, no longer looking quite so tired, was thumbing through a familiar red book. Her hand immediately fell to her waist.

"That's mine."

"Hmmm. And I'm sure you don't need it to tell its tale. You know the lines so well."

"Give it back."

"How did it go? Once upon a time there was a beautiful young girl whose stepmother always made her stay home with the baby. The baby was a spoiled child. He wanted everything for himself and the girl was practically a slave. But what no one knew was the Goblin King had-"

"Stop!"

"Stop?" he asked, turning another page. "But we're really just getting to the best part."

"Are you the Goblin King in the story?" Toby asked curiously, his eyes on Sarah.

"The same," Jareth smiled, teeth glinting. Even at rest, he somehow made the simple chair look like a throne.

"Go to sleep, Toby. It's just a silly story but the ending is a happy one. The bad guy loses."

"Oh. But who's the bad guy?" Toby asked.

Sarah looked at her brother sharply.

Jareth laughed then and the sound filled the small dwelling. "What a bright boy you are."

"Go to sleep, Toby," Sarah repeated, her tone now brittle. She turned towards Jareth. "I want it back."

He held the book out. "In exchange for what's around your pretty neck."

Sarah automatically pressed a protective hand to her chest.

Jareth's lids dipped. "Go to sleep, Toby." And he did.

Sarah tucked the furs over him and then turned tiredly to the figure in the chair. "Just give it back."

"Later perhaps." Jareth tucked the book into his jacket. "Unless you want to come and retrieve it."

Sarah shook her head.

"Then we talk."

"I'd rather sleep."

"Soon. Now I have questions."

Sarah's lips thinned. "Each one will cost you. I'm keeping a running tab."

"Then I shall have to make them count." Jareth steepled his fingers, his eyes on the flames. "What were you wearing under the cloak when I startled you in the woods this morning?"

Sarah's lips parted and then shut. She was relieved that most of the cottage lay in shadow. It occurred to her then that perhaps he preferred the fire too.

"I think you already know and so you've wasted a question trying to embarrass me. It won't work. I was obviously there to change and so the truth is nothing."

"Then I have another." Jareth's fingers drummed against one another rhythmically. His voice was low and even. "What were you doing just as I so rudely interrupted?"

Sarah choked. "Obv-obviously I was changing." Her words trailed into a nervous laugh.

The long fingers stilled. "What did you tell the boy, oath breakers are the worst offenders? So you forfeit?"

She swallowed.

"I'll ask again. What were you doing, Sarah?"

Chapter Text

He knew.

There was no other reason to ask. He just wanted to hear her say it. Everything between them was always in some measure nothing more than a means to break her.

Let me rule you…

And now he wanted her pride. He wanted her to just hand it to him. She felt depraved - caught red handed, even though she was an adult and it was normal. At least in better, more private circumstances. It was not even something she'd ever really done, but in the woods the desire had been sudden... impulsive... foolish. Fueled by all the things she'd tried to deny. Until he'd forced himself back into her world. And then dragged her into his. And she'd let him. Shame washed over her.

Sarah nudged Toby, hoping he would wake. He wouldn't.

"Sarah…" There was a warning in his voice.

She glared at the side of his head and cleared her throat brokenly. "You're wasting another question."

"Perhaps. But the fact that you do not want to answer suggests it's not a waste at all." He was still looking at the fire, his face limned by low light. He was all angles and sharp lines. Nothing soft. Nothing human. The flames refracted on his boots.

Sarah sat up then, unwilling to continue the conversation lying down. It was already too intimate and too invasive. Even without his eyes on her.

A low chuckle, almost a hum, greeted her protracted silence. "You could show me if you'd rather not say."

Oh, he knew. She wished she was dreaming but she felt the pull to answer or forfeit. "I… it was a moment of weakness."

"How unusual for you," his tone taunted. "What kind of 'weakness'?"

"Why are you doing this?" Fury made her voice crack.

"Stop deflecting."

She picked at the furs around her. "I… can't be sure exactly what happened. It's really not a big deal."

"And yet you will not say. You're dancing close to forfeit, Sarah."

"I know why you're doing this! It was nothing. Nothing!" she snapped. "I needed… I… had a need. It happens. The fur was soft and it felt… nice," she dropped the furs in her hands as though they were tainted. "So I enjoyed it… for a moment."

One finger tapped on the arm of the chair like a clock ticking.

"And so… so I enjoyed the feel of my hands on my own body." Her words spilled out in a rush, followed by an equally furious heat in her cheeks. "It was very brief. It was nothing!"

When he remained silent, she added quickly, "As I said I don't know what came over me. It was stupid and I was tired and it sometimes happens to mortals. Thank you for making this as painful as possible," she finished acidly, "but really, it's nothing more than an innate biological drive."

For several beats neither spoke. When Sarah finally looked up he was watching her.

"A drive," he mulled, as though he was tasting the word. "A need." He repeated, and seemed to like it better. "One I so cruelly interrupted." His voice was suddenly too raw and too close despite the distance. Like a rumbling in her ears. He wasn't teasing anymore and it was so much worse. "Tell me, Sarah. Did you cup your breasts? Did your fingers dip between your thighs to try and ease the ache?"

"Are those more questions?" She croaked in anger. "Are you quite through humiliating me?"

"No," he paused, and it wasn't immediately clear what question he was answering. "I'll just imagine it if you'd rather not say."

She exhaled noisily. "It's really none of your business and doesn't concern you at all. It doesn't matter, it meant nothing and it certainly won't happen again."

"If you say," he hummed. "I do have one final question though." She folded her arms impatiently and cocked her head in annoyance. "Feel free to count it," he added sardonically.

His fingers drummed on the arm of the chair and then they stopped. "Whose hands were you imagining touching you?"

Her brow furrowed and then tightened when the question finally registered. She threw off the furs violently and stood. "Stop this! Why are you doing this?"

"Whose hands?" he repeated, his voice liquid mercury.

Sarah paced by the bed for a moment, tugging at her hair. She almost wanted to forfeit if only to deny him the victory. But it would be at the cost of the war.

She finally stilled, arms dropping helplessly to her sides. "Yours," she hissed.

Silence greeted her forced admission. Enough that she thought he might not have heard her, despite being sure she'd half shouted it. She'd expected him to gloat or demean her.

"As I said," she added, her words tumbling into one another. "I was tired and… stressed, perhaps affected by magic. I wasn't thinking… you... convenient," she mumbled. "It-it might have been anyone in different circumstances. An old boyfriend… Anyone! It really doesn't matter."

It mattered though. And they both knew it.

Wordlessly he held out the red book.

She stared at it for a long moment and then walked forward to snatch it. His hand caught her wrist before she could retreat; cool fingers curling around her burning skin. If he pulled even slightly she'd end up in his lap.

And then he released her.

Sarah stumbled back, tucking the book against her chest like a barrier. She still expected him to leer or to gloat or to somehow shame her further, were that were even possible. She was as certain she'd try to kill him if he did.

"I hate you," she said quietly. It was a truth as well.

"Go to sleep, Sarah."

She stared at him for another minute. "It means nothing."

She turned and slid onto the far side of Toby, placing him between them, and pulled the furs around herself like cocoon. She hated how they felt. Angry tears welled in her eyes and it took the last of her strength to hold them in; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. When sleep finally came, far sooner than expected, her last thoughts were that she would find a way to see him fall all over again.

Jareth's released the arms of the chair. The wood groaned in relief.

He exhaled slowly and unfolded his long legs stiffly. Small price to pay he supposed. His decision had been impulsive but it had reaped rewards. He shifted again uncomfortably. He produced a goblet and sipped deeply. Wine to dull the ache.

It was so much easier when she was off balance. Unravelled and undone. When driven to distraction she acted rashly, and he was always fascinated to see what she'd do.

When he'd come across her in the wood, he'd had a sense of what had almost been - as though the very air was charged with possibility. And he'd caught her expression before she'd schooled her face. He found he very much wanted to see that look again. Raw and open and vulnerable. But powerful. Frighteningly so. It reminded him of that final meeting, when he'd offered everything; when she'd undone everything.

Then she had flushed, rose-hewn with embarrassment, and he'd lost all doubt. He'd been awed for a moment – realizing again that she had really grown up. That she wasn't too young to keep anymore. And that maybe he did very much want to keep her. On his terms.

A woman stood before him; one no longer on the cusp. One who had come into her own. For a wild moment he'd wanted nothing more than to part the cloak and see how far the blush went down.

He indulged in the thought of her spread bare on the ground; pale skin against the fur beneath her back. The red leaves falling and tangling in her long dark hair. Her face that heady mixture of bold invitation and soft exhalations.

And oh, those cruel green eyes. They'd bring him to kneel at her feet. It was a picture that would make any proud man fall. The forest had certainly seen such rites before.

But she shuttered herself immediately. Distrust had filled her face. And fear.

He could work with the one but not the other. Even the roof above their heads had not been met without suspicion. His wise little Sarah. It has cost him too but he'd receive no thanks.

But all walls have cracks. When he'd found the red book it suggested that the unsure girl she'd been was still there too. She was not as indifferent to him as she'd pretended. Perhaps she even planned to destroy him again. Both were appetizing possibilities.

He'd half expected her to forfeit and the possibility had almost disappointed him. For a variety of reasons, of course. But in the moment because he'd not wanted the dance to stop. Then she'd answered, each word dragged from her lips if only to deny him winning everything.

And like before her words had undone him.

'Yours'…

Mine.

What a savage victory. And how fitting the place, when he was finally free of constraints.

She should be thankful that he hadn't pulled her into his lap and showed her that his kind could be driven too. He'd have like to see her shock before he stopped her protests with his mouth. And then he would show her just what his fingers could do. Remove every stitch until her body was bathed in firelight. He'd trace the shadows that danced against her skin. First with his hands and then his mouth. Perhaps his teeth so he'd could leave a trail of where'd he'd been. One she couldn't deny.

A light snore from Toby reminded him that for now it was a pyrrhic victory. She was lucky he was there or he'd remedy his forbearance. Peel the furs away like skin from a fruit.

Instead he would spend the night in the chair. Spent in every way save the one that mattered. Yet another denial that would go without thanks. He must be feeling magnanimous.

'Yours'…

He'd just have to get rid of the boy.

As planned.

Jareth smiled thinly.

She was in the ballroom again and everything was dancing. Grotesque goblin masks leered at her. She pushed her way through the bodies but they picked and pulled at her oversized dress. Fabric ripped. Beads clattered on the floor. Fingernails raked her skin until she was all but naked.

Their jeers were deafening. She tried to cover herself in vain - to hide - even as she was pushed face to face with him. A luscious redhead purred on his shoulder and as before he shook the woman off to draw her into his arms.

Into steps they'd danced before.

But now she was exposed and his smile was far more cruel. With one hand he pinched her chin and for a moment she thought he was going kiss her, and she knew that it was not going to be kind.

Instead he laughed and that hurt far more. He pushed her away roughly and she landed on the floor. Hard.

The sound of glass breaking and dancers screaming. Everything was falling.

She landed naked amongst black trees and twisted roots. And from those roots the dark rose like smoke, coiling towards her.

She ran.

Branches tore at her bare skin, peeling it until she bled.

From outside the door in the still of the night came a steady banging at the door.

Thump…

Thump…

Thump…

Only Jareth reacted. The markings around the door had sparked to life.

The Goblin King pinched his brow in irritation. A flick of his fingers produced a second glass.

The pounding continued until he sighed and rose. He kicked a log into the fire, creating an explosion of sparks and then turned towards the door in resignation.

 A rush of air and the ground swallowed her.

She startled awake. The cottage was quiet save for the crackle of fire and Toby's heavy breathing.

From across the room fingers drummed on the arm of the chair.

They were not Jareth's. Somehow she knew.

The fingers stilled.

Before she could scream she was falling again.

A baby's cry.

The flash of a knife.

Red leaves rained down.

She tried to scream but they filled her mouth.

Sarah's eyes half-opened at the sound of the door closing. Her mouth was wet and she tasted blood. She'd bitten her tongue. Jareth, his back to her, had his hand pressed against the latch. He pushed away after a moment and returned to the chair.

The next time she fully woke, her face flushed with a heady mixture of remembered embarrassment and rage. It was impossible to face him again and feel any measure of power. She hated him but hated herself more.

She wasn't a foolish girl anymore. Not a doe-eyed innocent confused by pretty words. She'd felt the pull of young infatuation. She'd forged relationships and lost them just as quickly. When she'd made the bargain, it had been impulsive but she'd steeled herself for games. She didn't imagine she had any secrets much worth keeping. Any bargain was dangerous, but it had felt like a small price to pay for his help when she'd had no other options. She'd expected his manipulations but held fast to the knowledge she'd beaten him before. She would again, she thought.

Just play nice and bide my time.

When she reluctantly removed the covers smothering her, Toby's profile greeted her. He was thumbing through the red book.

"Toby," she exhaled sharply.

He held up a finger.

Every fiber in her being screamed at her to snatch the book away.

He side-eyed her and then shrugged, almost apologetically, as though he were caught reading her diary. In a way he was. "It was digging into my stomach."

Sarah studied his face for any indication of what he was thinking.

He finally closed the book, his young face thoughtful. "Is this like your favourite book? You brought it with you and told me not to bring any comics."

Sarah cleared her throat awkwardly. "It's… it was important to me. In a way."

Toby nodded as though it was explanation enough. "It was a pretty good story, I guess. I've read better. The ending was weird though. I mean she won but it wasn't like a real happy ending though, right? And I'm still not sure who the bad guy was." He swung to look at the figure in chair curiously.

"Toby-"

He turned back. "Well, I mean he took the baby but only because she asked him, right?"

Sarah cleared her throat again, lips thinning. "Right."

"But then she got the baby back again. So that was good."

Sarah nodded slowly.

"I wished Max away. So that means I can get him back too, right?" He sounded hopeful.

Sarah took Toby's hand. "We will."

Toby glanced back towards the fire. "I guess he does sleep sometimes. I wonder what time it is." He rose, leaving the book on the bed. Sarah tucked it into her chest but then panicked when she saw him moving towards the door.

"Stop! Toby, don't open it! We should wait. Until he says," she whispered, surprised at her own reaction. He mind was fuzzy with half-remembered scenes.

Toby shrugged and moved towards the fire, now all but dying. He cleared his throat loudly. Nothing. With an unsteady hand he touched Jareth's shoulder.

When the king did not stir, Sarah approached.

Jareth's face was still; his marked eyes shuttered. The thin lips were slightly parted, enough that she could tell he was sleeping deeply.

Watching him was its own intimate invasion.

His normally angular features were just as sharp in sleep, but there was an overall softness that was unexpected. His hands lay slack on his thighs, fingers splayed.

Toby waved a hand in front of Jareth's face then turned to Sarah with an impish smile.

"Maybe you need to kiss him?" Toby ducked behind the chair to avoid a swat. "Like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty? Like he's enchanted or something."

"Toby…"

He held his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm just saying!"

Unmatched eyes opened and they lit, unfocused, on the siblings for a moment. The fire went out with a hiss and the room was suddenly much colder.

Sarah and Toby both sobered immediately.

"Planning to slit my throat in my sleep?" His tone suggested levity, but there was something else beneath. He stretched, ignoring Toby's gawping face and Sarah's pallid one. Whatever tiredness he'd shown the night before had apparently gone. He looked polished and poised.

Sarah, at a loss for a brush or a change of clothes, returned to the edge of the bed and vainly finger combed the snarls in her hair. Toby, indifferent to morning ablutions, pulled his last change of clothes from the bag.

"You should eat something, kiddo."

"I'm not that hungry."

"But you haven't eaten since…" Sarah frowned, her fingers slowing, "yesterday?" She was unsure when she'd last eaten either. She'd intended to skip this morning to make up for the lost bag but she felt no pang of hunger anyway. Not even the caffeine withdrawal she should be feeling by now. As with most academics she was practically sustained by it alone. "Strange." Her frown deepened.

After wiping her face with the barest amount of water, she pulled her boots back on with reluctance. More for sanity's sake than her feet; she couldn't abide another day of walking beneath endless trees. "How much farther?"

She'd expected silence, so was surprised when he spoke.

"Not long. We'll find out today one way or the other." He volunteered no further details but Sarah clung to to the hope of 'not long'. It conveyed her desperation.

Toby, now dressed, took a small bite of trail mix - pointedly, while Sarah was watching – chewed woodenly and then stuffed it back in his bag. Sarah added the red book and then pulled on her own jacket, patting the pocket to make sure her notes were still there. She kept her eyes averted from Jareth as much possible, assuming he'd allude to last night's confession at the slightest provocation. She planned to avoid any further altercations until she managed to reclaim some ground. Or they all died horribly. Whichever came first.

Part of her wished he'd just do it but he barely spared her a look. There was no offer of clean clothes and no barbs about her messy hair. No mention of last night at all. He'd decided to play nice or had forgotten.  The latter was unlikely.

The door opened and bathed them in the amber glow. Jareth waited just outside expectantly. Sarah offered to carry the bag, but Toby mimed 'as if' and stepped out.

As she crossed the threshold, a flash of green caught her eye. She faltered. The cloak hung by the door at eye level.

He'd not forgotten.

The door closed behind her and she felt his presence at her back. Sarah bit her tongue and joined Toby.

Jareth took the lead. Though they'd both fallen silent, Toby and Sarah had more spring in their step, buoyed by the thought that they were getting closer. That it would soon end. For Sarah, finding Max meant closing the doors. All of them. An end to it.

The thought made her think of her friends with a familiar pang. She was happy for Toby's company, but she suddenly missed the trio quite sorely. They'd been allies as well as friends. They certainly hadn't been a child to protect. She winced, her thoughts treading too close to unkind. In truth, she was as much a liability as Toby was in the woods. If anything, she'd already proven more foolish and inept than a ten year old. She needed to re-find the Sarah that had routed a goblin army, not the one shamed by a king.

"How do you think the… er the other me, is doing with Mom and Dad?"

"Hmm?" Sarah asked.

"I was just wondering what the other Toby – I mean the fake me - is doing. Like I wonder if Mom and Dad notice anything different."

Her parents had been so far from her mind the question took her by surprise. "Oh… I'm sure it's fine."

 "Toby! Toby! Get down this instant! Robert, he's doing it again." Karen pulled her husband into the kitchen and motioned towards their son.

Toby waved at his father from atop the refrigerator. He was emptying a box of dried pasta into his mouth and crunching loudly – broken noodles flying about like shrapnel. After chewing for a minute, he spat them out and dumped the rest of the box on the floor. He instead grabbed a dusty bowl of wax fruit and took a large bite of one. To the astonishment of his parents he took a second.

Toby's grandmother peered at the display from her den. She had a hand pressed to her heart, concerned her pacemaker was malfunctioning and this was God's way of taking her.

Her cat, unfortunately, took that moment to enter through the kitchen kitty door. Toby's eyes, catching the movement, widened and then honed. With a toothy grin and to the sound of his mother shrieking, he vaulted off the top of the fridge and leapt into hot pursuit of the poor feline.

After a moment's shock, Robert lunged after Toby with a bellow. Karen collapsed into a linoleum chair and considered calling the family doctor to set up an appointment for when they got home. She wondered if it was some kind of early puberty.

Toby's grandmother did something she hadn't done in years: she fished out a set of rosary beads and poured herself a stiff gin and tonic - well before noon.

"Just fine I'm sure," Sarah repeated. "Don't worry." Toby nodded slowly.

It soon became apparent that they'd missed the forest's morning's ritual. She was thankful for the respite even if it meant they'd lost time, after all there wasn't ticking clock this time. Until the realization hit. Max had been gone for more than three days.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost didn't notice when the trees gave way to a small clearing, in the centre of which was a small little lake, not much bigger than a marsh or pond. It was the only water they had seen since crossing the sea. The surrounding tree roots stretched to the water's edge, sank beneath the surface, and then rose back upwards towards the sky - creating an arched bower over the still water. It was almost cathedral like.

Toby skipped towards the shore and then whistled. "It must be deep. You can't see the bottom."

Sarah joined him. Though very clear, it was indeed very dark. As if the basin sank right through the earth. The surface of the water was as calm as glass and in it her reflection stared back. And then it rippled. For a moment she was younger. It rippled again and she was much older. Toby too seemed transfixed, touching his chin and cheeks. She wanted to dip her face into it. Instead she drew Toby back.

Jareth had settled himself against a trunk. He watched them idly, his staff tapping against his boots rhythmically.

When he didn't do or say anything, Sarah finally broke. "Are we waiting for something?"

"Not something, someone." He offered nothing else.

Annoyed, but intrigued, Sarah settled herself on a root a comfortable distance away. Several minutes passed. "And they'll find us?" She glanced around again at the otherwise nondescript woods.

"If they choose."

She frowned. "And when should we expect them?"

"Never and always." Sarah shot him a withering glance. He ignored it. "Are you feeling restless again?"

Sarah was saved from answering by a soft tinkling sound – almost like a wind chime. Whatever it was was getting closer.

Jareth stood, his hands smoothing his jacket.

Through the trees three cloaked figures emerged in a procession. They wore long robes of many fabrics, adorned all over with coins - resembling mummers. Each carried a large silver pitcher. They were preceded by a small goblin carrying a wooden staff. From its apex a white light shone brightly.

The three figures entered the clearing and bent once at the water's edge. They filled their pitchers from the pool and only when they were filled, did they acknowledge they were not alone. The goblin eyed them indifferently. When it realized its masters had stopped it sat down and began picking its nose, somewhat undermining the solemnity of the procession.

Jareth bowed. The figures dipped their heads in acknowledgement and set the water at their feet. They drew back their hoods and Sarah was surprised to see they appeared like mortal women save for a strip of fabric across each of their eyes. The first figure was a young girl in the first bloom of youth. The second was a grown woman, softly curved and glowing. The third's face was as lined and care-worn as any crone in a story book.

With their hoods drawn back, Sarah could see that they were bound together by their long sable hair. It was chaotically woven into interlocking braids.

"You seek our aid," spoke the woman. Her voice was rich and warm. "How bold to come into the heart."

"It has been a long time," agreed the maiden, "since you have visited us here." Her voice was lilted and high; child-like save for an underlying quality that was anything but.

"And such bad luck, when I'm too old to care," wheezed the crone. Her hands pulled at her cheek in annoyance. With something akin to horror, Sarah realized that their faces were sewn on. A row of neat stitches ran the profile of their faces. The crone picked at a loose thread. "How this one itches so. 'Tis time to trade."

"Not for another 87 moons, as well you know."

"She always tries to cut short her turns!" agreed the girl.

"Oh, your turn comes!" snapped the crone. "You should be thankful you'll finally grow some tits again!"

The girl clutched her flat chest protectively. "Better no tits than ones that brush my knees."

The woman held up her hand. "Sisters! Cease your bickering. It pains my ears. And we have guests. The web weaver brings mortals into our midst."

The girl took a step towards Toby and touched his chin softly. They looked of an age but Toby shivered involuntarily at her approach.

"We don't see them here." She seemed to examine him. "I was at your birth, child... and yet... did we not cut your thread but 12 moons ago?"

"Not yet, sister. Not yet."

The coins on their cloaks shimmered when they laughed, speckling Toby's face with dancing lights. Sarah's hand fell to her brother's shoulder protectively.

The crone canted her head. "Nor yours, despite the frays."

Jareth who'd remained almost deferentially silent, finally spoke. "We seek your aid in finding another mortal. A baby brother who was taken."

The three figures laughed, the coins jangling again. "You think because we are blind we do not see, fallen king?"

"You play the hero now."

"But you wear more faces than we do, my boy."

Jareth inclined his head, but she saw him tense.

"You are bold to come when we can bring such pain. As well you know."

"And such kindness," Jareth countered.

"That too, though they always forget the one for the other."

"It's lucky we enjoy you and the games you play. Sometimes even we cannot see your ends."

"But how can you se-" Sarah pressed a hand over Toby's mouth, muffling his words.

"Sometimes death," nodded one.

"Sometimes rebirth," nodded another, as though it mattered little to them which.

Jareth inclined his head again. "In your honour, of course."

"Bah," croaked the crone, but her tone was amused. "It is always for your own gain, but we like your cheek."

"You used to bring such delightful gifts," the girl added coyly. She turned to the goblin who'd apparently fallen asleep while chewing on the staff, and kicked him awake. "Some better than others." It smiled boldly back through a mouthful of splinters.

"And I've not forgotten this time, lady." Jareth produced a crystal and rolled it across his fingertips enticingly. "Your favourite. Such sweet dreams these. Of every sort. Do you want it?"

The three figures moved forward in unison as though transfixed. Jareth spun it just out of reach. "For the way to the babe?"

"For your ends or theirs?" the old woman cackled. "Choices, choices." But she too reached for the crystal with naked avarice on her face.

Jareth deftly spun it out reach. "Come now. Only I dare bring you gifts."

"The rest are cowards," agreed the crone, but then she nodded towards Toby and Sarah. "Perhaps they have payment in kind?"

Sarah shook her head. "I didn't bring any money."

"We don't need money," she scoffed, jangling her dress loudly. "The dead give theirs freely."

"Then we have nothing-"

"Except your face," mused the woman. "It is pretty in its way. I've worn better perhaps, but it has a charm."

Sarah recoiled, her hand automatically creeping to her cheek.

"It's not ripe for the picking," interjected the girl. She canted her head. "And I don't care for the colour. Faces we have a plenty and there will always be more to be had when we bore of these. I want his gift. As promised."

Jareth smiled. He sent the crystal spinning once more, pretending to consider to whom to give it. He finally dropped it in the maiden's outstretched hands. She snatched it close to her before her sisters could reach. When she opened her hand she held two eyes that looked as though they were was carved from pure light. She pulled the gauze from her face eagerly, revealing two black, hollow sockets. She popped them in like marbles and then moaned in pure delight.

"Oh! 'Tis wonderful," she breathed.

"Is it? Is it? Then you must share." Her sisters crowded her hungrily.

"You greedy brat, you've had your turn!"

The girl held them off protectively. "Mine first. You'll have them when I'm done and not before."

"So we shall."

"Or we'll not trade our face til you bore of silly childish things and yours rots away to your old one."

"And the babe?" repeated Jareth.

The three figures bobbed absently. "As agreed." Together they touched the staff and the light flashed brightly, blinding Toby and Sarah for a moment.

When they opened their eyes it was as though a veil had been lifted.

Surrounding them in all directions were glowing threads in every colour - zigzagging between the trees, seemingly without end. They crossed and looped and converged into the orb like a spool. Neither Toby nor Sarah could move, they were so hemmed in, and from their centres two glowing strands joined the rest.

The sisters plucked at the threads like a musician playing an instrument.

"Beautiful aren't they? So fragile." Jareth brushed the one stemming from Sarah. He curled it around his finger and then released it. Sarah was half scared to breathe.

The crone held a dark stone blade, and as she felt along, she cut a few. One here. One there. Each time she did the glowing thread sparked and burnt away.

"They all pay the price eventually." She waved the blade. "Would you like to cut one, boy?"

Toby swallowed and shook his head.

The crone laughed, coins dancing again, and cut another with an indifferent swipe. Sarah winced with every snick.

"Ah, here it is. The one you seek," cooed the woman. She held up a deep red one, spun with faint gold.

The maiden dropped her own threads and moved closer. "How curious…" She turned and looked at Jareth, her glass eyes keen. "What a game you must play and with such pieces."

When the crone too approached, blade still in hand, Sarah shot  forth protectively, driven by half remembered fragments… a knife flashing down in the dark… a baby crying…. "Don't!" she begged.

The old woman clucked. "Not mine to cut. No coin today." Instead she took Sarah's trembling hand and closed it around the thread. "Hold on tight now, girl."

The orb flashed again and the rest of the threads vanished, leaving the lone strand stretching from Sarah's closed hand and disappearing deep into the woods.

Toby waved his arms around experimentally, touching his chest and feeling the empty air.

Sarah stared down at her closed fist. It beat in her palm like a pulse.

"Our thanks, blessed ladies," Jareth offered.

But the three ignored them all. They picked up their urns and moved back into the forest, tipping them onto the hungry, thirsty roots as they went.

Sarah watched them leave before asking, "This will lead us to Max? Like crumbs through the forest?"

Jareth nodded. "Until it fades, but yes, long enough to bring us near."

"Because you didn't know the way." Her voice hitched in accusation.

"I did, in fact. I knew enough to bring us here and what to offer in return," he replied. "You know who they are, Sarah."

She gave a slight nod. "And why you were so un-characteristically deferent."

"But who are they?" Toby asked. "Why didn't they have eyes? Did they have an accident?"

Jareth snort. "Accident? No. They cut them from their own heads because they saw too much and wanted to be free."

Toby mouthed a wide eyed 'oh'. "I could swear they were looking right at me."

Jareth patted his head. "So they were. They see what matters. And they learned a long time ago that no one is free."

Toby struggled to digest it all. "But how can they still see? And what were all those threads? Was their water magic too? And-"

Jareth held a hand up. "So many questions, boy. Ask your sister. She needs the practice."

Sarah ignored her brother's tug and the taunting words. "So you offered them dreams. Whose?"

"Does it matter? They never sleep, Sarah. They desire most what you take for granted. Escape. Everything that isn't and will never be." His lips curled. "Sadly, it won't last. They will break them or lose them. As always. And if not, one day they will fade as dreams do."

"Your gifts are smoke and mirrors." There was a bleakness in her tone.

He matched it. "Not all. Not the ones that matter."

"But why only one?" demanded Toby, his face still puzzled. "There were three. It's hardly fair."

"That's the point. It wouldn't suit his ends if they didn't need him," Sarah replied acerbically.

"Not everyone gets exactly what they desire," countered Jareth. "And it's never fair. For anyone."

Sarah turned away, wrapping the cord firmly around her wrist but carefully, terrified it would snap. "If this won't last then we should hurry."

Jareth inclined his head. "As the lady commands."

They made their way through the woods with Sarah in the lead. The thread seemed to shorten on its own, staying taut to her wrist no matter how much ground they covered. She could feel its steady hum against her skin. Max.

As the day passed it was reassuring in its way, spurring Sarah to walk faster. Come on, feet. I can do this. Again. Toby and Jareth kept a quiet pace at her heels.

She didn't notice it start to fade until the day's light had begun to dim as well. Nothing lay ahead but more trees. She quickened her pace, fingers curling reflexively tighter around the thread. Toby, seeing her panic, drew alongside her and wrapped his own smaller hand around the thread, as though he could help save it by will alone.

And then they started to run.

The steady pulse of the thread had begun to soften as well, slowing until she could barely feel it. When it finally ebbed to nothing, she gave a muffled sob and stared bereft at her empty hands. Toby bent over and breathed heavily at her side. Her muscles burned but all she could think was that they should have run faster. Cooled sweat slid down her back. Her messy hair was plastered to her neck and face.

"We should have started running sooner," she sniffed. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes until one escaped and slid down her cheek.

A leather clad finger wiped it away before lightly tipping her chin up.

Before them stood large imposing stone doors, resting within a stone archway  connected to nothing. No wall, no building. Nothing. Cairn stones surrounded them. Runes and symbols, some Sarah recognized, were deeply etched into every surface. The doors themselves were carved into an archaic depiction of a tree – the roots mirroring the branches in their knotwork. There was no beginning and no end.

it unsettled her deeply, in a way even the Norns with their stitched faces had not.

Sarah turned to look up at Jareth, but he was gone. In his place stood the Goblin King encased in his midnight armor and wraith-like cape. It lifted in the light wind.

When she looked at his face, she felt an even deeper chill slice into her marrow.

His expression was victorious. Feeling her stare, his lips bowed into the shadow of a smile. "Oh Sarah, you should have started running a long time ago."

Chapter Text

And then the sound of heavy hooves hitting earth rumbled, drawing towards them at an alarming rate. Whatever approached was very large; the ancient trees cracking and whining in protest.

Until it all stopped, like a stopper going back into a bottle.

Trembling, Sarah pulled the tangled hair from her face and spit it from her mouth to see four men surrounding them; standing just outside the cairn stones like four points on a compass.

Each bore a broad mantle of deep red hide across armored bodies. They were bound with a silver torque in the shape of a bleeding heart. Their auburn hair dusted their necks in rope-like locks and was adorned with gleaming beads. On their heads large antlers protruded from their helmets and spread upwards towards the sky. Their expressions were hard and their dark eyes were assessing.

Jareth returned their stare with equal coldness, and then his smile deepened. "I thought I smelled a foul wind."

Sarah tensed even as the four men did the same.

"What a dramatic entrance. I hope it was not for our sake."

"That is the quite the charge coming from you," one of the men sneered.

"Yes, but when I do it I do it with style," Jareth replied dryly.

"We did not believe the tree rat, nor the winged beast, that you would ever dare," another spoke. His voice was gravelly and his hand rested prominently on the pommel of something beneath his cloak.

"And Nid only laughed," added the third. "I now see the joke. Who would believe you'd dare enter the Heart."

"Not you, Dainn," Jareth agreed. "But even a halfwit might have expected me."

"I'll happily wipe the smile from your face," warned his brother. His hand also gripped the hilt of something and his fingers flexed eagerly.

But the third stayed his brothers. "How did you find the door?" The bald incredulity in his voice suggested that should have been an impossibility.

Jareth canted his head. "That hardly matters. Here I am. And I intend to open it."

"Then you full know we will stop you," he replied.

He lacked the ire of his brothers, Sarah, and instead sounded almost resigned.

Jareth laughed and spread his hands in invitation. "I invite you to try." His cloak swirled in the windless wood like darkness readying. Sarah felt the very air begin to crackle.

The four brothers exchanged a wordless glance, assessing the king again before settling on Sarah and Toby in suspicion. "Who are the spares?"

"No one of consequence and none of your concern," Jareth replied. "Now open the door or I shall."

"You order us?" They exchanged another glance and the wind began to rise again. "By the beating of our hearts, it will never open for you!"

Jareth arched a brow in the face of their bravado. "You think not? When it has so many times before?"

"Not for an age," snapped the one called Dainn. "It was shut to you, king of goblins." The last was said derisively. "Forever."

"Forever wasn't long at all is seems. And I think you'll find it will open now. I have business within, and you," he glanced around the circle with disgust, "have bark to chew."

"Let me end him!" demanded the youngest. He drew back the hide to draw the great sword beneath.

The quiet one stayed his brother's hand. "If only it were that easy." He eyed the trio again. "The sisters led you here. It can be the only way. But why?"

"You should try charm instead of force," Jareth snorted. "Perhaps you would not fear them so."

The youngest buck laughed. "Fear? Those old hags have finally lost it if they helped you."

Jareth inclined his head. "I shall relay your regards to them next I visit. Perhaps they'd even find a use for your face."

The man's throat gave a betraying bob.

"Indeed. As much as I would love to continue this little chat," his tone clearly implied the opposite, "we must be on our way." He motioned to Sarah. "Open the door, Sarah."

Sarah stared at him and then back at the men, who seemed just as surprised by the command.

"Uh…," she looked askance at the door, and then again at the roan warriors who now were all focused on her. "I'd… actually rather not."

"For Max."

Looking at his face, Sarah did not believe him. She glanced again at the men with their drawn their weapons. She did not think they'd have any problems ending her. "Why can't you?"

Jareth lids dipped so that she couldn't decide if he was amused or annoyed. Perhaps both. "Don't you want to save your brother, Sarah?"

The elder hart skirted the edge of the stone. "Woman, whatever he has promised you, do not believe his lies. He is no friend to you or your kin."

"Perhaps we can be of service, lady," his twin offered; his large hand outstretched. "There is no corner we cannot reach."

Sarah chewed her lip and then exchanged a troubled look with Toby. "Well…" Their faces were incredibly earnest and Sarah had the impression that they were not lying. Toby shook his head as if readying her intent. She waffled. Better the devil you know, they say. Jareth had saved her twice, nobly or not. It occurred to her that for the first time that he seemed to need her... and that meant she had power over him.

And she liked it.

"Where does the door lead?"

"Sarah…" Amusement turned to annoyance. "Max is somewhere on the other side. You waste time."

"But where? Do you actually know?"

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "I know how to find him."

"And why is that? If you didn't take him as you say."

Jareth remained silent.

"Did you have something to do with his disappearance?"

"Touch the door, Sarah." His words were clipped.

"Why can't you?" She volleyed back. "Why does it have to be me? Did you have something to do with Max?"

But Jareth had apparently reached his limit and had no interest in bargaining. He turned to her viciously. "Who would you save, Sarah? Toby or Max?"

She blinked at him in shock, his question only just registering even as she felt the pull to answer or to forfeit – stronger than ever before. His machinations angered her. "What? Why are you even asking that?"

"You can save only one. Toby or Max? One dies and one lives. Answer the question or touch the door. NOW."

Sarah felt Toby's eyes on her.

"Or do you forfeit then?"

"No!" Sarah snarled. "Damn you!" She shot him an equally vicious, brittle look and approached the doors. The four harts watched her warily, their faces a mix of confusion and suspicion. She tentatively pressed her palms against the door and then yanked them back a fraction of a second later. "There!"

Though she'd already stepped away, the brief contact had apparently been enough and the carved tree began to glow a molten red. She felt an answering warmth in her own body, the strongest in her chest and wrist.

The heavy doors parted with a groan.

By the time the wind began to howl in outrage, Jareth had ushered them between.

"I'm sure this utter failure will not be counted against you," he called to the brothers over the din. The doors closed behind them.

In the woods, four massive harts stomped their hooves in frenzied anger and their antlers gouged the ground in deep gashes. Then just as suddenly they were away. North, South, East, and West. Faster than the winds that trailed them.

It had begun. 

Once the doors closed, all light was swallowed and all sound too. The ground gave way as though the earth had tilted and tipped them off an edge. There was a sudden rush, then a tug like a coiled rope going taut. The smell of salt was in the air as everything fell away.

When everything settled and righted again they were standing on a small hilltop in a bright sunny meadow. The sky was a dazzling azure blue. Sarah had almost forgotten it could be any colour other than mutes yellows and grey. The tall, verdant grasses rolled lightly in a fragrant breeze, and it felt impossibly like the most halcyon day of summer. The tangled woods were completely gone, replaced instead by a lone apple tree and a small stone cottage next to it.

Jareth kept his had around Sarah's wrist, while his other gripped Toby's shirt. The boy looked completely shell-shocked. The Goblin King's eyes were wide and bright.

Too bright, she realized, like he was feverish. When she pulled away, he faltered and she automatically lunged back to take his weight. Toby did the same. He was far heavier than he looked. Belatedly she noticed that he was back to wearing his simple clothes, his goblin armour had vanished like a broken illusion.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, as much afraid for them as she was for him.

"I seem to have over-done myself," he managed on a weak laugh, but his face was wan and his lips were bloodless. "All will be well soon."

Sarah was not feeling her best either - her stomach clenched painfully and her legs wobbled. She faltered under his weight and only just managed to awkwardly bring him to ground, herself half-caught trapped under his torso, with his head pillowed on her lap.

"Get me an apple, boy."

Toby stared down at him in confusion.

Sarah looked up at the tree above them and jerked her head towards the gilded fruit. Toby quickly plucked one and passed it to Sarah. She took it, and then holding it awkwardly, brought it to Jareth's mouth.

"You must enjoy this role-reversal," he drawled as he took a bite.

"I'd enjoy it more if I knew what the hell was going on." She watched the muscles in his jaw work as he chewed. His eyes fell shut.

Sarah began to panic, but his chest rose and fell steadily beneath his shirt evenly as though he only slept. She looked back to Toby who merely shook his head in equal confusion.

When she assured herself that he'd not just died in her lap, she reluctantly noticed that the sunlight highlighted the varied colours in his hair. Before she'd thought better of it, she fingered it lightly - surprised to find it so soft, despite its wildness. Like feather down.

Her fingers stilled when she realized Jareth was watching her slyly from beneath lowered lids. His smile widened at her obvious embarrassment.

"Don't stop on my account, Sarah. You have my permission to touch me wherever you wish." Humour danced in his eyes when he opened them fully. "I'd only insist that you grant me the same freedom."

"Not likely," Sarah snorted and tried to push him off of her in embarrassment.

Jareth stood easily and turned to draw her to her feet in one deft moment.  He kept her hands caged within his. "Permission was only a formality really." He dipped his head and pressed his lips lightly against hers. Surprise kept her still, and though it was an entirely chaste kiss, she found herself holding her breath. It was over before it began - but long enough that later she would remember little details: hair teasing her face, lips firm but surprisingly gentle... her inhalation of surprise when tasted the tang of ripe apples on him.

He'd pulled back before she could push him away and looked around, as though none of it had even happened at all.

A scowl replacing the shock on Sarah's face. Jareth took another bite of apple and then rolled it along his fingers until the rest of it vanished.

Before Sarah could demand an explanation, the door to the cottage opened and a young woman emerged from within. Her sable hair was bound in two long thick braids; the same dark colour as her eyes. Her simple dress was the shade of a stormy sea, and it was half-tucked into a looped belt at her waist. She wore laced brown leather pants beneath and tall leather boots that were thoroughly worn. A simple golden circlet adorned her head, along with a smudge of dirt across her cheek.

Her lips curved into a smile as her dark eyes lit on Toby. "And who do we have here? Who dares to pluck my apples before they are even full ripe?"

Toby reddened, though her tone was gently teasing, and he pointed at Jareth. "He made me do it."

"Guilty as always." Jareth strode forwards and soundly kissed the woman even as she cupped his face. When he pulled back, he mused, "You look as lovely as the harvest."

"You think to pay me for thievery in kind words?" But she didn't seem angry, in fact tears were pooling. "Dare I welcome you back?"

"Who could ever tell you no?" His tone sobered. "But I'd imagine welcome is not the word to use."

Her eyes fell to Sarah, pausing, and then back to Toby. "I've heard much in bits and pieces. Whispers in the wind." Her expression suggested she found it amusing. "I can therefore only imagine the true story." She canted her head. "Though I prefer simpler seeds than those of discord. I think I'd rather not know." She cupped his face again. "You look so different. Colder. I did not think to see you-", her voice hitched.

"But I am here."

"And are you well?"

"Because of you, yes." He inhaled deeply, as though savouring the air and flexed his hands. "I feel quite… myself again."

"And your... companions? Dare I ask of them?"

"You can, though you won't care for the answer."

"Perhaps." Her eyes lit on Sarah again, long enough that Sarah began to shift uncomfortably under the steady-eyed gaze. She was acutely aware that she was sweaty and dirty and her jacket looked like it had lost a fight with the cleaners. The fact that she was suddenly conscious of these things bothered her even more.

The young woman looked back to Jareth. "And will you stay? You are all welcome. It has been so long." There was a naked yearning in her voice that made Sarah want to leave them to their reunion.

Jareth covered the woman's hand with his own. "When I am finished we will have all the time ever after."

Sarah felt a stab of something indefinable. 

"And yet despite those honeyed words I fear that look in your eyes. As I always have. For what it means... and for what you will do."

"Were it anyone but you I'd say your fear is justified." His eyes were hard, but they softened when they focused on her face. "Don't fret over me. I have no intention of falling."

"I'd dissuade you if I could..."

"But you are too wise for wasted words," he finished and squeezed her hand. "We must be on our way." He released her but brushed the dirt from her face softly before stepping away. "You know I will not fail."

"I will hold you to that." And there was iron in her words.

"None have ever dared say no to you." Jareth stared at her for a moment and then bowed, before ushering Sarah and Toby away down the hill.

The woman watched them go, her hand a fist against her heart as though she were only just holding herself back. "Are you happy?" she called when they were almost out of earshot - an impulsive thought that must have escaped.

Jareth paused, his hands still lightly pressed against the siblings' backs, and then called back, "I rather think I will be." Long fingers splayed. 

The inscrutable smile stayed etched on Jareth's face even as they left the cottage and the nameless woman behind.

Sarah wasn't sure if she particularly cared for a smiling Goblin King, but she followed regardless, allowing her hand to skim the soft grass - tickling her palms as it had when she was a child. The sun was refreshingly warm on her face, with no trees to blot it out, and she'd almost forgotten how normal a sky could look.  It might have been her world. 

She desperately wanted to ask about the woman. The one he'd kissed while she could still taste his apple on her lips. There had been an intimacy in the way they'd looked at one other. As though they'd been separated for a long time and couldn't bear to part again. An insidiously familiar feeling unfurled in her stomach.

It was checked only by her anger. He'd forced her hand yet again. He'd known she would not answer – could not answer - such a terrible question. She hadn't had one, hadn't wanted one, but she was more afraid she'd find one if she'd allowed herself time enough to think.

Beneath that lay the deeper worry. Why would he think to ask her that at all?

"Was that your wife?"

Toby's question startled Sarah and her hand closed around the grass reflexively, the blades slicing her palm.

Jareth eyed the boy without breaking stride. "There is no Goblin Queen."

"Then your girlfriend?" Toby returned the king's stare unflinchingly, keeping pace despite the king's advantage.

"Girlfriend?" Jareth repeated as though he'd never heard the word and then his lips twitched. "She is not mine, if that is your question. Why? Are you looking for a wife?"

"What?" Toby sputtered and then pulled a face. "Gross! You just seemed happy to see her. Plus you kissed her."

"Is a kiss all it takes to claim ownership?"

Toby shrugged with naïve indifference. "You usually only kiss people you love."

"Mmm," Jareth offered, neither an agreement nor denial. "And what does a boy of your tender age know of love?"

Toby squared his shoulders. "I know people want it. I know it happens all the time. In movies. In old people like my parents," he rhymed off. "Even Sarah has a boyfriend. Well sort of. There's a guy who'd like to be her boyfriend. And she likes him too I think." He shrugged again. "So that's love. Or like anyway."

"Oh?" Jareth's response was deceptively light.

Toby nodded, pleased to know something about his sister the Goblin King didn't already. "Going to go for coffee when she gets back. And coffee always means something more, right?" he added innocently.

"Does it?"

"Toby…" Sarah said warningly.

"Uh huh."  Toby ignored her. "He's… um, nice enough."

"Nice," Jareth repeated, as though the word was just as foreign.

"Well nicer than the last one. He was an ass-"

"Toby!" Sarah hurried to catch up.

"He made her cry."

"Impossible!" the king scoffed.

"Oh he did! So she got rid of him. Then she made him cry," Toby finished with brotherly relish.

"Yes," the king agreed. "That does sounds more like it."

"See, dad liked him. Law school." Toby waved a hand as though that explained it all. "Even started talking to mum about saving for a wedding. Mum was all 'grandchildren, blah, blah, blah!'" Toby conveyed how dull he'd found it all. "This was before Max, when mum was all about babies," he explained helpfully.

Sarah stared at the back of her brother's head incredulously.

"How fascinating," Jareth offered politely. "And what was the lucky young man's name?"

But Sarah had drawn forward and covered Toby's open mouth with her hand. She kept it there even when Toby tried licking her palm in retaliation. "He doesn't know anything. And it's not worth discussing anyway."

"What a pity."

Sarah ignored his jab. "Change of subject." She released Toby and wiped her palm on her jeans. "What was all of that about back in the woods? Why did you make me open the door?"

Jareth kept walking.

"Where are we? And what happened to you?"

"I'd much rather discuss the not worth discussing part."

Sarah persisted. "The apple… those were Idunn's apples, weren't they? So that woman, who was inexplicably pleased to see you, was Idunn?"

"Not what I'd call her, but for your sake, yes." His lips twitched. "And she's always had an unfortunate soft spot for villains."

"You're not actually going to answer any of my questions are you?" Sarah kept pace, Toby falling to her side.

"I thought I was being rather generous. If you'd wanted to ask the questions, you should have made a very different bargain."

"You're such a bast-"

"Sarah!" Toby admonished with ill-concealed glee.

Sarah rolled her too-tight shoulders in irritation. The sun was warming her face, but her skin was prickling uncomfortably with dried sweat and she felt altogether jittery. The feeling was only getting worse.

"Damn you," she hissed beneath her breath.

"Many have tried but it never seems to take. Ah, here we are…"

The grasses dipped down a small incline to the edge of wide stream. It cut across the meadow like a jagged scar. A weathered, cobbled stone bridge arched over it, marking the only apparent way across. The water beneath was clear, but fast moving. When they reached the edge of the bridge, a dark-furry shape darted out from beneath it and barred the way - rather ineffectively given his diminutive size.

"Halt!" The creature cried shrilly and brandished a spear no longer than a kitchen knife. In fact it may have been one. "None may pass here!"

It was a goblin, though it more closely resembled the end of a chimney sweeper's broom with a very long thin nose. It was wearing an odd assortment of clothes, like it had once raided a clothes line but had had little idea how any of the articles should have been worn. A sock with a large hole in the heel was its cap.

When it noticed the king, its red eyes widened in recognition and it bowed clumsily – the sock flopping over into the dirt. "My most biggest and biggestest of apologies, your majesty! I didn't recognize you where you shouldn't be. Please don't bog us!" It squealed and curled itself into a ball. Only after nothing immediately happened and it remembered that the bog was nowhere near, did it straighten and adjust the ancient looking bloomers that formed its waistcoat.

"I won't bog you, Skub," Jareth replied benevolently. "You've been doing a very important job of guarding your bridge, haven't you?"

The puff ball nodded eagerly. "And the lady. And watching and listening and keeping all the secrets."

The Goblin King reached forward and scratched what might have been an ear. "And a fine job you've done."

The goblin preened under the rare praise and began to purr like a cat in delight. A cat that had been run over. More than once.

"And I will see that you're handsomely rewarded for your efforts."

The goblin, still purring and genuflecting as the king passed, only stopped when Toby and Sarah tried to follow. It hissed and spit, its red eyes gleaming and the kitchen knife flashing again. "Halt!"

"No, no, Skub. They are friends. Do let them cross."

The goblin faltered. "But sire… they've paid no toll." His bottom lip began to tremble. "You said none but you may cross if they don't pay a price. You said, sire! You said it's my job."

"Ah yes. And so it is, Skub. Rules are rules, Sarah."

The goblin's eyes widened to saucers. "S-sarah? The girl who ate the peach and sacked the castle?" The knife flashed again. "Shall I drown her, sire? A few holes and I can do it quick! Or slow… slow is better still!"

Sarah bristled at the king's laughter.

"Tempting. But I don't think that will be necessary, Skub." The goblin's expression begged to differ but the knife reluctantly disappeared back into his fur.

"I think I'd rather just get wet." Sarah eyed the stream, knowing that as with anything magic, it was likely not what it seemed. "But what's the toll then?"

The goblin snickered in delight. "The price to pass is as clear as glass, the secret you conceal you must now reveal."

"What kind of secret?" Toby asked doubtfully. "That's a stupid price. It doesn't even look that deep." But as soon as he approached the edge, the water churned violently and began to rise towards his feet like a snake rising to strike. Sarah tugged him back.

"Okay, not stupid," Toby swallowed. "Not stupid. A secret is simple enough." He began to think.

"It could be simple or harder still, for the price paid is against your will." The goblin grinned widely, revealing a surprising row of very sharp teeth. Without warning it reached for Toby and grasped his hand.

Almost instantly Toby's lips parted as though by rote. "It would be easier if Max had never been born."

The goblin nodded, satisfied and released him.

Toby clamped a hand over his mouth and looked to Sarah, pale faced. "I don't… I mean…I couldn't stop it!

Sarah squeezed his shoulder. "Shh! It's okay. It's normal. We all think bad things sometimes." She glared at Jareth a top his head.

"It's only sometimes. I swear! And not anymore. Not really! I love him. I do! Ah - you wouldn't think anything so bad," Toby replied sullenly, even as the goblin reached for Sarah's hand.

She snatched her hand clear. "No. He's already taken enough of my secrets." She met the Goblin King's eyes unflinchingly across the bridge. "If he wants another one, it will cost him. I think he needs me to cross anyway."

"That's not fair!" Toby whined, then chewed his lip like he was ashamed he'd said it. "Sorry," he whispered.

Jareth returned stare and then inclined his head. "She's right, of course. They're already mine to take. Let her pass, Skub, and I'll make her pay later."

But the goblin looked like he agreed with Toby and his lip began to tremble again. This time large tears welled in his eyes, dampening the fur of his face. A moment later a long drop of snot dangled from his nose, which he then sucked up and back in with a noisy sniffle. "Skub has failed in his most trusted duty!"

 "What is your duty?" Sarah sighed. :To make everyone pay a price?"

The goblin nodded on a hiccup.

Sarah padded her jacket and felt in her pockets, finally pulling out a half-eaten granola bar she'd forgotten about. She was about to stuff it back in when the goblin sniffed the air.

"Is that… is that chocolate?" it asked reverently.

"Er… yes. Do you want it?"

The goblin sniffed again. The disjointed purring sound started again, this time even stronger.

Sarah grinned. "How about I'll give it to you and you let me pass? A price will have been paid, right? And it's against my will as I love chocolatetoo."

"Skub does love chocolate…"

Sarah dangled it enticingly until the goblin, now openly drooling, snatched it and stuffed it into his mouth, wrapper and all. It swallowed loudly and then licked its fingers.

Sarah carefully pulled Toby around the creature and onto the bridge.

Jareth clapped slowly. "Is that how you so easily ensnared my subjects to your wiles? He'll be your slave for life now."

Sarah held up her hands. "You should get better goblins then. It was a piece of ca-"

As soon as they'd crossed to the other side, the world tilted again, and abruptly fell away. The same dizzying sensation of falling, perhaps not as harrowing as before, made her stomach roil until everything righted itself again.

When her senses cleared, they were standing outside another set of gates. These were surrounded by a high wall that stretched in every direction. The sky was the saturated hues of a vivid sunset. Torches were lit along the upper rim of the wall in measured intervals, painting the air with strokes of ash.

Sarah pressed a hand to her head. "I will never get used to that."

Unlike before, no one rushed to stop them at the gates. In fact the gates opened quite unbidden, to allow a belled horse and cart to exit. The driver, covered in a thick cloak and bright cap, barely acknowledged their presence above a slight nod, before clicking his tongue at his steed. Between the parted doors, a bustling marketplace lay, its occupants all as equally unconcerned with their arrival. Sarah and Toby followed Jareth within.

Stalls selling fine cloths, kettles and bottles of various sizes were haphazardly stacked beside and on top of one another. The hiss and crackle of cooking fires mixed with the steady hum of voices haggling over prices. Somewhere someone played a lively song on a stringed instrument. Men, woman and beast alike strolled amongst the shops, wearing all manner of bright dresses and cloaks. Some were armed and others almost bare, some looking almost human, others anything but. Silvery-skinned elves ducked between them and Sarah heard the fluttering of wings as tiny fairies buzzed through the space, their bodies glowing like fireflies in the fading light. A blacksmith banged on an anvil, filling the air with sparks as colourful as fireworks.

Sarah was almost reminded of a renaissance faire her mother had once taken her to, on one of the few occasions she'd bothered to visit for any length of time. Sarah had been enraptured, further still when her mother's lover had bought her the pale green gown she'd fancied. The one she'd worn in the park to rehearse lines so many times that it had started to dull.  Where she'd read from a little red book she'd found at the same place.

This time the pageantry was real - the masks were anything but and the magic was more than glitter dust.

Toby stared around slack-jawed, the pain of his stolen secret forgotten for a moment in his wonder. A glowing fairy buzzed around his face and he reached a hand upwards, until Sarah pulled it back, shaking her head warningly.

The smell of roasted meat and spices teased her nose and Sarah felt her head swim for a moment, as it had in the orchard.

"Apples and quinces… plump unpeck'd cherries… bloom-down-cheek'd peaches… come buy, come buy!"

Her eyes strayed to a stall of bright ripe fruit bearing every sort imaginable and some beyond. Two goblins called their wares with voices far fairer than their faces. "A sweet plum for the sweeter lady," one of them beckoned in honeyed tones.

"Not today," Jareth replied to the goblin, his hand at Sarah's elbow. "They are not needed here." The goblin's eyes widened in recognition and then he shared a gleefully toothy grin with his fellow merchant. They winked back at Sarah boldly.

When a baby cried out in the crowd, Sarah spun, her eyes scouring the throngs. A dwarven woman in a nearby stall nursed a plump baby back into sleep at her breast.

Sarah turned back dejectedly. Toby's mirrored her in disappointment.

A few passerby gave them curious glances, but others ignored them all together.

"What is this place," Sarah asked, surprised when Jareth actually answered.  His hand still cupped her elbow lightly as they walked.

"The crossroads. Where all paths meet and all doors lead." He eyed her wan face. "Come." He turned them, passing a stall purporting to sell eggs for all manner of beasts, and led them to a door at the base of a low stone building. A hanging sign was carved into runes Sarah couldn't read. The image of what looked like a dragon on a spit suggested it was a tavern.

When they entered, Sarah was proven correct. Patrons as varied as the market occupied the tables, some eating and drinking, others playing games. Idle chatter was a steady hum, punctuated by the occasional bray of laughter. Someone played a type of flute off-key but merrily. Dwarves delivered platters of food and passed along frothy mugs of ale; the slightly sour tang of hops permeating the space. Some type of creature was roasting in the large stone fire place. A few faces glanced their way, earning a few brows raised, but Jareth ushered them to the back of the room before minor curiosity was peaked. A very stout dwarf, his hair and beard adorned by many golden beads, greeted them at the base of a narrow set of stairs.

The dwarf eyed the pair but did not so much as raise a shaggy brow. He did not bow to Jareth, but when he spoke it was obvious he knew to whom. "A room, sire? More?"

"No titles tonight, old friend. Adjoining, but with one door and but one key. No windows. A fire lit in all and beds as needed. The usual fare." Jareth waved a gloved hand. "Payment in full."

The dwarf stroked his beard and nodded once. "Done." Without another word he led them up the stairs. At the top was an impossibly long hallway with but one door.

"A full house," Jareth remarked.

The dwarf grunted an acknowledgement as he unlocked the sole door from a heavy ring of what looked like over a hundred keys in all sizes. Once the door clicked open, he removed the key and handed it to the Goblin King.

Jareth pushed the door inward and ushered Sarah and Toby inside.

"Welcome back," the dwarf offered by way of parting. Jareth locked the door and tucked the key into his shirt.

The room was already lit by a pleasant glow from candles and a steadily burning fire. A small plush couch was set before it, with a low table. The floors were lined in thick carpets and the walls hung with equally rich tapestries, broken only by two more doors. 

The centrepiece of the room was a table laden with more food than seemed possible for its size. Jareth's early morning spread in the castle look meagre by comparison. Two candelabras shed an inviting glow over the crisp roast duck and the tureen of some type of thick steaming stew. Glazed figs and olives perched beside perfectly browned loaves of fresh rye bread. A salted roast of some sort sat beside a platter of delicately flaked fish smothered in a creamy sauce. Platters of cheese and pots of clotted creams were interspersed with glazed vegetables and beautifully sliced ripe fruit. Tortes and delicately puffed pastries accompanied by small crocks of honey and chocolate vied for attention. Pitchers of wine, ale, milk, and water took up any remaining space. Gilt plates, cutlery, and goblets enough for three were set in welcome.

Looking at the spread, Sarah felt the same lightheaded sensation make her legs wobble.

Toby approached the table with ill-concealed hunger.

"Do help yourself, Toby," Jareth invited.

"Don't."

Toby paused, torn between them.

"Come now, Sarah. It has been a trying few days on the boy. On you both," Jareth added saccharinely. "Are you really going to deny him a well-earned meal because you'd rather spite me?" He seated himself at the head of the table and motioned towards the other chairs. "When was the last time he actually ate?"

Sarah's brow furrowed and with it returned the same nagging feeling of wrongness. Toby's responding shrug of ignorance was no more helpful.

She fished in his bag 'til she pulled out the paltry remains of their supplies. "Here. If you want something eat this, Toby. You can have it all. I should have been making sure you ate."

Toby shook his head. "I just wasn't hungry, I guess. I'm not… even sure I am now, really, but this looks so good." He sank into one of the chairs and reached for a leg of duck and a generous hunk of bread without ceremony.

Jareth smiled at him indulgently, ruffling his hair, before looking back to Sarah pointedly.

Panic fully settled. "But that's the point, Toby. We should have been hungry. And thirsty. And everything else other than just tired. It must be this place that's affecting us." She chewed her cheek in indecision. "We must... not need to eat while we're here." She looked to Jareth. "I'm guessing if we haven't even been hungry we won't starve?"

"Not yet. But I imagine you're already uncomfortably hungry. Or would be if I hadn't been so generous."

"Generous?" Sarah cocked her head, hackles rising again. "Wait, what have you done?"

"Nothing deserving of that look, I assure you. Come now, Sarah, your little picnic of nuts and berries would not have lasted long enough, and I think you know that. You seemed so determined not to eat, I made certain you wouldn't miss it."

The episodes of light headedness finally made sense. "You took away our hunger."

"For a time. Now, allow me to sate it." Jareth motioned to the empty chair again.

"How dare you! I knew something was wrong. We did NOT ask for that at all."

"No. Consider it a gift with no expectation of return. Of course you were always so ungrateful for my gifts." He poured himself a goblet of wine and sipped. "And you are right that you didn't ask for it. Very well then. I'll take it back."

Almost instantly a crippling cramp gnawed at Sarah's stomach. Her hands pressed to her side as her head throbbed. Through the haze, she caught Toby's startled expression.

Jareth watched her over the rim of his glass. "I gather it's rather unpleasant. But I imagine you'll still draw the inevitable out as long as possible."

The hunger and thirst of the last few days caught up to her in a single beat of agony. She couldn't stop a whimper of pain as she into the chair.

"Hungry now, Sarah?"

Her stomach took that moment to grumble. She twisted her face away and ignored him.

"Allow me to feed you then."

"I'm not hungry enough to accept anything from you." Her mouth was so dry the words scraped over her tongue like sandpaper. "I'd starve first."

"Oh, eventually maybe. But I doubt you'd let yourself. That would be the coward's way out. I can wait until you can't. The question becomes why suffer needlessly?"

"You mean why delay the inevitable?" She wasn't certain they were still speaking of food.

Jareth inclined his head.

"Because I don't like to be backed into a corner. Or manipulated. Or blackmailed or coerced, or any of the other things you're so good at. So no, I don't want it."

"As I said." His expression didn't flicker. "I can wait."

Sarah glared at him and mutely shook her head, her eyes straying to Toby.

Jareth caught her look. "I see no need to make the child suffer because you want to martyr yourself. He can choose for himself, can't he?" He already had. Toby's plate was already cleared, a smear of drippings on his chin. Sarah cast him a disappointed look and then turned back to Jareth.

"I assure you a crust of bread won't seal his fate, and," he added pointedly, "I already noted it wouldn't be the first time."

Toby, morosely avoiding his sister's stare, was already reaching for more. "Eat, Sarah," he whispered pleadingly. "It's just food."

She unscrewed the cap of the remaining water and downed it. It burned her parched throat and hit her empty stomach with a painful clench.

Sarah stared at the food balefully, her body still jittery and off balance and her mind too starved to focus properly.

"I can make it go away again if you'd only ask, Sarah. Or," he motioned towards the feast. "You can end the pain yourself. I'm not the villain, Sarah. It's your choice."

She knew she was being foolish but it was difficult to feel so manipulated.

Toby had started on a third helping. His smile faltered when she continued to stand there. "It's really good."

Sarah watched him lick his lips with despair. "It's okay. Toby. It's my fault."

Toby swallowed, not quite looking at her. "For wishing me away?"

"W-what?" She looked at the Jareth accusingly.

"He didn't tell me, if that's what you think. I figured it out myself, I'm not stupid." There was no accusation in his voice, but it wavered enough to betray more than he showed on his face.

"I…" she trailed off helplessly.

"I read that book, Sarah, and I know you've been here… well there before.  I've listened enough to you guys talk. You aren't subtle."

Jareth snorted.

"I… I don't know what to say. Sorry," Sarah finished lamely. She had wondered if he'd begun to work it out. Toby hadn't said anything else about the book. "If I could have taken it back," she added when he said nothing more.

"I know," Toby replied bitterly. "But we don't get to take it back, do we? How come you didn't tell me?"

There was the accusation, Sarah thought.

"I thought I was broken or wrong somehow when I… I did it to Max. But apparently it runs in the family."

Jareth snorted again.

Sarah worried her hands in her lap. "I should have. I realize that now. But I wanted to protect you… from knowing too much about… this," she motioned helplessly. And him, she added wordlessly. "I thought this was all over." Toby just stared at her. "And… and I was ashamed. I was spoiled and selfish and silly."

Toby nodded slowly. "So that's what I am too then. Thought so."

Sarah reached across the table. "No way! You're still a kid. You didn't know what you were doing. Totally different story."

Toby scoffed, "So you knew?"

"Well…I…no-"

"She's right, Toby," Jareth cut in easily. "She was different. Too young to keep, too old to turn. She was a foolish, spoiled girl, but she was as surprised as you when it worked. She immediately tried to take her words back. To take you back. And when I refused, she solved my Labyrinth, enslaved my subjects, beat my… rather ineffectual army, stormed the castle, and turned the world upside down to win you back. She gave up her dreams. For you."

Sarah gaped at him.

"Now I do think you've every right to be upset, Toby. She robbed you of a very magical and exciting life as my protégé."

Toby couldn't help a small laugh. "Would you have turned me into a goblin?"

Jareth winked. "Only when I got bored of you."

Toby looked back to Sarah. "I want to get Max back, right? You know that. Even if…"

"Even if younger brothers can be annoying? I know, Toby. There is nothing wrong with you."

"Do you regret it? Getting me back I mean? Especially now that I did… that to Max," he whispered.

"Never! I'd do it all over again right now. Scouts honour."

Toby sank into his chair as though finally relaxing. In that moment Sarah realized that this was what Toby had secretly worried he'd hear from the revelation at the bridge. That she'd always regretted getting him back. That he'd been holding onto that since he'd figured it out.

"Allow me to forewarn the goblins," Jareth added dryly.

Sarah stared at him and then laughed – the slow building, eventually unstoppable kind that is born from stress and exhaustion.

Wiping at her eyes, Sarah caught Toby in a yawn, his hand on his now distended stomach. Her own groaned in jealousy. "Do you want to go to bed?"

Toby protested. "You're always sending me to bed when things get uncomfortable."

"Go to bed, Toby," Jareth drawled.

Toby immediately rose.

"There are two beds through there," he indicated one of the doors with a finger. "Sarah," he added when Sarah rose to accompany her brother, "I don't think you're quite tired yet, are you?"

Sarah frowned at the command thinly-veiled as a question.

"You're not a prisoner here. You can run and hide in your room," his uneven-teeth gleamed, "play with your toys and your costumes. But I thought you were made of sterner mettle and I suspect," his finger traced the rim of his goblet, "you'll rise to the occasion."

The gauntlet was being laid at her feet.

She joined Toby in the bedroom, giving only a cursory glance around space. Similar in décor to the main room, it included two generously sized beds, a nightstand, and blessedly well-equipped facilities through an adjoining door.

Toby had already crawled into one of the beds, having paused only to kick off his shoes. His lids were heavy.  Sarah tucked him in and he actually allowed it. Apart from staring at her for a long moment, he said nothing more and closed his eyes.

"I am sorry, Toby," she spoke after a minute – the words halting and disjointed. "I should have told you. I was just afraid… well, it doesn't matter. I have always wanted you as a brother. And all of this is not your fault. It's mine. Just know that we'll make this right. If I could do it alone once upon a time, think about what we'll be able to do it together." Toby's lips trembled but he didn't say anything and his eyes remained closed. "Goodnight, kiddo." Sarah smoothed his brow. "I'll be back shortly."

The water from the overhead copper shower was blessedly hot – on that cusp of pleasure-pain. The heat and drumming beads soothed her aching muscles. For a long time she just stood, head tilted into the cascade, and let the last few days burn away. When she finally wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, she could almost claim herself human again. Her stomach reminded her she sadly was. She had other very mortal needs.

She knew if she opened the wardrobe she'd probably find beautifully clean clothes, but she reluctantly put on a clean-ish shirt and, after shaking them out, her dirty jeans again. She left her boots off, her bare toes curling into the plush rugs.

Delaying as long as she could - repacking their bags and straightening the covers unnecessarily on both beds - she combed her hair and finally opened the door.

Jareth was still seated at the table like he'd known she'd return. His plate held an assortment of food but he wasn't eating, his fingers were steepled beneath his chin.

Sarah sat down across from him, allowing the silence to stretch to the verge of uncomfortable before finally speaking. "Thank you. For that. For what you said to Toby. You… I guess you didn't have to."

Jareth said nothing for a moment and then inclined his head. "It was the truth in as much as anything ever is. And we all play our parts."

At her furrowed brow he took a sip of wine and considered her carefully. "I wonder if it ever occurred to you that without me you would have been the villain of your story. The girl who cruelly wished away her helpless baby brother to the goblins. The babe rescued by the handsome king."

Sarah scoffed.

"If I hadn't offered you a way to reclaim him," he continued undaunted, "that would have been the end of the tale. As it has been so many times. What's said is said, after all. Oh, I suppose Toby would have made a fine goblin and the ending would have been as happy as not. But instead you became the noble knight, sacrificing your dreams to win him back. It would almost pull at the heart strings – those ones you now know are so easily snipped - unless one recalled that you wished him away in the first place. Turning yourself into the hero was quite a feat of maneuvering. Almost goblin-like in its rapacity."

Sarah stared at him incredulously. "And I suppose you want a thank you for that too?"

"You're welcome," he replied cordially.

"Are you honestly arguing that you weren't a villain?"

"Honestly? Hardly. I'm just pointing out that you were one too and I'm not sure why you feel guilty about it. The story could have easily been about a king granting the wishes of a young girl, only to have the girl thanklessly destroy his city and turn his world upside down. After all, aren't we all the heroes of our own story, Sarah?"

Their eyes sparred across the table.

Jareth looked away first. "I've never pretended to be a hero, Sarah, and I'll make no apologies for that. I defer to your skill at playing so many parts."

"I was still a child in many ways. In all the ways that mattered."

"Yes, too old to turn… too young to keep." His flicked back over her face with interest. Unspoken was the implied 'not anymore'.

Sarah looked away then, uncomfortable with truths masquerading as lies. With his brand of storytelling. Uncomfortable that he wasn't wholly wrong.

"Come now. Don't look so glum, precious. I'm not saying this to hurt you. I'd rather we came to a better understanding of one another. I admire your cruelty, Sarah. And I admire how much you try to repress it. How you try to be so good and generally are - at times. I even admire how stubbornly loyal you can be to those you love. I-"

A knock at the door ended whatever else he was going to say. Jareth rose, dropping his napkin on the table. He pulled the key out and unlocked the door.

Whomever was behind it, Sarah couldn't see. Jareth nodded and then glanced back at her, a wry tilt to his head. "I'll be back shortly. Feel free to eat as much as you like while I'm gone. I'll pretend not to notice." The lock clicked from the other side.

Sarah glared at the door and then at the still-perfectly hot food. Her stomach was cramping again - hadn't stopped really - reminding her relief was but a fork away.

She thought about dumping the contents of the table into the fire or onto the floor in an act of petulant defiance. But that would only amuse him.

And it would be a shocking waste of good food.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her throbbing temple for a moment, then swore under her breath and reached for the nearest platter. When the first mouthful reached her stomach it hurt. It was also pure ecstasy.

Every flavour was somehow too intense and yet perfectly balanced. The duck was juicy, its skin richly crackled and well-seasoned. The bread was oven-warm, the bitter bite of rye pairing with the sharpness of the well-aged cheese. After a few hurried mouthfuls, she forced herself to slow and pause. She'd heard eating too much and too quickly after fasting could make you sick. But she felt nothing, no ill effects of any kind - nothing save the desire to eat more. And more.

Persephone at six seeds. Sarah would devour the whole orchard.

She heard his approach with enough time to wipe her face, but forced herself not to hide her actions. When the door opened she steeled herself for the gloating and the smug reprisals, but she took another, less ravenous bite.

Jareth sat down gingerly, propping one arm across the back of his chair. "How do you find the fare? Everything to your liking?"

Sarah nodded without looking at him, pretending like there was nothing else behind his words.

Jareth leaned forward and hooked a finger into the lid of a pot. "Do try the stew. A tavern specialty and one of my favourites."

She stared at his hand and then inclined her head. The bowl to her right immediately filled. She took a tentative taste. The broth was rich with flavours – some she recognized and some entirely new. The meat, perhaps lamb or some other hapless creature, was tender and equally flavourful, as though it had been cooked slowly with care over many hours.

"Good?" he asked solicitously.

She nodded again.

"You'll find it pairs well with the ale."

Her glass filled with a vibrant golden liquid. She sniffed it and then took a small sip. Fermented berries and sweet honey tempered the distinctive hoppy taste of ale.

"It does. Is it poisoned?" She couldn't help herself.

"I hardly want you dead, Sarah."

Her lips hovered above the rim. "Drugged then?" but there was humour in her tone.

"Touché." He took a sip from his own. "It's just beer. I suppose you'll get drunk if you drink enough of it."

Sarah set her glass down. "Why do you do it?"

Jareth raised a brow.

"Why do you eat if you don't have to? Why all this artifice?"

Jareth laughed, "Why do anything pleasurable?" He held his glass up to the flame. "I don't have to drink it. I'm not being forced by thirst. I simply want to. It tastes much better that way. And I hunger for things the same as you, Sarah."

Their eyes met across the table.

And then Jareth picked up a fork began eating. After a moment, Sarah returned to it as well. And they fell into the tenuous but comfortable silence that comes with eating a delicious supper - one with a truce between uneasy allies. She stamped down the periodic incredulity at willingly sharing a meal with the Goblin King. One who seemed rather too pleased by the turn of events and had openly manipulated her.

When she finally felt stuffed, she dabbed her mouth with a napkin and sat back. 

"Finished?" He was playing the epitome of the gracious host.

"Beyond." The table cleared saved for the wine and a carafe of what smelled like fresh coffee. "I could almost get used to this."

"Could you?" he asked a little too softly.

Sarah shook her head. "Don't read more into that than it's nice to get what you want with little effort for a change. Like food."

"Mmm, I can only imagine. Coffee?" 

She reached for the cup and then paused. "This means nothing."

Jareth pretended to consider the cup. "It's just coffee," he agreed. "Though you and Toby seem to differ on the significance of it."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "He's ten."

"And yet has shown a refreshing amount of wisdom for a mortal."

"Ouch." But she couldn't stop another small lilt of laughter.

Jareth grinned like he enjoyed the sound.

Sarah smoothed the damp hair from her face and considered him, amusement still lifting her tone. "You're very good at turning my own words against me."

Jareth canted his head. "Not quite good enough."

Sarah looked away and took a sip. The coffee was velvet on the tongue – with just the right curl of sweetness. "So is this a truce?" she asked more soberly.

A brow arched. "Were we at war?"

"Aren't we always?"

"I thought we were two old friends sharing a pleasant meal… or had been 'til now," he added pointedly.

Sarah sat straighter in her chair, alarmed at how comfortable she felt. Was feeling. "I know we need you. And I don't want to fight you at every turn." Sarah felt the weight of his gaze. "So I suppose we are allies. For now. I just hope," she motioned at the table between them, "you don't think this means I trust you."

"Don't you?"

She looked askance.

"You may not trust my intentions, but you've lowered your guard as much as one can."

"Excuse me?"

"How many times have you slept in my presence?"

Sarah sputtered, "I really had no choice in the matter. And what are you implying? That you could have done something?"

Jareth leaned back. "Could have? Yes. Had I been the villain you paint me." He smiled wolfishly at her. "But I think you recognize that distinction. So yes, on some level you trust me, Sarah. Deny it if it makes you feel better."

Sarah pushed herself away from the table and stood, as though to put more distance between them and the complacent lull the supper had left her in. His words, while true, rankled, and she wished she could discern his real aim. "What is this?"

"Just coffee." He took a sip.

"You can't be implying-"

"Hardly something so benign. But there is something strangely intimate about sharing a meal. Breaking bread. I told you we would."

"I can assure you this was about hunger, nothing more." But it wasn't. Everything was meant to tempt. Entrap.

"Hunger that I sated. Again. Trust."

"I trust that you'll betray me."

Something flickered in his face. "Perhaps. But I do enjoy turning your world upside down."

Sarah tossed her napkin down and moved to the fire. When she turned around again, he was elegantly sprawled at one end of the sofa. She gave an involuntary startle."Is making me uncomfortable something else you want to do?" 

"I'd much prefer you were comfortable." He patted the seat beside him.

She pulled a face. "Now I am tired."

"Liar." He patted the sofa again. Wine awaited her on the small table.

"I should check on Toby."

"The boy is sleeping. Sit. Or I can continue to wonder how sheer your shirt gets by firelight."

She sat. Then turned, deciding to instead get a chair from the table, which had conveniently vanished. When she glanced back at him he looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Thorough."

"Always."

His arm was stretched across the back the sofa, long fingers close enough they could almost brush her shoulder. His legs were crossed towards her and she could see the glint of his sigil against the pale skin of his chest beneath his shirt. Belatedly, she realized he must have refreshed himself as well. He looked completely at ease. Almost happy. It had quite the opposite effect on her.

"Who was at the door?" she asked by way of distraction.

"Our host." The surprise at his forthright answer must have shown on her face because he grinned. "Dwarves are very particular about their guests. He was merely checking to see if everything was to our satisfaction."

She suspected it wasn't the full truth but it was the most information he'd ever offered. "Who were the men who tried to stop us? And what did they mean when they said you shouldn't have been able to get here?"

"The Harts?" he laughed. "Guardians of the wood. The title is more impressive than the job. More bleat than buster and barely a brain to share between them."

Sarah smirked at his arrogance. "I wonder what they'd say about you. Why shouldn't you have been able to find the door? Why did I have to open it?"

"Events long passed limited by abilities in some areas. It's a rather long story."

"I like stories."

He poured her another glass of wine. "You do, don't you? Even ones not meant to be read."

Sarah ignored the jab and accepted the glass. "What happened to you? I now know you were just bluffing to the guards. And I remember that woman," she added cautiously, "saying something about you fading. You were getting weaker but you hid it. You made that shelter for us last night, didn't you? And it was too much. So was keeping Toby and I from feeling hunger. You couldn't have lasted much longer, I think. You just wanted those guards to think you were fine. You weren't actually fine though. Not until you ate the apple."

"You are a cunning little thing aren't you?" Jareth said quietly.

"Why couldn't you open the door?"

"I think I preferred it when your mind was dimmed by hunger. You have an abundance of questions this evening."

"Always," Sarah agreed. "You just seem to be answering them for a change."

"Yes, rather unfairly too. I had to make a bargain to get anything out of you. What do I get for this?" Sarah began to protest but he continued. "You do like it to be fair, don't you?"

"I don't think you ever really play fairly. And I think I'd only end up losing. No more bargains with goblin kings."

"I'd never demand anything you're not willing to pay." He studied her face, her cheeks flushed from the beer and wine; her eyes bright from the fire and her lips parted ever so slightly. "I'll answer one question of yours in exchange for a simple kiss."

Sarah choked on her wine. Then took another sip because the fire was suddenly too hot. "You don't actually expect me to agree to that, do you?"

"Any question." He was a cat toying with a mouse and not bothering to hide it. "I didn't take you for a coward."

Sarah took another sip. She'd be a fool to say no. She'd be a fool to say yes. "Just a kiss?"

"Just a kiss."

Sarah licked her dry lips and then nodded. She put the glass down a little too loudly. Just a kiss. "Fine. Do it." Her heart was hammering in her chest, and suddenly she felt the years strip away until she was an uncertain, confused adolescent again. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes warily. He was unmoved from his end of the sofa. 

"A kiss. From you."

"What? You didn't specify."

"No I didn't. I didn't specify where either. You really should get better at this." When she moved to protest again, he tsk'd, "I would have thought you'd prefer it this way. You'll have complete control. I'll be at your mercy. That's something you've wanted, isn't it?"

Sarah's fingers curled on her knees. "Hard to call it control when I'm being forced into it."

"No one is forcing you to do anything, I think." He canted his head. "Do you want to kiss me, Sarah?"

In her palm, she could feel the question tingle. He was counting it, she realized, because he wanted to know the answer. If he'd asked 30 minutes before she might have honestly answered, no. But in that moment – in the firelight, away from the bleakness of the wood, with the wine and food filling her belly and, as he said, the control in her hands - yes.

Yes.

Rather than answer, she leaned over and quickly pressed her lips against his. She hoped it was answer enough. She'd misjudged the distance, so the effort was awkward and lacking in finesse. Less meaningful than even the brief peck in the orchard. Their noses bumped and her hands ended up on his chest, rather than on the arm of the sofa as intended. She'd landed at the corner of his mouth, almost on his chin. 

Embarrassed, she recovered quickly, and angled her head to a better position.

Before, so briefly, he'd tasted of apples then. Now he tasted like spiced wine and coffee and something uniquely him.

His lips were firm against hers and his chest surprisingly warm – almost hot. Her fingers splayed past the edge of his shirt against bare skin. One of her legs lay between his.

Technically, she'd satisfied the agreement and had almost pulled back when the realization that he was more amused than anything else struck. Perhaps even bored by it. Which inexplicably rankled.

Kissing him, she reasoned, should be worth it.

She pressed harder, using her lips like she would her words. She let her teeth scrape tender flesh, then teased it with the barest lap of her tongue. She felt his intake of breath and his chest dip suddenly beneath her hand. He was no longer amused.

No longer bored.

She returned to the corner of his mouth, this time more deliberately; allowing her tongue to trace the seam and dip between tauntingly. Teasing. Fingers immediately threaded into the damp hair at the nape of her neck, while his other hand landed heavily on her hip and gripped. She gently tugged his lower lip with her teeth and he made a guttural sound that shot straight between her thighs.

So she did it again, this time more forcefully, and this time he groaned - almost a growl - matching her with equal intensity. He kissed liked he was ravenous. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be devoured or to devour. His heart thumped steadily beneath her hand, her fingers curling against his warm flesh. She liked him better when he wasn't talking, she thought wildly, and so continued to steal his breath.

It was only the realization that she was now flush against him, all of him, with his hand pressing her into him, and that it felt so entirely right that made her pull back. For a moment she felt his muscles tensing, as though he were about to reverse their positions and sink into her, but then he stilled. She pushed off his chest until there was space again between them.

Jareth's hands balled against his thighs. When she glanced at him surreptitiously, his eyes were hooded but he did nothing to hide what he thought of her retreat.

Sarah took another sip of wine and tried to re-focus. She wanted to run away. Parts of her body hummed another suggestion. But she had only one question and she'd been entirely foolish long enough.

She could ask if he'd had a hand in taking Max, but to what end? She could ask where Max was but she suspected he'd been at least partially honest with her already on that point. She could ask about the woman or why he'd been unable to open the door.

She still tasted him on her lips.

Gloved fingers brushed her shoulder lightly, as though to coax her back. Or set her off her game.

When she looked at him again, his expression was still openly hungry, but beneath that was the same triumph she had seen at the doors when he'd asked her to make that impossible choice.  Like she'd already lost and the rest was all for show.

You should have started running a long time ago…

"Will we be able to go home again? To our home," she added pointedly.

The fingers stilled and then resumed tracing patterns on her skin.

"Yes."

The word shocked her. She was suffused with unexpected relief.

And then she tensed.

He felt the minute change and smiled, though it was a hollow one. "You've recognize the distinction haven't you? Able? Yes. The food won't hold you here. But you should have asked if I had any intention of letting you go."

Chapter Text

I took a little journey to the unknown
And I come back changed, I can feel it in my bones
I fucked with the forces that our eyes can't see
Now the darkness got a hold on me
Holy darkness got a hold on me

Meet me in the woods, Lord Huron

Sarah shifted her shoulder so that he could no longer touch her. His fingers fell away.

"If you think that revelation shocked me, I'm sorry to disappoint you." Her voice was stronger than she felt, and for that she was grateful. "I expected nothing less. All I needed to know was that nothing is inevitable and," Sarah paused, pinning him with a glacial stare, "to remind me that you'll fail. Again. Once I've gotten what I want."

Jareth took her measure and then leaned forward, his expression too warm and altogether intense. "Do you really want to go home?"

The air in the room had shifted once again.

"Is that another question?"

Jareth studied her face again before leaning back. "Not yet."

She exhaled. "Then I think I've had more than enough for the night." Sarah rose quickly, but Jareth stood too, blocking her path.

"Running away again?" He cupped her face, fingers tracing her jawline. The touch was light, almost probing, and in complete contrast to the hunger clear in his face. The gentleness was somehow worse. It reminded her that for a moment she'd held all the power between them. And he was daring her to take it back again. "We've only had a taste."

"I'm not running anywhere." It was only partially a lie. "I'm regrouping." She lifted her jaw out of his hand. "And a taste was enough." A full one this time.

"It will never be enough, Sarah. That's the point." There was a raw quality to his words that suggested he was not quite composed, and hinted at something deeper.

"I'm sure you'll find more women 'to taste', with or without petty bargains before this is all over." Her lips pursed. "I'm not even the only one today."

Jareth's eyes glazed and then he barked in laughter. "Is that jealousy?" The smile he gave her when she didn't answer was almost feline. "I think I rather enjoy you jealous."

Sarah shook her head, refusing to be baited anymore in one night. "It's not. It's a reminder not to fall 'for your honeyed words'.  Make no mistake that she can have you. To the victor go the spoils."

His grin didn't falter. "I'll hold you to that."

Before he could say anything else, Sarah ducked around him and into the bedroom. She collapsed against the closed door, pretending her legs were not liquid. She pressed a cool hand to her cheek. Her face was aflame; skin dancing. Her fingers brushed her mouth, before threading through her hair in frustration. A lifetime ago, once upon a time in a crystal ballroom, she'd been worried he was going to kiss her. And hopeful, if she were being honest. The possibility had both thrilled her and terrified her younger self. At the time she'd never been kissed and it had felt overdue – Karen's words always stinging in her mind. How special that her first would be if it were the Goblin King - a creature born from magic and fantasy. She'd be different than any other girl. Special. She'd known it would have mattered if he kissed her. That it would have meant something.

He hadn't though, whether because he wasn't lying and he'd seen her as too young, or because she'd remembered.  She'd brought the whole room down.

In ten years of growing up she'd experienced many kisses - and more - until a kiss meaning anything significant was nothing more than youthful fancy.

But…

It had still mattered. He was still the Goblin King and that lost girl was still buried within her. And in growing up the rules had ceased to matter.

She wasn't sure what to do with a Goblin King that was no longer constrained.

Her body knew, even if her mind denied. And that was far more dangerous. Because he'd felt so right beneath her and his reaction to her had shown that she still held power too. He wanted her, yes, but more importantly, he wanted her to want him.

Sarah allowed herself a sliver of victory as she pulled the key from her sleeve to examine it. It had certainly made him careless.

Jareth's hands fisted at his side and then he laughed. At himself, the situation… all of it? He was no longer so sure.

Allowing her to walk away had been harder than he thought. And particularly generous of him. Unfortunately, dragging her back kicking and screaming would not have the desired effect either. He wanted her on his terms.

The golden apple was still coursing through his body - making his nerves sing. And yet all he could taste was Sarah. Sarah, who hadn't been scared of him. Or too young. Or too innocent to know better. Sarah, who in that perfect moment had openly wanted him too.

He was achingly hard. And would be for a while, he mused wryly.

As uncomfortable a night as it would be, he realized he would give quite a lot to have it back. To turn those cruel eyes warm again. And that kind of weakness was dangerous to him.  To his goals. Having her under his power again should have been enough - that lure of provoking her out of cool indifference. But it wasn't anymore.

Because the girl had gotten further under his skin than even he'd suspected possible.

No, not a girl anymore. Everything had changed.

His hand ghosted over his mouth. She'd left a mark. She always did. He looked forward to repaying her in kind. Because in the end, all he could focus on was that she'd kissed him like she meant it. That sealed her fate.

Later, when he stripped down in the other room and discovered the missing key, he wasn't even truly angry. It only made him want her more.

A babe cried in the dark. A cold voice hushed, 'soon'.

Above ground the other Toby's eyes opened. He started laughing, louder and louder, until the entire house woke. Karen and Robert exchanged nervous glances.

"You have weird hair."

A shirtless Goblin King barely acknowledged the boy's reflection in his mirror. "As do you."

"Do not. Mine's normal." Toby smoothed his golden head uneasily. "And I just got it cut."

Jareth dried his face on a towel. "Blame it on your barber. I could bog him for you if you'd like."

"Sarah did it."

"The offer stands."

Toby messed his hair self-consciously.

When Toby had woken the room had been dark and Sarah was still snoring, not that she'd ever admit she did in the morning. He'd crept out of bed and into the main room. The fire was still going, but the room was empty. The other door, the one to the King's chamber, was slightly open and there had been light beneath.

"What's a bog anyway?"

Jareth dropped the hand towel and considered the boy. "Don't you knock?"

Toby blushed and then rallied. "Do you?"

"Never."

Toby thought he should perhaps leave, but the king didn't look particularly annoyed. No more so than normal.

"I thought you'd just magic," Toby waved his hand at the king's morning ablutions, "like everything."

Jareth grinned. "I'm quite capable of dressing myself." He eyed Toby's pyjamas. "Like you presumably."

"Still," the boy picked at the various bottles on the dresser, "it'd be so much easier not to have to do that stuff. Like clean your room. Or homework."

Jareth watched him. "Yes, those do sound rather boring."

"So how come you don't?"

"Do you always ask so many questions before breakfast?"

Toby shrugged. "I'm just saying that if I had any powers I'd do cool things."

Jareth raised a brow. "Like homework?" He produced a crystal and rolled it over one hand than onto the other and back again. Another joined it and then a third.

Toby watched him avidly. "How do you do that?"

"Practice." His deft hands paused long enough to throw one to Toby.

The boy caught it awkwardly and then palmed the weight with awe. "Is it just a… a crystal?"

Jareth's lips bowed again as Toby tried to manipulate it and almost dropped it. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it can be anything you want it to be." He manipulated Toby's fingers so that the ball rolled across them, then tilted his hand so that it rolled back again. He did several times before letting go. Toby managed it alone and whistled a note of wonder.

Within the crystal, an image began to form of the Goblin King sitting in his throne with a baby on his lap. The baby cooed and giggled at the goblin subjects, clapping chubby hands.

"Is… is that me?" Toby breathed. "Was that real?"

"And if you turn it this way..." Jareth gently adjusted his hands again, the smooth glass rolling against Toby's skin.

Toby saw himself, or rather an older likeness, dressed in leather and silk; his blonde hair longer and tied back at his neck. He was expertly manipulating one crystal after another, each of them rolling off his fingers into the air like bubbles, only to disappear. The older Toby was laughing wildly.

Jareth's smile widened a fraction at the starlight building in Toby's eyes. "Practice."

That was how Sarah found them. Toby maneouvering a crystal from one hand to the other, and back again, each pass a little less awkward than the last, and his face screwed up in concentration. Jareth was looking on almost fondly; like a parody of a father teaching his son to play catch.

Something seized in Sarah's chest, even as something else unfurled. "Toby!"

The crystal fell, vanishing just before it hit the floor. Toby had the grace to look guilty. Jareth did not.

"I… um…"

Sarah stood rooted in the doorway, looking extremely unimpressed and just a little bit frazzled. She was wearing an old t-shirt; her hands keeping it pulled down as far as possible on bare legs. "My clothes seemed to have disappeared."

"Funny," Jareth remarked dryly, "so did the key to the room."

"Oh? Maybe you should take better care of your things."

Keen eyes narrowed on bare thighs. "You'll find I'm very good at keeping what's mine. Alas, I must have been distracted." His eyes returned to her face. "I'll be more mindful of wandering hands next time."

"I wouldn't worry about a next time. My clothes?"

"Wandered off too, I suppose," Jareth sighed in mock sympathy. "How unfortunate."

"I'd like them back."

"No doubt. But I'm certain you'll find anything you need in the wardrobe." His eyes returned pointedly to her long legs. "Don't rush to change on my account."

Sarah shot him a withering look. She was nonetheless thankful for Toby's presence between them. It was hard not to notice the rumpled bed behind him, as though he'd spent a restless night. More so that he wasn't wearing a shirt and didn't seem at all bothered by that. Meaning that he'd been undressed. As she was mostly undressed. And they were standing there, not fully dressed together in a bedroom. And it was suddenly very hard to keep her eyes on his face and not on the pleasingly lean lines of his lithe body. Despite feeling rather angry. Which she was.

Jareth's grinned again, having followed every thought.

Sarah scowled at him, though the impact was muted somewhat by her efforts to keep herself covered. She looked at Toby, and then backed out of the room, tugging her shirt down.

Jareth tracked her retreat and then his eyes fell to Toby, expression cooling. "What shall we do with you…?"

Sarah found an array of surprisingly practical clothing when she pulled open the wardrobe. There were no ball gowns and no starlit negligées. Still angered by his machinations - even in revenge for her own theft, she reluctantly pulled out a serviceable pair of pants. They were cut from a soft and supple leather, almost buttery to the touch. They looked like something she'd find in his closet though they fit like a second skin. She found a tunic style shirt and drew it on as well. The fabric was thick, but soft, and embroidered in fine silver threads. A thick leather belt cinched the shirt at her waist comfortably. As she tucked her pendant beneath the laced collar, her fingers brushed on the etched design. She'd felt them before. 

Sarah pulled it off again and examined it more closely. Gunnarsson's words were only half remembered. The knotwork that had so closely resembled a tree matched the one on the door - the one she'd opened.

Her mind began whirring with possibilities – all of them stained by doubt and spawning suspicions. A token for safe travels from her professor. The same professor who'd arranged for the book in the first place. The book which had started all of this...

And Jareth, she thought panicking, had asked what was around her neck. It couldn't be coincidence.

She palmed the necklace a few more times distrustfully, chewing her lip before she tied it on again and slipped it back into her shirt. She tightly laced the collar closed overtop it. The key, she tucked into the waist of her pants, cool metal pressing against bone.

When she emerged both Toby and Jareth were seated at the table. Once again it was set with food enough to feed a goblin army. Toby was already thoroughly gorging himself. Jareth was waiting for her like the gentleman she knew he wasn't.

His eyes roved over her with interest. She ignored him and sat, unfolding a crisp napkin onto her lap.

"No protests this morning?" He couldn't resist. "Even just for show?"

She poured herself some coffee. "What would be the point anymore?"

"How refreshing to hear you say that."

She ignored him again and reached for some of the perfectly browned sausages and a crock of soft boiled eggs. Her eyes fell to Toby as she cracked the top. He was dressed in a similar fashion to her. "Did your clothes go missing too?"

Toby stuffed an entire pastry in his mouth, the cream and berries escaping his lips at the corners. "Nophh." He swallowed the lot. "I just asked for them. No sword, but cool, right?" He preened.

"Mmm." She eyed the Goblin King flatly. "You must be satisfied."

"Not remotely. But it's a start."

Silence resumed as they all ate their share, only disturbed when Toby cleared his throat between his final bites. "Well… This is nice."

Sarah stated at him owlishly.

"Breakfast. Clean clothes. No more trees," he ticked off his fingers, "Nothing trying to kill us."

Sarah coughed coffee into her napkin. Jareth grinned.

Toby looked between them. "See? Nice. It's almost just like ho…" he trailed off, catching Sarah's murderous glare and finished lamely, "It's nice."

The smile on Jareth's face widened just a fraction. Enough to make Sarah bristle again. She poured her frustration into mangling her sausage beyond recognition with her knife.

When they'd finished eating, the table dutifully cleared. The Dwarves knew how to run an efficient establishment it seemed. Sarah had to admit she felt much better with a full stomach and another seemingly dreamless night. Until she felt guilty again for enjoying the comfort while Max was God knows where.

"What time is it?"

"Does it matter?" Jareth was relaxed in his chair and looking content not to move.

"Yes? We should get started, shouldn't we?"

"Are you always so impatient?" he observed her lazily. "I thought you said you could get used to this."

"Maybe. But we need to find Max." Her eyes skirted Toby. "It's been a lot longer than thirteen hours now."

"Well, it's a shame the key to our door went missing then."

Sarah placed her napkin on the table. "Perhaps it's not missing at all. Perhaps you just need to ask where it is. By my count you have 13 questions left. You'd only need to use one," she finished sweetly.

Jareth's lips twitched. "An interesting strategy, but there are far more efficient ways. And I thought you were ever so impatient to rescue the baby."

She nodded. "You're impatient too, I think. For what, I'm not sure yet. But I'm guessing this means as much to you. I think I can wait."

"But can Max?"

Sarah steeled her expression. "I'll have to assume yes." Then she canted her head in that defiant way that Jareth had always found maddeningly appealing.

"As I am apparently so impatient, I should probably just search for it. Especially, as I've narrowed the location.  I know you wouldn't leave it anywhere, so it must still be on your person."

Sarah leaned back. "It would be faster just to ask."

"But not nearly as fun." Jareth drummed fingers on the table. "And I do plan on being thorough."

Sarah jerked her head towards Toby, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn't listening while obviously absorbing every word.

Jareth tsk'd, "What would you do without the boy as a crutch, I wonder?"

"It's only one question."

"It's only one brother." He offered another uneven grin. "But that's right. You can't afford to lose another."

Her mouth twisted. She was losing control of the conversation and she didn't like it. Not when she'd planned it in her head. "What are you implying?"

Jareth sighed, fingers stilling. "Where are you hiding the key, Sarah?"

An exhale. "It's right here." She patted the hip of her pants and mentally ticked off one less question; one step nearer the end.

"Mmm, the second place I would have looked." She wouldn't dare ask him the first.

He tipped his hand expectantly.

She told herself she couldn't help it. "Now ask if you can have it."

Mismatched eyes narrowed. "Sarah," her warned. "You're pushing your luck and my patience."

"Only now? Maybe." She canted her head again to hide her nervous swallow. "But I have to take any opportunity."

It was that look that did it.

"As do I." Jareth rose in a fluid motion.

Sarah mirrored him by rote, skirting the chair so that it stood between them. "What do you think you're doing?"

He approached her slowly, like he had all the time in the world. "Taking the opportunity."

Her eyes fell to Toby. He was conveniently asleep at the table.

Jareth grinned wolfishly at her look of ill-concealed panic and outrage. Sarah took a step back, and then another, but forced herself to stop before her back hit the wall, to hold her ground. "Stop! You never play fair."

"I can't with you," he replied honestly. "And I rather think you like the game." He was so close that his breath fanned her face. She was by no means short, and he was not overly tall, but she still had to tilt her head up - as though they were about to kiss. He'd noticed it too, eyes dropping to her lips. It would be so easy for either of them to move just a fraction. Perhaps he was daring her to. And if she wouldn't rise, he would fall.

Sarah jerked the key from her pocket and held it up between them.

His eyes stayed on her mouth even as his hand closed over hers. "Coward."

"You have 12 questions left." She tugged at her hand.

"Which means you have 12 answers left to give and having wasted one, I mean to make the rest count." He released her, but there was a warning in his eyes that he was going to raise the stakes.

So was she. "Before we go. I want you to answer another question. Honestly."

"I've been generous, Sarah. Another answer will cost you more than a kiss. And we don't have the time."

She pulled a face. "I'm not paying something outrageous for a question."

"You don't even know the price. Eventually you'll have to decide what you will pay for the answer. Everything has a cost. Especially here."

When she didn't say anything else, Jareth snapped his fingers.

Toby yawned, blinking bleary eyes at them sheepishly. "Super weird."

At Jareth's expectant look, he ran to grab their remaining bag, now far lighter without clothes or food.

When Jareth unlocked the door to the hallway, it had shortened dramatically, though theirs was still the only door visible.

Sarah brushed a tentative hand along the wall.

"You won't see any other doors unless the occupant wills it. Privacy is valued in these parts and Dwarves are skilled craftsmen at providing it."

"Convenient if you don't want to be found," she snorted.

"Precisely."

The main room of the tavern was much quieter when they descended the stairs, with only a handful of patrons still loitering. Some looked like they hadn't moved for the night, and appeared worse the wear for it. Others were enjoying hearty breakfasts. Several eyes glanced up but none seemed to care - even less so than the evening before. Sarah was rather thankful for the anonymity.

It wouldn't, of course, last.

Their Dwarven host was polishing glasses at the bar when they passed. He nodded his head to the king but offered no other parting. Sarah suspected that the bar could be on fire, and the man wouldn't bother to raise a bushy brow in surprise.

Outside, the market was more lively, though it too had quieted. There was no music playing and the anvils were cold. It would have passed for normal had it not been for the smattering of otherworldly creatures who occupied themselves with the goods and wares.

The clear sky was those early morning hues of gilded pinks and silvery blues and in the air were the unseen tendrils of magic. They crackled painlessly against Sarah's skin like static electricity in a way she hadn't felt before. Not since…

Jareth had told her that she'd need to let the magic in. She scratched at her hands instinctively.

Catching her movements Jareth offered a less than reassuring, "You'll get used to it." His words lacked any trace of smugness however. Sarah didn't care. She didn't want to get used to it. Not when every concession was a step further into a labyrinth with no hope of finding her way out again.

No, not a labyrinth… a tangled forest with roots she couldn't even see.

A merchant tried to lure Toby to his stall with the promise of an egg that would hatch into a dragon. Toby was already digging through his pockets for anything resembling payment when Jareth tugged him along.

"Hats! New and old! Loud and quiet!" Then a protracted sigh. "Mostly loud." A thin, spindly looking merchant gestured at the array of unusual hats in his stall – all of which bore heads of various sizes and features. Most of them were indeed chattering loudly over one another, with a few snidely offering the seller feedback on how he could improve his sales pitch.

Catching Sarah's curious stare, the merchant immediately straightened his waistcoat. "A hat for you, miss? I see you have a keen eye for quality."

"No… thank you. I've just seen a similar one before I think," she glanced at Jareth, "somewhere else."

"Ah ha!" The merchant was smiling broadly now. He snatched the nearest one and held it out. "Then you do know the quality. You want one for your own? Make your friends jealous?" 

"Pathetic," the hat in question remarked rudely. With a wink at Toby it then bit the merchant's thumb.

The man yelped and sucked the throbbing digit into his mouth. "This one is half price. Make me an offer," he mumbled while juggling the offending in one hand to keep its snapping teeth away from his other fingers. "Any offer."

Toby looked kept his distance. "Why would anyone want a hat that bites?"

"Well… they don't all bite. A few don't even have teeth!"

A nearby hat rolled its eyes. "He's terrible at this." Several other hats bobbed in agreement.

The merchant scowled at them and hissed over his shoulder. "Shut it."

"Do they all talk?" Toby asked.

"Endlessly." Then he seemed to remember himself. "Ah, but what better than a hat that talks, boy?"

"One that doesn't?" Sarah offered dryly.

Jareth snorted.

"He really isn't very good at this," Toby whispered.

The hats, many of which had superior hearing, crowed in laughter.

"The worst," a wildly feathered one in the back agreed.

"No, it's okay. It's true," the merchant sniffed. "I inherited the shop from me dad. May his soul roast in hellfire," he muttered under his breath. "The hats were his creation. Had no choice but to take over after he died. In a most tragic accident," he tacked on at Sarah's sympathetic look,

"How awful," she replied politely.

The merchant nodded gravelly. "Eaten."

Toby's eyes widened a fraction.

"By his hat."

The boy smothered a laugh.

"It wasn't an accident!" howled one particularly large hat. It then burped dramatically. The other hats rocked in laughter.

"Quiet, you lot, or I'll stitch your mouths shut!" The merchant ran a hand through his thinning hair and then smiled beatifically. "So how many can I wrap up for you then?"

"Um, no thank you, actually. We're not buying anything today." Sarah pulled Toby away. The merchant groaned and nodded, clearly quite used to that response.

As they continued through the stalls, no one else paid them much interest aside from a lone raven perched atop one of the high walls. Its eyes tracked their movements with interest. Black claws were curled and sunk into the stone like knives.

Jareth turned, catching its eyes. The bird's feathers ruffled. The Goblin King looked away before Sarah noticed.

The lone raven watched them for a few moments longer before taking to the air on silent wing. It was joined by another mid-flight, two dark shapes coiling in the sky before they disappeared from sight.

Sarah found that the crossroads, as the king had referred to them, were in fact just that. They lay like a point converging – bringing together creatures of all design and direction, and in turn leading in all directions like the spokes of a wheel, or the points on a star. All manner of doors were set into the outer wall. Jareth led them to one similar in design to the one they'd arrived through. Unlike before, no one tried to stop them and the door. They were through before Sarah could even think to ask.

Other than a gentle tug at her core, the passage was smooth and almost unnoticeable.

Until the wind hit Sarah's cheek with a stinging slap of cold. She blinked into the white flakes suddenly filtering her sight and tickling her face in a steady fall.

They were once again in woods, only this time cloaked in the deepest winter.

Her breath misted in the chilled air. "More trees."

Where once there had been crimson and gold, there was now endless white. Each branch looked like it was preserved in the finest glass, refracting in the light like thousands of tiny prisms. No longer silent, the laden branches creaked in the cold, and icicles tinkled like wind chimes. It was beautiful in its bleakness.

The sudden fear that they were somehow back at the start had Sarah looking to Jareth in mounting panic however.

"Trust me,"  he said simply.  His clothes were now covered by a thick fur mantle in shades of black and grey. With his wild hair - silver in the hues of winter - he looked like some kind of Ice king. It rather suited him, she realized, though she had begun to shiver in earnest.

When he reached for her, she flinched.  But his fingers barely brushed her as he clasped a fur mantle about her shoulders. A betraying tick in his mouth was the only indication he was taking any particular enjoyment in her reaction. She knew without looking down that it was the same green cloak. Apart from a frown and the reddening cheek she would blame on the cold, she accepted the warmth without protest. When he stepped back from her she saw that Toby was similarly encased in furs.

Even with the heavy cloak, she now understood why he'd been in no hurry to leave the comfort of their heated room. The snow was thick and surprisingly deep when the crust broke. Jareth seemed to have little difficulty navigating a path, while Sarah and Toby struggled not to sink with every step.

They progressed in silence; Sarah and Toby's laboured breathing coming out in huffs to trail behind them like breadcrumbs. Jareth never broke stride; his expression had turned shrouded.

Sarah was on the point of complaining when a decent sized snowball slammed into the back of her head and exploded in a spray of white.

She turned in disbelief. Toby, whose face was plastered with a refreshingly joyful grin, laughed at her expression.  Though he yelped and ducked when he recognized something in it. He dodged the first two but caught the third full in the face.

Jareth opened his mouth and then closed it, choosing instead to lean against a tree and watch them for a moment. 

Sarah was using her superior strength to make sure her surprisingly accurate shots stung just enough. They were happy in the moment, Jareth realized. Nothing more. They probably often looked like that above. Jareth felt a momentary tinge of something close to jealousy for that sort of innocence. Toby's blonde hair was almost entirely doused in snow; as fair as it had been ten years before.

Jareth liked the boy, he'd come to realize. There was an openness to him, rather different from his sister that was hard to dislike. Yet, he was also shrewd and almost wise beyond his years. He'd accepted the truth of their shared history with surprising equanimity.

Yes.

As much as he was a distraction, Jareth liked him. Something altogether foreign began to churn in his stomach and he flinched when he recognized it. It was forgotten again when Sarah caught his eye. She'd paused in her antics and was looking at him; her hair, now wild and slightly damp from the snow, was still black against the white backdrop. Her cheeks were flushed red from exertion and the cloak brought out the brightness of her eyes. She might have been a forest sprite. No.. a woodland queen.  She only needs a crown of holly.

She was looking back at him with nothing but laughter in her eyes and an easy smile on her lips. Guilelessly. Had she ever done that before?

He sucked in a breath, exhaling in his own cloud of white. He was taken aback by how a moment so simple could be altogether powerful.

How ephemeral it would be.

And he knew, suddenly and without a doubt, that as long as he lived he would always remember it. It stoked something else in him that was wholly pure and long forgotten. The feeling was almost unpleasant in its intensity.

His expression must have been uncharacteristically unguarded, for her smile wavered. And then the look was gone, as was the moment, when a snowball struck home. Her attention diverted back to Toby.

Without turning his head, Jareth deftly dodged the one Toby dared send towards him immediately after. The boy dropped his second with nothing more than a warning look.

Which, of course, made Sarah's bold volley all the more impressive and unexpected.

Jareth wiped the snow from his eyes and trained them on the smirking woman. Her smile was not so innocent now. Toby clapped. Inclining his head, Jareth did as well, and then the branches above both their heads released their burdens in tandem.

Sarah squealed while Toby gave a joyous bark. He shook his head out in a way that jarringly reminded Sarah of Merlin. She sobered and brushed the snow from her hands. Catching her expression, Toby did the same. It had all lasted no more than a few minutes, but it had been a distraction all the same. One they couldn't afford.

They fell back into silent step and didn't stop until Jareth led them to the base of a large gnarled tree in a small clearing. A deep crevice ran straight through the centre, like a hollowed oak that had been pried apart. The crevice was tall and wide enough to pass within. Toby examined the dark opening with interest.

Sarah shivered, despite the warmth of the fur. Like the tendrils of magic she'd felt in the crossroads, more tugged at her here – but these were stronger and colder. Unkind and unwelcome. She flinched and instinctively recoiled, her wrist beginning to itch. It reminded her she had her own debt to clear in all of this.

A slight wind rose from within the dark hollow and carded through Toby's hair. When it hit Sarah's face it was like an ice slap.

"Tell me we're not going in there." She drew the cloak tighter around herself. The inexplicable panic was fully seizing her. She looked to Jareth when he didn't answer. His eyes were on the tree. It was as though she was looking in while something else stared out. Sarah shook her head. "Toby come here. Get away."

Toby glanced back in confusion, clearly unaffected by the change in the air, and then to the king in question.

Jareth met his eyes, before his lids flicked towards Sarah. He didn't mock her for her fear nor issue any threats. Nor did he make demands. "It's the only way," he said simply.

But there was something in his voice that Sarah was slow to recognize, and when she did much later, it would be too late.

She shook her head again and beckoned for Toby, holding out her hand.  "We are not going in there, Toby."

Jareth nodded once. And then he calmly reached over and pushed Toby in.

Sarah screamed.

Jareth whispered something to the hollow.

And Toby... well, he said nothing at all. The last thing Sarah saw was his terrified face swallowed by the dark.

Chapter Text

Karen, who'd been in that deep state of sleep where dreams are so vivid you wake physically exhausted, opened her eyes in fear.

Her son was standing beside her, his body pressed against the bed and his face cast in shadow. She could tell he was watching her silently, however. For how long she couldn't guess.

She sucked in sharply  - her exhalation just as uneasy.  Relief replaced the fear, but not completely.  Not as it should have.

"Toby? What's wrong? Bad dream?"

Toby grinned and Karen was struck by the irrational notion that he had far too many teeth.

"Nothing's wrong, mother." His voice was saccharine. Beneath the sugar was something less sweet and barely restrained. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"....What?" Karen rubbed at her eyes. Her body was still sleep-dazed and only just prickling into an uncomfortable awareness. She stared at him a beat. "I... think I did, actually." Her hand curled against her chest instinctively. "I... lost something... torn away... You...you were gone." She rubbed at her eyes again; worn by his strange behaviour over the last few days, she found herself suddenly rather irritated. "Go back to sleep, Toby. It's nothing."

The real Toby would have been stung by her tone. This Toby was amused.

"You're right, mother, it is nothing." There was something almost patronizing in his voice that stoked her irritation further. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere now. Not ever." He pressed a dry kiss against her cheek; those too-many-teeth grazing her clammy skin. He then half-danced out of the room. She could hear him giggling to himself in the hallway. Karen listened for a long moment, a frown etching lines into her face that she would study in the morning.

The ephemeral sense of loss was now a physical pang - like a blade sinking to her heart.

Robert snored on beside her.

Thousands of miles away in London, the acclaimed stage actress Linda Williams was performing the opening night of a brand new play at the Globe Theatre.

She trailed off in the middle of a particularly dramatic line that had held the audience rapt. Her relatively green co-star began to panic, furtively whispering the missing words under her breath.

All Linda could do was mouth 'Sarah...'

Sarah's scream ended in a guttural wail that was more animal than human. All she could hear was the blood rushing to her ears. All she could see was the empty space where Toby had stood.

I lost him. Again.

All at once her body remembered how to move. She lunged at the Goblin King, ungainly in the snow but rather exquisite in her rage. He didn't bother to avoid the blow; perhaps he even allowed it, which only enraged her more. His cheek blossomed a satisfying red almost instantly.

Sarah's mother had imparted few life lessons of note to her before she'd left, but one had been that although a punch will cause more pain a slap is always more personal. It conveys disgust like a fist never can. Sarah faced him for a moment, eyes unseeing and panting angry bursts of air. Later, she'd wonder if she was actually more upset at herself for being lulled into a sense of ease - into that almost-but-not-quite-trust where long looks in the snow meant something.

Before he did more than blink, she was gone. Jareth didn't try to stop her. He watched with hooded eyes as one hand clutched the curving wood and then, like ten years before, she let go to save a brother.

No helping hands slowed her fall. None offered a choice up or down, forwards or backwards. No staircases fell apart in victorious destruction. She had wanted to do anything but jump, the fear had been so palpable... She was simply falling into nothing and yet neither moving up nor down. A darkness so empty than not even monsters dared hide. And somehow that was far more terrifying. Every irrational childhood fear, suppressed, forgotten or conquered rose to fill the emptiness... diving off a dock into the black, unknown waters of a lake... the night her mother left, impervious to her tears and pleading... the death of Merlin on vet's steel table, by a needle she'd paid for... the old furnace turning on, waking her from sleep... the ceiling hatch outside her old bedroom door...

And then something took hold of her, like a trap snapping shut, and everything stopped.

For a moment Jareth was alone in the winter wood. Something resembling a smile ghosted across his face and then vanished just as quickly. He didn't have the luxury of time to gloat. He could feel what followed him even now. Hooves in the snow. He wasn't concerned. They would be too late.

It was hard not to applaud her bravery, especially from something so decidedly breakable. He'd known gods that lacked the stones to do what she'd done thus far. The boy too had something of her mettle. Bravery was rare and so often brash. Easy to exploit.

He hadn't decided what to do if she'd resisted. If she'd not been bound by the bonds of blood.

He should have felt satisfaction that she'd been so uncharacteristically compliant, but his mind kept flashing to the look she'd given him not half an hour before. She'd given him many looks with so many meanings through their brief interactions. But it had been a first from her.

A first for him, as well, and it had gripped him in a way that had been as unexpected as it had been deep.

Not quite trust but something that dared shared its world. An openness so bare of artifice that it was as new and pure as a seed. His instinct had been to seize that look, to swallow it whole, so that it could never be taken back.

Because she would take it back.

He almost - almost - wished he'd never seen it. He was not sure he could ever coax that look back, and everything that it suggested. Promised.

Even he knew some things could not be stolen.

For a wild moment he would have bartered anything to see its return. Instead he traced her path in the snow to the curving elm. He braced himself as he walked. The pain would be severe. They never made it easy. But he'd been hurt before, and he'd be hurt again. So would they.

She would want to hurt him too.

When he jumped and the burning started, he was still thinking of her look. The flames were intense, wanting to consume him whole and leave no trace. His teeth came down hard on his tongue, and he tasted the iron salt of blood. 

He dared them to do their worst. They obliged.

When it finally stopped, he was laughing as he pulled himself free from the hollow tree.

The boy stood a few feet away, clutching his arms to his chest. He was looking at Jareth with a conflicted look of relief and horror - the absurdity of which only made the Goblin King laugh harder.

So the boy made it unharmed. He'd been certain he would. Mostly.

The Goblin king realized he must appear more animal than man. It was not far off. Jareth wiped a trickle of blood from his chin and then feigned a smile.

Toby looked unconvinced, his thin arms hugging tighter. "T-that was awful. It was so dark." There was an accusation in his tone that irritated the king; his own skin still on fire as his magic knit his wounds.

Jareth's smile evened. "Where is that brave, boastful boy from this morning?"

Toby's back straightened almost immediately and he affected an unconvincing shrug. "Yah. It wasn't that bad I guess. But I did well, right?"

Jareth nodded, his irritation ebbing along with the pain. "Very well." And then his smile faded altogether, as he fully looked around. Irritation was replaced by rage and then worse, a sharper spike of fear.

When the king looked back, Toby's face whitened and he stepped back.

"Where is your sister?" Jareth asked through clenched teeth.

Sarah gasped for breath, falling to her knees on the ground. Darkness still surrounded her, save for a sliver of a dim light above her.

But it was not an oubliette.

It took her a moment to recognize that she was kneeling at the base of a set of wooden stairs. A longer moment to process that they were the same attic stairs from her home. In every other direction there was nothing. Not only darkness, but the absolute absence of anything. She could feel it instinctually.

And then the stairs.

Something moved above.

"Toby?" Her eyes followed the sound up the rungs. When no answer came, she pulled herself to her feet and started climbing; limbs trembling but determined. She'd always hated those stairs. What child possessed of a vivid imagination wouldn't? They had not improved with adulthood. Less so now with improbable location.

Reaching the top, she saw the familiar shapes of old furniture and boxes in the low light from the naked bulb above. The sound was louder. Closer.

"Toby?" she called again; her voice too small for her own ears. Even as the words took shape she knew it wasn't him.

The sound stopped. Silence and then a scuttling, shuffling noise - like dry leaves shifting on pavement. Clamping a hand against her mouth, she forced herself to stand still, poised on the edge.

The other sound stilled as well. Sarah exhaled through her fingers.

It was enough.

A figure emerged from the shadows in her direction. It was child-sized, but moved in a wholly disjointed manner, like it had been broken in every way that mattered. With each step came the sound of dead wood splintering. Old bones breaking.

When it entered the light Sarah could see that it was made entirely of wooden shards pieced together like a puzzle. They were ill-fitted, like an impatient hand had just smashed it into being. With each step pieces chafed against one another. Some fell away altogether.

The creature watched her from deep hollows where eyes might have been. Then the wooden child turned away and began to shake again in deep racking sobs that rendered it somehow more pitiful than horrific.

When Sarah's pulse settled she cleared her throat. "Are... are you okay?"

"Broken." Its voice cracked from disuse. "Don't you see?" It shook its head, more pieces falling. "No one ever sees."

"I see you."

The head snapped back up with a crack. "You do?" There was a sudden eagerness in its movement - a palpable hunger that set Sarah back on edge. "You will fix me?"

Sarah wasn't sure if it was question or command. "I-I don't think so." She looked again at the boxes, so clearly from her home. "This is just a dream. It has to be." But her words lacked conviction. "We can't be here. This isn't real." She nudged a box with her foot and her old jewellery box - the one Toby had found and she had taken home - fell out and rolled towards the creature. The tinny music beginning to play.

The creature picked it up, studying the dancing figurine and then Sarah. "You were dancing. This was you. Are you real? " The child-like question was belied by the sudden grip that caged Sarah's arm. "What are you? What is this place?"

Sarah recoiled from its touch. "I don't know!" She looked around wildly. "Where's Toby? Did you do something to him?"

"I felt you," the creature continued. "You were scared. You were thinking of this place. I felt you. You can fix me."

"Please, I need to find him. He's a boy... like me. He fell too. He's probably scared." Sarah tried to pry the hand off her desperately. Pieces splintered beneath her fingers.

"You're scared." The grip only tightened.

"Of course I am! But I don't know how to fix you." Another tug and more wood fell away. "Oh god. I'm sorry!" She bent awkwardly, her armed still caged, and picked up a piece and tried to fit it back into place. "I can't. See? I'm making it worse. I'll get help. Someone else, okay? Maybe he can help you. He has magic. Just let me go!"

"Fix me." The voice was losing its coherence again.

Sarah struggled in earnest, blaming him, magic, and all the creatures who wielded it, but also damning herself for ever touching that cursed book. It was the source of all her problems and had yet to prove her salvation. She could picture it lying there, in its protected glass - where she should have let it be.

Almost immediately the fingers released her and the creature canted its head.

Sarah.

She felt her name more than heard it, and then immediately felt another tug at her navel.

The creature must have felt it too because it tensed, almost flinching, but not retreating. "You can't go back. And you won't like where you're going."

The last thing she saw before she was dragged back down the stairs and into the dark was the puzzle child placing a finger against its lips and mouthing 'shh.' Then all the light went out.

Sarah hit the ground hard this time, the breath knocking out of her. When she could breathe again she rolled over and wretched up the remains from breakfast. Wiping her mouth with a shaking hand, she lay on her back a moment, collecting herself as her stomach settled. Stark silver-grey trees surrounded her, like bright marble sepulchres against an indigo sky. Above her crested a canopy of bare woven limbs. In the day it might have been beautiful. By dusk it looked like a cage made from bone.

She rolled to her feet unsteadily and picked up their remaining bag. She'd come through another hollowed tree. This one the sinewy shape of a body in ash.

Toby was standing a few paces away, waiting.  He was pale but seemingly unharmed. Relief flooded her senses.

She rushed towards him but slowed when she saw Jareth. Something raw crossed his face when he noticed her, and he took a sudden step forward before he stopped, his expression clearing. "Where-", he closed his mouth and instead ruffled Toby's hair.

Sarah tracked the movement, her eyes returning to his. "Why?"

"Would you have gone willingly?"

Sarah said nothing. Neither of them needed an answer.

"I know you felt it, Sarah. You had cheated me of one question, why waste another? Toby understands, don't you, boy?" He smirked at Toby's apologetic look.

"Toby?"

"He understands that time is short. And," his gloved fingers threaded through the boy's hair again," you'd do just about anything to save your brother, wouldn't you?" When she lurched forward he held up a warning finger. "I gave you one. I'm not feeling particularly generous enough to allow another. The stakes are higher than a mere girl and her brother."

Sarah collected herself. She was hardly a fool. The acrid taste of bile reminded her she wasn't invincible either. When she'd composed herself she forced an even tone to her voice. "That's probably the first honest thing you've said. You could have asked. I don't like being manipulated."

"Neither do I. Don't think to your use your wiles on me, Sarah. While I'd appreciate the effort, you'd fail in the end and I'd hate for you to feel embarrassed."

She looked confused for a moment, and then stung when it registered. She shook her head. "One of these days you're going to realize that you're your own worst enemy."

"Says the girl with the ready hand."

"And the right words, remember?" Her eyes trailed to his cheek. "If you give me another reason, the next time I'll make sure it lasts longer."

He arched a brow. "Threats?"

 "Forgive me." Sarah held out her wrist, the one that bound her to the book in a way she didn't understand. "The stakes are far higher than a mere Goblin King."

Jareth reached out as though he might touch her but instead opened his hand in invitation. "A truce then. We've made it this far together."

Sarah withdrew hers and snorted. "You just threw my brother down a tree."

"Barely a nudge. And none the worse for wear, right, boy?"

Toby nodded, though his expression suggested he wouldn't relish a repeat.

The Goblin King's hand still stretched between them in invitation. "We can both win, Sarah."

His offer was as unsettling as it was tempting. She would be making a deal with the devil. The sobering truth was she already had. Toby was nodding at her encouragingly - another prick to her pride. Traitorous brat. She placed her hand in his nonetheless. As his fingers laced around hers, an expression Sarah couldn't name crossed his face again.

Jareth tucked her arm beneath his and led her to where the skeletal trees met stone. They curved up into the entrance of a hall so high, the largest giant could enter without bending. Sarah could feel the increasing pull of magic in the air like a pulse. Even Toby twitched at the charge.

At the top of the arch, a lone raven perched.

Waiting.

Watching.

It was so still that at first Sarah thought it a carving.

Jareth's mouth hardened. "I assume you came to do more than watch."

For a moment the raven did nothing, and then it spread its wings into a drop, feathers splaying, and a man took its place before them. He was dressed in shades black; the collar of his fitted coat arched and jagged like a winged cowl. His face was starkly handsome, almost beautiful, though pale and angular. His hair was paler still and his blue eyes were limned by kohl.

Jareth's expression was guarded.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" the raven's voice was smooth and coolly amused. Uneasily familiar.

"I hardly think that necessary." Jareth's was colder still.

"Not necessary but polite." There was a note of rebuke in his tone.

"You're not here to stop me."

The man inclined his head. "I learned that was an impossibility a long time ago." When he looked at Jareth there was something in his eyes Sarah almost recognized. "I wished to see you. Alone. Before."

Jareth's head cocked.

"They cannot see. Not when I don't want." The man studied Jareth silently. "Your power has grown."

Jareth's voice, though not quite kind, had lost some edge as well. "It has been an age. I should hope so."

The raven's eyes dropped to Sarah, lingering on the green cloak and then returned to the Goblin King. "You risk-"

"Everything." Jareth's words were clipped and pointed.

Sarah saw a flash of anger cross the raven's features, perhaps even regret, and then it was gone again. "We're being rude to your..." a pale brow raised.

Jareth ignored the implied question.

"I'm Toby. That's Sarah."

"He knows," Jareth remarked tightly, only mildly annoyed by the boy's precocious bout.

"So are you brothers?" Toby was staring between the two.

The raven's lips twitched. "Nothing so benign. You may call me," he paused as though deciding on a single name, "Tyr".

"Like the god." Sarah hadn't meant to speak but it had slipped out.

"Very like," Tyr answered, eyes brighter and more familiar.

She looked between the two figures, so alike in look and demeanor. Her eyes fixed on a sigil on the raven's collar. A twin to the amulet around Jareth's neck. Not brothers.

"Father," she whispered, surprised again by the temerity of her own mouth. Jareth stiffened at the word but did not deny it.

Tyr looked at her with increased interest. "Did he steal you away?" His tone was wry but it wasn't clear if he was joking. He laughed outright at her look of displeasure.

"No... We're here by our own will."

"Of course you are," he offered easily. "But are you so sure?"

His amusement at her expense, so much like Jareth's, rankled. "I'm never sure," she replied. "I doubt you'd do anything to help us if we were."

This time Jareth laughed.

"Hardly," Tyr agreed.

She affected a shrug. "I didn't think so."

His mood shifted again, mercurial like his son. "I like your fire."

"Don't take it as a compliment," Jareth offered in a wan voice. "It generally doesn't work out for mortals he takes a liking to."

Tyr's eyes narrowed on his son. "I came to say I won't be there."

There must have meant something to Jareth because he visibly softened, Sarah noted.

Oblivious and tired of a conversation he couldn't follow, Toby piped up excitedly, "So then are you a Goblin King too?"

"Again... nothing so benign," Tyr replied. "We have our different mantles to bear." Even Toby wondered if he'd pressed too much.

"Some more than others," the Goblin King agreed.

Their conversation was rife with emotions Sarah could taste but not name. She wanted to retreat and leave them to their privacy, but Jareth's hand was still a vice around her arm.

"I am not your enemy," Tyr promised.

Jareth said nothing in return.

"You've come far." It might have been a compliment. Tyr's eyes dropped to the hand holding Sarah fast, and then returned to Jareth. "You saw her," he said after a moment. "To get here with mortals in tow, you must have."

Sarah felt Jareth's hesitation. "I did."

"And did she..." Tyr searched his son's face. "I won't stop you. I can't stop them either."

"You never could." The words were measured, but Tyr recoiled as though slapped.

"I would it had been different." A pause, his tone dropping even lower. "I did not think you would come back. You were free in your way."

"Was I?" Jareth's lips twisted. "I certainly will be."

Tyr touched Jareth's shoulder for a moment and closed his eyes. Sarah looked away, embarrassed, keenly aware that she was witnessing something deeply personal. Even Toby kept uncharacteristically silent.

Finally Tyr stepped aside. He looked like he might say more  on the subject, but instead he inclined his head. "Welcome home then." He eyed Sarah and Toby in curiosity, and she wondered if that was pity in his face. "Welcome to the Vale." A flurry of sable feathers and he was gone.

Before Sarah or Toby could break the silence, Jareth tugged them through the archway into the grand hall. It was bright compared to the dusk outside. The high ceiling was a dome of the purest polished silver. The torches below danced in its surface. Surrounding the room in a great circle were thirteen high stone seats. Sarah's eyes lifted again to the mirrored surface above. The reflected thrones made the the face of a thirteen-hour clock.

The Vale. Thirteen thrones in a bright hall. Valhalla.

She swallowed reflexively and pulled free from the Goblin King.

"Are we dead?" It came out as a whisper but accusation lent it voice.

Toby's eyes widened at her question.

Jareth's lips twitched and she thought she might slap him again if he laughed at her.

"Do you imagine yourself a brave warrior who died in battle?"

Sarah shook her head numbly, but could not forget the void. Death was the absence of life. Heaven the light after dark. "I don't know anything anymore. I think if what I've ever read is true, no living mortal has been here before."

"Don't believe everything you read, Sarah. It is always written by the victors."

Her head snapped up. "That didn't answer my question."

"You're not dead," he relented, evidently done toying with her. "And you're not the first mortal to be brought to this hallowed hall."

Sarah relaxed until another question rose on its heels. "And did that mortal ever go home again?"

She half expected him not to answer but he regarded her frankly, gauging her reaction. "No. No, she did not."

Other than a telling flicker of her lids, she didn't react. "And will we go home again?"

He didn't answer. Instead he rolled his fingers and a flame appeared where a crystal might have. He considered it a moment and then flicked it to light the large brazier that dominated the centre of the room. 

Sarah instinctively looked towards the ceiling. As she did, each chair was taken one by one until they were all filled save one.

Beautiful creatures, male and female, resplendent in furs and finery looked down. Some appeared to be archaic warriors, others wore more modern, expensive fitted suits. Most bore various looks of displeasure and wariness. Jareth genuflected with a mocking bow that was anything but genuine.

Sarah heard stirrings of dissent.

"So. The bastard dares return," one of the gods finally spoke. He looked every bit the warrior, down to a scar that crossed one eye. The other voices quieted.

Jareth straightened, seemingly impervious to the icy greeting. "Hardly unexpected. Your welcome party was as useless as ever but it was nice of you to think of me."

"Your insolence knows no bounds, boy."

"Unsurprising given whose blood flows through my veins."

There were more murmurs from above. More hard stares. Sarah felt the appraising eyes stake deep.

"And you dare bring mortals into our midst. You?"

"The blood runs deep, uncle." The last was more invective than endearment.

"What game do you play?" the god hissed.

"The kind you most adore. One with winners," he looked around the faces with deliberate measure, "and losers."

More couched words and hushed tones passed between the thrones.

"And these mortals?" asked a strikingly beautiful woman, her long coiled hair more gilded than the purest gold. "What are they to you?"

"They are my guests. But call them what you will."

"A skinny girl and a boy barely big enough for britches. They are easily dispatched," suggested a deeper voice. Its broad owner looked every bit the seasoned warrior and more than happy to oblige.

A glare of challenge flared in the Goblin King's eyes. "As I said, they are mine." The word skated across Sarah's skin.

The scarred god stayed the other's hand. "No blood shall be shed here."

The warrior looked like he begged to differ, but was silenced.

"You weren't to leave, king of the goblins," another said. There were a few snickers at the title.

"Things change. Doors open." The snickers faded. "I broke no rules. It is my birthright."

"Yes," the older god agreed in sober tones. "We felt it too. Why are you here now?"

"Many reasons. And I'm not the only one to break his leash." Jareth's eyes flickered to a dark-haired god. "A mortal child was taken."

There were more looks exchanged and the air in the room, despite the bright flames, grew colder. Sarah drew the cloak around her shoulders.

"What is the child to us? We do not have it," replied the gilded lady.

Sarah's face fell in disappointment and she looked towards Jareth sharply. If he'd dragged her there for nothing, if it had all been a ruse...

Her ire must have shown in her expression. The dark-haired god, more modernly dressed then the rest, laughed from atop his throne. "Your mortal looks ready to bite you."

"She always looks like that," Jareth replied dryly.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"For now, let's say the child. And later perhaps we will talk of more."

"You waste our time then. We already told you it is not here and likely dead by now if it had been," the warrior replied. "This is no place for mortals. If it's not, it wishes it was."

Toby whimpered, his face fracturing. Sarah shook her head minutely.

"Tell her to just make another," the god added callously, a dismissive wave adding insult. "That's all they do is breed." He eyed Jareth meaningfully. "But then you know that."

"The child's not here but it will be soon. By the next waning moon."

Sarah's wrist began to ache and she gripped it.

Seeing her reaction, one of the twelve stepped off the throne in a fluid step that put him beside Sarah in an instant. Without asking, he seized her wrist and pulled the sleeve back. His grey eyes probed her face. He finally turned and faced his brethren. "Impossible."

"We destroyed them all," another voice protested. There was a hum of agreement.

Jareth let them froth, smiling. "Not all apparently."

Another goddess shook her head incredulously, but her eyes were on Jareth when she spoke. "What have you done?"

"Waited," he bit back immediately.

"How?" asked another.

"You clipped my wings but then you forgot. That was a mistake. Time is a fickle thing and power grows unchecked."

"We should have drowned you as a babe," spat another.

"You likely tried. Another failure at your feet."

"It's not too late."

Jareth didn't flinch. "You won't now for the same reason you didn't then." He eyed the empty throne deliberately.

"You could have accepted your fate. We were generous."

Jareth snorted at the word.

"We won't be again." The scarred man sounded more tired than angry. More resolute than determined.

The Goblin King canted his head, eyes crueler than Sarah had ever seen them. "Neither will I."

The dark-haired god clapped slowly until he had the attention of the room. "Well spoken." Unlike the rest, he looked more intrigued than concerned. "As much as I enjoy a good execution, he has returned by right and is deserving of a welcome. The fates allowed. The brazier lit. Nothing to be done until all the players show up. And I don't know about you, but all this posturing has left me famished."

There were more murmurs of dissent, and some of agreement until the elder held up a hand.

"For once that silver tongue speaks the truth. Without thirteen we cannot vote. A somewhat convenient fact. A feast then," he nodded at Jareth, though his face was still one of hatred. "As the fates allow."

The thrones emptied one by one, like candles being snuffed.

When they were alone again, Sarah sagged unsteadily, not realizing she'd been anxiously holding her breath. The events of the last few hours had taken a toll and she felt ready to crack. Even Jareth seemed to sag though his eyes were still over bright and glittering.

He ruffled Toby's hair affectionately. Something of a habit, Sarah would think later.

"He was... they are..."

Jareth nodded. "How did you enjoy your brush with the gods, Sarah? You barely cowered at all." He sounded proud.

"What have you dragged us into?" she whispered.

"Nothing you can't handle, but come, you look like you're about to wilt."

She stared at him. "To a feast? After that? With them? We aren't welcome. They wanted to kill you. To kill us!"

"Some of them," he agreed.

"This is absurd! I don't want to eat, I just want my brother back."

"Yes, you've made that clear." He took her arm. A moment later they were in another room. A palatial space, lit by a central, circular hearth. It made the inn look like meagre offerings. Elegant furniture in clean lines filled the space. The ceilings were high and arched with thick weathered timber that made it look like the ribs of a ship.

Jareth walked to a table and poured himself a drink. Glancing at Sarah, he poured another and pressed it into her hand.

She took it without protest and sank into a round back chair. She unclasped the cloak and took a sip. Bitter, but it washed the lingering taste of bile from her mouth. She didn't comment when he gave a smaller glass to Toby. The boy looked disbelieving and then awed. He took a tentative sip, made a face and then took another, grinning.

Getting her brother drunk would be the least awful thing she'd allowed to happen so far.

"So they didn't want you here but now they are throwing you a party?" Toby asked, his face scrunched in disbelief.

Jareth chuckled. "Something like that."

"That's weird."

"Undoubtedly. But they never say no to feasts and fuc-" he trailed off at Sarah's warning look. "Fun."

"Can I come?"

"No."

"Why not?"

A long suffering sigh. "Because I don't want you there? Be thankful I haven't gotten rid of you entirely."

Toby laughed. Sarah did not.

"Besides you're too young for," another look at Sarah, "that kind of fun."

"If I'm too young, so is Sarah. If they have 'seen the ages pass' they must be really, really old."

Sarah took another sip, trying not to laugh. Gallows humour. "Actually I agree. I'm too young I think."

"What kind of fun?"

Jareth shot Toby a quelling look. "Dancing."

It didn't work.

"Are you going to dance with her? She's not very good."

"Gee, thanks, Toby. No, we won't be dancing. We danced before and it didn't end very well for him if I recall."

"Have we?"

The quiet question made Sarah frown at him.

"You danced with a fantasy. Nothing more than a shadow." He twirled his glass. "A little girl on the cusp of adulthood dreaming of what could be."

Her mouth clicked shut and she felt a wave of embarrassment. He didn't look like he was lying. It was somehow all so much worse if it hadn't been real.

"Sounds boring anyway," Toby said with a shrug.

The ensuing silence was only broken by the crackle of fire. If Sarah closed her eyes, she could pretend they were at home and none of it was real.

She must have fallen asleep, exhaustion and nerves catching up, because she jerked awake. It was the kind of startled awareness that comes with an unplanned sleep. Toby had evidently fallen asleep too, his body was curled into a low-backed sofa.

Jareth, if he ever truly slept, was awake. "Your brother handles his drink about as well as you. Don't worry, he drank less than you."

"Thank god I'm not a mother," Sarah replied ruefully.

"Oh, I don't think you're doing that poorly."

"Other than wishing him away, never telling him about it until history repeated itself, and now dragging him," she motioned vaguely, "here? Where we've nearly been eaten."

"More than once," Jareth added helpfully.

"Thank you so much. More than once, all the while probably in even more danger than I can even imagine."

"Undoubtedly."

Sarah scowled at him. "Thank you. I think I've made my point."

"And yet the boy lives."

Sarah snorted. "Small victories."

"Is that what you want? Motherhood," he finished when she looked blank.

The question took her by surprise. "I don't know. Not now," she said emphatically. "But maybe one day I'll want it."

"With the boy Toby mentioned. The one so eager to take you for coffee."

There was a strange precision to Jareth's words that set Sarah on edge.

"Or another with an easy smile who promises to grow old with you?"

Sarah stared at him. "Did I miss the feast?"

His lips twitched at her deflection but he allowed it. "Not yet. It's early still. You apparently needed your rest."

Sarah rolled the stiffness out of her shoulders.

"Where did you go when you first went through the tree?" She looked back at him, uncomprehending for a moment. 

Her brows furrowed and then eased in understanding. That's why he'd looked so relieved to see her. Something had happened that he hadn't expected. Hadn't anticipated. That was something. She feigned surprise. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sarah."

She felt the tell-tale pull a moment later and sneered at him. "I don't know." It was honest but not enough. "There was nothing and then there was a light. And stairs. It was my attic but not. There was a... thing. Something. But it was broken and wanted me to fix it. I didn't know how." She shrugged. "I felt my name called and it was over." The hold on her released. "Satisfied?"

"Not remotely."

"Good," she replied honestly. "Because neither am I." At his look, she continued. "This is a lot to process."

His lips bowed. "Naturally."

"So they are gods then. The Norse gods in fact."

"You might call them that. They are old. Older than you. They have many names in many places. The Norse were perhaps the closest the mortals ever got to getting something right."

"You called one uncle."

His amusement deepened but a telling edge crept into his voice. "I did."

"And your father... so you..." She trailed off at the knowing look in his face and then looked away. More than a king. "This is a lot to process," she said again.

"Don't worry, I don't expect you to fall to your knees in worship."

"Hardly," she snapped - thoughts still falling into place. "But then, if the Norse were mostly right then I've never read about you...not..." she trailed off again.

His expression sobered. "It's time to dress, Sarah."

"I don't want to go." She looked up.  There was a note of pleading in her tone. "They didn't seem too happy to find a mortal in their midst."

Jareth rose. "I wasn't asking. Neither were they. They prize pageantry as much as bloodshed."

She thought of Max. Her visions of a baby in the dark. A knife. Blood. "This all feels so wrong."

"We have no choice but to wait."

"I don't think I will be particular welcome." She didn't relish those cold stares again.

"Their eyes will be on me."

Sarah made no effort to move.

"Are you really going to run and hide now? I thought you'd relish the chance to see what you've been so diligently to studying. What you are so eager to return to?" His words taunted.

"I didn't know they were real," she whispered. "They were just stories."

He looked at her impatiently. "They are never just stories, Sarah. You know that." When she still didn't move he leaned towards her, his gloved hands falling with deliberate provocation onto the arms of her chair. His words were deceptively soft. "You can get dressed or I can dress you. I'll leave you the choice. I know which I would prefer."

She swallowed back the small part of herself that wanted to challenge him to try. Just to see what he'd do, she reasoned. Instead she rose, him retreating just enough that she stepped into the semblance of an embrace. He smiled at her small submission.  There was also disappointment in his eyes.

She looked around the room questioningly. He motioned towards a door. Once inside, door locked, she was thankful for the privacy and another hot shower. Even creatures of magic were creatures of comfort. The water that poured from the overhead silver spout was hot and streamed in a heavy cascade. She hesitated only a moment before stripping and stepping eagerly into the steam.  After standing in it for as long as she dared, she washed her hair. When she reluctantly stepped out and only because she knew he'd eventually just drag her out, her skin was almost pruned. She wrapped a large towel about her body and another about her hair.

She'd come to accept there would be finery waiting for her. There was a trace of surprise to see that she was afforded choice. The gowns were all sleekly beautiful creations. The first dress she touched was of the softest midnight silk, the bodice high and fitted with long slim sleeves of sheer lace. The skirt was full, though not outlandish. Not fit for running away in. Not that she had anywhere to run. The second dress was a deep slate blue that reminded her of the sea. By contrast to the first, it had a plunging neckline. The rest fell in soft drapes like a Grecian gown. It was embellished by traces of finely wrought burnished gold embroidery.

The third caught her eye immediately. A pale, almost iridescent fabric fitted to the waist with full fitted sleeves. The skirt was long and slim, made up of gossamer thin layers that gave it depth. Most striking were the twisting black lines that contrasted against the light, almost white fabric. They snaked up the dress like dark tangled tree branches against a winter sky.

She pulled the delicate dress on carefully, realizing as she did, that she hadn't been given anything to wear to beneath. When she examined herself in the long mirror, she saw that the top was so sheer it blended perfectly into her skin, looking as the though the dress has been painted on her. It gradually deepened in colour as it descended, keeping her covered where it mattered. The back, in contrast, was cut away to her waist. The skirt, which naturally fell away from her hips, swirled around her legs with the slightest movement. 

It was daring and provocative, but also delicate and refined. Her fingers traced the branches that splayed across her body. She wanted to take it off. She wanted to keep it on forever.

She combed out her damp hair and then pinned it up loosely at her nape. Nothing elaborate. The dress needed nothing more and she wasn't capable of anything more complex. The monochromatic shades of her gown made the green of eyes vivid.

The amulet sat prominently against her breastbone. She fingered it for a moment before deciding it couldn't be hidden by the sheer material at her collar, and instead stowed it in her bag. She wasn't sure it had done much for her anyway. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

When she stepped out of her room, the Goblin King was waiting for her.

"Perhaps I lied. Their eyes will be on you." His words were unspoiled by any mocking.

Something unwanted but heady furled within her.

Jareth was dressed in coordinating shades of black and gleaming silver. His pants were slim and fitted and his jacket was likewise cut perfectly to his lithe frame, with a fitted vest beneath. It could almost pass for modern but for the shimmer of stardust when it caught the light. His shirt was a stark white, with an elegant but simply styled silver collar in silver that hugged his neck. 

She thought she should say something complimentary back but her tongue was thick in her mouth. He read it in her face instead and his teeth glinted between a half smile.

"Toby?"

"Still sleeping." At her look, he added, "By his own will."

Sarah bit her lip. "I don't want to leave him alone."

"He's safer here. But by all means bring him if you must. It might be enlightening. I'm sure I saw my first orgy by his age."

Her eyes widened at what she couldn't be sure was a joke. "Perhaps I am too young."

"Too breakable maybe, but surely not too innocent. I assure you no one will touch him here."

Despite everything she somehow believed him. Sensing that small concession, he drew her out the door before she could protest. Just as suddenly they were in the centre of a lavish party. The room was low-lit by braziers and tall candles; the tables heavy with food and drink. 

Far more than the twelve gods and goddesses she'd encountered earlier filled the hall. There were stout dwarves decked in jewels, tall elves, their appearances shimmering into other faces at will, and creatures more wilder still. More than a few eyes turned at their modest arrival. A wariness was present in some faces, but drink and festivity had lightened the mood with laughter, and music filled the spaces between. Most seemed inclined to leave them be.

Like before, their dress was a motley mix unrestricted by style or time in seemed. Seeing her bemused expression, Jareth leaned down to her ear to be heard over the din. "Did you think to find them all in furs and armour, Sarah? They wear what pleases them at any moment and sometimes nothing at all."

Sarah was reminded that she wasn't wearing anything beneath the dress.

"You look like you're going to eat her."

Jareth drew back slowly, his eyes on Sarah as her addressed the new voice. "I might."

The dark-haired god from the throne room considered them with calculated cunning disguised as wry amusement. He held a glass of something in his hand though he didn't appear to be drinking it. Like Jareth, he was tall and slim - lacking the bulk of some of the others gods in the room. His face was somewhat pointed, but handsome. Thick black hair dusted his collar in thick waves.

"An uncle of the worst repute, Sarah. You've no doubt guessed who he is."

The god's green eyes, so much more vivid than her own, flashed with speculative interest. His whole demeanor bespoke a deep intellect and a deeper sense of drive. "Have you? How rare these days."

"Yes," Jareth mused. "I believe she even named her cat after you. No wonder I took a disliking to it."

Sharp eyes narrowed and Sarah felt her face flush. "He's... ah very smart. Sleek black fur... very handsome..." The flush spread, the dress doing little to hide it. She could feel Jareth practically vibrating with amusement at her side.

"For a cat," Jareth added.

"And does he like to play?" Loki asked, ignoring his nephew's obvious amusement.

"I suppose... he likes chasing mice," Sarah finished carefully.

"I very much enjoy playing games. As does my nephew. I wonder how long you'll last." He was gone before she could answer.

Sarah exhaled and then turned accusingly to Jareth. "You didn't have to tell him about my cat."

"Oh, but I did."

"He seems one of the least likely to want you dead."

"He always seems that way and then you find a knife in your back, Sarah."

Sarah stared at him.

"We have a mutual respect," he demurred, and then snagged two glasses from a passing tray, handing one to her. "Black sheep do flock together."

Sarah took a fortifying sip. It was crisp and sweet. "Your uncle is Loki." She took another sip and then another.

"Unfortunately. Hungry?" He led her to a table, his hand brushing against her lower back as she sat.

"Actually tt explains so much." Despite feeling completely out of her element, she was ready to eat. The drink and food was plentiful. Amongst the fare, silver trenchers held golden apples - as gleaming and perfect as they'd been in the orchard. She picked one up tentatively. It looked temptingly ripe.

Feeling Jareth's eyes on her, she slid it back carefully.

"They are harvested every full moon."

Sarah looked around curiously.

Jareth's lids flickered for a moment. "She has her reasons to stay away." His expression suggested he would share nothing more.

She was midway through her plate when the goddess with the flaxen hair sank gracefully into the seat opposite them, her eyes on Jareth.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"How kind of you to ask," his tone belied his words.

"A welcoming feast for the prodigal son."

Jareth's brow rose. "I believe in that story, the son wandered off of his own volition."

The goddess waved a hand dismissively and turned her eyes to Sarah.

"I hear you know of us, little mortal." The question though pointed, was not unkind. "Is that why you're here?"

Sarah hesitated. "Some...yes."

"But you aren't a believer." She tapped a slim finger on her cheek thoughtfully.

"No. You're myths and legends. I didn't think any of it was real."

The goddess sighed. "Relegated to stories." Then she eyed Jareth slyly. "Some of us anyway. And are you not honoured to be here?"

"Yes," Sarah paused and then looked around thoughtfully. "Only the worthy are supposedly welcomed and yet I don't see any others?"

"Any other mortals? You won't. None living."

"They once believed the best warriors were chosen after death."

The goddess laughed softly. "We have no lasting use for mortals, dead or living."

"So it was a lie?" Sarah pressed.

"It was vanity. There can be no lie when there is no promise. Men in particular have always believed they were more special than they are."

"They once fought in your name." For some reason it made Sarah sad, though she couldn't help but agree with the folly of man. "They worshipped you."

The goddess absently ruffled the sleek falcon feathers that accented the neckline of her gown. "They did many things in our name. While we welcomed the worship, all that matters is they believed."

"And then they died."

"As you always do." It was said without cruelty, but without pity either. Borne from an ageless indifference. "We gave them hope and still do in old places." She tittered, "Perhaps influenced here and there."

"Influenced?" Sarah canted her head. "Is that how you made yourself the goddess of beauty?"

Jareth didn't bother to hide snide grin.

The goddess eyed her and Jareth respectively. "Like father like son I see. So what did he promise you?"

Sarah didn't answer.

"Hmm. He'll bring you nothing but heartache, child. Enjoy the feast." She slid away with a bored look on her exquisite face.

Sarah turned to Jareth, her empty glass dangling in her hand. "Freya then?... Aunt? Sister? Girlfriend?"

The Goblin King chuckled and refilled it. "Dance with me, Sarah, before that sharp tongue gets the better of you."

Sarah scanned the room. Some of the guests already danced.

"No peaches. No dream this time."

The words were slow to penetrate, and when they did she stared at his proffered hand. There was a challenge in his eyes that Sarah found compelling. She took his hand before she'd fully decided. Reading the hesitation on her face, he pulled her into step as soon as their fingers met. His other hand fell to her waist. The leather of his fingers was cool against the warmth of her bare skin.

"Let me lead, Sarah," he chided after a moment.

With a few less than graceful steps, she relaxed enough to follow.

They were closer than they'd been ten years before, dream or not. No frothy confection of silk between them. She could feel the press of his body where they touched - shadow and heat where they didn't.

She remembered again how afraid she'd been that he was going to kiss her. Hopeful too. She'd never been kissed before and her pragmatic mind had decided he'd know how to do it properly unlike the boys too scared to ask her out. Tempered by age and experience, the confusion had only deepened.

He smelled good; the thought as fleeting as it was dangerous. Masculine but with a hint of something other that reminded her he was so much more. Her chin brushed his shoulder and she fought a ridiculous urge to draw his scent in deeper.

The wine had clearly gone to her head. 

A moment later, she felt fingers skate along her ribs, skirting her breasts. Not quite touching, but close enough to intimate that he could have had he dared. That he might dare soon.

"What are you thinking?" he spoke the words into her hair.

"Is that a question?" 

"Some call it polite conversation."

Sarah scanned the room. Some of the revelers were barely clothed - bared breasts and stroking hands engaged in a different kind of dance. The clash of steel and laughter suggested others had found another kind of blood sport. She focused back on his face, distracted by the fingers that circled lower on her back until they skimmed beneath the edge of silk.

"I think they are beautiful monsters," she answered honestly. "Even Vikings could waltz; doesn't mean they didn't still adhere to barbaric practices. Pageantry as you said."

"If civility is just a veneer then you should really cling to that illusion. It's likely the only thing saving you from more savage inclinations."

Sarah missed a step. A deft hand corrected her.

"Is that a threat?"

"A suggestion," his breath stirred the hair at her neck.

"You're trying to cause a scene, I think. Toying with mortals doesn't seem particularly popular." The Norse, unlike other pantheons, didn't have tales of gods seducing mortals.

"I have already caused a scene." He sounded entirely unapologetic. "And who says I'm toying? We're both adult enough to know what I want. Now the question becomes what do you want?"

Even if it had been a question, Sarah was not sure she had an answer. "I know you want many things. I want my brother back, I know that," she answered finally.

A hand closed around the back of her neck gently, palm cupping and long fingers threading into coil of hair at her nape. His lips were far too close. "And what would you give me to get your brother back?"

Sarah paused but answered before she felt the full compulsion pull. It was a question she had expected from the start. Before there was a need to answer.

"Anything." She didn't dare drop her gaze. It was a challenge as much as an admission, and she'd conceded enough already not to play the damsel again. She had known from the beginning he had no intention of letting her go and she had also always known that forfeiting would cost a dire price. His question only emboldened her and reminded her with whom she danced.

Jareth smiled slowly, a lazy one that didn't quite reach calculating eyes.

"You already knew that. You've wasted another question."

"Not a waste to hear you say it. And I didn't know, not with certainty. Not everyone is so noble." She wasn't sure he meant it as a compliment.

"I'd hate you for it." The 'it' was left to the ether.

"I haven't asked anything of you." The yet, as undefined.

"But you will."

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

And then he finally kissed her. As they both knew he would.

Chapter Text

The kiss was feather-light. It teased instead of devoured - very different from the awkward-turned-hungry one she'd traded him in the inn. It was more than the perfunctory peck he'd given her in the orchard too, and it took Sarah by surprise in a way it shouldn't have. As he always did.

His breath was warm and clean against hers, a contrast to the cool leather splayed against the bare skin of her lower back. She wasn't sure if they were even dancing anymore. The music played on - a pulsing, liquid rhythm that seemed to move as suggestively as his hands and lips. It was interrupted only by bouts of laughter and the more primal sound of bodies killing or fucking.

It made her keenly aware of where they were. Keenly aware of who watched. Keenly aware that Jareth was more than willing to sacrifice anything to get what he wanted.

She pulled back, his lips sliding to the corner of her mouth and then away. For a moment his hands tightened on her, like he was undecided about allowing her retreat, but then they loosened and a lazy smile formed.

"Running away?" His tone suggested he'd welcome the chase.

"Regaining my feet," Sarah offered coolly. "We may have a truce, but you haven't been honest with me. You've known all along who has Max. Which makes me wonder how this mystery person got him in the first place. You may not have taken him, but I am not naïve enough to think your hands are in anyway clean."

"My hands are far cleaner than any others you're likely to find in this room."

Sarah snorted, ignoring the fact that his fingers were still drawing tantalizing patterns on her sensitive skin. "No doubt. Yet you brought Toby and I right into the middle of whatever twisted family reunion this is. You all keep reminding me that we don't belong here. That we are so very breakable."

"I have no intention of breaking you, Sarah."

"I have no intention of being broken."

Jareth smiled again, just as lazily, his eyes returning to her lips. "But you are running away. Keep doing it I'll start to suspect you want me to give chase."

Sarah glanced around the room, laden with tension both sexual and otherwise, and hissed, "Perhaps I just don't feel like being mauled in public."

A soft chuckle followed. "They are far too occupied with their own conquests to care about mine. And the mauling has barely begun."

She glanced up sharply. "Is that what I am? A conquest?"

His eyes were dark and almost hypnotic in their intensity. "I'm not sure what you are."

There was an unexpected ring of truth in the words that drew a soft exhalation from her.

"But if you're asking if I'd like to have you right now, then the answer is yes," he intoned against her ear, so she could feel the words, as well as hear them. "I've been thinking of peeling that dress off of you since I first saw you in it. And if I thought you wouldn't put up much of fight, I'd do it right now." He grinned at her slight jerk of apprehension, and she felt that too. "If I'd wanted to force you, Sarah, I would have already. I think you already know that. Not that I haven't entertained the thought. Not least when I found you in the forest, clothed in nothing but a cloak. Or again when you admitted what you'd been on the cusp of doing. A stroke to my ego and a stroke to your… well, I suppose I so rudely interrupted that part. But if we are talking of savage inclinations, we should probably start with mine that the first night in my castle. You can't imagine what it felt like to have you there. In my world. With no rules to play by."

Sarah vaguely registered that his fingers teased along edge of her dress, the tips almost brushing the cleft of her ass. At some point he'd danced them off the floor and into the recesses of the banquet hall. His words were melting into her skin as smoothly as the wine and food lulled her mind. She made a note not to drink anymore.

"So when you ask if I want to conquer you, I'd say that's only fair after you've done the same to me. There are a great many things I want, some as you've easily guessed, have nothing to do with you whatsoever. But right now, in this moment, I want nothing more than to slip a hand beneath your skirt to find you bare and wet and ready. And that has everything to do with you."

Sarah shivered at his raw, unrefined honesty words, their unvarnished honesty all the more compelling. It had nothing to do with fear. When he kissed her again, she met him half way. This time there was nothing soft or teasing about it. Her teeth scraped and tugged his lips, even as his tongue delved to explore hers. She pressed against him willingly, swallowing the rational part of her mind that warned the path ahead led to danger. Delicious heady danger.

She registered that his hand had fully slipped inside her dress and was palming a bare cheek, his finger dangerously close to discovering the truth of his words. She didn't care. In fact she had to quell the urge not to push herself into those fingers… and only then because she was still dimly aware where they were. How easily he'd slip inside her. She squirmed and his tips brushed her folds. He groaned into her mouth; his other hand snaking up her ribs towards her breast.

It was foolish.

It would all end in betrayal but she wanted him in that moment. No longer as a girl but as a woman. In a way she hadn't any other man. A mad culmination of everything she'd been feeling and fighting since he'd returned. She understood that if she let him, he'd take her right there. And she'd take him too, she thought darkly - a hand curling round his neck possessively. She'd have power over him again. Her other hand clutched at his shirt and then began to work its way down toward the hardness that pressed into her stomach. She very much wanted to make him groan again.

A loudly cleared throat interrupted her descent. Jareth was slower to react and when he did, he looked anything but amused. For a brief moment, a look of pure rage crossed his features before he schooled his expression.

"As much as I hate to interrupt," drawled Loki, "actually that's a lie, I rather love ruining others' fun - I do wonder if you're not rubbing too much salt in the wound. Death by a thousand cuts or have you forgotten everything I've ever taught you?"

"I'm only thinking of one death in particular right now."

"No doubt. But I'm also of the suspicion that you would have retreated to a more a secluded setting had you wanted to entirely avoid interruptions. Muffles the screams more." He directed a wink to Sarah. "Of course alone you couldn't flaunt rolling around with a mortal in their faces."

Sarah looked sideways at Jareth incredulously. She tried to step away but his hand was still snagged inside her dress, and now it clamped about her hips.

"Ah yes, as much as he no doubt found you delectable, and I'm not blaming him, you do look entirely ready to eat, I'm certain his actions were also calculated. For someone who so rarely shares his private trysts, he had no qualms about having you against a wall before all soot and sundry." Loki's eyes travelled her form, lingering on her breasts, prominent against the thin bodice of the dress, before returning to her face. "Not that you were protesting much."

Sarah choked back a wave of revulsion. When she scanned the room again she noted that though the other revelries continued, more than one pair of eyes was trained on them. Close by a man was thrusting wildly into his willing partner. Her gown was pulled down, his mouth on her neck and hands palming her breasts. Like Jareth might have done to her. The woman caught Sarah's eye, her head bouncing against the stone with every stroke.

Sarah looked away sobering. She got the impression that after Loki had first greeted them and left, he'd never stopped watching. Her head began to buzz.

"Don't take it too hard, I've no doubt he would have enjoyed it. And I, for one," he gestured, "would have certainly enjoyed the show. How better to annoy the family than by bringing a mortal who is," he winked again, "not quite what she seems, and have her right there before them. Why, it's history almost repeating itself, isn't it?"

Jareth looked deceptively calm. Loki looked entirely in his element.

Sarah snaked a shaking hand through her hair and realized that at some point, Jareth had ruined her knot. The stark reality of where she was and what was at stake was as effective as a cold shower. "I suppose it's a good thing you stopped… this then."

"Oh, I didn't do it for your sake, little morsel. If circumstances were different, I might have waited my turn." She felt Jareth stiffen beside her. "When my hot-blooded, and now ever-so-jealous, nephew cools long enough to reflect, he'll realize the wisdom of my words. Keep the waves at bay until you are ready to drown them. I'm sure he can have you later, though I imagine the challenge will be a degree or two harder now. Especially as the effects of the food wear off… Oh," Loki feigned surprised concern, "did he fail to mention the food and drink at these feasts are always laced with a little, shall we say, spice? Considering what it does to us, I can't imagine how it must affect a mortal. An accidental oversight on his part, I'm sure. Good evening then." He bowed mockingly and disappeared back into the fold, no doubt ready to watch the fallout from the shadows.

Sarah felt her face flush hot with anger and she tried pulling away but his fingers bit into her skin.

"You are entitled to be angry, not to make a scene. If you run away now you won't find me very nice when I find you."

She removed his hand from her dress but he snared her wrist.

"Not very nice like drugging me? Trying to… to fuck me in front of your… your family!" Mortification rose as heady as her anger. She barely registered that he'd returned them to their rooms with little more than a wave. When he finally released her, she whirled away from him in abject disgust.

"Drugged is an overstatement. The essence is extracted from a beast which feeds on cravings. The desire has to be present for any effect. The more potent the desire the more likely to be felt." At her look of horror he added coolly, "It can't breed what isn't there in the first place, Sarah."

She looked away stiffly. "I'm still not in my right mind."

"You encountered them the first day too – through the thorns. They tracked you. I made sure they kept their distance."

She knew he was making a point but she refused to acknowledge it. "You could have warned me about the food. Why?"

"I could have. Long lives tend to dull the senses. It's a game to them. I wasn't sure Odin even still used it at these feasts until I tasted it. And then, I'll admit, I was curious what it would do."

Sarah's hands balled into fists until her knuckles bled white. "And if Loki hadn't interrupted?"

Jareth gave her a closed look that was answer enough.

"I knew you were just using me. You really are all monsters."

With a quick step he was before her. "Don't think for a second that I don't actually want you, Sarah." Haven't wanted you for a long time. His voice was uncharacteristically raw and unfettered by deception. "Now that I've had a taste of your desire, more than ever. But I am nothing like them. I allowed revenge to cloud my judgement." To ruin what might have been.

Through the haze of her hurt and anger, she could tell she'd struck a nerve. She filed it away for later. "You can't imagine that I would ever want you now."

"No, I'd rather think not." A trace of bitterness laced his tone. "I am nothing if not persistent though. I can wait." His eyes still held the feral cast they'd had in the hall. "As my uncle so helpfully noted, I have never liked to share." His hand ghosted her chin before she pulled away again. "Certainly not you. Never you."

Conflicting emotions made Sarah rock unsteadily. "I need to go bed. It's been a long day. I assume the effects of… this will fade?"

He studied her cold face. "I'd suspect they already are."

"Why me?" she asked after a pregnant silence.

For a moment she thought he wouldn't answer, but then perhaps in an act of uncharacteristic contrition, he spoke. "There is no one answer, Sarah. Not one that will satisfy you, I think. I'm not certain I know myself. The easy one is that you caught my attention. And you haven't let me go."

She shook her head. "I thought you were nothing more than a character in a little red story book. A fantasy. I didn't know you were real."

"But you believed."

She turned to walk away, shaken in too many ways.

"I have a question. Count it if you must, as I'd wager you are not feeling generous now." Her expression confirmed it. "Why did you have me fall in love with you?"

Sarah blinked at him in confusion, the words slow to penetrate, slower still to register. "What do you mean – made you? It was in the book. The Goblin King had fallen in love with the girl. I read it enough times to know."

Jareth shook his head. "That part was never in the book."

Sarah stared at him incredulously. "That's not possible. I memorized all the lines. Remembered them when I needed them," she added pointedly.

"You said them, yes. Believed it too. I once watched you practicing in the park." At Sarah's look of surprise, he offered, "I knew you would eventually call me. I could feel it. I just didn't know why."

Sarah shook her head mutinously. "I can prove it to you. I brought it." She hurried into the bedroom and dug through the remaining bag haphazardly.

Jareth was waiting for her when she returned, lounged on a sofa with his long legs crossed. His look of patient confidence was grating.

"Here it is." Habeas Corpus, she thought.

A wry smile added insult to injury. "I see you packed only the essentials."

"Laugh now, but I'm not wrong." But a frisson of doubt crept up her spine at the look in his eyes.

"And what do I win when you're proven wrong?"

The doubt intensified. She brushed it off. "Nothing. I've played enough games with you for the night, I think." She moved to the fire and flipped it open, eyes scanning. Her brow furrowed a moment later and she flipped more pages and then back again. She closed the book and turned it in her hand, looking for the familiar scratches and wear closely. She opened it again and examined the pages, looking for any cut marks, but the rest of the words were still there. She could feel Jareth's eyes on her the entire time, and knew anything more was just stalling.

When she finally looked up, his face was deceptively blank.

"It's a trick. You've done something to it."

Lips twitched. "I have not."

"Then something or someone else did something to it."

"The book is unaltered."

Sarah tried to remember the last time she'd read it. Not since that night, she eventually owned. She thought back to Toby's recent reading of it in the shack. He'd not once mentioned the love bit. Something he'd have teased her about given the opportunity. To be fair, he was likely still processing that she'd once wished him away.

She looked down at the book again, as though really seeing it for the first time. "It was so long ago. I don't know," she croaked. She jerked up again. "Does that mean I forfeit."

"Not yet," he replied. "Not if it's the truth. But there is always more to 'I don't know'."

"I was young," she continued finally. "A bit lonely. My mother had left. I resented my father and hated my stepmother. Toby… was an unwanted annoyance. It's typical of teenagers to consider themselves the centre of the universe and to think themselves special. Boys my age were just boys… and not very nice. I suppose I liked the idea of," she eyed him and then looked away, "something better being interested in me."

"And so you had the Goblin King fall in love with you and give you special powers."

Sarah stiffened in embarrassment. "Something like that I suppose. It's ridiculous now but I guess I felt it added to the story."

"And you believed it," Jareth added meaningfully.

"I did." For a time.

"But you didn't have yourself fall in love in turn."

Sarah looked up.

The Goblin King's lips twisted. "How cruel."

"I was a child."

"Almost. Still so cruel. Too old to turn, too young to keep."

Sarah gestured wildly. "You keep saying that. It was make believe. I didn't make you fall in love with me." There was a hint of a question in her tone that Sarah wished she could take back.

"No," he said slowly, eliciting an unexpected pang she equally wished she could ignore. "But I was… intrigued by the idea. By this slip of a mortal girl, completely normal in every way, who wanted nothing more than power over me without offering any in return. That desire was something I could well understand."

She shook her head. "I don't think your kind is even capable of love." Even Sarah knew it was a waspish thing to say, born of wounded pride.

"Perhaps not the romanticized kind, no. But I'd argue not many mortals are either. We understand desire and power and how the two are woven together. We covet. We align our interests. There are other kinds of love."

"Like sibling love. Like parents who want their children back," Sarah parried softly. She almost couldn't remember what Max looked like anymore. Her parents had forgotten him completely.

"Yes," Jareth replied, equally as soft. "There is that kind too."

Sarah stared down at the book and then frowned. "How did this even come to my possession?" She vaguely remembered finding it at the fair but not what she'd been drawn to it in particular. She'd been entranced by the cover.  But looking at it now, it was really unremarkable.

"I haven't a clue." It was only a partial lie.

She stared at him sourly. "So did my answer suffice?"

"For now. Though I think, perhaps, you learned more than I did." As she turned to leave he added, "I'd ask you more questions but I don't think I'd like the answers tonight. Sleep well, Sarah."

After the door shut the Goblin King leaned back and stared at the fire, his expression changing.

He reflected on the evening with mixed emotions. There was satisfaction in the wary looks he'd received from his brethren. Satisfaction in having made it at all. He could, of course, have hoped for a better ending to the night. He wasn't even entirely angry with his uncle. It would be like being mad at a knife for cutting. And perhaps there had been some wisdom in not playing his hand too soon.

That said, it made for a cold bed. Had he whisked them back to the rooms as initially intended, he might have been curled around her now. Or more likely still buried deep inside her. He hadn't planned to have her in the hall, as intriguing as the prospect was. He wanted her to himself. Planned to anyway. She might have still regretted it in the morning, he wasn't fool enough to think she trusted him, but he'd use his hands and teeth and tongue to disavow her of any doubt. The bottom line was that he hadn't lied.

She'd wanted him too.

She'd been willing. Hunger. Driven by the same need that plagued him. Despite everything uncertain between them. And after having his hands on her he'd only wanted her more fiercely. It had been wise not to tell her that her dress had lost much of its opacity as she'd paced before the firelight. He'd needled her enough for one night. He'd need to make amends, at least in gesture. There were other more pressing and long-outstanding debts to collect.

Since the first he'd decided he'd at least like a taste. And even casual sex implied some sort of binding. She wasn't far off when she'd mentioned conquer. He couldn't quite recall when that sense of conquest had turned into a notion to keep. He was now contemplating how best to do that.

A knock at the door interrupted his darker musings. The party would still be going on, perhaps livelier since his absence. He waved a hand and it opened. Then sighed, unsurprised, when he saw who it was.

"Come to tear a strip?" The words were clipped but not unkind. Since the night on the balcony he'd expected another visit.

The god chuckled. "I've tried that, it never worked." He settled himself in the chair opposite. "You made it. Against all odds. And quite the arrival."

"Mmm, despite your worry."

"I wasn't worried. Not on my behalf anyway. More concerned about the fallout should you have failed."

"You never did care for women's tears."

"That's not entirely true. I sometimes enjoy causing them."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "With pretty words and long laments."

"We all have our talents." The god drew serious. "Was it terrible? The passage?"

Jareth flexed his hands. "Creatively terrible. No, no creative. Predictably painful. But no lasting effects. Shadow and mirror magic. They should have had old Silvertongue ply his hand if they'd wanted more than phantom cuts and burns. I knew they'd try to make me turn back. They failed." He changed the subject abruptly. "You missed the party." 

His companion poured himself a drink, allowing the turn in subject. "Oh, I stopped in," he gave a low rumble after a sip. "Long enough to see you haven't changed your ways. You're lucky she wasn't there." He glanced around, one auburn brow rising. "I half expected to be interrupting something now. Quite the show you were prepared to put on."

"Nothing they haven't seen before," Jareth offered without shame.

"Don't be unkind. Your blame is misplaced."

"As is your concern."

A long suffering sigh. Jareth had heard it many times.

"You're so like him."

Jareth had heard that too. "I don't thank you for the comparison."

"And you're like her also."

Jareth swallowed, jaw setting. "You'd know I suppose."

"I wasn't wrong when I warned you that the girl was dangerous. If anything, tonight has proven that."

Jareth met his stare. "I haven't forgotten your words."

"Yet you deal in deception couched in dulcet tones."

Jareth snorted, "How poetic, if a touch contrived. I learned from the best."

The god read the unspoken cue and drained his glass. "You won't believe me, but I have done my best with you. Tried to counsel and guide. I'm sure I failed at times. It wasn't easy on anyone." Jareth's glacial look made him falter as he stood. "Well… regardless, welcome back. You know I wish you luck… but watch your step lest innocents fall in your wake."

There was enough sincerity in the words that Jareth softened. "For all your warnings, I have always wondered how a captivating little red book full of poetic nonsense meant to tug on the heart strings  made it to her realm."

A brief but answering smile from the titian god followed. "I have no idea what you mean." The door shut quietly.

Jareth waited a few more moments and then turned. "You can come out now, Sarah. Didn't anyone tell you it's not polite to eavesdrop? Advantageous perhaps, but not polite."

Sarah paused in the crack of the doorway, as though undecided whether to own up to. Eventually she opened it and stepped out. Jareth glanced at her long enough to see that she's changed out of the dress and was wearing a nightgown - no doubt provided by the room - in a ridiculous virginal white. It would look less ridiculous discarded on the floor, he decided. But that time had passed it seemed. So had the inclination. He was feeling morose.

She didn't bother to apologize. He didn't expect one. Nor was he in the mood to talk. The flames cast long shadows on his face until he barely looked human. Sarah reminded herself he wasn't. He did look almost maudlin. As angry as she was, she rather insanely wanted to comfort him.

He read the pity in her face. "Unless you're planning to comfort me by getting under me or on top of me - really I have no particular preference at this moment - I'd go back to bed, Sarah." He offered a pointed look. "Lest I forget that thin veneer of civility." The crude words were sharp - meant to chase her away – but they held an element of truth. It was the latter that had her closing her door with a decided click. Locking it too.

He laughed at the sound, a cruel mocking bark meant to hide everything hiding beneath.

Run away, Sarah. Time is short.

Sarah was running... running so fast her legs were cramping and lungs were burning. Every step was torture but she pushed on, unwilling to stop. Unwilling to concede defeat yet.

A baby was crying. And then she was falling.

Falling...

A weight at her back crushing her to the ground.

A hot breath snarled in her ear, "This will be the last time."

She cried and pushed him off, her hands slick and sliding. She looked down to see them coated in blood.

And then she looked up.

"Please pass the eggs."

"Not if you insist on eating with your mouth open."

Toby scowled but shut his mouth. "You sound like my mother," he muttered after swallowing.

Jareth handed over the dish. "With both you and Sarah to contend with? I've no doubt she is a saint."

"Hey!"

"Mouth closed, boy, lest I seal it shut for the duration of breakfast."

Sarah watched the scene from the doorway. Once again she'd awoken alone, mind cloudy, and panicked at Toby's absence. Emotions had been so high she hadn't looked for, much less thought about him, the night before.

She wasn't sure how she felt that it was commonplace to wake to the sight before her. Toby opened his egg-filled mouth to say 'good morning', caught the warning look from the Goblin King, and closed it again immediately. Sarah slid into her chair, brushing her hair behind her ear. Somehow the requisite 'next morning awkwardness' was even worse without the sex.

Toby looked between them, careful to swallow fully before speaking. "So… how was the party?"

Sarah looked at the Goblin King. He looked at Sarah.

'Fine' and 'disappointing' collided across the breakfast dishes.

"Sounds… fun," Toby offered politely.

"It was rather boring." Jareth tapped his own egg, shattering the shell. "Nothing memorable."

Sarah poured herself a cup of tea, her head pounding too much for coffee. "The food was terrible." She glanced at the king. "The company somehow worse."

Jareth clucked his tongue, mischief alight in his eyes. "Indeed, the wine went to her head and your sister couldn't keep her hands to herself."

Sarah gaped.

Toby did too. "She hit you?" He looked at her in disbelief. "You hit him? Really?" He turned back at Jareth. "One time she got drunk at a party-"

"Toby!"

"And I'm not supposed to know about that because I'm just a kid. The end." He focused on his juice.

Sarah glanced down at her own cup but did little more than grip it. Her plate remained empty.

"It's all perfectly untouched," Jareth offered snidely.

Sarah narrowed her eyes but then took a sip.

"Concerned about your restraint? Afraid to… hit me again?"

She ignored the provocation and served herself some fruit.

"Just don't eat with your mouth open," Toby whispered helpfully. "I think he didn't sleep well or something." 

Jareth's lips twitched.

The rest of the breakfast continued in silence.

When they were finished the meal, Sarah rose and stretched. She was wearing fitted black leggings and a lanky asymmetrical shirt in a dark teal. There'd been a selection of clothes set out for her that were decidedly human. She wasn't sure if it was the room catering to her whims or another act of contrition on his part. Either way she appreciated the concession.

Toby also almost looked like himself as well, if more stylishly dressed for a boy his age. Clearly Jareth was having an influence. She wasn't sure how she felt about that either.

"What happens next?" she asked finally.

"I'd imagine we get a summons…" Jareth canted his head, "oh, about now."

Sarah and Toby heard nothing.

"Apparently alone today." He looked undecided for a moment, eyeing Sarah and Toby in turn. "I could defy them," he mused aloud. Perhaps Loki's words had resonated because a moment later he straightened in decision. "I'd tell you not to wander but I doubt either of you would listen. I could eliminate the door, but I likewise don't want to contend with your thorns later." He directed the latter to Sarah. "I'll consider this a test of trust." She wasn't sure if he meant hers or his. "Don't go far. You should be safe, but should you cross anyone, don't trust their words. Don't eat anything you're offered. I'll be occupied, so try not to find yourself in immediate need of rescue." His tone implied it a distinct possibility. "And this goes without saying, Sarah, don't bother trying to escape."

Sarah fought the urge to be petty. "Don't worry. I have no intention of running away. You said Max would be here soon," she squeezed Toby's shoulder reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere without him."

Jareth returned her stare evenly, his voice neither kind nor cruel. "I expected nothing less. I'm not worried you will succeed, I just don't want the bother of hunting you down.   Your opportunity to run away is long over."

Professor Gunnarsson pulled on the cotton gloves carefully. He yawned loudly, in no hurry to move faster than absolutely required. He didn't much care for mornings. Anything before 9 was a crime against nature. Still, it was best to make the most of time away from classes.

He adjusted his spectacles and prepared to open the case in the rare book collection, his eyes focused on the contents and then widened.

"Barbara!" he bellowed a moment later.

Less than thirty minutes later he was onto the fourth phone number. The first two had been out of service. When a man's voice answered he closed his eyes in relief.

"Hello? Hello is this Mr. Williams?" It was a cellphone and the reception was poor. Silly new, fangled devices.

"Yes... who is this please?" The voice was distracted. He could hear a woman scolding someone in the background and then, loud boyish laughter.

"I'm Professor Gunnarsson, your daughter's thesis advisor."

A long pause. "I'm sorry, who's this? This is a private line, how did you get this number?"

"I found it in my records as an emergency number. I'm sorry to disturb you on your private line. I'm trying to get a hold of Sarah. It's rather important. Would she be with you? Or would you have a forwarding number?"

Another pause. Even longer. "I think you have the wrong number, sir. I don't have a daughter. Sarah or otherwise. Have a nice day."

The line went dead.

Barbara looked at the expression on the professor's face, her own pinching with concern. "What is it? What's happened? And who's Sarah?"

Sarah was running, running so fast her legs were cramping and lungs burning. Every step was torture but she pushed on, unwilling to stop. Unwilling to concede defeat yet.

She felt a weight strike her leg, causing her to fumble, the momentum carrying her over into an ungainly sprawl onto the soft earth.

Panting hard, she looked at the stick that lay beside her and then up at the victorious smirking face. "You nasty little cheat."

"You're it!" Toby crowed.

Sarah stood, still huffing for breath. "When did you get so fast?"

"Junior track, you lazy nerd."

"Reading strengthens the mind."

"Doesn't help you much in tag, though."

After leaving their room, Toby and Sarah had explored their accommodations. Many of the doors they passed were locked. Those that were open seemed to be mostly storage. One door had led to a courtyard with lush grass and a verdant garden. It was designed almost like a mini hedge maze, but there was nothing ominous about it and, like the corridors they'd encountered, it appeared to be empty. The sky overhead was blue and clear. The siblings explored the space for a bit. Sarah was wary of meeting other gods without. They both needed fresh air. Then Toby had slapped her hard in the back and yelled, "You're it." She'd stared at his retreating form in disbelief. His bark of joy was infectious though, and a welcome distraction. Looking around to see if anyone watched, she'd chased him though the shrubs and beds until she'd caught him round the waist – spinning him briefly, despite his weight and gangly height. He'd be bigger than her soon. Soon he wouldn't want her around anymore. Then she'd only have… He struggled in her grip. She'd let him go and then took off laughing, swallowing the morose thought.

She'd eluded him for a while but his pursuit had been relentless. "This is tag, not Dodge ball." She motioned towards the offending stick.

Toby shrugged, flashing her a devious smile. "I improvised."

"You are so not allowed to hang out with him anymore!" She ruffled his hair and then stopped. "Toby, about the tree… the one that brought us here."

He sobered.

"What did you see… when you passed through I mean?"

"Nothing? It was cold and…. Just nothing. And then I was here."

Sarah nodded, far from settled by his answer. "Must have been scary."

"Yah. But he'd warned me it would be dark." He shrugged again. "Nothing bad happened really."

Sarah chose her next words carefully. "It was good of him to warn you. Since it must have still been scary knowing he was going to push you... even to play a trick on me. Brave of you to play along."

"It was kinda. I was brave." Toby frowned. "But it wasn't a trick. I'm not that mean. He said we had to go through willingly. That you wouldn't go. That as mortals get older, they get more scared and that if I wanted to see Max I had to go through. I knew you were afraid of heights. I said I could maybe jump first to show you it wasn't scary and that I'd tell you, but he thought you'd try to stop me if you knew. He suggested you'd do anything to rescue me, without a second thought. If you thought I was in danger, you'd jump for sure. And you did." He smiled warmly. "And he was right because it worked."

Sarah winced at the pride in his voice. "But what worked Toby?"

Toby shrugged. "It? I dunno. We're here aren't we? And speaking of it…" He slugged her and ran off again.

Sarah rolled her eyes, her brow marred by lines, but took off after him dutifully. She rounded a leafy corner straight into the arms of a man.

Stifling a curse, she recognized that it was Tyr. His hands gripped her firmly, his own face mirroring her surprise and relieving her that it was not an ambush.

"Oh! Sorry," she said by rote. "I thought we were alone." She was suddenly embarrassed she'd been caught in a child's game.

"You're never alone here," he replied seriously, but he looked amused.

Sarah fidgeted to let him know he still held her. He released her obligingly. In the sunlight he looked less stark than he had at dusk. He was still dressed in black, his cowl present like a collar of thorns, but his hair reflected the light and his blue eyes, though rimmed did not look cruel. It was impossible not to see Jareth in his face.

They were all beautiful in their otherworldly way. She was glad she hadn't met them as a teenager – when her hormones would have made her blush at the slightest provocation.

"Are we…" She was about to ask if they weren't supposed to be there.

"It's fine. This garden has long forgotten laughter."

The silence stretched a beat too long.

"You weren't at the feast?" She dearly hoped the answer was no.

"I thought my absence was better served elsewhere." Though there was a glint in his eye that suggested he knew full well why she'd asked.

"I… Jareth's in an audience with… someone if you're looking for him."

"I know. I'm rather surprised to see you out. Does he know you're running about or did you give him the slip? I thought him better skilled than that."

"No, he decided to be generous I suppose."

Tyr laughed, the glint returning. "How uncharacteristic of him. He must be trying to make amends for something." He started walking and Sarah fell into step.

"Is it true that you're the god of war and strife?"

"Amongst other things. Are you in love with my son?"

Sarah gaped at him. Right for the kill. God of war indeed. "No," she answered finally, when she realized he was indeed awaiting a response.

He eyed her shrewdly. "You wouldn't be the first mortal. Nor the first… but I'll take you at your word." For now was implied. "How much he has told you?"

"Not much at all."

"Predictable. Wise."

Sarah was reminded of the conversation she'd overheard the evening before. She wanted to echo that Jareth was very like him, that it was apparent even in so brief a time, but she didn't dare.  She suspected the reception would be entirely different.

Her tongue would not be caged however. "Were you the one who loved a mortal once?"

The question caught him off guard, and she thought if he'd been in Raven form his feathers would have bristled. He looked both angry and amused at her temerity. "Once."

Sarah nodded. "But not anymore."

He eyed her sideways. "No."

"And… Jareth's mother?"

Those pale eyes flickered. "Is not here."

"Passed away?" she asked softly, shocked at her own continued boldness, but unable to stop.

"Is not here… now."

Sarah exhaled. "So not… a mortal?"

"No, not a mortal." He turned on her suddenly. "You are a brash thing aren't you? Is that why he wants you? I had wondered for a moment, if the boy was yours or his – or both. But you're not warming his bed, I gather. Yet anyway."

It took Sarah a minute to follow. "Toby is my brother."

"Both of you touched by his magic though."

"Once. Yes."

"Still..."

Sarah deflected. "I just want my brother back." An element of truth.

"He's here in the garden." His wry amusement at her expense was so like Jareth's she was taken aback for a moment.

"My other brother, I mean. I'm only here because I've come to get him back."

"Liar," he laughed, for he could see too.

"You're a raven. Jareth implied you act as Odin's spy?"

Tyr didn't deny it.

"The myths name Huginn and Muninn as being those, not Tyr the god of war."

"Then the myths butchered their names. And I had a disagreement with one." A darker emotion coloured his tone.

"What sort of disagreement?"

The war god snorted. "The sort where Muin is now dead and I must fulfill his role in penance." He didn't sound in the least penitent.

"You were enemies?"

"We were brothers. Born of the same mother."

Sarah started.

He eyed her blandly. "Have mortals grown so soft? I have brothers enough to spare, one dying is not a great loss. He's not the only god to die by my hand."

Tread lightly, Sarah. "And if Loki is Jareth's uncle… he's-"

"Adopted." Tyr turned on her again. "You do know quite a lot about us, even where you falter."

"I studied you." At his raised brow, she blustered on. "I mean I just happen to study Norse mythology. In university. I'm still processing all of this," she added honestly.

"No doubt. You just happen to study it," he repeated. "Convenient."

"I chose it," she replied defensively, noting the inflection. "I was studying literature and mythology, a bit of anthropology. I was offered a fantastic chance to study under one of the greats. It just made sense."

"Naturally. You'd be a fool to turn it down."

Sarah frowned. "Naturally. I almost studied Celtic mythology."

"Ah, another race that almost got it right." A crooked smile twisted his lips. "I have a soft spot for the Celts, even when the Nords slaughtered them in my name. How could I not when they named the otherworld after me."

Sarah gaped at him. "Not Tír na nÓg?"

"That's it. I did say I was the god of many things."

"You're answering all of my questions," she remarked after another fraught pause. "He doesn't. Why?"

"The resemblance only goes so deep. And there is no reason to lie to you."

Sarah offered him a slight smile.

"Where would you go even if you knew the whole truth?" 

Her smile faltered and her tone sharpened. "The resemblance is deeper than you think."

Tyr laughed, "Don't take offence, sweetling. I've long forgotten how to talk to mortals. Even rather fetching ones. I have to assume you're of greater significance to him than a passing pretty face though. Why else would Jareth have you arriving wearing the mantle of our house. Protection certainly, against darker threats. But that could have been served another way. A wordless warning perhaps?" Tyr brushed Sarah's cheek. He wasn't wearing gloves and his long fingers were cool. "Not to touch. Or perhaps meaning more."

Sarah drew away. "I didn't know."

"But he knew. I knew." His pale eyes were intense. Haunted. "The last one to wear that cloak was his mother. She was drawn to anything green."

Sarah swallowed thickly, still trying to digest everything while lost in the dark. "I've certainly learned a lot in this garden."

Tyr looked around, his face still tight. He plucked a flower from a nearby bush and twirled it in his fingers, the deft movement so similar to his son's. He tucked it behind Sarah's ear as though by rote. "This place has witnessed many sights, and guards secrets in every root and petal."

"Poetic."

Tyr's expression fractured. "That I am not the god of." His head canted. "Your brother is listening."

Toby peered round a corner, his expression pinched. She'd forgotten their game; felt shame for forgetting him too, albeit briefly. She mouthed a 'sorry'.

"I'll leave you now though I imagine not for long. I don't think I'll be able to avoid any more… events. I've meddled enough." He flashed her a devastating smile, not looking in the least apologetic. 

When he'd gone, Toby joined her. "He kind of scares me."

Sarah nodded. "He probably should. They all should." At his perplexed look, she bent. "Don't trust them, Toby. Not even Jareth okay? I mean… don't say that! Don't tell him I said that or anything. We need him. Just going forward speak to me first."

Toby pulled a face. "He doesn't want to hurt me or you, Sarah."

She stiffened at his blind faith. "I…I know. I certainly don't think he does anyway. He wants to hurt others though. And we might just get hurt in the process."

"He's told me all about magic. About the things you can do here. Sounds pretty awesome… maybe after we get Max again-"

"Toby!" She shook him gently. "Don't you want to see mum and dad again? I do."

Toby's face screwed up. "Oh right… I sort of forgot about them."

Sarah shook him again. "Well don't. And if you want to see them again remember them, and… don't trust his promises."

"That's what he said!"

"Yes. And he's one of them."

Toby shook his head. "I don't think he is."

Sarah couldn't disagree.

Their game was forgotten.

Jareth strolled down the corridor. He could have just appeared, but that was expected. Demanded. Walking meant he could make them wait. And so he walked. Slowly.

When he finally arrived, having taken a particularly circuitous route, he was surprised to see his audience was to be with Odin alone. Whatever was to be said was meant for few ears. Interesting.

The god was waiting for him, looking rather impatient. It drew a smile to the king's lips. Odin caught the smile and frowned further, bluntly indicating the seat opposite him. Jareth lounged back in the uncomfortable chair - likely chosen by design.  He propped one polished booted on the edge of the table.

Odin stared at the boy sourly and considered yet again that the whelp had far too much of his father in him, for all his other stains. Age had not improved him. He stared at the foot pointedly, his blue eye flickering.

Jareth raised a brow and the boot remained. He was rather fascinated by the god's inability or unwillingness to conceal his emotions. It made riling him all the easier, if less fun for the lack of challenge. He was mercurial, something Jareth could appreciate, but to an almost impressive degree. Jareth chose to view him little better than fickle. Equal parts the grim warrior and devout lover of terrible poetry. He liked to consider himself honourable and noble, but he was just as keen to cause strife if it suited his gain. Or if he was bored. And for all his worldly knowledge, he was also a consummate snob. Odin's dark eye, scarred above the brow and below, narrowed. He'd claimed he'd sacrificed it for wisdom, the blue iris swelling black as it absorbed all the secrets of the universe. And there was certainly no denying the breadth of his knowledge. Jareth, whose own eyes were similarly mismatched, suspected it was nothing more than an accident of creation. Odin had certainly resented seeing his unique trait reflected in someone else and counted it as one of Jareth's many sins.

Odin accepted a drink from an attendant and sat back. None was offered to the Jareth. Odin's fine robes were a sumptuous mix of fur, feather, and gold - the entire effect archaic and almost gaudy. His armour was gleaming, having not seen an actual battle in centuries. The look was purposeful, however. Odin was showcasing his power. His brute strength was on display; his power, his prestige… and more importantly his pedigree. He was shorter than Tyr, but stockier; handsome in a different kind of way. He kept his appearance noticeably older by design. White peppered the auburn of his thick hair. He'd fashioned himself the All-father, both in tale and truth, even over his own brothers.

Father of the gods. Father of all. Power absolute. He took care to the look the part.

Echoing that were his Valkyries – the only others present - keeping silent sentinel in the shadows. They were the infamous warrior maidens, though there was nothing maid-like about them. Jareth had long suspected they'd all shared Odin' bed at one time or another, by choice or not. He knew they shared each others'. Regardless of their proclivities, they cared more for blood sport than the bed kind. Distantly related to the Norns, they took an almost primal delight in deciding the fate of fallen warriors; sometimes felling them themselves if fancy struck. Above all they abhorred failure.

Recalling the distinct flap of winged mounts closing in on him in the snow-covered forest, Jareth winked at them provokingly.

He turned back to Odin. "Surely you didn't summon me here to glower? Nor to show off your dazzling ensemble."

Odin drained his glass and set it down hard enough to rattle. Then his face cleared, breaking for a moment. "Why did you come back? Why couldn't you accept your fate?"

The question, so unexpected and free from hate, took Jareth by surprise. He studied the older man's face and after finding nothing recognizable he frowned. "You know why."

Odin sat back, his own brow furrowing.

"Don't tell me you're surprised. I have no doubt that the all-seeing father knew exactly when the doors opened. We've blood enough alike that you knew I would come."

Mention of the blood-tie had once been a thorn. Odin didn't deny it though.

"I suspected, yes. You surprised me though."

Jareth recognized he was being given a rare compliment.

"Even away, your magic grew. You've more of your father in you than just a face. What? Even after this long there is no love lost?"

The Goblin King declined to answer.

"It could have been worse. We showed mercy considering."

"Mercy?" Jareth eyed the guards. "What's worse? Kill everyone and let your pets choose?"

"A kingdom, yours alone to command."

"A title meant in jest, ripe for mockery, with little more than mindless goblins for subjects. The Goblin King. Don't pretend it wasn't a yoke. One meant as a warning to others."

"And look what you made of it!" Another rare compliment that had Jareth wondering exactly what hand was being played by the wily god.

"It's wise to befriend dwarves. They can build just about anything."

"You've struck fear. That's power." His words were honed like a blade.

"But it was a place to forget," Jareth parried.

Odin had the grace not to deny it, and for a moment he looked nothing more than tired. "You didn't lack for companionship or sport."

"As long as I stayed forgotten. Unnamed."

Another longer pause. "Don't think I didn't… sometimes wonder… If the right choices had been made."

It was as close to a concession as Jareth would ever receive. He didn't buy it. "Why do you really want to speak with me, uncle?" Jareth would never call him all-father. Odin didn't expect it.

"Whatever measures I took to stop you are over. You are here again. By right, if not desire. I have no doubt help was provided along the way," his tone suggested annoyance, "but I respect your efforts. In many ways I was blind. There were things I didn't see and still don't." Odin folded his large hands, and for a moment looked younger and far more powerful, despite his seeming bout of humility. "Consider this, Jareth Tyrsson. You could stay and reclaim your birth right now."

The king forced himself not to react. Honeyed words indeed.

"Take their place in the hall. Let old wounds heal. Learn real power. Forgo your purpose and achieve your ends in other ways." He made it sound easy. Odin was nothing if not charismatic. The gods followed him. Mortals had once fallen at his feet in worship. They'd sacrificed in his name. "And forget about the mortal." It was the first time Odin had mentioned Sarah, though he'd certainly been at the feast. Neither had he missed the cloak. "Mistakes were made. Prices paid. Don't make the same, boy."

Jareth sat up and leaned forward. "A tempting offer." It was an honest answer. "Your faith in my forgiveness is as surprising, as it is misplaced." At Odin's look of anger, Jareth stayed him with a hand as he rose. "I will consider your words, but I ask you to consider this in turn, uncle." He indicated the silent Valkyries. "I now know you can feel fear. And recall that I am not the only beast you caged. Not the only one now free. He's coming."

Odin shook his head in disgust. "You'll get them all killed, boy."

"Maybe. But I am no longer a boy and it wouldn't be the first innocent blood spilled by the whim of the gods. Nor the first sacrificed."

Odin was left staring at an empty chair.

The twists and turns of the garden were almost Labyrinth-tine, but it was more playful than confusing. Despite a few wrong turns they made it out and back inside without further ado.

"What now?" Toby asked.

"I don't know. More exploring? He didn't say we couldn't. In fact, he encouraged it really."

"I think he actually said he couldn't stop us and even if he could he didn't want to listen to whining."

Sarah blinked at her brother incredulously.

"He was mostly talking about you," Toby added with a grin.

"You're the worst, did you know that?"

"Actually I'm a bit hungry."

"We'd better go back to the room then. Maybe there will be food there or he'll be back soon. He said not to eat anything elsewhere."

Toby nodded. "Hopefully there will be pizza. Viking pizza!"

"'Viking pizza' would probably be covered in salt-brined fish."

Toby's face conveyed his disgust. "Okay, non-fish pizza and then more exploring."

When they arrived back to their rooms, Jareth has still not returned. Sarah left Toby for a moment to get her things from the bedroom. Given what she'd recently learned, she should try more than ever to make sense of her notes. She clutched her wrist by rote. She'd somehow started this and she'd just as somehow finish it. At the very least, more knowledge meant more to bargain with. His absence gave her opportunity without interruption. Distraction. She grabbed the bag and turned it on over on the floor, emptying the remaining contents. She picked up her notes, hand brushing something leather underneath. Her eyes slid to the little red book that lay on the bed from the night before. When she looked down and recognized what she was touching she sat down hard. Somehow the book was in her bag. The one that had caused it all. She stared at it warily, like it was an animal about to strike. It of course did nothing.

The trinket Gunnarsson had given her was caught atop the embossed cover from when she'd dropped it in the bag the night before.

Toby called her from the other room and she shifted back to awareness. "Just a minute, Tobes!"

Staring at it again in disbelief, she finally reached forward and picked it up with shaking hands. Quickly fanning through the lays, tracing the elegantly inked script, until she reached the last - the one that should not be. The one she couldn't decipher, that had even stumped Gunnarsson's best efforts. Her eyes focused and then widened.

She could read everything.

Chapter Text

I loved and I loved and I lost you
I loved and I loved and I lost you
I loved and I loved and I lost you

And it hurts like hell

Hurts Like Hell, Fleurie

When Jareth left Odin's council he was unsurprised to see the two valkyries standing sentry.

"You mean to do it, Goblin King?" the taller asked without pretense of greeting. Her sigil marked her as Baudihillie - infamous in battle and a favourite of Odin's for her ability to ferry the very best warriors to their death. Her companion, Jareth recognized with a glance, was her sister Fimmilena. Softer spoken, she was once renowned as the "Giver of Freedom". That freedom was found at the end of a blade. He'd always held a certain fondness for her. As a green youth she'd introduced him to a different kind of freedom in the warmth of her bed. Skilled with her hands in every kind of death. Despite their brief shared history, he knew she'd have happily dispatched him had she had the chance in the woods.

He inclined his head in deference to the Alaisagae. It was their due. They were the only valkyries to achieve renown beyond the Norse lands. "My intentions certainly precede me."

The pair exchanged a meaningful glance. "We will not stop you now."

"Mmm, your master already said as much."

"Odin is ever a bender of words," Fimm replied carefully.

Jareth barked a sharp laugh. "And a bender of worlds but all things come to an end."

"We will not aid you and we will not stop you."

The Goblin King had lived long enough to know that sometimes doing nothing was doing everything. It was more promise than he'd thought to have. Unlike a god's, a shield-maiden's vow was inviolate.

"And we will also ferry your soul if necessary."

So it was both warning and promise.

"I don't intend to die."

Baudi's teeth were white and even. "None ever do."

"Who bends words now?" Fimm queried.

Jareth said nothing more, merely inclining his head in parting.

Sarah sank back on her calves to read, food and brother entirely forgotten. It was as though the words, so indecipherable before, had shed their shell entirely - eager to be consumed.

Of Ymir's flesh the earth was fashioned,
And of his sweat the sea;
Crags of his bones, trees of his hair,
And of his skull the sky.
Then of his brows the blithe gods made
Midgard for sons of men;

Sarah immediately recognized the standard opening passage from other lays.

Beloved of the Odin and Tyr,
the Norsemen of Midgard proved their mettle in battle,
sanctified in the blood of their enemies.

The slain were offered in tribute

To the brothers of war of strife.
The mightiest souls ferried beyond the sea
by shield-maidens fair.

And lo, the conquered lands of Midgard
fell before them in glorious destruction.

On one such day, the Norsemen had offered yet again
the mightiest sons of Eire in tribute to the gods.

The lamentations of their women
the choir of their death.
For they sought the secrets of the Arainn Mhor
in the barrows and the hollows.
The good people would not speak,
and the halls would not open.

But lo, a lone maiden would not cry,
nor rent her hair,
nor call for mercy that would not come.

On the craggy shore, she stepped into the roiling water
and made a cut upon her hand
so that her blood met the salt of the sea.

She called to the sisters three
and all those beyond Odin's reach
and asked to make a bargain.
For she knew the gods' names
and the right words to say.

She was beget when a Norseman
stole a wild woman of the rock for his own.
Her father spun stories by the fire,
her mother whispered secrets of the hill folk by her bed.

The maid, fair of face and fair of form,
with warring bloods in her veins,
dared asked for the dread unspoken.
She was her mother's child.
In a clear voice, the maiden called for the death of Odin and Tyr
so the bloodshed would end.
The first time a mortal asked for the death of a god.

She would then share the hill folk secrets with the gods
so they could free their yoke.
Her blood was proof of her vow.

But it so happened that Tyr heard her call first.
Surprised at a mortal's boldness,
he sought to fell the maiden with his blade...

Inis Mor, circa eleventh century

...The girl felt the shift in the air, despite the steady winds whipping her hair against her face in stinging lashes. It was enough to chill her further; the cold sea water having already numbed her legs.

She turned expecting death, but it was not the fates answering her call. Instead she beheld the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Silvery hair and pale blue eyes rimmed in black. Tall and thin compared to her island brethren, he was nonetheless dressed as a warrior. His dark mantle was scarreed by battle. One gloved hand rested lightly on a hilt.

She realized with a dry swallow that he was no man. Death had come after all.

Dark eyes fixed on his face. "You are here to kill me."

The god didn't immediately speak, for it was not a question. His arm was stayed by the lack of the fear in her voice. "You called for my death. It is only fair."

The young woman turned fully, the sodden skirts weighing heavily round her legs. "You are Tyr, and not Odin I think."

"And you are not afraid to die."

"I am only disappointed that my time was short while you shall live on."

Tyr canted his head. "Even warriors who dream of Valhalla are afraid to die. Who are you, maiden, that you dare call for the death of not one god, but two?"

"I am nobody. And my death will come regardless. By blade or in the birthing bed, or as a bent crone who one day sleeps and never wakes." Her black eyes flashed. "My land is burning and you lit the flame."

Tyr shrugged indifferently. "Tis mortal men who burn it not I."

"As an offering in your name," she countered evenly.

Pale eyes narrowed. "Why do you not cower, girl? Beg or plead? Are you soft in the head?"

"Why do you not strike? Are you too soft of body?"

For once the god was struck speechless.

The girl smiled bitterly. "I played my hand and failed. I know I will not get another chance. I could not take up the blade as warrior but I will die on my feet nonetheless."

"I could show mercy-"

"You won't."

Tyr did not deny it, but still his weapon remained sheathed.

Instead he studied her face - she was pretty in her way, with surprisingly dark eyes and clear skin lightly tanned by the sun. Her many layers disguised her form. Though young in face, she was clearly a woman grown. Her hands were brown and earth stained, the blunt broken nails blackened. A similar smudge stained her cheek. "You are no murderer. You toil in the ground."

The words betrayed no judgement, merely a sense of indifference. She folded her hands into her skirts self-consciously. "But you are."

"There is no life without death. I merely cull the herd. Mortals breed like rabbits. So very breakable, but plentiful enough to spare. Do you not pull weeds when they choke your fine garden?"

She stared back boldly. "And kill the ravens that meddle with my crops."

His lips twitched at that. He pulled a dagger from his belt and deftly flipped it thrice before tossing it at her feet.

"There. I am feeling generous today." He spread those same hands wide. "Do as you wish, little god-killer."

It was the girl's turn to look surprised. She stared at the blade gleaming in the shallow water, then picked it up in disbelief. "You mean to trick me."

"That is my brother's purview. Don't keep me waiting lest I change my mind."

The girl palmed the blade, its weight chafing against her cut. Her skirts sucked at her shins as she moved back onto shore.

Tyr grinned wolfishly at her approach. "The question is are you faster than a god?"

A shake of dark hair. "You'll strike me down faster."

"Perhaps, but will you still try?"

"If I am to die anyways, then yes." She eyed his sword as she took a slow step forward.

Tyr smirked and then uncoupled his blade, letting it fall heavily to the pebbled ground. "There. Satisfied?"

"Not remotely. I am still no warrior."

He eyed her up and down provokingly. "Perhaps it will come naturally. Every woman grown knows how to sheathe a blade."

The girl tightened her grip, and shifted her weight. She took another slow step forward and then lunged. Tyr laughed, easily avoiding the clumsy attempt, and reached for her. The girl twisted with surprising speed, bringing the blade to his ribs with an equally swift stroke.

She was her father's daughter.

It was only a glancing blow, the girl having never tried to gut anything more than a fish or hare. Tyr jerked in shock nonetheless. He knocked the blade from her hand easily and took them both down onto the craggy shore.

The girl felt fear for the first time.  Still she did not beg.

She was her mother's daughter.

"You underestimated me." She wanted him to know; to make it clear before she died.

Tyr's silence was his agreement. He felt the softness of her form beneath him - a foil for the fierceness of her eyes. Her wildly beating heart was her only betrayal. How easily he could snap her neck.

He didn't.

The gods do not mix with the children of Ask and Embla, certainly not as they did with the giants and elves of the other realms. No more will a decent man will lie with a lesser beast even if the parts fit.

But Tyr was intrigued. His dealings with mortals had only ever been in death. And yet he suddenly very wanted to see what she else would do, before the Norns eventually cut her cord.

Though a maid by choice, the girl was no fool and she recognized the look in his eyes. God or no. She had seen it in the eyes of the island men. Had seen it in her father. Had seen it in the lochmen who burned their village. Gods were no different.

"So you seek to sheath your sword in other ways," she accused him boldly. "How base."

He wanted to deny it but didn't. She smelled of salt and earth. Life itself.

The girl jerked beneath him to indicate her discomfort. He rolled and drew her to her feet. "I won't deny that you have snared my interest. I came to kill you but now I wonder."

He reached to stroke her face, but she ducked aside.

"I will not dally nor defile myself with the gods." She turned away, still feeling his eyes on her back, and hurried towards the craggy hills.

Tyr watched her leave, and then bent to retrieve the fallen blade. It was tinged red with blood. He felt his ribs in surprise, his fingers coming away wet. She'd left her mark after all. He'd not thought that possible.

He decided he wanted to leave one too.

The girl was not entirely surprised to find him in the doorway of her hut, though her heart still flipped at his imposing presence. The small stone dwelling was filled with the scents of drying herbs, loam, and ash. She studiously ignored him as she stoked the fire to life and set some water on the hearth.

"Will you kill me now?" She asked finally, her hands beginning to expertly strip leaves from stems.

"Not yet, I think," he remarked just as casually. "You live alone?"

"By choice."

"So you have no man."

A flicker of sable lash. "By choice. I've seen enough women die bringing the life into the world that the men stuck in them." She eyed him again. "But as you said, no life without death."

He inclined his head. "None to miss you then."

Her hands faltered before continuing their work faster. "Does it matter? Who weeps for the mouse in the dead of night?" She snorted derisively. "Certainly not the owl."

"I doubt you really think yourself a mouse."

"You think me one."

"Perhaps." He lapsed into silence, instead studying her modest home. Studying her as well.

Unused to the attention she finally snapped. "If you aren't going to kill me why are you still here?"

"I haven't decided why."

"Whether to kill me or..."

"To keep you," he answered honestly.

Her hands froze again and then transferred the herbs to the now roiling water she'd collected from fire. "To keep a mouse as a pet."

"I think we've both concluded you aren't that. But as I said, I am not decided." He didn't add because it just wasn't done. Or that he was just as likely to grow bored of her and cast her aside, perhaps finally kill her later. He wasn't cruel by intent but by nature. The owl didn't kill when it wasn't hungry.  But it always ate eventually.

He wanted her regardless. The first mortal who'd called for his blood and tried to pay with her own. The first who did not kneel.

Tyr picked at a pastry she'd made earlier and she slapped his hand away. They both stilled in shock. A pale brow arched. "You would deny me?"

"In all things," she replied evenly. "And yet what does it matter to a being who takes instead of asks?" She poured the hot drink into two rough-hewn cups and passed one to him.

He accepted it gingerly.

She thought of her great warrior father who'd put down his sword long enough to plant his seed. Two daughters on his stolen wild-eyed wife. He'd eventually grown angry at the woman he claimed would not give him sons. One day he'd left for a raid and never returned. Or so her mother had said. Her mother of the old ways.

Her mother who had raised the girls alone, far from any settlements - where Christianity hadn't bleached the soil. She'd taught the girls the lore. How to bring life in ways her father had only ended it. Until one evening her too-strange mother had gone into the woods and never returned. Just gone. By beast or man, or perhaps the other things that dwelled in the hollows.

The girl closed her eyes in painful memory. "This land has only known bloodshed. I had an older sister once... she was taken in a raid by the animals who call themselves men. Your banner men. They took her in their ships. I've no doubt she's now dead. Or wishes she were."

"And they left you?"

"I hid in the nettles, too afraid to act. My skin burned and I swore never again."

The god offered neither pity nor remorse. The girl was thankful for the lack. Together they raised their cups to their lips.

It was finely-spiced and had a distinct sweetness that was not unpleasant to the god. The warmth was welcome against the salt-cold air. Tyr wondered again at how such fragile mortals lived in the harsh climes. "So defiant, and yet you make me an offering. Like every mortal." He was sounded disappointed in her. "It is always in your nature to kneel."

The girl lowered her own cup, untouched, just as his head began swim unpleasantly.

He frowned a moment later when his legs began to tremble and the ground rose to meet him swiftly. The cup clattered to the floor, the liquid soaking into the packed soil.

She set her own vessel down on the table. It was still full.

Tyr forced himself up onto one gauntleted arm and snared her skirt before she could move away.

"You surprise me again. Foolish," he hissed. She wasn't sure if he meant him or her gambit.

Her gambit which had worked against all odds. A mixture of Jay Thrush.

She was her mother's daughter.

The girl tugged back on her skirts. "You underestimated me. Again."

He laughed hoarsely, his breath short. "Indeed." His vision was swimming but he forced himself to stay awake. "What is your name?"

"Why?" She pulled again before reaching for the dagger at his belt. He didn't stop her.

"Because I think I've decided."

She cut her skirts free.

"Your name," he demanded, left clutching the scrap of fabric.

She gripped the dagger, as though readying her hand. "Idunn," she finally whispered.

He was gone before she could do more. She exhaled shakily and then tucked the dagger into her belt.

It was a year and a day before Idunn saw him again. She'd taken the precaution to move to another part of the island, fearing the poison had not been enough. The nearby monastery, though she wasn't Christian, was an extra wager of protection. The silent monks made beautiful tomes from dawn to dusk. She traded them the very best plants to make their dyes in return for other wares she needed. It was a companionable isolation.

Idunn was shucking oysters when he appeared.

Her fingers faltered on the blade - the same she'd kept after stabbing him. Without a word she wiped it on her skirts and held it hilt-side out to him.

"I'm not here for that. I told you I'd decided."

She calmly went back to her work. "To kill me?" Though they both knew that wasn't it. "I thought you'd forgotten." She smiled up at him, the picture of graciousness. "Would you like something to drink?"

His pale eyes flickered. "I've learned my lesson."

"Have you? Yet here you are."

He settled on a stone near her. "And have you learned yours, dýrmætur?"

She tensed at the strange term of endearment. "My name is-"

"Idunn. I have not forgotten. Do you prefer, rud lómhar?"

Idunn looked away, focusing on the shells piled in her skirt. "I prefer to be left in peace."

"And have you been?"

There was something in his tone that made her look up again. She studied his face in mounting disbelief.

"You-" she trailed off. "But Brian Boru-"

"Was lucky." They both knew luck had nothing to do it with it.

"Why?" The oysters were all but forgotten. They clattered to the earth as she stood.

Tyr grinned. "Because I can. Because a girl once called to the gods to strike a bargain. I fulfilled that bargain."

"You live."

"No thanks to you," he laughed. You wanted peace for your people. I gave it. The bargain was fulfilled."

He said it like it was nothing. Like he'd woken up and just decided to end two hundred years of bloodshed on a whim.

But it hadn't been just a whim and his expression echoed that.

"You come for payment then," she stated hollowly. She didn't thank him.

"Payment is owed, mouse. A blood vow is inviolate."

Idunn ignored the barb and nodded solemnly. "You want the secrets of the Tuatha Dé."

No reply save for the intensity of over bright eyes.

Idunn twitched nervously. "...the... the bargain is only partially fulfilled. You and Odin live."

Tyr raised a brow, unable to supress another grin at her continued audacity.

"And since you didn't oblige me by dying last time, and I doubt you will now, I will only give you some secrets."

"Perhaps I'll only grant some peace then," he warned.

"What does the god of war even want with the underground magic?"

"The god of war wants nothing with it, actually. The bargain changed, as you so generously pointed out, therefore so too has the payment." When she blanched, he smiled, almost coyly. "I told you I decided, little god-killer." He took a careful step forward, his body tensing like he expected her to run.

Instead she surprised him yet again, as she was wont to do. The blade pressed into the tender skin of her neck.

Tyr stilled. "Slow, Idunn. What is this sudden childishness?"

"You will not take me alive, defiler."

"Does someone who called for peace now wish for bloodshed?"

"I will not be your pet." She thought of her lost sister. She thought of her wild mother who'd so longed to be free. "I will not be taken."

Tyr's lips twitched. His hand turned over in invitation. "Then will you come?"

Idunn faltered. "Why?"

"Because I want you." There was no artifice in his voice. "And I think... I think you could want me. I can show you things, things you've never seen before. Things your mortal eyes could only dream."

The blade then faltered. "If not a pet then as your whore?"

"As a lover," he corrected, taking a slow step forward. "No rape. And no danger of the child bed. Only pleasure. In all things." His eyes dropped to her mouth. "Mine and yours. The gift of experience. Do you want it?"

"And when you tire of me? What then."

Another step. "Perhaps I won't."

"I will grow old and die."

"Then you needn't worry about me tiring." And another. "Don't you ever wonder if that secret you reach for in the night, your fingers slick and buried deep, is so much bigger?"

His crass words caught her off guard, her face flaming in embarrassment. It was just enough. He snared her wrist and twisted the knife away. Before she could protest, he slanted his mouth over hers. His lips were gentle but insistent, allowing her time to adjust but not enough freedom to break away.

She tasted like the salt of the sea and a sweetness that was her own. His tongue slid along the seam of her lips until she parted them. She was both so soft and so unyielding in his arms. Tyr had always liked a challenge. His teeth grazed her tongue teasingly and he felt her gentle huff of surprise.

And then she bit him. Hard.

He jerked back in shock. "You bit me."

"Only because you were going to bite me! I felt your teeth. You were tasting me!"

Tyr could do nothing but laugh. In a way he hadn't laughed since Loki had shorn Sif's prized hair. He cleared his throat at her increasingly brittle expression. "Fair. Fair. I was tasting you. But not to eat. Not in that way."

Idunn still looked uncertain. Her eyes going to his lips. "But your teeth..."

"Are you really so innocent?" he asked incredulously. He had little knowledge of virgins. "To tease. Not to hurt, only to excite."

"I know what swiving is." And she did. She didn't know much about pleasure though, save for her own explorations. She knew it existed, but she'd certainly never see it between the men and women she encountered. And when she had, it had been hurried. Less mouths and more cocks. She touched her mouth thoughtfully. "Here?"

"For one." His eyes roved over her neck and down her chest, pausing on the swell wrapped in linens, lower still to the apex of her thighs, skirts damp with the day's briny catch. "And other places, 'til you are shaking in pleasure. You can use yours too."

Idunn felt something in her flip in a slippery way she understood but couldn't quite grasp. "Why then," she asked finally, thinking of her late father. "If not for sons?"

"Because I want you."

"But why?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. He held his hand out again. "Come with me and we'll both find out."

Idunn felt that same feeling unfurl a bit more. So like the one she'd sometimes get at night in the cover of her bed, but stronger.

Her mother had warned of her men's promises.

"No." She rocked back on her heels, prepared to run if necessary.

Tyr considered her, taking measure of her gait and then sighed. "Fine."

He brushed past her into the house.

Idunn looked after him in shock and then followed cautiously, picking up the dagger on the way. "What are you doing now?"

Tyr didn't answer at first, merely looked around in distaste. A few flicks of his wrist and the interior began to change.

The earthen floor became polished stone. Idunn yelped in surprise, dancing like it had burned her feet. The bed expanded and filled with furs and fine fabrics. The stools became high backed chairs set at a table laden with food. The small hearth roared into a healthy fire that would repel even the worst frost. Even a bookshelf appeared, filled with tomes Idunn knew were more precious than gold.

"What-" Idunn gaped at the drastic changes.

"Better," Tyr replied. He unclipped his sword and hung it above the bed. A memory of her father doing that whenever he was home made her tense.

"Why?"

"If I am to stay here, I can't very well live in squalor."

Idunn blinked. "Live here?"

He made a sound of agreement.

Idunn blinked again. She looked around the room again in disbelief. "I don't recall even inviting you in."

"Gods don't wait for invitations." He settled himself in one of the chairs and poured himself a glass of wine. He poured one for her and held it out. "I can promise this isn't poisoned."

They stared at one another before Idunn tucked the knife into her belt and accepted it.

Tyr's lips twitched. "I see you're staying armed."

"As you said, gods don't wait for invitations."

Idunn was not one to let free food go to waste, so she hesitated only a moment before reaching for the capon. Words her mother had whispered stayed her hand. "If I eat or drink anything, it means nothing right?"

"All food from here," he demurred. But his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

The fare was better than anything she'd ever eaten. Exotic flavours in every measure. Tyr picked at it only lightly, his eyes on her throughout the meal. Finally sated, she licked even her fingers clean, unwilling to let even a trace go to waste.

Catching his expression, part disgust part a different sort of interest altogether, Idunn scowled. "What?"

"I'm wondering if you're half animal after all." Knowing she wouldn't understand, he added truthfully. "I'm also imagining what else you could lick clean."

"I was hungry," she replied defensively. "And you spoiled my oysters. Now I'm tired."

Tyr laughed. "That's because you ate like a frost giant."

"You should go now."

"Not until you come with me."

"No."

"I've never lost a battle, you know."

Idunn snorted. "I'm sure magic makes up for any lack of skill." She moved away from the table and poked at the new bed like she thought it might bite. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned warningly. "I sleep alone."

He nodded. "For now."

Keeping her back to him, she shed only her outer layer, and then slid beneath the fur. Her eyes kept tracking back to him warily. "Don't you have somewhere important to be?"

"I'm where I want to be." His lips curled ruefully. "Well, not quite. But I'll respect your wishes." The earlier 'for now' echoed.

Idunn turned her back to him, sliding the dagger beneath the pillow where she could reach it.

They continued like that for more than a week. Idunn trying to ignore him and continue about her life, Tyr doing everything to get in her way. She tilled her garden daily, more verdant than any the harsh island would ever see, only to have him remark on the dirt she'd managed to always track on her face. It made her want to lash out, fling stones at him like some mad woman, but she knew he'd only enjoy the provocation.

A few times he'd disappeared for a period. She'd taste the relief of his absence only to have it spoiled by his return.

One day she'd been shucking oysters and he stared at her in such a way she'd found herself warming... only to have him remark with a curled nose that she smelled like fish. She told herself that when she slipped away to the shore to bathe, it was only because she preferred to be clean, and not because of his words.

She was bent over, hands sluicing cold sea water over her skin and under shift, when she felt the hair prickle on her neck.

He was watching her again. She straightened, aware the cold air and water made her nipples prominent through her shirt. And knowing that her skin was pricked with gooseflesh as much from his scrutiny as the chill. She refused to cower.

Tyr had never seen that much of her before. She was thinner than her many layers suggested, her body used to harsh work and meager rations. Her breasts were high and well-shaped if not large, and almost visible though the damp fabric. Her narrow hips flared invitingly.

The brazen look of desire on his face only made Idunn shiver more.

And then he surprised her for a change.

The god began to strip his clothes. Her mouth dropped open at each discarded layer, until he was standing on the shore in nothing at all. He paused only long enough to let her look her fill, before wading into the water with long measured strides.

She tried not to stare, realizing she not only smelled like a fish but now resembled one. She'd seen men nude before certainly, but none that looked like him. None that were so lithe and lean and perfectly made. Each muscle was defined and honed, but not bulked, as though his power was so latent it didn't need outward artifice. His chest was smooth like a woman's, but there was nothing womanish about him. Her eyes dropped further, no, definitely not a woman. He was soft, not like a beast in rut, but still most definitely male. She looked away when she caught his smirk before he dove beneath the grey waves.

She waited.

And waited more.

She turned in place, scanning the unbroken waters.

Perhaps gods didn't need breathe. Her heart began thudding in her chest.

And then firm arms wrapped around her legs from beneath and pulled. She screamed, sucking in a lungful of water as she was dragged under.

This was it.

He'd finally decided to end her. But the hands released and she bobbed to the surface, choking out briny water.

Laughter rolled nearby.

She glared at him, still coughing hoarsely. "You're lucky I can swim."

"That looked more like drowning to me."

Forgetting her resolution she lunged for him. He easily captured her wrists and tugged her under again with him. This time she was prepared and the icy lick of the water only made her heart skip. Their bodies bumped against each other; her breasts scraping along his chest and his thigh weaving between hers beneath the surface.

She felt another telling flip begin in her belly.

Idunn broke the surface to breathe and watched him warily. His movements in the water were graceful and powerful. He used long even strokes, as though swimming was as natural as walking for him. She treaded along with him. He seemed so harmless in the water. Playful almost. The god of war. He who brings death. And splashes about like a lad.

Tyr dove down. He broke the surface behind her a moment later to startle her. She spun and planted her palms on his shoulders, intending to push him under in retaliation. Instead he ducked his head and pressed warm lips to her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her salt-brined skin. Her hands fluttered and faltered in their mission.

His teeth scraped her ear, tugging on the lobe gently. His breath was even hotter against her chilled flesh.

To entice he'd said.

Her blunt nails dug into his shoulders. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her through the water until their bodies met. Her rough spun shift had risen and bunched around her waist in the current. When his hips brushed against hers she realized he was no longer soft, despite the frigid waters. The head of his cock bobbed against her folds for a moment and she jerked, half in fear and half in curiosity.

She shoved him away then.

His arm tightened for a moment. Just enough to remind her that he needn't let her go. But he did. She scrambled back onto shore, shivering, and tugging her sodden shift down.

He watched her from the water, only his pale blue eyes visible above the surface.

It was another five days before she tried to poison him again.

Not finding thrush she tried foxglove this time. The taste was easier to mask anyway. He still provided all the food, so she'd slipped it into his stew. It had no effect. And judging by his expression he'd known the entire the time. The look he'd given her was part pity, part disappointment. She wasn't sure which rankled more.

Another evening by the fire, she watched him take a book and begin reading. Catching her sudden interest, he held the tome up so she could see. The embossed page was exquisite, as intricate as anything she'd seen the monks working on.

"What do you think?"

"Beautiful."

He nodded. "And the story?"

Idunn said nothing.

"Do you know how to read?"

A hesitation and then a shake so slight it might have gone unnoticed.

The god's mouth curled. "Would you like to?"

Her mother had known how to read. She'd started teaching her daughters but they'd all run out of time. And after her mother had disappeared, the opportunity had been lost forever.

Idunn knew Tyr was dangling a carrot. She also knew she was a starved hare.

Not all of his words were barbed either, she decided. He admired her ability to grow even the most fragile life in the most barren of soil. When she found a rock she couldn't move, he moved it faster than she could blink. She found the time to make patterns in the garden bed, swirls and twists and little mazes pleasing to the eye. She made him sift the earth with his hands, until his were as brown and imperfect as hers. He let her. The god of death bringing life.  Their fingers threaded together in the soil, like roots tangling.

The first of things that should not be.

Those easy scowls became slow reluctant smiles.

Apart from reading, he also taught her to play games. One evening a board appeared between them with carved stones for players - a purple king and blue and red soldiers. It was all strategy, he explained patiently. The small number of blue soldiers had to defend the king from the larger invading red army. He offered her the choice of which to play. Thinking the sheer numbers meant an easy victory, she'd chosen red.

And lost.

Resoundingly.

Not so easy to beat the god of war.

He never mocked her for her failures and she was nothing if not an apt student. She'd already read every book he'd provided. She never managed a win but she'd made him sit up once or twice, his uncanny eyes narrowing as she manoeuvred him into a corner. And she found herself watching him more and more.

Enough to notice that his absences grew longer and more frequent. And that he no longer asked her to come with him either. After one particularly long period she wondered if he'd finally lost interest altogether. Rather than relief, she felt a pang that was impossible to ignore. She hadn't been able to stifle a guileless grin when he came back.

He'd looked like a starving man finally presented with a meal.

When the first frosts came, and the fire roared to keep the home warmed, she pulled back the furs and finally bid him sleep beside her, careful to note that it was for sleep only. He said nothing at her concession, merely shucking his shirt and sliding underneath. Despite their distance she'd often wake with a heavy arm across her middle, and her body flush with his heat.

Flush and wanting.

One evening when she'd gathered snow to wash with, he watched her heating the small pot on the fire. Instead a great stone tub appeared, filled to the brim with perfectly steaming water. She'd rocked back in awe and then danced fingers across the surface. It was a luxury she'd never imagined.

He'd inclined his head and left without being bidden. Clothes scattered and she felt the bliss of a warm bath for the first time in her life. He'd even provided exotic smelling soap. She'd lathered every part she could reach, relishing the feel of her own slick hands against her breasts and between her thighs.

Somewhere in her mind his half remembered words of advice surfaced. Wars were won through many small victories.

The water never cooled but the door eventually opened again. She turned her head, eyes catching his in the dim light.

She imagined she balanced on the tip of a blade.  Which way to fall?

"Would you like me to wash your back?"

He hadn't really touched her apart from brushes on the hands and the twisting of limbs in the bed - not since that day in the sea. When it had been too cold to swim but they had anyway.

Unable to speak, she nodded. She leaned forward, clutching her knees to her chest. A moment later firm hands smoothed down her spine.

She'd never been touched quite like that before. So gently and so purposefully. Her eyes slid closed on a stifled sigh as he worked her muscles.

Bathed by a god.

Hands used to killing kneaded her tender flesh instead. A lone finger brushed the cleft of her ass and she jerked in awareness. Hands skated down her ribs, brushing the undersides of her breasts until her breathing turned ragged.

She could hear him breathing too.

Idunn let her knees sink into the water, knowing that from his vantage he would see her clearly.

"All done," he said roughly, his hands leaving her. Over her shoulder she saw him fetch a towel and then hold it open. Perhaps daring her.

She was her mother's daughter.

Idunn stood, the water sliding down her skin in long steaming streaks, her body limned by firelight. She stepped out and turned fully, relishing his sharp intake of breath and the way his too-blue eyes glowed as they traced over every curve. Curves that had replenished from his steady supply of food.

He slid the cloth around her back, using the open sides to tug her closer, and looked down. She let him. The way he'd let her by the sea.

"You're beautiful, Idunn. I want you more than I've ever desired any victory in battle. Will you let me have you?"

"I want you too," she breathed.  She did. Her pruned hands folded into his shirt. "Tonight," she added, making it clear it was a truce and not conciliation.

"Tonight," he agreed before pressing his lips to her mouth hungrily. The towel dropped completely. His hands found her breasts and palmed their slick weight, his thumbs rolling over her peaked nipples until her legs wobbled.

Her hands fisted tighter in his shirt, her body beginning to chase something more.

As he manoeuvred them to the bed, he shucked his own clothes until he too was bare - his cock reaching between them. When her back hit the sheets, his hands left her breasts, replaced instead with the warmth of his mouth and the faintest sting of teeth. Free, one hand traced a teasing path down her stomach, before tangling in the dark curls between her thighs. When one finger found her secret spot, as she'd come to think of it, sliding her slickness over it, she rocketed back - shocked to find it was so different when someone else touched her.

There was no part of her that his hands and mouth did not explore and taste, until she was a quivering mess, keening like the animal he'd once accused her of being. She kicked away the furs, her body too hot by far. His dextrous fingers brought her to the peak and then over. He'd swallowed her broken cries with his mouth.

She'd bitten his lip so hard he bled. He'd chuckled, wiping it away indifferently. "The second time you've made me bleed."

Still shivery from her release, she tensed when he nudged between her folds with his cock.

He caressed her face reverently, his other hand spreading her thighs. "Only pleasure." 

And when he slid home in one slow but inexorable thrust, she'd agreed.

It was strange to be so filled. Impaled really. Almost painful, the invasion was both too much and somehow right. Like a perfect stitch in fabric.

He let her adjust, a hand sliding between them to tease her back to distraction, before he began to move. Sliding in and out of her, his mouth sucking hungrily on her breasts and neck, as his fingers worked between them. When she instinctually hooked her legs behind his back, deepening the angle, he'd hissed in pleasure against her skin, whispering sweet things she didn't understand. His other hand cupped her face and slid a thumb into her mouth.

His pace became more frantic, his hips knocking in hers almost roughly. When she pushed at his shoulders, whimpering as her body coiled tighter, he pinned her hands to the bed, his fingers threading with hers.  As they had in the soil.

When he came, his beautiful face fractured in violent pleasure. Her eyes shot open to watch a god come undone as he spilled inside her. Panting, his pale hair slick with sweat, he used his fingers to bring her over the edge again a few moments later.

He rolled to the side, drawing her into him while his hand cupped her ass to keep them joined.

"My Idunn," he murmured against her hair.

"Tonight," she reminded him breathlessly, too overwhelmed by feelings to speak more. By the desire to be his. For him to be hers too.

No wonder women risked the childbed.

She'd lied of course.

Every night she pulled him back into her bed. Their bed as she came to think of it. Eager to taste him too. An apt pupil in all ways. And she showed him things too. The way she wanted to be touched. That she could be as ruthless and hungry.

Only pleasure, he'd said.

He'd lied too it seemed.

Gods and their promises.

Her monthly courses stopped.

She was no fool, she knew what that meant. Impossible he said. No union between a god and mortal could be.  Had ever been. But her belly began to swell in defiance and he paled in the realization he'd been wrong.

After her recriminations, she calmly told him that she knew the right plants to make it go away. She done so for a few of the village women once or twice. The ones who survived the raids of years before. Or sometimes a mother with too many mouths to feed already.

Tyr watched her crush the herbs into a bowl. As he'd watched her do the day they met. Her face was placid but her hand shook as she raised it to her mouth. He knocked it away before it touched her lips.

"Are you mad?" She protested, and yet was half relieved.

"It... are you sure?" He reached to touch her stomach, but she slapped him away.

"What is it even? God or man? Or worse?"

"I do not know. It's ours I guess," he whispered. "I did not think-"

"You did not think at all. You promised. I trusted you."

He shook his head in helpless apology.

She burst into ugly tears at his expression, first hitting him and then collapsing against him when he enfolded her in his arms. "I don't want to die."  Idunn was finally truly afraid, and it shook him.

He shushed her, his arms curling possessively. "As though I would ever let that happen." The god of death bringing life instead.

A new leaf in a bed already made.

Neither saw the raven that took up roost in the nearby woods.

Tyr asked again for her to come with him. She shook her head and would not be swayed. As winter woke to summer and the long nights shortened, Tyr brought her a golden apple one evening. Idunn looked at it curiously.

"Eat it," he bid, pressing the ripe fruit to her mouth.

A flurry of feathers and then the door burst open. An older man, with the same piercing blue eye, filled the door way.

"You whoreson's fool," he growled. His eyes lit on the apple. "Was her quim so tight you forgot your fucking wits?"

A raven lit on his shoulder and cocked his head.

Tyr rose smoothly. "This is no concern of yours," his eyes narrowed on the bird, "or your rat."

"No concern of mine? You cavort with a mortal," Odin spat the word, "and fill her gut with your half-breed child, and 'tis no concern of mine?" A thick finger pointed. "I should have known when the god of war suddenly put down his sword. I just didn't think it was to get your cock wet in the gutter."

Tyr's eyes flashed. "Leave, brother. Else I take my blade up again."

Odin snarled. "You threaten the All-father over a bit of skirt?" He seethed, but then seemingly forced his tone down. "You know she will die eventually anyway. Let it be now before the half-breed takes a breath. If it will even live at all."

Tyr motioned behind him. "Take a bite, Idunn. Now!"

Idunn faltered, her eyes darting to the god that stood between her and the one so keen to end her. She did. The flesh was tart and sharp.

Odin lunged but Tyr knocked him away with a deft move, brining an arm beneath his chin. "Tis too late, brother. She is mine now."

Odin ducked and swivelled, bringing his great sword to Tyr's throat. "You make me forget I ever liked you, little brother."

Idunn backed away from both, the dagger held protectively over her stomach. Odin's eyes narrowed on it. "Do you think to threaten me, girl? I am a god. You are nothing."

She was her mother's daughter.

"I cut him once, I will cut you as easily. Gods bleed red too it seems."

Odin blanched, his expression faltering. The great sword lowered. "Does she speak the truth?"

Tyr nodded. "A glancing blow, but it left its mark."

"Impossible." Odin paced before slamming a thick hand on the table. "Then you are twice the fool I thought you. A glancing blow from a weak woman, but what of deeper cuts? What do you think will happen if mortals find they can harm us? No more tributes. What is a god who can die? We will diminish, our power stolen."

Odin paced again. "It is as the three spake. To think it may yet come to pass." He looked at Tyr. "You bring us death." His eyes fell to the woman and he nodded to himself. "The apple will fade. She comes with us and never returns. The secret dies in this house."

Tyr nodded. Idunn shrieked in protest, but it was too late. The world spun and everything melted away until they were in a gleaming hall of silver. Idunn doubled over and threw up, her heavy body tingling.

Tyr settled her into lavish apartments, whispering honeyed promises she no longer trusted. The gleaming halls were colder than the stares.

He gave her a garden so that she could brown her hands again, but she was not happy and she grew cold too. Enraged by what had been wrought, he killed the raven that betrayed them as an offering. She turned away at the blood of his brother staining his hands. Odin was not pleased at the loss, but Tyr was too powerful to end so easily.

It was not long after that her quickening came and a pale babe came screaming into the world. Idunn did not die, as was her fear.

And the child was no monster..

Not yet.

For a time she warmed again, finding love in the curled fists and coos.

The apple did not fade either.  Quite the opposite.

Odin paced his halls anew with worries.

One night the babe went missing while they slept. Idunn awoke in screams. The god of war raged. They found the babe, naked and afraid, on a stone slab. Odin stood above him, prepared to slit its tiny throat.

Before even Tyr could intervene, the Norns had appeared. For the sisters had heard her call, those years passed, and they answered in their own time.

Their stitched faces were solemn. Odin's hand faltered at their presence. The eldest whispered words to the old god and his face cracked, the blade falling from his hand altogether.

It was enough, and Idunn snatched back her infant and fled. She found the sacred tree which bore the god's golden fruit, her baby bound to her body by a cloth as she began her work.

She was her mother's daughter.

The wild woman of the woods who knew the Tuatha Dé's secrets, though they had long since gone underground. Her mother who locals whispered was of the Morrigan's line.

The golden tree began to die. The fruit withered.

And with them, the gods did too, their beauty fading and strength waning. Idunn would starve them all until they were nothing.  All of them.

Odin himself finally begged her to relent.

"They are my apples now," Idunn replied calmly. "What will you trade?"

He offered her everything in his power until he finally promised safety to her child and freedom from his yoke. Freedom from any god's yoke. Tyr watched silently.

Idunn worked the tree back to life until it would only bloom to her hand. Power over life. Power over death too.

A power so great that Odin was forced to give her the thirteenth seat at his high council.

The boy grew into a mischievous gangly youth. His mother chased him in the twists of her garden. His father taught him how to outwit his foes in game and battle.

The boy turned into a young man - one who delighted in disrupting all order and balance. His pranks were almost as cunning as those of his dark-haired uncle. He was mercurial and wily and beautiful. His powers grew as well, under the watchful scarred eye of his distant uncle, into those of a god. Jareth Tyrsson.

Until one day the pranks went too far.

Odin's most cherished golden son, Baldr, had crossed him as a rival. In payment, Jareth had slipped thrush into his wine, having long heard the amusing tale of how it had made his great father so sick. A prank, nothing more.

Unlike Tyr, however, young Baldr was not yet grown in strength. The golden god died in pure agony.  Not even Idunn's apples could save him.

The All-father was devastated and would have rent the young god limb from limb if Tyr had not stayed him with a reminder of his bargain. Tyr wrestled him into private council. Odin called for Jareth to be banished. Let him go underground, to that realm between realms - the one that was and was not. Never to cross their stronghold again. Barred until the end of all.

The vote had been mixed. For he was still a god's son, with Aesir blood, regardless of his mother's taint. And even then, Idunn had become something more. Some lamented that it had been a terrible accident. Loki dared even deem it a happy one, claiming Baldr had been a terrible bore.

When it came time for Tyr to cast his vote, he'd silently raised a hand in yay. It was enough.

Jareth was god no more, but king in the underground - the realm between realms - with only otherworldly beast and goblin for companion. The king of the unwanted. The wished away.

Idunn had tried to follow, but the bargain of his safety kept her anchored to the tree. She never forgave Tyr for his betrayal, her heart now frozen to him.

The newly crowned Goblin King, alone and bitter, refashioned his strange land to his own design. His powers grew, yoked only by the barriers set against him.

Great Odin forbade his very mention, struck his name away so that even the mortals would not know what might have been or how he came to be. Golden Baldr's end was attributed to the trickster, one more sin amongst the litany of many.

But Idunn was not finished and she had not forgotten.

Using the dyes she learned to make for the monks and the words she'd learned at Tyr's side, she set her words to the living paper.

To be awoken by a blood offering that would undo all that was done. Idunn made sure her completed work made it to the monks who collected the tales of the gods...

... And lo, let it be known that any blood
touched by magic spilled on these pages
will be bound to the blade
Her hand shall open the doors
The terrors will be unleashed

For the warrior shall take up the mantle

And so it begins...

Sarah's hands faltered in fear, the book and necklace tumbling to the floor. Perhaps it was the strange current in the air. Or that her wrist throbbed so suddenly.

When she picked the book back up again the words had fallen back into the illegible scrawl.

"No! No!" she pleaded. There was more left unread on the page. "Please!"

A frisson of something skittered down her spine. A preternatural awareness that bespoke pure fear.

The same fear she'd felt in her bed. And again in the tangled wood.

How long has she been reading? Toby had wanted something to eat. She'd told him to wait. He'd not called for her again. She looked to the door. "Toby?"

Nothing but a silence that should not be.

And then the distinctive cry of a baby on the other side.

Max.

Sarah rose unsteadily, her knees stiff from kneeling and stumbled to the door. The door knob was like ice.

A cloaked figure waited in the middle of the dim room, a baby tucked in his broad arms.

Her heart thudded wildly as the tiny face looked her way and small arms reached for her in recognition, the cry turning even more plaintive.

Max.

"Sarah," the figure greeted, words so cold they sliced into her ears like frostbite. "Alone at last."

Chapter Text

Life's so cold and so sweet
Still you're selling me sympathy
Bought your story but now I see
All you ever wanted was a piece of me

Selling Me Sympathy, Bob Moses

Sarah rocked back on her heels in the doorway, her hand falling behind her to steady herself on the wall. The silence pricked at her skin until she reminded herself that it was always meant to come to this.

And then her throat caught. "Where's Toby?"

"I only had need for one brother." The room was frigid despite the central fire, but his words were colder still. Not angry. Not cruel.

Indifferent.

The hooded figure canted his head and then made a sound that may have once been a laugh. It chafed her ears. "I'm sorry that I don't have my father's silver tongue."

The meaning was slow to penetrate.  When it did everything clicked.

The frost... the dogged pursuit... the pervasive dark... Jareth's warning of other monsters being released.

"Fenrir. He who devours."

He offered a gruff sound she assumed was agreement.

Sarah's eyes fell back to Max. "Give him to me. Toby had no right to wish him away."

The hooded head dipped for a moment, as though Fen was surprised to find he even still held the infant. "No right?" he asked softy. "No more right than you had."

Max squirmed in a tiny fit. The god gestured impatiently and a small creature, more goblin-like than not, appeared at his side. She collected the child and thrust, though not unkindly, a bottle into Max's mouth.

Sarah lurched forward in protest, but the god's head snapped back towards her immediately. She now understood why she'd felt like a hunted thing. Run and he'd pursue. Show fear and he'd feast. She forced herself to still, eyes locked on the baby greedily sucking.

"That's better." Fen flexed his newly freed arms. "Unfettered by inconveniences."

Sarah felt behind her until her hand closed around the fireplace poker against the wall. "You're smaller than expected. Less teeth and claws than the stories tell." She hoped her derisive words covered the scrape of metal.

"Did you fear I'd eat him?" The hooded head considered the babe again. "Would have been easier than all this effort to keep such a weak thing alive. But no." He turned back towards Sarah. "No bloodshed yet. And I forget my manners. How rude to hide my face when I've seen so very much of you."

Fenrir threw back his cowl to reveal a face un-beast like at all. He resembled his father in the stark angles - his were almost gaunt - and the same fine masculine features meant to please. He was larger though, if not in height than in the broad expanse of shoulder.  He had a smattering of scars across both cheeks and his sable hair was a touch too lanky and unkept to be called artful. His eyes, however, were an unusual yellow gold - lupine and the light in them wholly savage.

His lips parted at her evident surprise. The teeth between were sharp and uneven. "But as you see, still a beast."

He might have once been called handsome. Instead he looked wild. Feral. Like a man who only barely retained the concept of ever being one. Sarah realized his comment about eating Max may not have been a joke at all.

Her hand tightened around the poker behind her back. "Why did you take him? If he's just a weak baby as you said."

Fen inclined his head and then looked up, a sly look in his strange eyes. Like he'd easily sniffed her out. "That's not the question you really want to ask. And babies are never just babies. No." He moved to the windows in long strides and surveyed the land beneath. "No, you want to know if he's involved."

He was not wrong. "What I want is my brother back. Both of them. If you had no need of him," her voice caught betrayingly, "then where's Toby?"

"Have you fucked him yet?"

Sarah flinched at the unexpectedly crude question.

Gold eyes gleamed back at her over his shoulder. "Have I offended, lady?" He didn't sound the least apologetic. "I forget how to talk to people. What twisted lies to weave... like father... like him. I only ask because you were sleeping so innocently, wrapped round the boy that night in the woods. Beneath thick furs and safe from all harm. So peacefully unaware of what was right beside you beneath that thatched roof of his making. Nearly drained him I'd imagine. One has to wonder what he got out of it." At Sarah's expression, Fen grinned wolfishly - his reputation entirely earned. "I'd imagine that answers your question. And I was only wondering if his pretty words had wormed their way between your thighs yet."

Sarah looked away for a moment, her mind reeling too fast to process. Never take your eyes off the enemy. Never show fear. When she glanced back he was right before her. Her throat bobbed. He tracked that movement too. "You're just trying to make me afraid. To make me doubt and feel shamed."

"So not yet then. But almost." When he laughed again it was an ugly, jagged sound. "And no shame meant, lady. The point is that you should not believe anyone in this den of liars."

With that she could agree. "I'm well aware. You're all welcome to your lies and deception. I just want my brothers back. I'd be happy to leave and never return."

Gold eyes flickered thoughtfully. "I've no doubt. So which will you save?"

Sarah's throat constricted painfully again, but she did her best to keep her voice even. "I will never choose. They're both mine."

"Ah," he tsked gruffly. "That's not true either. Don't fret, though, I too grow tired of his games. It would have been far easier just to take you and be done." His eyes narrowed on the arm crooked behind her back. "Do you think you could kill with me that? Smash my skull in?" He didn't sound the least concerned.

Sarah trembled, but stared boldly back. "If I had to, yes. I'd at least try. I won't just lie down and die."

"Even the weakest animals won't. That's half the fun."

"You may be gods but I know you bleed."

His breath fanned warmly against her face. "Good."

When the door banged open Fen's attention didn't waver. "The prodigal son returns right on cue."

Sarah's eyes found Jareth's across the room. His face bore a strange look that she might have called regretful, perhaps contrite, had it been on another's. Then it shuttered completely.

The Goblin King calmly closed the door behind him. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, we've just been getting properly acquainted, her and me," Fen answered smoothly. "Don't worry, I haven't played with your toy." Somewhere there was an unpleasant 'yet' left unspoken. "And we've both just agreed she can try to bash my brains in if the occasion calls for it."

Jareth's eyes narrowed. "Who else knows you're here?"

The wolf god shrugged. "None? Few? I didn't make quite the fanfare you did. Subtlety was never your strong suit, cousin. They'll know soon enough."

"You knew all along who had him. I knew it! I always knew it. You lied," Sarah's voice trembled in a show of weakness that bothered her almost as much as his betrayal. "Why?"

Fen finally turned away at that, his expression almost gleeful as he appraised the Goblin King. "Do be careful, cousin, as I said she's armed and swears she can use it. Just like mommy dearest." His yellow eyes flashed and then he barked in laughter. "Wait, don't tell me that's the appeal?"

Jareth ignored him. "I didn't lie, Sarah. I said I suspected. And it changes nothing."

"And they call father silver tongue," Fen snorted. "Ah, but that's right, they don't call you anything at all."

"I did not take him, Sarah."

Jareth's words were meaningless to her. She shook her head in warning, as though she couldn't cope with his denial. "And now he has Toby too."

The Goblin King directed a meaningful look at Fen.

The god shrugged. "You yourself said the brat was in the way."

Sarah could feel the tension spike in the air like ozone after a storm. Whatever was happening Jareth had not expected it. At least not yet. His uncertainly made her all the more uneasy.

"Return the boy."

"Now, now, cousin. Don't pretend to suddenly care."

It sparked even higher as both gods took measure of one another. Fenrir appeared delighted by the budding prospect of violence.

Sarah took the distraction to skirt around them both. She snatched the sleepy Max from the goblin and backed towards the door. The baby squalled  in protest at her jostling but then settled against her neck. He burrowed his face in the hollow. She traced his small body with her fingers - making sure no bites were missing. One brother returned. The other gone. Nowhere to run. It was a hollow victory.

Fen considered her lazily. "Do you truly think it'll be that easy?"

She didn't. Not remotely. But there was comfort in holding him again. In feeling the steady beat of his pulse against her chest. To know he was alive and seemingly none the worse for wear. "He wasn't yours to take. There is no way Toby wished him willingly to you! He wouldn't even know how to."

"I was merely returning him to his rightful place." At Sarah's expression, Fen affected surprise. "Oh... I see now... He didn't tell you that either."

Her eyes locked on the silent Goblin King.

"You didn't think it strange," Fen continued, "that a mortal woman beyond childbearing years should suddenly conceive a child?"

To say it had been strange was an understatement. Karen's age and her father's surgery - a miracle they'd all joked. Sarah felt the colour draining from her face. No, not a miracle after all.

Magic.

She peered down at the tow-headed baby in her arms, as though seeing him for the first time. "Is he..." her throat caught, "is he... yours?" Visions of Karen and Jareth naked and entangled made her stomach roil.

Fen began to laugh.

Jareth's voice was tight when he finally answered. "I am not the babe's father, Sarah."

Her eyes snapped back to his. "But you still had a hand in it? Didn't you? Made the impossible possible?" Her words sounded brittle even to her own ears. "Why?"

"A good question, Sarah," Fen agreed. "Because he would have had a choice. You were the ripe one after all. Could have been yours with far less effort. But I suppose he didn't want to spoil the fruit. So belated congratulations on your victory, Sarah. Won more than you bargained for." He clapped mockingly. "Only a mortal marked by magic would do. I suppose he couldn't rely on you to wish the other away again. So he made another. And waited. And waited. Waited for you to slip up."

Sarah turned on her heel and grabbed for the knob, her face screwing into anger as she realized Jareth had locked the door.

Fen inhaled deeply like he was enjoying the sudden spike of panic. "All three of you here, right where he wants you. While he plays the saviour." There was a touch of sourness in his tone. "Now he has but to choose who gets the knife."

The Goblin King backhanded the larger god with vicious precision. Fen's head snapped back violently, lip immediately splitting.

He cracked it back into position and grinned - teeth stained red. "As you said, we all bleed, right Sarah?"

Sarah kept her attention on Jareth. Waiting for him to deny. Silently pleading for him to say none of it was true. Even to lie. She would rather empty words than none at all.

His mask had slipped enough to show he was breathtakingly angry. Uneasy. Events had spiraled beyond his control. Beneath it all was something ravaged - as though he'd witnessed the moment something newly hatched and all too fragile had snapped.

"I was content to just take you. You opened the doors after all. Freed me from my chains." Fen's tone turned almost reverent. "The least I could do was pay a proper visit in thanks. But he claimed prior rights. Had different plans for you. Told me there were others that would serve just as well and fight less. Scream less... pity. Still. He got you here as promised." Fen considered the silent Goblin King. "And now, despite his plans, he will have to give you to me after all. Won't he?"

Jareth's expression turned dangerous.

"I couldn't take my chances despite your assurances. You never were good at sharing. You've grown soft. Weak. I've been watching. Watching you bow to the girl. Watching your fondness for the boy begin to cloud your purpose. This is as much my right as yours, king of goblins." Fen turned and hooked one finger at the baby. "And I told you it wasn't that easy, girl."

Sarah's empty arms collapsed into her chest.

The wolf now held the startled babe, and then, eyes still on Sarah, tossed Max into the central brazier before she could react.

Sarah screamed and threw herself across the room. Jareth moved quicker and caught her before she launch herself in after him. Her cry devolved into a strangled choke of shock as her brother transformed back into a pile of sticks knit together with fine blonde hair. The dry wood crackled and snapped in the flames. The small bits of hair hissed and smoked cloyingly.

Sarah sagged against Jareth for a moment in relief before she violently pushed herself out of his arms. He let her go reluctantly.

"As though I'd bring him here," Fen snorted. He waved a hand in a curt dismissal to the goblin midwife. Before leaving she bowed once to the Goblin King.

Jareth winced at the sign of respect..

"I have both now," lupine eyes flicked back to Sarah dispassionately, "which means I won't even need to ask the third to come along willingly."

She felt Jareth shift almost imperceptibly towards her.

Fen noticed too. "You didn't think I'd trust your promises did you, Son of Tyr?" The last was spat. "I am my father's spawn. You really should have seen this coming."

"She's not yours to take." Low clipped words. Like talons in stone.

"She's not yours either, is she? How that must gall. She certainly won't be now."

Part of Sarah wanted to protest that she could speak for herself, but her mind was still processing everything. Somehow she did not think the mouse should remind the two cats fighting over it of its presence.

Fen stalked towards her, a new expression crossing his face. She imagined he was trying to look kind.

"Why don't we let her choose? Stay with the one who lied to you or come with the one who has your beloved brothers?"

No one, not even Sarah, would know what she would have chosen.

Jareth moved too fast. Tearing off a glove her pressed a hand against Fenrir. "You never did bother to learn strategy. I warned you that we do this my way."

The wolf god snarled at the sudden contact, looking every bit the savage beast. Devourer of worlds. And then he vanished with a crack.

Sarah pressed fists against her face, trying to contain her panic. "What did you do? He still has them. We have to get them!"

Jareth exhaled slowly, and rolled his shoulders. When he finally tipped his face up to look at her, the mask was still gone.

Her brows knit and she shook her head numbly at what she saw; her feet already retreating by instinct alone. "Don't."

The Goblin King matched her step in  a different kind of dance. "He won't be able to return until the waning moon. But I can't risk you ruining things now. I'm sorry, Sarah."

She might have believed him - believed the spark of truth in the almost haunted look he gave her. She wasn't sure if he meant for what he'd done, for what he was about to do, or for what he still had planned.

Sarah ducked down and picked up the poker, brandishing it between them. "No, you're not. Not enough. I'm not weak and I will do whatever I have to do." She was shocked by the venom lacing her voice.

Jareth's was strangely calm. "I know. I... regret it has come to this, but you don't understand and I can't afford mistakes." His eyes lit on the open collar of her shirt. "I see you're not wearing your little trinket. Such a pity."

She made the mistake of glancing down and closed the distance before she could react. Before she could ask what she didn't understand.

He pressed a cool bare hand to her head. More gently than he had with the wolf.

It felt like falling, the breath stolen from her in an instant.

And then it felt like nothing. Nothing at all.

Toby shivered in the cold. A fire was burning in the hearth but it provided little warmth and even less light. He held Max against him though his brother was not shivering. Toby couldn't stop.

"You'll get used to it." A female goblin regarded him steadily from a few feet away. "He already has."

He recoiled. "Where's S-Sarah?" He got the impression she'd been watching him for a while before making her presence known and it did nothing to reassure him.

"You'll see her again to be sure, boy. Master will fetch her."

Somewhere in the surrounding dark rose a howl of inhuman rage.

The goblin's lambent eyes flickered. "Ah... perhaps not. There, there. It will all be over soon."

A lone woman stood in the silver hall. The light reflected off her shining hair and ornate gown. Clothes as gilded as the palace but somehow out of place on her. She shifted like her skin didn't fit. Her youthful face was impassive - showing no emotion as she studied the empty thrones.

Painted lips parted and then closed, pursing. "I know you're here. You grow careless in your old age."

Tyr detached himself from the shadows. "I wasn't hiding. And why try when you always know?"

For a moment, neither said another word - Idunn watching the thrones, Tyr watching her.

"You look-"

"Don't."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I was going to say different."

Her dark brow arched. "Clean?"

"Perhaps I miss the dirt."

"You miss everything."

He didn't react to her barb. His expression was too raw. Idunn turned away.

"It has been an age." His tone was just as unpolished. He took a step forward but she pinned him with a look, poised and sharp as any blade.

"Why are you here, Tyr?" She didn't ask what he wanted. Both knew not to open that door.

"You kept away where none could follow."

"As was my right."

He took another step forward. "So you could hate me from afar? You are no coward."

Idunn did not retreat. "So I could live again. And I don't hate you. I don't think of you at all."

Tyr's pale eyes flashed first in hurt and then in challenge. "Liar."

"And how many lies have you told?"

Tyr took another hesitating step, like he expected her to run if he came too close. Like they were back on that pebbled shore. "I didn't come to fight."

Idunn looked away, her lashes fluttering against sun-marked skin. "Don't reopen wounds that have long scarred over."

His voice dropped into a mournful tone that pulled at her skirts like lapping waves. "Perhaps I still bleed.

"Then that is your weakness."

"You were my wife." Spoken just as soft, but with an edge that suggested steel beneath the silk.

At that she advanced into him. Forcing him to hold his ground instead. "And now I am another's. We both know my bed is not cold. Do not think me desperate."

Tyr recoiled as though slapped, his beautiful face fracturing into something vicious before he recovered. "Our son is here."

Idunn knew he said it with purpose - to deflect and to remind her of what had once united them. What would always bind them.

"I know. What else would finally bring me here again?"

"Of course you do." His look was calculating. "He wouldn't have made it without your fare."

"I keep my own rules in my own land. Small and humble though it be."

Tyr laughed bitterly. "Small and humble and where I cannot follow."

"Where the sun always shines and the only sea is the rolling of the grass. And where I suffer no Aesir to tread."

"You loved the waters once."

"I loved many things once."

Tyr's face betrayed nothing. "You have always held a place here. Your seat ever open to you." They stared at one another again. Still standing in the in-between - too close and too far. "What have you done, Idunn?" he asked finally, as though he'd been loathe to break the silence that held them together.

Idunn stepped away, skirting the sacred pyre. "What you would not."

"We are not so different. You once called me death and yet you always seek to wound."

Her eyes found his across the hearth. "I have only ever sought to forget you."

He circled it and closed the distance before she could move away again, reminding her that though he held no sword he was still the god of war. He caught her hand - flesh to flesh after centuries apart. Tyr felt the shiver in her palm and crowded her with his frame, as he always had. Forcing her to react if only in anger. "But you didn't. Did you?" Pale eyes dared her to lie.

"Even gods wear scars forever."

He was on the point of saying more, his long fingers threading between hers, when his head tilted up. "Bragi."

The other god cleared his throat and stepped fully into the hall. "Tyr." His tone was polite, though his eyes flicked over them both thoughtfully.

"Your stalking skills are as abysmal as ever." Tyr ignored Idunn's efforts to free her hand.

Bragi chuckled. "I never sought to master when there was so little hope. I left the war to you and the All Father, as you left the words and wooin-" his eyes flicked over Idunn's and he trailed off. "As you left the poetry to me."

Idunn elbowed Tyr, freeing her hand. He looked unapologetic as he faced her husband.

"And what role do you play in this? Apart from thief." Tyr's tone was controlled but his lithe frame suggested a spring ready to uncoil. His eyes narrowed when Idunn purposefully moved to Bragi's side.

"He stole nothing, Tyr, as well you know."

Bragi raised a hand in peace. "I'm merely here as all Aesir were called to be."

"Deflection does not suit you."

Idunn placed a hand on her husband's arm. "He's played many roles in the long years. Poet, writer, advisor, husband... father."

Bragi sighed, "Idunn-"

"Afraid I'll try to kill you again?" Tyr's voice was mocking.

"I'd be a fool if I said the first attempt had been pleasant. And I'm honest enough that the possibility of another is always on my mind."

"He'd be a fool if he tried," Idunn warned.

Tyr's head canted. "And what would you do if I did?"

Bragi sighed again, still ignored by both.

"Would you kill me in return? What attempt would that be? Number three?"

Idunn considered him calmly. "I was never good at that, was I? No." Her voice was soft. Too soft. A tone Tyr well-recognized even after centuries. "I wouldn't kill you. But," she pressed a slim finger against his chest, "that tiny hope you hide in here, perhaps even deny. That. That I would finally kill."

When he looked down he could see that despite her polished appearance there was still a trace of earth under her nail.

She turned on her heel to leave, pausing only long enough to give Bragi her hand to kiss in farewell.

Bragi studied the floor once they were alone again. "Well, this is awkward. Should I speak first? You?"

Tyr ignored him.

"I wouldn't try to kill me. I rather think she meant it."

"I'm not going to kill you. As easy as that would be."

"If I recall I put up some fight last time."

"I barely noticed," Tyr replied dryly and then his expression sobered. "For someone I almost killed you're remarkably understanding about it. Others would not be so forgiving."

"Like Munn?"

"No skill with a sword but quite lethal with the words."

"Like Idunn?"

"And there's the second stab. You're not so weak after all." Tyr replied. "I don't hate you Bragi, I hate what you have."

Bragi inclined his head. "I know." Neither needed reminding that Idunn and Bragi had been given immortality in the myths while Tyr and Idunn had never been.

Bragi considered the other god for a long while before speaking. "Would it pain you more or less to know I don't really have her?"

"Don't insult me with pretty stories."

"Not really I mean. Yes... yes, we have been lovers." Bragi took a half step away. "Who was I to say no when she invited me to her bed? Even," he finished carefully, "if it was to hurt you."

Tyr looked at him sharply.

"And at first it was only that. And because she was lonely."

Tyr made to speak.

"A loneliness you could not fill. Her son banished where she could not follow. Do you blame her for taking herself as far away from all of this as she could?"

When Tyr said nothing, Bragi sighed. Something he found himself doing more and more of. "If it's any consolation Jareth has never looked to me for guidance either. He entertains my efforts with ill-hidden impatience but invariably chooses his own path. Much like his mother... Much like his father."

"You visit him."

Bragi recognized he was treading into dangerous waters. "Odin's edict only extended to you and Idunn. It never occurred to him any other god would bother."

Tyr regarded the other god thoughtfully. "But you did."

"At her behest. And because I like him despite his faults. I broke no laws."

"Did you not?" Tyr's eyes were shrewd. "One wonders how a mortal found her way to a banished god in a kingdom cut off from all the realms."

"Never let it be said that you lack brains."

A brow arched. "And who would say that? Never mind. I'd know her waspish tongue. He risks much."

Bragi nodded. "I told him as much when this began. And allowing innocents to be harmed. As usual I think it fell on deaf ears. Sometimes the blood run deep."

"Perhaps it's best I didn't kill you after all."

Bragi smiled ruefully. "Apology accepted, Tyr."

Sarah yawned and stretched; her bones cracking like her body had been bowed with tension.

Feeling eyes on her, she craned her head and the met the cool stare of a seated Goblin King. He was watching her above steepled fingers, expression guarded.

"Sorry. I must have fallen asleep."

His face relaxed slightly. "No apologies needed. It's been a trying day."

She gave an answering nod, her hand brushing along her collarbone restlessly. "I had a strange dream but I can't quite remember it now. Strange-"

"Some dreams are best forgotten."

She nodded again, though his words didn't sit right. Scanning the room, her brows knit. "And Toby?"

"Toby is safe with your parents. I sent him back, remember? For his safety." Jareth produced a crystal and approached her. The Toby within was seated at a table and was systematically ripping pages from a book, a slight smile on his face that looked out of place. Otherwise he appeared hale and healthy.

Sarah's frown deepened. "And we're here... to get Max back?"

Jareth inclined his head. "And to help me get what I want too."

"Right... to help you." The words felt both right and somehow foreign. Like someone else had placed the thoughts in her head. She twitched, trying to physically shake the feeling off.

The Goblin King's eyes were intent on her face. "And you want to help me, don't you Sarah? To save Max."

She didn't answer until it felt like something was drawing the words from her. This time they were her own but she couldn't control them.

...Yes."

The Goblin King's face creased. He opened his mouth and then closed it. "I will set this right in the end, Sarah."

She returned a smile, not because she wanted to but because the air between them felt too heavy. "I know. I trust you."

She thought she saw him flinch before he brushed her cheek with a gloved hand. He had a cord wrapped around his wrist, the pendant dangling from it and catching her eye.

"And the..." her mind was slow to process, "home?"

"Sleep more, Sarah. You're still tired." It felt like a command she wanted to listen to. "I'll wake you."

She nodded, reclining back on the settee dutifully and closing her eyes.

A knock on the door pulled Jareth's attention. She heard hushed speaking, then Jareth said, "I'll wake you when I return, Sarah. Sleep. You're safe here." The door closed.

Her eyes opened a fraction. "Liar," she whispered, throat catching in confusion.

Outside the room Idunn watched as her son scrubbed a hand down his worn face.

"What? What's happened?"

Jareth eyes his mother, almost unrecognizable in her polished finery. He took her hand and led her down the hallway into an alcove. "Nothing of concern." He kissed her cheek.

Idunn tipped her head up and then examined her son shrewdly. "The girl?"

"Is... fine."

She cupped his jaw. "You've done something you regret." She didn't add again.

He covered her hand with his own. "Haven't we all. I've done what was necessary. My hand was tipped too soon. She would never have trusted me again. It would have made things... difficult."

Idunn's brow rose. "And you think she will now?"

"I only clouded what was necessary. I'll make her see. Later"

"They all say that." There was a mournful note to her voice.

It was Jareth's turn to look canny. "You've seen him then."

Idunn smoothed a suddenly damp palm down her dress. "Yes. And then I left him with Bragi."

"Was that wise? I thought you rather cared for him."

Idunn returned a sharp look. "Not for an age."

Lips twitched. "I was speaking of Bragi."

"Tyr wouldn't dare."

"Again."

A small hand waved. "Let's talk of other things. Share with me what you plan. This is more than achieving your freedom I think."

"You know I won't."

"You say that even as you risk everything. You risk them." She gestured towards the hallway. There was a note of maternal censure in her voice that made Jareth bristle.

"Don't forget whose book she touched."

Idunn ignored the volley. "A book none can read save a blessed few. It was only meant to seal the truth. To preserve what Odin would destroy. She was already marked by magic. By yours."

"Don't play coy, mother. I wonder where she got that ridiculous fairy tale in the first place. The one that led her to make a foolish wish to a Goblin King."

"Bragi would be heartbroken. He was rather proud of it."

Jareth snorted again. "She was certainly captivated. She even added her own embellishments to it," his voice dipped tellingly. "Your hands are far from clean in this."

"No they are not," Idunn agreed softly. "Long have the gods played with mortals. Perhaps in my hopes for you, I was foolhardy. Too much like them. You were so... lonely and had grown so cruel. I thought-" Idunn caught herself. "I dare say the sisters themselves would not have imagined how this would have played out. This was never about spilling the blood of innocents."

"Do you think so little of me?" Jareth's eyes were hard - glacial - but beneath that was the shadow of a long forgotten child.

Idunn chose her words carefully. "I think an age of banishment changes a person. I think you have too much of your father's strategy in you. Your burden is too great. And I think you may fail in more ways than one if you are brash. I won't lose you again." When he remained silent, Idunn laid a hand on his arm. "Is she a means to an end or is she more? I saw the way you looked at her. And I saw the way she looked at you." She felt a telling twitch in his arm but there was nothing as reassuring in his expression. She marvelled once again at how much the gods resembled mortals, yet were so different. Peel back the skin and the fruit within was something else entirely.

"Why not both? Allow me to manage her."

Idunn squeezed gently and then removed her hand. "Fate's wheel ever turns. Tyr underestimated me once too."

"I don't underestimate her. I haven't since Bragi's fishing net first roped me a child," Jareth replied acridly.

Idunn winced. "I understand your disappointment. But she was not much younger than I was when... well. It didn't have to be her."

"I did my best to turn her back. Too old to turn and too young keep, isn't that right?"

Idunn refused the bait. "From what I hear she acquitted herself well for a child."

"There is no need to remind me that a child destroyed half of what I'd built. She already reminds me as often as possible."

Beneath the bitterness was a warmth that Idunn recognized. She studied her son's taciturn face. "Don't deceive me. Or yourself. By all accounts you could have played much more viciously than you did."

"I was no hero. Nor am I now. I'm not the boy you knew. Good things don't grow in darkness."

"Look what wonder you wrought in that darkness. You are mine as much as his." There was such wild fierceness in her voice that Jareth was cowed for a moment. He could imagine how his powerful father had been enthralled. Disarmed and undone. Perhaps by the echo of old ways in her. Forgotten magic - as dark and deep as the richest soil. It was the same magic that thrummed through his lands and through its twisted inhabitants. Magic that had whispered to him in the dark as he took root.

"Tell me about this?" He dangled the amulet from his wrist. "She was wearing it. Why? And more importantly how? More than once it saved our skins, though I doubt she had any idea. No more than she knew taking it off would remove the protection stopping me from... well." He considered it. "It's old magic. For it to work, only its rightful owner could give it to her."

Idunn's dark eyes widened; calm face fracturing. Her voice was little more than a whisper. "How?"

Footsteps in the corridor made them both turn.

The Alaisagae approached and briefly bowed their heads in deference to the goddess. Fimm offered Jareth a curt nod. "The All Father requests your presence."

Idunn's painted lips curled. "We both know it's anything but a request." She gave her son a long meaningful look, as though reluctant to leave his sight after so long apart. He watched them leave. She was a tiny creature compared to the statuesque warriors flanking her, yet he knew she was infinitely more powerful.

And he was his mother's son.

When Jareth stepped back into the room Sarah was gone. He swore viciously, cursing himself a fool for leaving the door unlocked in his haste.

He forced himself to relax, reminding himself that there was no way Fen could have recovered so quickly. Without her necklace, it didn't take him long to find her in the courtyard garden.

She was just standing there, face was tipped up to the sun.

"Sarah."

She turned. "Is it time to get Max back?"

"What are you doing here? I told you I would wake you."

"It's a lovely day," she replied guilelessly. "I wanted to walk in the garden again."

He considered her doubtfully, a note of censure still evident in his voice. "You shouldn't wander about alone."

"You look tired. Perhaps you should sleep. I can find my own way back."

"No."

Sarah started at the finality in his voice.

Jareth caught himself and tried again more gently. "No, it's time to go back."

"Am I a prisoner here then?" She stepped into him, placing one sun-warmed hand on the hollow of his chest. His breath caught. "The room was so cold for some reason. I just wanted to feel warm again."

He said nothing - eyes trained on her hand.

"Please?"

"Fine." He wondered if she could feel his capitulation. "Just for a moment. Then I'm taking you back."

She nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder. "What a lovely garden."

"To some. Once."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing. It really is time to go back."

"To get Max?"

"Yes. Soon." He held out his hand and she slipped hers into it without hesitation.

Once back in the room, Jareth moved about silently but with purpose. He poured himself a glass of wine and reclined in one of the chairs before the fire. One hand drummed restlessly on his thigh.

Until Sarah stilled it.

His eyes met hers in surprise.

"Something's wrong. What is it?" She was kneeling at his side. He could feel the press of her breasts against his knee.

"Nothing to be concerned by. As you said, perhaps I'm tired." He was in fact. Drained by his recent use of magic. Conflicted. Torn. His words were meant as a dismissal, but he made no move to remove her hand. Nor did he stop her when the hand on his thigh smoothed upwards. The other joined in mirror until she'd pressed herself between his legs.

"Sarah..." He wasn't sure if it was a question or a warning.

"Let me help," she whispered, her face the picture of innocence. He'd never seen her look at him without a trace of mistrust. Save for that day in the snow. When he'd almost renounced his purpose to have that look forever.  Her hands continued upwards, over his taut stomach to rest against his chest again.

Jareth watched her owlishly, curious what she was about and acutely aware that it had taken so little for him to harden in response. Always it seemed where she was concerned. If she noticed or was bothered by the evidence of his arousal, her expression betrayed nothing. Her fingers painted pictures on his shirt.

And then she surprised him again by leaning up and pressing her soft lips against the hardline of his mouth. He didn't move, not even to breathe - to the point that she made a sort of mewlish sound of protest. She would have retreated had his hand not cupped her neck and stayed her.

"Sarah," his voice was raw even to his own ears. "You don't know what you're doing right now." Her green eyes were so dark they reminded him of a forest at night. Then she licked her lips and he could stare at nothing else.

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

There was such conviction in her breathy voice that a desperate current of desire shuddered through him. He pressed a thumb against her lower lip, his own breath catching when her tongue came out to suck the leather. She held his glass of wine up to him. "Wine?"

He'd rather taste her.

"Sarah." This time the warning was less certain.

"Don't you want me?" Beneath the plaintive tone was a bead of certainty that was all the more seductive. She already knew the answer. They both did.

"Now," he imagined the struggle was clear on his face, "is perhaps not the best time." An understatement on so many levels it begged laughter. But he didn't release her, his fingers carding through the hair at her nape. He couldn't be certain if he meant because of his interference or because they all dangled on the precipice of destruction. He was wholly focussed on the throbbing of his cock. On her soft but determined touch.

Her fingers had probed into the open folds of his shirt and her blunt nails scraped scorching trails on his chest. She had never trusted him enough to be so bold - so eager. It was intoxicating to watch her take the lead. She kissed him again and made a sound of satisfaction deep in her throat when he responded this time. It shot straight to his groin. Her tongue dipped into his mouth, her teeth purposely worrying his lip. Her breasts were pressed into him and he itched to free them. To use his hands and mouth and teeth on her as well.

When she reached between them to cup him through his pants, he jerked. His hand tightening around her neck. He pressed himself into her palm but caught her wrist.

"Sarah." This time it held nothing but warning. Warning that if she continued he'd be fucking her without hesitation in the next heartbeat. Timing and circumstances be damned. They'd been dancing around it long enough. He forced himself to focus on her face. "Do you really want this?" He'd already one question and he had no regrets about using another if it earned him the truth. He was aware he was no gentlemen. His magic had meddled with her mind, and while it hadn't planted the desire it had removed her mistrust. His pride had to know if it was real, if Sarah really wanted him - morals be damned.

She didn't answer at first. And then despite his grip on her wrist, her fingers stroked. "Yes."

Truth.

Delicious and damning.

He released her wrist and pulled her fully into his lap, hands hooking behind her knees and spreading them so that she straddled him in the cahir. She rocked down against his erection, the friction making him hiss in sharp pleasure.

He made to remove his gloves but she stopped him, whispering hotly against his ear, "Leave them on."

Jareth pressed his mouth into the open expanse of her shirt, tasting the salt of her skin and the unique flavour that was her. She arched her neck to give him better access and began undoing buttons to expose the upper swells of her breasts. She was wearing nothing else beneath he realized. His hands came up to cup them, rolling their weight. When his thumbs brushed against her nipples through the thin fabric, she made a needy sound of pleasure. Her hands traced along his jaw and then curled around his nape to hold him to her. He feasted on her flesh with teeth and tongue.

In the back of his mind he considered moving them to the bed. The chair was cramped and he wanted to explore her more. To lay her out and take his time. Let her take her time. To forget what lay ahead if only for a moment. No interruptions from meddling gods or precocious children. Perhaps he owed Fen thanks after all. But he was loathe to speak again. To give her reason to retreat as she always did when she let herself think. His hand forced a space between them until he found the waist of her pants and slipped within, beneath the underwear. He groaned against her breasts to find her so hot and wet. So ready. All thoughts of bed fled. Time for that later. She trembled against him, her thighs attempting to squeeze shut around his fingers. Her breath hitched. His other hand reached up to bring her mouth down to his, but instead she pulled her shirt aside and pressed a bare breast into his mouth. Another shudder rocked through him, his hips rocking up. He licked and sucked, using his teeth to worry the tight furl of her nipple. Her breath was ragged - his no better. Thoughts turned quicksilver. 

He tugged at her shirt, intent on pulling it open completely, already imaging how glorious she'd look in nothing - limned by fire as she rode them both into release, when something fluttered against his hand. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a bright green leaf. He'd almost brushed it away, when he recognized it. It had been burned into memory. His hand landed heavily on her hip and he pulled back.

"Thirsty?" She asked again, her face guarded. She reached for the cup and offered it to him again. Her hand was shaking, he noted.

He folded his own around her fingers, locking the cup in her grasp. "You drink it," he said softly. Dangerously so. His dipped his head again and laved a hot trail across her exposed breast, sucking hard enough for a moment to leave a mark right above the nipple. A reminder of where he'd been. "I'd rather have you."

Sarah shivered, a mix of arousal and fear. He imagined she was keenly aware of his grip on her hip. Of his erection that still throbbed between them now that the tables had turned.

"You have to be careful of dosages, Sarah. Though I suppose you must know that now." His lips bowed into the ghost of a smile. "You're far stronger than I thought to shake my magic off. It should have affected you more. I'll allow you marks for efforts." He nodded towards the cup. "Though sloppily executed." 

They stared at one another for a moment - the line between enemy and lover still blurred. Sarah broke the silence first. "I had to try."

"Interesting tactic. How far would you have taken it I wonder?"

Her eyes glittered. "As far as needed I suppose."

His fingers drummed on her hip. He was angry and aroused, and the mix was wreaking havoc on his mind. He couldn't think straight. Perhaps he was more tired than he'd thought. "What shall I do with you now?"

She shifted uncomfortably, reminding him that he was body hadn't caught up yet was still painfully hard.

"Don't pout, Sarah. You tried and you failed. Have a consolation drink," he added glibly. And then he blinked hard, eyes sliding out of focus. He released her hand to pinch his brow when his head wouldn't clear. When he looked up she was watching him closely.  Gleefully.

Then she raised the glass in a silent toast and drained it.

Realization was slow but inexorable. "It was never in the wine."

She shook her head, face tight. She re-adjusted her half open shirt, covering the creamy expanse of skin he'd made a feast of. Her lips were swollen. He imagined his own expression warred between disbelief and admiration.

He could still taste her skin. "It was on you."

"You might have noticed it in the wine. And I knew I couldn't do it without you seeing me. " Sarah carefully backed off of him, wobbling a little as she stood.

He wanted to stop her retreat, to keep her where she belonged, but his body wouldn't listen anymore. She reached for his wrist, hands shaking as she began to untie the necklace wrapped round it. His fingers found the strength to grip hers for a moment.

Though his final words barely more than a whisper, their meaning was potent. "I will find you."

And then nothing. Nothing at all.

Sarah acted quickly, her breathing still erratic, and adrenaline coursing. She could feel every spot he'd touched like he'd branded her. Her body thrummed with unquenched need. Later she'd try not to think about what that meant. How much she'd wanted him despite everything.

She grabbed a pitcher of water and quickly reopened her shirt to scrub her skin clean. She tried not to notice the bright red mark - now darkening, he'd so deliberately left on her breast.

A punishment. Perhaps also a promise.

She was no botanist and had no idea if she was in any danger from the oils she'd so thoroughly smeared onto her skin. Skin she'd been sure he'd taste. How'd she been so careful not to kiss him again.

As arousal and adrenaline dimmed, she began to panic. Her plan had been desperately conceived. Born of anger and fear. Too many unknowns threatened to undo her, but they threatened to undo him too. She had no idea how to get Toby and Max back yet, she only knew that Jareth could not be trusted. She also knew that he needed her. Specifically her. That regardless of what he'd planned, Toby and Max would not suffice for his purposes. He wouldn't have let Fen have them otherwise. It had been her all along. She'd unleashed the beast.

Both beasts.

The best thing she could do was take herself out of his power. At least until the waning moon. Find something or someone to bargain with. She just hadn't decided with whom yet, though she had an idea.

The Goblin King lay pale in the chair. His dishevelled clothes evidence of their recent activities. He'd asked how far she'd been planning to take it.

Too far.

So far she might have lost herself.

He was so still a pang of worry made her hesitate, but she dared not check his pulse. He was stronger than he seemed and she needed to be far away before he woke. Out of reach.

Run.

She dashed into the other room and grabbed the bag she'd hastily prepared earlier. A change of clothes lifted from the wardrobe, water, fruit from the bowl, and the book she'd retrieved from where she'd dropped it. It had partially fallen under the bed.

If he'd seen it, perhaps he'd not have been so lax.

When Jareth next woke it was to the sound of pounding. It took him a moment to realize the pounding was in his head. He scanned the empty room, jaw tightening in anger. He swore and rose unsteadily. A moment later the carafe of wine exploded against the far wall before he left.

Tyr opened his door partially a few minutes later, his expression showing mild surprise.

Jareth pushed his way in. "I need your help."

The surprise only deepened. "Now is not the best time..." he left off as he took in his son's appearance.

"Don't ask."

"You underestimated her."

Jareth was in no mood. "A mistake I'll correct. Unlike you I know how to keep what's mine." He'd meant the words to sting, but furtive movement behind Tyr's shoulder caught his eye. His father was not alone. A be-spectacled man, white-faced and visibly shaken, sat before the fire. He looked like he'd been through hell and back. He adjusted his damaged glasses in what Jareth suspected was a nervous habit.

Tyr made a sound - a mixture of annoyance and resignation that Jareth well understood.

"I suppose it only fitting. Jareth, meet Asael Gunnarsson. Your cousin, some thirty times removed or so."

Chapter Text

Run, run, run away
Buy yourself another day
A cold wind's whispering secrets in your ear
So low only you can hear
Run, run, run and hide
Somewhere no one else can find

Tall trees bend and lean pointing where to go
Where you will still be all alone
Don't you fret, my dear
It'll all be over soon…

Kingdom Come, The Civil Wars

Sarah found it was remarkably easy to slip through the halls unnoticed. She imagined that mortals must be treated like spiders in corners - largely ignored until they made themselves a nuisance - until she remembered she was only the second mortal to ever darken their halls. And that one hadn't made it home either.

Her heart was still a steady staccato in her ears. The adrenaline had given way to fear, and with it came the stark realization that her plan was brash. Foolhardy even. With more risk than reward. 

He would wake soon... Unless she'd killed him. Neither would be an outcome in her favour.

Approaching footsteps made her flatten herself against the wall. Under her splayed hand she felt the indentation of a door. She tried the handle and exhaled in relief. The room was small, more importantly empty, and appeared to be a servants' storeroom. There were loose tunics in drab colours hanging from pegs on the wall. Sarah didn't hesitate to tug one over her head. She took a scarf and wrapped her hair hastily. It was as close to a disguise as she could manage.

The silent attendants moved through out the hall, but were hardly noteworthy. Their role was more performative than required. With magic at your fingertips, the act of being served was a display of power rather than function. They were little more than shades - perhaps they were.

Pressing her ear against the wood she waited until the steps receded, and then opened the door carefully and ducked out. Staying unnoticed appeared to be easy.

Finding his door was the real challenge.

She'd begun to panic in earnest when she finally spied the intricate carving down the hall. Two snakes circling one another. She didn't dare knock, instead slipping straight inside when she found it unlocked.

The interior was large and lavishly furnished in dark colours. It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim lit and find the lone occupant seated behind a large lacquered desk.   His dark head was bent over an orderly array of scrolls. One long-fingered hand writing steadily.

It afforded her a moment to begin second guessing the next phase.

"Just leave the wine there." The hand paused its scratching and indicated the scant few inches of empty space to his left.

When none appeared as expected, he finally glanced up. Lips twisted into the shadow of a grin.

"Isn't it customary to actually have wine, when delivering it?" Then those cunning green eyes narrowed on her face. "Ah… I see you bring me something else entirely. How very interesting." Loki sat back, his head tilting in consideration. "Did my nephew put you to work?" The smile shifted in the other direction. "No, I would imagine he didn't. So what did you do to him, I wonder, to be hear right now." When Sarah didn't answer, he rose, flicking his fingers and then taking a sip from the cup that appeared in them. "Mortals are always so ingenuous when desperate. That's something Odin has never properly appreciated."

Sarah finally found her voice. "I-I need your help."

Loki laughed, almost choking on his wine. It was a strangely silvery sound in the darkness that reminded Sarah of ice cracking in winter. "You do astound me and it's rare anyone can do that. Here I thought you knew of us. I am not the god of helping others."

Sarah squared tense shoulders. "You are the god of intrigue though?" Despite his seeming callous indifference, she could tell she'd piqued his interest and she clung to it like a lifeline. "With all due respect, your loyalty is slippery at best."

"I take offence to that." His tone was amiable. "I am nothing if not always loyal to myself."

"Then you see why I came to you."

"Well, it certainly wasn't to bring me wine." He held out a second glass to her, those cunning eyes dancing with mirth when she didn't take it. "What? Was it in the wine? Tell me it wasn't anything so predictable? Like father like son?"

Sarah didn't answer.

"Not so predictable then. I'll let you keep your secrets for now." His tone suggested that was a rare concession. "What business do you have then, drab little mortal all alone?"

The familiar words sent a frisson of fear up Sarah's spine. Like father, like son indeed. She could see it in his face; in the cast of his features and set of his eyes, though their colour differed. The son was larger, certainly more physically imposing, but the father was just as dangerous. 

Loki recognized he was being scrutinized and he smiled again, splaying his hands. "You wouldn't be the first mortal to fall for a god." His fingers snapped shut. "But perhaps I am not so foolhardy as my brother. Perhaps I have a more refined palate and you're not to my taste."

Sarah knew he'd meant it to be cutting. He was playing with her to take her measure. "That's not what the stories say. Seems you're preferences aren't even limited to two legs."

It was a foolish thing to say. He was as mercurial as gods came and she saw his eyes spark for a moment into something that was not mirth. She supposed her death would thwart Jareth just as well.

Then his lips bowed. "I hardly think you're here to talk about my sexual proclivities."

"He's free."

Loki hesitated a fraction too long to deny he knew who 'he' was. And then she wondered if even the pause was by design. That he could have lied smoothly had he wanted.

The god set his drink down. "So you are here to talk about them then."

"They are working together," Sarah paused, "to a degree anyway." She found herself unwilling to go into detail. To say that there were tensions between the two and that whatever agreement there was might have changed again.

"I do wonder why you're telling me this. Are you helping Jareth or betraying him?"

"If I wanted to betray him, I'd tell Odin." The truth was she didn't know. "Right now I am concerned with helping myself."

His nodded approvingly. "Now that I can understand."

"I thought-"

"You thought because I've fucked more than gods that I'd be, what? Generous? You've seen what monsters I create with other monsters. Imagine what horror I might have made had I bedded one such as you?" His eyes traced her body through the shapeless servant garb for a moment in consideration. "I am Odin's brother, whatever your 'stories' may tell you. Why do you think I won't betray you now?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "But I don't think you'd do so unless it benefited you. I do know that you don't seem to hold Jareth in the same distaste as the other gods do. I don't think you're afraid of him either. Some of the others are… including Odin."

Loki's eyes flashed again. Green fire in the dark.

"Otherwise you wouldn't have… done what you did at the feast."

The god gestured at her to continue.

"I don't know if you'd help him or stop him, but I do know that you're the great wolf's father. And that you stood back and let them cage him once."

"Is that a comment on my parenting?" Sarah could no longer tell if he was amused. "Tyr let Jareth be similarly bound."

"Perhaps," she agreed noncommittally. "There is no love lost there either."

Loki moved a few steps closer - enough into the light that Sarah could see he was dressed in an impeccably cut and very modern charcoal suit. He idly flipped a small dagger in his hand in such a way she wondered if he even knew he did it. Old habits die hard. Sarah was banking on that in fact.

"Immortals make terrible parents," he remarked finally. There was no trace of guilt in his tone, just a general observation.

"Is that how you sleep at night?" 

The dagger stilled midair. Frozen. And then it turned on its axis, blade pointing in her direction. "Do you presume to lecture me, mortal?" He looked her up and down. "Decaying flesh in servants' rags? I owe you nothing. I am a god. If you were at all wise you'd be on your knees."

The words stung but she recognized that they were only partially drawn from anger. It was a reminder that the trickster never fights fair.

"Gods bleed too." And then more gently, and more desperately honest because every second counted, she admitted, "I just want to go home. I want to find my brothers and go home."

"So you come to me." The tone was dismissive but the trace of interest had also returned. It struck her that a bored Loki might be the most dangerous Loki by far. "You might have had better luck with Tyr. He nearly lost his head over a bit of mortal quim."

"Maybe." Sarah had considered it. She'd even considered Odin too.

"I don't- I'm not sure what they actually want. I have no interest in interfering with their plans," she answered honestly. "As I said, I just want to go home again."

"Is this not interfering though? To take a piece off the board mid game? No matter its power it may have a part to play."

Sarah recognized Loki was probing. "I suppose you have to decide what side you're on. That's the gamble I'm taking right now. I have a 50/50 chance." The words were terrifying to say aloud but also freeing. Confessing to the god of lies.

"And what," he took another step forward, dagger still suspended mid-air, "if there are more than two sides in this?"

She squared her chin. "You find mortals interesting. You visit them. Watch them I think. Probably find them – us – amusing. Like rats in a maze."

For the second time Loki looked genuinely surprised. "What a thing to say," he whistled.

"Your clothes," Sarah motioned. "They could be in the latest fashion magazine."

A pale hand fingered the single button closure and then smoothed down. "Clever girl."

"How do you do it then? If you go there, there must be a way you could take me too? Send me home?"

"I could do it right now."

He might be lying, Sarah was not so naïve, but he was dangling it above her head like a treat. Testing her perhaps. So close. I could just leave...

"I'd need my brothers first."

"Those I do not have, and I have more than my own fair share to want for any more."

"I know that. I just need you to help me stay hidden while I find them." Somehow, she added to herself.

"Just need me to bring you home. Just need me to help you evade two powerful gods. You would seem to have very great need of me. I've yet to hear what great need I have of you." The dagger swayed for a moment, dancing.

"I don't think you want to kill me." She hoped.

The dagger cut across the remaining distance and stopped a fraction of an inch before her throat. "What faith you show in the god of lies." The blade dipped and snagged the fabric of her borrowed uniform, slicing the threads of the neckline to expose her throat. "If not kill you, maybe I do want to fuck you. You yourself pointed out I have eclectic tastes."

Sarah licked her dry lips. He was testing her again. She did not think he had any great interest in her. "I don't think you do. I think you want to toy with me. Make me afraid. And I am afraid right now. Afraid enough to ask you for help. To put my faith in the god of lies. I've played my hand." She swallowed." It's your turn."

Loki's eyes narrowed. The blade hovered for a moment and then vanished.

Sarah exhaled shakily. Her fingers sliding to her unmarked throat reflexively.

"And what if my move is to truss you up and personally deliver you right back to him?"

Sarah noted that he didn't specify which him. 

"They are more powerful than you and despite your passably pretty face – which is growing on me – I think they still have more to offer."

"Perhaps. But I think you value knowledge. They don't know where I am." Yet. "But you do. Give me back and you've gained nothing. Not to mention, how boring would it be to end this so soon?" It was a wild gambit. He might very well decide to deliver her right back - to either of them.  

"You are proposing a head start."

"I am proposing that you help me cheat."

He raised a brow. "Out of the graciousness of my heart?"

"Out of your love for mischief," she countered.

Loki scoffed. "That's been a touch overstated. Offer me more."

Sarah could feel defeat begin to slake her weary bones. 

The god sighed. "My but you mortals lack for imagination. If you're done appealing to the sense of humanity I most certainly do not have, I will help you. In my way."

Sarah didn't dare so much as breathe if it upset the tenuous offer. He walked back across the room and opened a locked chest. From within he withdrew a long shimmering cloak covered in gilded runes.

"Do you know what this is?" He turned.

She shook her head.

"The cloak of Tarnkappe."

Sarah's eyes widened.

"Ah, so you do know of it. Not really to my taste. Bit gaudy at first glance, no? But it has its uses. The wearer is invisible to the eye of beast and god and man. Even magic cannot scry it. It's worth more than your life. Ten thousand of your lives. In fact, I killed the Dwarven weaver myself so there would never be its equal again. I have a fondness for one of a kind things." And then he tossed it to her like it was no more than a ball.

Sarah caught it awkwardly.

"That should keep you hidden. If you do find your brothers, return it to me and I will in turn, bring you all home."

She clutched it to her chest. "Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me yet. I've no doubt this little scheme will fail, but I've always had a soft spot for desperate people. They have so much more to offer when pressed."

"And the price?"

"That we'll discuss that on your return. Don't worry, I don't barter in children. Take it or leave it." Loki sat back down and began writing again. "By all means seek my brothers for a better offer if you like. Though I should imagine whatever you've done to my nephew is likely wearing off by now, so you'd best make haste. I recall how angry Tyr was when he awoke centuries ago. I shudder to think what he would have done had he gone after her directly, as was his first inclination. Then again, perhaps if he had we wouldn't be here now. Jareth for all his scheming has much the same temper. So fly, little sparrow, before you find your wings torn off."

Sarah looked down at the cloak in one last moment of indecision. She'd played her hand and Jareth wouldn't trust her again. Toby and Max were both with a monster. One who seemed to be working with the Goblin King. There was part of her that had felt pity for him, but she'd buried it deep beneath her anger and the bite of betrayal she refused to acknowledge. He'd tried to take her memories - make her mindlessly compliant. That perhaps stung the most. She just hoped when she was done paying her all debts, there was anything left of her.

She drew the cloak around her shoulders and the hood over her hair. When she looked down at herself she frowned. "It's not working. Can you still see me? Do I have to say something?"

"Constantly it would seem," Loki replied with a sneer. He twirled a finger. "You have to undress."

Sarah pulled a face. "I don't believe that for a second."

"You believed Jareth would help you. Here you are."

She still hesitated.

"You're welcome to seek somewhere else to change. Gods don't suffer from mortals quaint sense of modesty. The cloth must bind to your skin." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like she was an idiot for not knowing that already. "If he finds you here I can hardly deny I knew. I'm a liar not a fool."

Sarah hurried to a corner and began to strip, using the cloak to shield herself. Undressing beneath it reminded her of the incident in the woods, which somehow seemed a lifetime ago. The pen never ceased its work and she was just on the point of doing up the collar when she felt a presence and turned defensively.

Loki stood not a foot away. Back at his desk the pen continued its writings on its own. His eyes were on her face but she imagined he'd missed nothing. For what purpose, she wasn't sure.

He held his hand out expectantly. Sarah stared down at it dumbly until it clicked he wanted the discarded clothes in her hands.

"One must be thorough." He tossed the garments in the fire when she handed it to him. "As was my nephew it would seem." Sarah felt colour suffuse her cheeks. He must have seen the tell-tale marks on her chest.

"I have a bag." Sarah gestured to her meager belongings. "Will the cloak hide it?"

"Why ever not?"

"Well I thought… you said it had to bind my skin."

"Did I? I do say a lot of things. And only some of them true. Perhaps I only wanted to see how far you'd go. You yourself called me the God of Lies. And now I've narrowed your head start. In fact, I suspect he's already at my door."

Sarah reacted immediately by snatching up her bag and tucking it under the cloak. He gestured at her to pull up the hood. 

"Don't forget that I want the cloak back. Preferably unbloodied. And by that I mean try hard not to die, hmm? Even though it comes so easy to your kind."

A scant second later his words came to fruition and a knock sounded at the door. She looked to Loki pleadingly but whether or not he couldn't see her or was merely ignoring her, wasn't immediately clear until he reached out and pressed the clasp at her throat. Almost instantly she felt an uncanny tingling sensation skate across her skin. When she raised her own hand before her face she could no longer see it.

The door opened and Sarah's breath hitched.

Tyr shut the door and turned in time to see Jareth and the mortal taking one another's measure.

The Goblin King's expression was carefully shuttered. If he was surprised to find he had a mortal relative, he showed none of it.

Gunnarsson on the other hand looked even more shaken. He rubbed his trembling hands again and thrust them towards the fire. "Hello," he offered finally, his accent more heavily pronounced.

"How?" Jareth replied, directing the question to his father.

Tyr busied himself with pouring a goblet of wine. Jareth could tell he was deciding how to answer or whether to at all. "What happened to you exactly?"

"Nothing I won't manage."

Tyr studied his son carefully. "It hurts doesn't it?"

Jareth's expression slipped before realizing the god had meant physically. Had gleaned the trace effects of poison. Or perhaps he'd meant both. What poison still lingered was fire in his veins. Unbidden, a memory of Baldur surfaced - his face contorting in the final death throes.

"How much did you ingest?"

Baldur was replaced by Sarah, her hands curling into his hair as he feasted on her skin. Lies.

A flash of anger creased his features. Gunnarsson made a muted sound of protest from the chair.

Tyr wordlessly pressed a goblet of wine into the mortal man's hands.

"How?" Jareth asked again, eyes flickering back to the older man.

Tyr crossed to the fire and stoked the embers into a blaze. Sparks erupted. "Idunn had a sister once." He spoke the words to the coals. "She told me she'd been murdered. Laid the blame at my feet. Except she wasn't. And whether by her will or not, she bore a child that lived. Who lived to bear another child and so on. Here sits one from that line."

Jareth scrutinized Gunnarsson, studying his face for any sign of lineage. Generations had certainly diluted anything he found.

"She never mentioned family." Not live ones certainly.

Another unnecessary and more violent stoke to the fire sent up a larger cloud of sparks. Gunnarsson jerked at the sound, his eyes wide and glassy as he clutched the untouched cup in his hands.

Tyr set the poker down and stood. "Because she didn't know. Doesn't."

Jareth lowered himself into the free chair, his body stiff and protesting the movement. Had it not been for the recent apple, it would have been so much worse. Caging Fen again, even temporarily, had left him weak and more susceptible to the poison.

"After - you... Idunn was so angry."

"That made two of us," Jareth interjected coldly.

"I thought to make amends."

"How generous," he snorted.

Tyr frowned, hand rising and curling to a fist against the mantle. "You have no idea the loss. Wife and son."

Gunnarsson's eyes flitted between the pair.

"By then too many years had passed. And mortals did as mortals always do. She'd died. The local villagers remembered the taken woman from Eire. The one with the dark eyes and old ways. I found her granddaughter alive and well enough. I decided to keep an eye on the family. Waiting until-"

"Waiting until you could bribe your wife back with her long lost kin?"

Tyr shot his son a quelling look that would have levelled a lesser being. "Don't judge me. I know your own selfish deceptions and schemes. I'd waited too long. She barred me from her door and took another to her bed instead."

"And here we are. What a happy little family reunion this is. Did you really think now is the time to make your bid?"

"Hardly," Tyr replied acerbically. "I didn't bring him here. Nor would I have. Certainly not now. He brought himself here."

Jareth scoffed. "How did he do that?"

"With this," Gunnarsson answered quietly. Perhaps he was tired of being talked over, or maybe it was to stem the suffocating tension. He held up a small stone engraved with a stave. "Just a Viking compass I thought." Jareth instantly recognized the addition of sigil of war upon it and eyed his father speculatively.

Tyr managed to look marginally contrite. "It was a mark of protection, nothing more. I never intended it to be used as it was." In fact he'd given it to the little girl on the island in a flight of wistfulness. The dark-haired urchin who reminded him so much of Idunn.

"I'd had it in a glass case. It had been passed down through my family," Gunnarsson filled the fraught silence, "with little more instruction than it was a good luck charm. Silly bit of superstition. I remember touching it once in my grandmother's house and she'd slapped my hand away and told me not to tamper with the gods. That in great need I could speak the words and call upon them, but that I would regret it should they ever darken my door." He looked between the two, his greyed brow furrowing. "I never believed it. Not until..."

"I felt the call," Tyr finished. "Curiosity got the better of me. I'd thought to merely watch. The first call in almost 1000 years. But when he spoke the words the magic drew him to me. And then," Tyr turned pointedly to Jareth, "he immediately demanded to know what I'd done with one of his students. Something about a book that shouldn't be and then wasn't."

A flicker of something must have crossed Jareth's face because Gunnarsson leapt to his feet. "Was it you?" The tone was pure accusation. "She looked so shaken – nervous - that last day. She had her little brother in tow for some reason and I knew something was amiss. I could-could feel it somehow. And then the book disappeared. And now none but me even remember her at all."

Jareth didn't immediately acknowledge him, his own mind turning as answers fell into place like puzzle pieces.

"You gave her the keystone. I could feel its power." He touched his bare wrist. "It inured her to my own magic. She opened all the doors."

Gunnarsson's brow creased and then he released a stuttered breath. "Another family heirloom. Another whim. I didn't believe it to be real. Anymore than I believe you to be." His eyes found Tyr's. "Not truly." And then he brightened. "Does that mean she still lives?"

"For now," Jareth replied in a clipped tone meant to offer no solace.

"She's innocent!" The professor looked ready to brave violence but Tyr stepped between them, his focus trained solely on the threat his son presented. "Try very hard not to spill blood. At least until we make sense of this."

Gunnarsson's bravado ebbed and he sat again unsteadily. "Why? Why are you doing this to us?"

"There is no us," Jareth replied with the casual indifference of one not used to caring about others. "I've done nothing to you. This is the first of I've heard of you, and I can't say I am much impressed. As to Sarah, suffice it to say she is not your concern any longer. You know nothing of our history. What? Did you came to rescue the damsel in distress?"

The professor was florid enough that Jareth realized he'd struck close enough to home.

"It's not like that." And it wasn't. Gunnarsson was a red-blooded man who recognized a beautiful women who shared his passions when he met one, but he was eminently professional and would never cross the lines of impropriety. He also recognized his age, and a nascent attraction had immediately changed into a paternal sense of duty to see her through her degree. "I care about her well-being as her mentor. I'm not delusional either. I recognize that I am far too old for her. She's like a daughter." And he meant it.

Jareth returned an even look. "I need to find her."

"Naturally."

"First," the Goblin King added meaningfully. "Before the waning moon."

Tyr's expression clouded and then cleared, his eyes turning flinty. "What have you done?"

Sarah pressed her body flush to the wall.

Rather than the Goblin King, the door opened to reveal a fraught looking Odin.

"Do come in," Loki remarked dryly. He swept back to his desk; the pen stilling a half beat later as he sat.

The older god scanned the darkened room. "Am I interrupting?" He didn't sound in the least concerned by the idea.

"Always, but I've given up hope that you'll stop."

Odin ignored the barb, choosing instead to pick up items at random off the tables and shelves and, seemingly with deliberation, set them down just slightly askew.

Loki's eyes narrowed.

"You always were so fascinated by them, weren't you?" Odin considered a garishly painted puzzle cube, turning it over in his hand, before putting it down a few inches from where it had been on the desk.

"At least I didn't make the mistake of breeding with them though." Loki re-adjusted it.

Odin's brow creased. "These are dark days. It sours the very air." He turned suddenly, mismatched eyes tracing the corner where Sarah was hiding. "Even now I feel tendrils of unknown magic licking at my heels."

"You are here for a calming draught." Loki didn't wait for a response. He rose and moved to a small table containing a variety of bottles. Swiftly mixing a few vials, he turned and held a small cup out to Odin. "I take it you did not enjoy your meeting with the ineffable Idunn."

"There is no reasoning with her." The older god grimaced as he accepted it. "Nothing to be done about the taste?"

"Oh, undoubtedly there is. I choose not to spend my time worrying about trivial things." His eyes flickered to Sarah.

"You've never truly understood. Never cared about loss. Even your own."

"You wound me," Loki replied unemotionally.

"I so envy your lack of sentiment."

Loki laughed, "Now who lies?"

Odin merely grunted. Downing the cup, he set it back on the desk and moved towards the door. Loki looked in the general direction of Sarah's spot and then back at Odin. He did it a second time before Sarah caught on. She shook her head minutely until she realized Loki couldn't see her reaction. She wished she'd thought to ask if the cloak covered sounds as well. But she slipped out the door in pursuit before it closed completely.

The All Father's gait and pace were almost too much to keep up with. Despite his lavish robes and his older mien, he was every bit the virile warrior legend described. Following him was dangerous but Loki had been insistent. Trusting the god of lies felt like sticking her hand in a viper's nest and hoping she wouldn't be bitten.

They arrived at a set of polished stone stairs, leading down into darkness. Two tall female warriors awaited them at the join. Valkyries, Sarah realized, with no small amount of awe. They genuflected to Odin and then fell into step behind him.

The further down into the bowels of the keep she went, the colder it turned; the cloak offering little protection. Her skin pebbled beneath the folds and her bare feet were numb.  Her breath puffed in white bursts she hoped the cloak disguised.

As they had in the snow with him. When she'd thought… Sarah swallowed the traitorous memory down, willing fury to fill it's place.

When they reached the bottom, only a faint glow lit the rough-hewn cavern. Had she not been more terrified of what awaited her above, she would have balked at what lay below. The hallway was long and narrow, and led to a fork leading in three directions. Odin chose the central one, the Valkyries flanked the entrance but did not follow him further.

Sarah could smell water. A few steps more into the dark and she felt it beneath her feet; the coolness making her toes tingle.

Unlike the narrow passage, the cavern now stretched high above them. Faint lights, muted and wavering, gave the impression of a night sky. It would have been beautiful had it not been so cold.

Odin tensed, as though bracing himself, and then knelt prostrate in the water. It began to roil and churn, and then it rose and took form.

A golden-haired boy on the cusp of manhood, still holding onto the telltale lankiness of youth, appeared. His young face was exquisitely handsome; his mouth was curved into a smile that bespoke an easy nature. He was laughing, the infectious sound echoing in the vast space.

Odin's shoulders hitched and sank. Sarah took a few steps to the side so she could see his face. All the harshness was gone, replaced with something raw and untempered. His eyes were blown wide and glossy – trained on the boy.

She was seeing a father mourn his loss son. The one Jareth' impetuous act had stolen.

The waters shifted and reformed. A younger looking version of Odin bounced a baby, perhaps not much older than Max. There was a sense of pride and love in his face. She'd seen it in her own father's. Karen's too.

The waters shifted again and the youth returned. He was riding a great war horse, his hair flaxen flailing behind him and glinting in the unseen sun. He hefted a spear and deftly launched it, almost immediately barking a crow of delight when it evidently struck its target. He leapt off the horse, smacking its rump to send it on its way and accepted a friendly cuff on the arm. Wild hair, though shorter... same mismatched eyes and lithe form. It was a younger Goblin King.

Not yet a king. Instead a little God-ling.

Odin's face tightened, though he let the scene play on uninterrupted.

Baldur took a friendly swipe at Jareth, who ducked out of his way laughing. Another boy - larger but gangly, dark hair falling in his face joined them.  Same yellow eyes, but face free from scars - Sarah recognized Fenrir. The Goblin King-to-be leapt onto a fence in a crouch and drew a small flute from his pocket. He looked like a woodland sprite, with his fey features and untamed hair.  Baldur grinned at the antics, and then began singing along. It was a ribald tune about Loki dressing as a woman. Fenrir watched silently. A valkyrie passed the duo, and the two golden boys stopped long enough to shout something lewd that earned Baldur a cuff upside the head. Jareth managed to duck his. Fenrir finally laughed, though he'd said nothing to the valkyrie - looking away instead. There was an ease in manner between all of them that spoke of easy friendships and boyhood rivalries.

Sarah felt something unnamed catch in her throat.

And then the waters shifted again and Baldur, older now, was alone and sleeping.

Until Sarah realized he wasn't.

His golden skin and hair were dimmed - all that dazzling light lost.

Odin made a choked sound and reached for him, his hand passing through his pale face and the waters fell and stilled. The All Father rose unsteadily and passed a damp hand over his face. The broken expression was replaced by the imperious mask Sarah had first seen. He looked older, his features worn down by weariness. Sarah suspected what Loki had given him was something to help him sleep.

When she raised a hand to her own face she was surprised to find it too was wet. She wiped the tears away angrily, her hand shaking them loose into the shallow pool below.

The still waters shifted, churning once again, and rose to form something new.

Sarah stuffed a fist into her mouth to stifle her horror at seeing herself. Only this Sarah was broken. Her hands, empty and bloodied, were pressed to her middle. Her mouth was open but no sound was escaping.

The waters receded and fell away.

She was lucky that the draught had begun to take effort, for Odin was slow to turn at the sound. He scanned the empty space, scarred eye narrowing, but left a moment later. His shield maidens said nothing as they fell into step behind him at the entrance. They had made this walk many times before. Odin was halfway to the stairs before he paused and looked back, his face forming an expression Sarah couldn't discern. She might have feared that her cloak had failed her, but his eyes were trained on one of the other passages.

His expression shuttered and he ascended the stairs without looking back into the darkness again.

By the time Sarah made it up the stairs, Odin was gone. To sleep she imagined - fraught with nightmares or perhaps in the deep, dreamless kind aided by whatever Loki had given him. What exactly had Loki wanted her to see? Bargaining with him had bought herself time, but no real advantage. The more time that passed, the more self-doubt robbed her confidence. Finding Max and Toby seemed impossible. Fenrir would return. And whatever Jareth had planned, the wolf had made clear he only needed one of them. Her lone ally was gone, while she was little more than an ant surrounded by boots.

Ten years before there had been no trail to Toby through the Labyrinth. She'd known where she had to reach at least. Her hand drifted to her chest beneath the cloak to scratch, her skin faintly irritated by the Thrush. And then her fingers stilled.

Wait...

There was a trail, she just couldn't see it. But she had once - a deep red thread spun with gold that she'd wrapped around her wrist to lead them here. 

A wild thought took her. She had to find the Norns.

There were other things to fear in the dark, and she had met some of them. Some had clawed their way beneath her skin. She just needed to cut them out again.

Toby clutched Max to his chest like he used to hug Lancelot when he'd had a bad dream. He told himself he was doing it for Max.

He was so very cold. The small fire seemed to provide little warmth, and even less light. He was desperately tired but half afraid he wouldn't wake up again. More afraid he would. And to what? 

Max gave a fitful cry in his arms and he shifted him, realizing he'd been squeezing him too tightly. 

When his parents had brought Max home everything had changed. Sarah had moved out...

"I'm sorry," Toby whispered.

He was getting used to the crackle and hiss of flame that held no sympathetic warmth; to the unrelenting damp. It would be easier if he put Max back down, he reasoned. Easier to just give in.

He didn't.

Sarah wouldn't.

His stomach clenched and then gurgled. She'd been on her way to get them food.

What would she do when she realized he was missing? He was confident she would somehow get him back. Unless she'd forgotten him as his parents had forgotten Max...

"I killed my brother."

Toby startled at the unexpected voice. His weary eyes searching the surrounding dark in fear. The gravelly voice was not the nursemaid's. The sound sent a shiver of pure ice through his frame.The fire obliged and flickered higher to reveal the monster in the dark. The bump in the night...The thing under his bed...The one who'd taken Max... after he'd wished.

Sarah had always said the worst monsters looked nothing like one at all.

He wore the same concealing cloak Toby remembered, but the hood and cowl were thrown back. His black hair hung in thick ropes about his scarred face. He was crouched across from him, knees bent and elbows resting on his thighs as though he might leap forward at any moment. Though hunched, Toby could tell he was tall. Broad too. His eyes flickered in the fire light.

"It would have been far easier had you simply slit his throat. You're old enough."

Toby's fingers tensed around Max guiltily. "I… I didn't want him dead." He hated how childish his voice sounded to his own ears. How weak. Gone was not dead, he reasoned desperately. 

The monster chuckled, but there was no warmth to it. "No, you wished for something far more cruel than a swift end and an honourable death." There was no judgment in the fallen god's voice but the implication rankled.

"I-I'm sorry. I-I take it back." It was half question, half plea.

"You can't make an offering to a wolf and expect him not to make a meal, boy. Even now I can taste your fear."

Toby curled his body around Max protectively. "You're going to eat him?"

Another chuckle followed. "Is that what you think I do?"

He could feel his cheeks flush with precious heat. It made him all the more defiant. "I think my sister will stop you."

Fen snorted.

"She can do anything! Jareth will help her. He has magic."

This time he didn't laugh but Toby could see his face change into the semblance of a smile - one that was not at all kind. "You should be careful in whom you put your faith, boy."

"My name is Toby, not boy."

Another snort. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." And then, perhaps because Sarah was right and he'd never manage to curb his tongue to save his skin, he asked, "Why are you doing this to us? Why won't you let us go?" Toby didn't expect an answer but Fen surprised him.

"We can't let you go. We need you. Though that's not quite true either. We only really need one of you. I don't much care which. The baby would be easiest, but I get the impression you and your sister are the self-sacrificing sort." It was not compliment. "And he's made it clear that he has different designs on the girl, so I'll have all three, I think."

Toby tried to follow his meaning and failed. But it occurred to him that keeping him talking was probably in his best interest. "Why did you kill your brother? Were you jealous of him?"

The golden gaze sharpened and then refined. "In a way, I suppose. Jor may have grown more powerful than me. Maybe not. He was more beast than god, and he was in my way."

"Weren't your parents upset?" Toby whispered.

"I have a sister too." At Toby's look of interest, his mouth crooked into a half-smile. "You wouldn't like her. She's not like yours. Or maybe she is," he snorted. "And no, they were not upset. Our mother abandoned us soon after birth – disgusted by our very nature. Our father…" Fen trailed off. "Well... we have no father. Gods do not make for kind parents and good things don't grow in darkness." His eyes trained back to Toby. "Don't seek mortal emotions where none exist."

It was a warning even Toby understood. "My parents are kind. And I miss them."

"Don't take it personally, boy. There are only two types of creatures to be found in all the realms. The powerful and those that are a means to power."

"But what-"

Fen held up a large hand. It was a gesture Toby recognized. It was the same hand that had picked up Max and then disappeared. His words caught in his throat and he swallowed thickly, trying hard not to flinch. See Sarah, sometimes I can shut up.

"I was curious. I'm not anymore. Make your peace, but not with the gods. For they do not care." Fen rose and sank back into the darkness without another word.

Toby waited a few moments more before leaning down and whispering into Max's ear. "I'm going to get you out of here. Somehow I'll do it."

The sharp knock at the door silenced all the occupants. Tyr made a motion to ignore it but the unmistakable sound of a key turning soon followed and then the door opened. He rose swiftly, his posture defensive and his hand falling to the blade at his side.

Idunn stood framed in the doorway, her eyes flicking first to her son, then to Tyr. When they settled on Gunnarsson, she closed the door behind her. Tyr noticed that she'd scrubbed her face clean of the paint she'd worn in the great hall. She was familiar in a way that ached to the marrow.

"You never changed the locks." On its face it was a statement, but there was a lilting quality to her voice that hinted at a question.

"You never lost the key," Tyr countered quietly, a stark contrast to the intensity of his eyes. "Perhaps I hoped you'd grow sentimental and try to kill me one night." 

She looked away before he could gauge her reaction and refocused on Jareth. "I couldn't find you." She didn't ask about the girl. They both knew she didn't have to. When he didn't speak, she moved to him and lifted his wrist, now tellingly bare, and then turned towards Tyr.

"She had my mother's mark. On a necklace." Her words were firm but her body was strung like a cord about to snap. "The same one left to my older sister. The last time I saw it was the last time I saw her. How?"

Under her dark stare, the one that had always managed to undo him, Tyr's eyes slid to Gunnarsson. Idunn cracked before the tale was fully told.

Jareth felt Tyr's attention on him as he paced the hallway. They'd given Idunn her space, leaving her to reconcile this unexpected living piece of her sister. Her expression had settled into a strange mix of furious sorrow that neither husband nor son could face. Jareth was too restless for a reunion. Moves were now in motion beyond his carefully controlled ones, and the acrid taste of potential failure set him on edge. His cage would not hold the wolf for long.

His own actions left him little peace. Desperate deeds were dangerous ones.

"He's free too isn't he?"

Jareth paused at his father's words, wondering what showed in his face. "Don't think to censure me. Not now. One door opens and they all do. We were both wronged by Odin."

"I'm aware. Was I not the one to bind him?" Tyr did not add at what cost.

Jareth pointed towards the door with a vicious stab. "That changes nothing. I did not come to you by choice, but need. He wants far worse than I do and your chains no longer hold. Tomorrow he will be back and I have no leverage over him now." He did not add that he was still weakened from sending Fen away. Weakened even more from Sarah's deception. And that she might cost him everything. Again.

Perhaps, in the end, Tyr recognized a similar unchecked fire and desperation in his son. "She could be anywhere."

Jareth had already come to the only possible conclusion that she'd masked herself somehow. There were precious few places a mortal could hide and scrying brought nothing. So that meant she'd been helped or had taken. Instinctively, he felt that she was not far. Their paths were entwined whether she willed it or not.

She would never leave her brothers. His hand touched his bare throat. And she'd made the mistake of taking something else that was his.

Finding her way to the bright hall proved easier than she expected. The thirteen thrones sat empty, the brazier banked.

It was dusk in the silver woods surrounding the Vale, making her wonder how many hours had already passed, or perhaps the sun never reached the lifeless place.

Sometimes the way forward is the way back…

She stood shivering in the night air, before the gaping tree. The one that her spit her out. And hid the broken creature in the dark. She knelt and from within her pack pulled out the second thing she'd taken from the king.

His sigil.

There'd been no reason to take it other than a visceral satisfaction of an eye for eye. He'd taken something from her, she'd take something from him. Even in the low light, the silver gold of it gleamed and shifted.

Let the magic in, he'd once advised. In that part, she hoped he'd been sincere. She was about to let it all.  He'd given her certain powers... she'd take the rest. She exhaled slowly, letting the warmth spread through her limbs from the amulet.

"Please." Sarah's voice was little more than a whisper. I need to speak with you, she thought into the void. I've brought you a gift...

Nothing happened at first, long enough not that she sat back in disappointment. And then three hands reached out of the darkness of the tree, took hold of her - nails sinking into flesh - and dragged her in.

Sarah blinked at the sudden brightness from the stars above, and then down at their reflection in the pool of water. She turned to three sightless faces. "You can see me."

"Always," answered the girl; her voice lilting and deceptively young.

"We hope you don't waste our time." There was no mistaking the warning in the crone's words.

"You offered a gift." The woman traced a line around the edge of Sarah's face with one finger. "I still see its appeal."

"Yes," agreed the girl. "I actually like it much better now that it's so full of sorrow. Perhaps it is ripe now after all."

Sarah pulled away. "I have a-a favour to ask. I need to see my brother's thread again. The one you showed me before. You can do it, can't you? And send me back to the vale," she added hastily. "I've already come so far."

The deep red thread with its line of gold flickered into sight – still bound to Sarah's wrist – and then vanished.

"That one?" asked the crone, though she required no answer.

Sarah snatched at it futilely but it had already disappeared. She mutely offered the Goblin King's sigil.

The sisters canted their heads, coins jangling.

The crone reached out to stroke it. "Yes, great power this. So many threads to snip." And for a moment Sarah could see all of them spun together and knotted round the amulet, then snaking out through the trees. Back to the Labyrinth and its inhabitants, she realized. All the lives of its inhabitants.

Sarah pulled it back at the same time they shook their heads.

"A pity 'tis not yours to give."

She was relieved in a way. "Then what?" Her hand lifted to her face and she swallowed back bile.

The woman reached for her sheers, but the girl stayed her hand when the branches above creaked and shifted in a wind that was not there.

"Ah... It's not hers to give either. Not yet." She listened again. "Give it freely."

The crone let out a cackled howl of disbelief. "Freely? Your wits are as impressive as your tits."

The girl pulled her sisters down. Their whispers were like the leaves rustling above. The crone sobered.

"Go, before we change our minds," the woman inclined her head. "Even we cannot see how this will play out but the wood wills it." The crone looked displeased but she eyes the trees warily.

The faint red thread appeared again. This time instead of weaving through the trees it snaked back down into the centre of the well.

"But how- " Before she could finish the Norns pushed her backwards into the dark waters.

Sarah sucked into a startled breath and it filled her lungs instantly. She flailed into the semblance of a desperate swim, but down she went, and then she was falling end over end into nothing. Until her feet met stone. She sank onto her knees in the shallow pool, choking up the cold water painfully. Back in the underground cavern again, soaking wet, she looked up at the strange lights she now realized were the stars.

She smacked the ground in desperation.  Had it all been for nothing? She was back where she'd been.  Neither forward nor backward. 

But in her damp hand she clutched a red thread shot with gold. It went taut.

Sarah followed the cord end over end until it led to the three way fork of passages. The thread disappeared down the far right tunnel. The one from which the cold seeped in a steady stream, like smoke from a fire. Her wrist ached and her teeth chattered but she focused on the steady hum of life she held in her hands. Vibrant and pulsing.

On his third try, Toby managed to fashion Max's blankets into a sling that actually held. He'd seen Karen and Sarah carry him in a similar fashion. His arms had begun to ache from the weight, and he was afraid of dropping him. Max had woken but allowed himself to be manhandled. Toby's eyes had adjusted just enough to the dark enough to see that they were in a roughly furnished room. The goblin nursemaid had not returned again and neither had the monster. A plate of cold food had been left out, and another tepid bottle of milk. Toby ignored the first despite his hunger, and slipped the second into his pocket. He needed Max to stay quiet.

After bruising his shin, he'd begun to walk with his arms out until he felt the far wall. From there, he moved along it until he came to the indentation of a doorway with no door. Outside of the room, the light only was marginally better. Rough hewn walls led in all directions, with nothing to indicate which way he should go. Max was still heavy and he was so tired.

Sarah wouldn't give up.

"Come on, feet," he whispered.

An hour later and Toby could no longer stem defeated tears. He must have gotten turned around for he ended up back at the same room every time. No matter which way he turned. Just as it felt like all hope was lost it appeared. The red thread. And when he tugged, it tugged back.

Through the twists and turns of the underground lair, Sarah finally found him at a deep crack in the stone  - a silver chain lay broken on the floor. Toby stumbled out blindly.  Sarah grasped his hand, even as she remembered to toss back the hood of the cloak to undo the spell.

Toby fell into her arms with a choked sob and then pulled back. "You're all wet."

She chuckled hoarsely and smoothed his hair, then tousled the matching hair on Max's head between them - in disbelief that she'd found them. "You did it. You saved him, Toby."

Toby's mouth wobbled in a smile. "Does that mean we get to go home now? I-"

"I know," she shushed him. "We will. But follow me now. Quietly. Like your life depends on it." Because it may in fact.

In the end she should have known it was too easy.

They'd only made it back to the fork in the tunnels when she saw them. Lights flickering down the stairs. She grabbed Toby and pushed him down the passage opposite. Desperately she tried to fit them both beneath the cloak as they stumbled. No matter how she tried, it would not conceal all three of them. She didn't hesitate to strip it from her body and wrap it around Toby's narrow shoulders and over Max. Toby looked away in embarrassment when he realized she wore nothing beneath, but she gripped his chin and forced his face to hers.

"Stay out of sight. Whatever you do. Until after this over. I will meet you again in that little garden. Remember where it is? Can you trace your steps there? Don't show your face to anyone. I mean it, Toby. If-" Her whispered voice cracked. "If something happens and I don't come and find you, try and find Loki instead. That dark-haired one from the throne room. You'll know home. Remind him he made a bargain with me and that it stands."

Toby opened his mouth to protest.

"Not Jareth." 

She opened her bag and quickly drew out a long shirt and slipped it over her head. It barely skimmed her thighs, but it would have to do. She could waste no more time on modesty.  She'd change when and if she could got away. She shoved the bag into Toby's hands and pressed the clasp at this throat, making him disappear.

And then she turned and ran deeper into the unknown passage without looking back.

The tunnel opened almost immediately into a seemingly endless room, filled with treasures of every imagining. Jewels, stone carvings, entire ships, weapons, food and furs filled the space. It was all haphazardly piled and covered in thick layers of dust that suggested it was little valued. Small pyres burned to life about the space at her arrival, but it was evident the room had not seen visitors in an age.

Offerings she realized. Centuries of mortal sacrifices to gods who'd never cared. She threw herself amongst the discarded treasures, concealing herself within. The irony was not lost on her.

Footsteps approached. Wolf or Goblin King, she wasn't sure which was worse.

Jareth and Tyr paused in the doorway to the Room of Offerings.

"You're certain?"

Tyr nodded in response, his eyes scanning the forgotten space.

It was an empty question.  Jareth was certain too. He could almost feel it. Feel her. 

"I do wonder how she even made her way down here? It will take ages to find her in all of this junk."

"I don't have to find her further." At Tyr's look of disbelief, Jareth smiled mirthlessly. "All I have to do is call out and ask her where she is if she's here." His voice rose and echoed in the space. "She'll answer or she'll forfeit, won't she?"

Sarah shrank back into the shadows, eyes screwing shut. Her hands closed over her mouth.

Chapter Text

Well you look like yourself
But you're somebody else
Only it ain't on the surface
Well you talk like yourself
No, I hear someone else though
Now you're making me nervous

You're Somebody Else, Flora Cash

Despite Jareth's preternatural senses, there was not the slightest flicker of movement in the hall. If she'd heard his words she'd not outwardly reacted. And he'd not yet asked in the way she couldn't ignore. She'd wasted enough of his questions.

"Why didn't you seek Bragi for help?"

Jareth glanced back at Tyr. There was a betraying inflection in the god's voice and he sensed - as everything and always with Tyr – therein lay another question entirely.

"What good would the god of poetry be to me now? I'm not here to woo her." Not anymore. He half hoped she'd heard that too. Fair warning, Sarah…

The clutter was overwhelming. Almost unending. A millennia of offerings beneath a domed ceiling painted like the night sky - gifts desperate mortals to gods who were indifferent at best. There was certainly irony that they were now hiding the mortal he was after. His gloved hands clenched fitfully. He was not feeling at all generous, the lingering effects of poison still crackling like embers in his veins. If he hadn't had the blood of such powerful gods and the benefit of age, he'd have followed Baldur. And all his patience and planning would have been for naught. Rage flared hotter than the poison for a moment. Perhaps it might be better for her if didn't find her.

Where are you, Sarah?

The smell of lamp oil and incense cloying in the air.

"So you bring the god of war?"

Jareth was feeling irritable and he didn't bother to hide it. "I bring a god who once understood that sometimes you have to take what you want."

He received a heavy silence in response and then a quiet but more resonant, "Look where that led me."

"To me," Jareth reminded him coolly. Tyr played games better than any of them and should know better. "You owe me this. Help me find her." It was more demand than supplication, because he knew Tyr could do it if he wanted to. He'd always been the best tracker of all the gods; the best strategist when it came to war, if not to family.

"It sounds as though you have an arrangement already. One in which she must play her part?" Tyr was fishing.

Jareth ripped a richly woven indigo cloth off a body-like shape. It revealed a statue, nothing more. An ill-carved effigy of Thor most likely judging by the marking. The Goblin King huffed rudely. If only they knew the Thor they worshiped was really a drunken lout who'd never done a noble deed in his life, much less wielded a hammer.

"We do have an arrangement, as you call it. If I ask her a question she must answer it honestly, else she forfeits." He pulled the lid off a robust barrel and peered inside. The acrid smell of stale ale made his nose wrinkle. He kicked it over and watched it spill it's amber liquid across the floor.

"An interesting bargain certainly." Tyr's voice evinced no surprise. "And what does she forfeit? For surely there lies the crux."

From her hiding place, Sarah pressed her hands harder into her mouth. The gods were drifting away from her hiding spot in their search but she still caught Tyr's question. She dared not breathe lest the pounding of her heart drown out the answer.

The flickering torches cast long shadows that danced across the treasures. It was therefore easy to miss the large one that rose and broke away.

"That I will not share. Not," Jareth canted his head with the whisper of a cold smile at movement, "when I suspect she's listening right now."

To Sarah his voice sounded closer again, like he'd instinctively turned in her direction whilst he spoke.

"Sound logic," Tyr demurred. "And what does she gain from this obligation?"

"My help."

The temptation to throw something at his head was so strong one of her hands reflexively curled into a fist. A pulsing desire to stand up and name him the liar he was. But even if she was willing to face defeat, her nerves were too raw and she wasn't sure she wouldn't cry in the process. He'd mistake her passion for weakness. Rage for sorrow. The satisfaction would hardly be worth it if she broke before she could break him. And in the end it wouldn't matter. He knew what he was, he just didn't care.

Their voices faded for a moment - too distant to catch Tyr's response but she thought it sounded like laughter.

"Maybe she's not here at all." Jareth's voice was suddenly so close, Sarah started – jerking into the lush fabrics and almost giving herself away.

"She's here," the god of war declared.

"So you can track her." Jareth's irritation was unmistakable.

"I led you here, didn't I?" The god did not sound amused. Nor surprised either. She wondered if Jareth had actually baited him or Tyr had been aware and played along. 

"This room was a rather wise hiding place, though I doubt intentional on her part. It's been centuries," he picked up a crude drinking vessel and then returned it to its place, "but these are mortal wares that still smell of them. They mask her the trail somewhat."

Jareth said nothing. He could remember playing in there as a child. A fitting place for hide and seek amongst undesired relics. Not to mention the lure of unsupervised weapons available for use  by brash young godlings. Fen, dour faced and gangly even as a child, and of course the bright and always beloved Baldur. Jareth stuffed the memories back down. Smothered them beneath purpose. He'd snuff them out completely if he could. They were too much at a time when he could ill afford to make another mistake. Reflections always made him angry.

"If you come out now, we'll pretend nothing happened, Sarah. It's in your own interest anyway." His voice was loud and steady in the room, devoid of his inner demons.

There was no answer.

Lips thinned. This time he forced the oath's binding magic into his tone. "Where are you hiding, Sarah?"

And then the lights went out.

Sarah began to tremble, slight at first and then enough that she could feel goosebumps break across her skin. She could no longer hear them, but tendrils of magic licked at her nape and curled towards her ears like it strained to be heard. She stabbed fingers into her ears, desperate to muffle the sound. Desperate to keep the magic out.

It was too much, and whether by sheer force of his will or bad luck, the words penetrated.

Sarah instantly stuffed her hands so hard into her mouth she was certain she'd have bruises. Tears leaked from the corners of her yes in a confusing mix of rage and betrayal. She could feel the answer. And with it the fear of what forfeiting might mean. She'd been a fool to ever trust him. More fool to ever had bargained with the unknown. She bit down on her tongue so hard she tasted the metallic tang of blood.

And then she drove home a wild gambit, because sometimes desperate measures were all you had. Her debts were greater than she could ever pay. She had one shot and one only to overcome the innate sense of self preservation that stopped humans from true self harm. Pull back and she'd have a headache. Full force and she might die.

Pretend you're diving into water.

Diving into water...

Answer or forfeit. As it had been a decade ago.

You can't save yourself. So save them.

Grabbing the nearest thing she could feel, she lobbed it as far as she could into the darkness of the room.

It all happened in seconds. At the same time as the resulting shatter, she surged to her knees, closed her eyes, and launched herself as hard as she could headfirst into the stone wall. A dull thud mixed with the sickening sound of skin tearing like paper, and bone cracking, rang in her ears.

The impact didn't put her out completely, but her body dropped instantly - head bouncing a second time off the stone floor below. Her vision blurred. She'd bit through her tongue. She could no longer speak. Small victories. There was a static ringing in her ears too as though all her senses were misfiring. The pain, at least, felt far away. If she could reason she'd recognize that probably meant something serious. Like she'd broken her neck. Something warm and wet filled her eyes.

She'd meant to knock herself out long enough to avoid answering. Stupid maybe, but effective surely. She just needed to buy time. Buy time for Toby and Max to get far away and then to Loki as she'd made him promised. It was the last thing she could do for them. She just had to hope her precocious brother would succeed where she'd failed. Her body would lie as yet another useless and unwanted offering to the gods.

And maybe that was preferable because should she wake again what could possibly be left for her? Or of her.

The last threads of her consciousness finally splintered. Another final intense throb at her temple and then something curdled at the back of her throat. Choking her just as darkness and shadow converged.

Jareth waited for the answer that did not come, and felt a dawning sense of unease attach itself.

At the same moment, Tyr warned, "Blood." He pointed to a far wall, away from the clatter of broken pots they'd followed. "There. And its fresh." The room had seen many lives offered over the years. Animals. Mortals. Slaves and kings alike. But the god of war had a discerning palate and there was no mistaking a terminal wound.

Wordlessly, Jareth followed Tyr through the chaos to a section of wall mostly obscured by textiles and urns. The torches relit with a waved hand. Tyr knelt and a probed a slick looking patch of stone. His fingers came away red.

Jareth tossed aside bolts of fabrics viciously. "Where is she then?"

Tyr stood, wiping his fingers clean absently, and scanned the room with keen eyes. "Gone."

The room echoed with the sound of Jareth's fury and destruction.

"He certainly has your temper."

Idunn didn't look up but a slight hitch to her shoulders told him she'd heard him fine. She continued her delicate stitch work. One, two, three… and another before she spoke.

"Let's hope he lacks your flair for fucking everything up."

If Try was surprised by her crassly spoken words, he gave no indication. Unbidden, he closed the door behind him.

"Gods don't wait for invitations." Another stitch, perhaps a little rougher than before.

"No, we don't." He agreed with no trace of shame in the voice, though his gait shifted slightly. Tyr considered the bland but tastefully decorated rooms. Apart from some flowers and fragrant herbs drying, the space was completely impersonal. "You don't share rooms with Bragi."

She missed a stitch. Pulled it free and stabbed through the fabric again. "Spare me your misplaced delight. I simply prefer my own space when here in this prison."

"And you make it your mission to spend as little time here as possible."

At that she paused and sought his eyes meaningfully. "There is nothing for me here."

Tyr ignored the barb and continued his slow perusal. He fingered some of the drying lavender hanging by the bed, crushing the petals and then raising them to his nose to inhale deeply. He knew she watched, though she deliberately kept her focus on the bright threads gripped tightly in her hand.

"When we are in my lands, Bragi has no cause for complaints," she added.

"Ah yes. Where I cannot follow."

"There is nothing for you there." Idunn paused, sensing the change. "The last time you wore that expression, Tyr, you tried to make me a widow."

"I'd be lying if I said the inclination was not ever present."

She tilted her chin, a dangerous smile on her face. "Pray, don't insult us both by pretending your bed has been cold these long years. I know for a fact Frigga keeps you company. Shield maidens too."

"Frigga keeps everyone company from time to time. I don't consider myself special. And I had no idea you kept track of my bed from so far."

Idunn missed another a stitch, swore under her breath as the needle stabbed into her hand, undid it and started again. "I hear rumours. Always safer to keep abreast of what goes on in this nest of vipers."

"Were we all so lucky as to escape it then."

Idunn snorted at his morose tone. "You made your bed, Tyr. Why are you really here right now?"

"I was faithful until you severed all ties. I would have been forever."

"You were, weren't you?" she considered him dispassionately. "More sentimental than a mortal in some ways. I'll ask again, why are you really here?"

Tyr moved towards one of the windows. "And how is the mortal?"

"Overwhelmed." She nodded towards a door. "Resting. And mortals have names even when they don't die in your honour, Tyr."

He inclined his head. "Old habits. I don't pretend I knew their names either."

"I doubt you are really here to ask after his wellbeing. Niceties were never your forte." She took the excuse to study him, the unrelenting black of his tunic, and the brush of pale hair so blonde it looked white on his high collar. "Where is Jareth? I know he solicited for your help."

"Currently still destroying about a 1000 years of treasures. I was no further use to him."

"The mortal-"

"Mortals have names, Idunn," Tyr goaded. "Sarah."

Idunn pulled a face at him, and suddenly he was reminded of the scrawny underfed girl challenging him on a seashore a lifetime ago.

"I see you still play." Idunn's expression faltered as he seated himself at the board and began arranging the red and blue players. One long-fingered hand beckoned in invitation to the spot opposite him.

"From time to time. I've grown quite good." 'Without you' was implied in her tone.

"Prove it." His gauntlet laid.

Idunn felt as she had back on the shore, gripping a knife that would tangle her in a web from which she never would escape - though she hadn't known it at the time.

"I've nothing to prove to you." But after a moment she stood, setting her hoop and silk down.

Tyr watched her approach, taking in the simple blue dress she wore – the way it hugged her narrow waist and the gentle flare of her hips, falling away in folds. The straight collar was elaborately embroidered with whorls and spirals that reminded him of the fierce folk from whom she'd come. It clung to the edges of her shoulders, exposing the delicate bones of her clavicle and the long, slim column of her throat.

When she sat, he could tell by her expression that she'd not missed his scrutiny. "Blue or red?"

She wordlessly took the blue pieces, careful not to touch his hand in the exchange, and began setting her defence around the purple king.

"You're angry."

A blue piece teetered as she set it down too roughly. "Your powers of observation are uncanny."

"You only ever did needlepoint when you needed to calm your nerves. You always thought it pointless otherwise." He carefully laid out his larger army. "You asked why I was here. I thought I should explain."

Idunn snorted again, but Tyr took her ensuing silence as permission to continue.

"I thought to find what had become of your sister as a peace offering, Idunn." He advanced a red. "I expected to fail, so imagine my surprise to find she'd lived."

She checked his manoeuvre easily. "And so you kept it from me for your own purpose."

"I kept it from you because you closed yourself away and refused my messages." He swallowed down the sharp bite of anger. "And I'd waited far too long. She lived a long life, brief as a raven's wingbeat to us, but I found her granddaughter. A small slip of a dirty thing but hale. Tangled dark hair and dark eyes - old way - on an island of tall flaxen-haired warriors. I knew who she was at first glance. She looked so much like you, I thought I was dreaming at first. I thought she might have been yours."

Idunn's hands gripped the arms of her chair, knuckles bleeding white. The years had been long - long enough to dull mortal sentiment into nothing more than a persistent ache she could easily ignore. But his words felt like a knife slicing through scar tissue. She recovered, swallowing thickly, and considered the board, but kept her eyes averted. "I'm surprised then, that you did not just take her. Fuck her and have done with it too. Or maybe you did."

He caught her wrist before she could play her piece, his grip like iron though his fingers fell across her skin in a way that might have been a caress.

"She was little more than a child, Idunn." He let her hear the rebuke in his voice. "She could have been ours had we… had things been different." He pressed his thumb into her pulse, feeling the rabid beat. "She was not you."

Idunn looked up at him, her dark eyes strangely glittering. When his grip slackened and transformed into something tender, she pulled back and placed her piece quickly.

His red captured her blue easily. "The village had fallen upon rough times. No doubt part and parcel of my lack of patronage years before," he added pointedly. "She was clearly a survivor.  And she was wearing what I now realize was a mark of her people, passed down to her from your sister." He sought her eyes, but she kept them as guarded as her hands. "I gave her another token of my protection on a whim, should the need arise that she require my help. Perhaps it was that mortal sentiment you mentioned," he baited. "I planned to revisit. Keep an eye on her," he finished when she would not bite.

Idunn deflected the next attack but did not speak again for two more silent moves. "And then you forgot about her. About them."

Tyr sat back in the oaken chair and steepled his fingers, his lips slanting down in reflection. "No, I visited again." Three times in total.

"I know you."

The young girl's matter of fact voice had deepened with age and he'd clearly surprised her. Tyr easily recognized the same child in the new form that was nearing womanhood with alacrity. Her arms were laden with berries she'd picked.

He fell into step beside. "I've taken an interest in you."

The girl as he'd come to think of her since he'd not bothered to learn her name, straightened and appraised him with wisdom far beyond her years. "If you're looking for a wife, go see the other village girls." She perused him boldly. "You're fine enough of face and form, I suppose, but I want no man in my bed right now. They are more trouble than pigs and smell even worse."

Tyr smothered his shock beneath a choked laugh. "My intentions are not so base. You remind me of someone."

"Did she reject you too?"

"Many times." He pretended the words didn't cut.

"A woman of wisdom then." She'd softened her tone. "I'd like to meet her."

"She would like to know you too I think, but that is not possible right now though I have tried."

The girl turned to face him at the path to her cottage. "I still have your token."

"Good. Guard it well. Perhaps one day you shall know her."

The next time he visited – the last – he'd not been prepared.

The only thing he recognized were the eyes – clouded with age but lit with the same fire. The body and face were that of a wizened crone. He sat quietly beside her as she dozed, tracking every line and crevice that time had wrought in the map of her skin. He wondered at how it seemed so brief a time since he'd seen her last, when it had clearly been a lifetime to her. The fates must have their blade readying even now.

She'd awoken, in a series of moans and grunts that suggested everything protested even the slightest of movements. When she saw him, her face had further creased into one of confusion and then slow disbelief.

"I am dreaming."

"Perhaps."

"You look ever the same."

"As do you."

She chuckled, the laughter quickly turning to a fit of coughing. When she recovered her eyes were watery but keen. "You lie but I thank you for the flattery. How is it that you've not aged when I am all but dust?"

"The fates must be unfair."

She hummed in disbelief. "Did you finally bring the one that I so reminded you of?"

Tyr shook his head. "I fear not. She has not forgiven me. Or perhaps I have not tried hard enough." He'd thought he had more time. He changed the subject, his voice turning grave. "Have you had a good life?"

"Oh aye, indeed. I've buried three husbands but no children lost, which is the way one ought to do it if one can have the way of it."

Tyr's brow rose. "You found some men that did not smell of pigs then? And three no less."

"I made them wash. My eldest great grandchild is soon to be wed. Few live to see them born, let alone marry. I'd like to last long enough to see it." She paused and considered the silent god cannily. "I shall give her your gilded horn to them as a wedding present. I like her best.  And I do not think it was meant to be buried with my bones. May it bring them luck and fortune as well. I am sorry I did not get to meet your fine lady, though I somehow imagine we no longer look so much alike."

Tyr knelt before her, confused by the sudden feeling of impending loss and how it echoed the losses he'd already born. His words were impulsive and dangerous. "I could perhaps extend your life-"

She stayed his hand. "I am not afraid to die. Though I suspect this means I shall not see you again. You should not have waited so long to visit again. I think I should have like talking to you more."

Tyr rose, throat tightening at such a quiet display of bravery, rarely seen even on a battlefield. Never seen amongst the gods.

"Show me your true self," she asked quietly, "for if this is a dream then it should be a good one. And if it is real, I should like to know my benefactor."

For a brief moment Tyr allowed his glamour to drop and was the god of war again, with his shadow armour and bone-bleached hair. He'd expected shock, perhaps fear, even awe - all things he'd witnessed from the boldest warriors, but she'd merely looked at him with that matter of fact stare.

"I see I should have considered you more closely so many moons ago. Ah well. Perhaps you will remember me when you look upon your fine lady again."

Tyr prepared to leave, but hesitated. "What is your name, child?"

The old woman looked at him, a mixture of kindness and pity he could not quite fathom from one about to die. "Idunn." She toyed with something at her neck. "I am told my grandmother named me."

A cleared throat made him look up. Idunn was staring at him, her look as far from pity or kindness as possible, though just as frank. He wondered what she read in his face. He did not share his memories with her. Some things were his alone to bear. And to cherish.

"Odin kept me on a short leash after those brief visits. Feared I'd dally he again.  I'd not forgotten but I'd not visited her own children. And then," he moved two reds in a combined attacked, "you know the rest. I felt the call I'd thought never to hear. He is no substitute for your sister, I know. Had I been able-"

"Enough." She checked his next attack, but lost another piece in the defence. The board was sparse of blue. When she looked up again, her eyes were calculating.

"I'm no fool, Idunn. Jareth brings a mortal here, one with whom he has entered into a bargain. One who has somehow broken him free by touching a book – a book that should not have been – and one that fell into Gunnarsson's hands, of your blood."

Idunn looked up at the name, as though surprised he'd bothered to remember it.

"Sarah," Tyr continued, "who impossibly found her way to our banished son. A son your husband, visited I find. A girl who had your family's totem – given to her by her professor, who happens to be your descendent. An amulet that allowed them passage through worlds not meant for mortals and in search of a stolen baby. Old magic, Idunn. Old ways." He took another of her blue unnoticed. "The threads are now so tangled, they cannot possibly be unravelled."

She reached to position a piece. "I don't know-"

He caught her wrist again, no semblance of kindness this time. "You have never been one for lies. Tell me."

She slapped him - hard - with her unbound hand, his face turning at the force and a welt blooming across his cheek. "Do not presume to touch me again. You have no power over me anymore."

He squeezed but released her after a moment and touched his cheek, his fingers coming away with a slight smear of red.

Idunn looked down at her own hand. She'd re-opened the tiny wound from her needle.

Tyr licked his finger clean. "Someone once reminded that even gods bleed. You know who has been freed, don't you? After everything that I sacrif…" Tyr trailed off angrily.

Her lack of response was answer enough, but she looked rattled. Felt even more so.

"I doubt even your lap dog, Bragi, knows what is really going on, does he? Then allow me to tell you that the girl is missing. So is her brother. Tell me, Idunn." He leaned forward, looking more like than the god of war than ever she'd seen him. "Tell me everything before it is too fucking late."

"I don't know," she whispered. It was only partially a lie. She suspected but could not know. She met his stare accusingly. "And I would never tell Odin's pet." She moved her final blue piece, knocking his last red over. "That's game, Tyr. My king stands."

"Your king stands alone save for one.  But you're right, Idunn. You know nothing. You think only of your own losses. Your own pain. You make a formidable goddess. Your selfishness is inspiring." He caught her hand before she could slap him again and pulled her forward. "I don't think so, rud lómhar." He stole her words with his mouth, another impulsive move that was motivated by fractured emotions he could no longer control. Anger, pain, fear, desperation.

At first she resisted, pushing back against him, lips firmly sealed. But her feelings were as equally fraught. She gnashed at him with her teeth, but the fist on his chest unfurled and her fingers splayed against his heart to feel its erratic beat.

He released her wrist and carded his hand through her hair, caging her neck to keep her against him. With his other he dragged her body towards him, her legs knocking the board onto the floor with a clatter, and pulling her into his lap. The kiss was that of a starving man. She punished him at first, teeth worrying his skin, and nails raking his flesh. He took it all like it was the softest lover's caress. But she gentled, the fervour to hurt turning to something else she remembered. She cupped his face, tracing the hard line of his jaw and feeling the silkiness of his hair beneath her fingertips. His hands roved across her back, down her spine and back up, scraping the sides of the breasts she pressed into his chest. Her thighs straddled his, dress twisted and rucked up between them, and one hand landed heavily on her bare skin, rubbing patterns into her thigh. He was hard, as hard as he'd been in the ice cold sea so long ago. Before everything had fallen apart. His hands slid upwards, dangerously close to finding out how traitorously wet she'd grown. His mouth dropped to her throat, tongue and teeth devouring like he wanted to leave a mark. Reminding her who'd had her first.

He whispered her name, sounding like he had when he'd done just that. When he'd promised her everything.

"Enough!" She pushed off of him before he could stop her, moving with a speed and strength she'd not had then, and untangled herself from his lap. She scrubbed at her mouth distastefully once a safe distance away. "Leave me." She pointed at the door, her eyes anywhere but on him.

He rose slowly, stopping to return the purple king to its upright position on the board. He loomed over her for a second, letting his height cage her in. "I will figure out what he's doing and I will stop him if I have to, Idunn. Stop him before he destroys everything. Before he destroys himself." He pressed a thumb to her mouth to stop her words. "Not because I owe allegiance to Odin or because I am his pet. I owe him nothing. That debt is paid."

Her eyes widened. 

"By all the gods, I have been so blind. Licking my wounds like a craven fool. No more. If I have to stop him it will be for your sake. For his. Our son. And this," his thumb pressed between her lips to skim the wetness of her mouth, "is not over either. I will leave you. For now. But no... no I don't think I will let you leave me again. You should have killed me on that shore."

The door shutting shook Idunn from her numbness. She ran trembling hands through her hair. She glanced wildly about the room, eyes landing first at the board with king standing alone, the red and blue pieces still scattered on the floor where they'd fallen. Her embroidery was forgotten.

An elaborate tree, unfinished but nearly whole, with twisted roots gone deep.

"Sarah?" Toby whispered.

There was no answer, only the even exhalations of Max's slumber. He sounded like a small, snuffling animal, Toby thought.

For a moment his face crumpled, stripped bare and back into the young boy  by the ensuing silence. 'Mom?' No sounds escaped his lips but he heard the words echo in his mind like a terrified cry. Mommy? I really need you right now.

Max stirred in discomfit and Toby relaxed his hold. He'd been squeezing him like Lancelot again. Like a scared little boy clinging to his crutch. Crying for his mom when Sarah needed him to be brave. When she'd trusted him to right his wrong.

He felt guilty for his excitement when it had all started. For thinking it was all an adventure and like in a movie or a story book, where the good guys would win. Imagining himself the hero when it was still all of his fault.

His mother wasn't coming – probably didn't even remember him - and the inner garden was empty. Wherever Sarah was, she'd not found her way back to their planned meeting place yet. No one was coming.

"Toby?"

Toby started at his name, clutching Max tightly all over again.

Jareth came into view and Toby grinned in relief beneath the cloak. And then faded just as quickly, his brow furrowing.  Sarah had made him promise not to seek him out for some reason. Had been so insistent even after they'd travelled together for so long. Toby had come to like the Goblin King. Sometimes his words had teeth but had he not safely brought them through the woods? Did he not have the most wonderful magic? Magic he'd been willing to show Toby... But no.

The Goblin King's eyes were hard. His expression was terrifying, and Toby began to suspect that his sister may have had reason. His voice was saccharine though. Coaxing. "Toby? Can you hear me? Sarah needs your help. She's had a terrible accident."

His words sounded so truthful and even worried that Toby found himself shaking. Sarah? What if you were wrong...

A few more steps brought the king so close to him that he was incredulous Jareth couldn't see him. Max let out a soft gurgle but Jareth gave no reaction, even though for a moment the king had looked straight towards him.

It was only indecision and his hesitation that saved him speaking.

The Goblin King swore in a voice that no longer sounded quite so sweet, and he rounded the corner again out of sight.

Doubt was a poor substitute for relief. The other one might have gotten her then. Unless Jareth had been lying. Toby chewed his lip. A habit his mum had said he got from his sister. Sarah said to seek out Loki if she didn't meet him, but he didn't know how long to wait. If Jareth hadn't been lying about her being hurt…

Toby had shown a passing interest in Sarah's studies. He liked the bloody parts at least. When it hadn't been real. When books were just that. He certainly knew enough of her studies to question her judgment. It might be funny if the situation didn't feel dire. Trust the god of mischief? Really, Sarah?

Sarah who had wished him away. And him, the one who had wished Max away.

When he whispered to himself, he pretended he was only doing it for his brother's sake and not because he felt more alone than ever. "Let's hope mom and dad don't have anymore miracle babies, hmm Max? Because then it might be your turn to wish someone away and trust me, it's not worth it. Not worth it at all."

The bag he carried chafed his back, the one Sarah had pressed into his hands, and Max wasn't a light baby even with the wrap. He sank down to the worn stones of the garden courtyard to readjust his burdens. Taking the bag off unbalanced him, but it provided instant relief. He opened it, hoping to snag something to eat while he waited - deciding how he would even begin finding Loki it if came to that. He pulled out a thick book, it's embossing and design telling him instantly it was of the old kind that Sarah forbade him from touching with his grubby hands. He wondered if she'd stolen it. He couldn't remember her packing it. Next to it was the necklace Sarah had been wearing. Toby picked it up and carefully opened the book. It was in another language. Probably Viking stuff. But he flipped through to look at the pictures. They looked old but were as brightly coloured as his latest comics.

The last story in the book was written in something else entirely. Every time Toby focused on a word it was like it shifted, though he was certain the ink had not moved. He set the book down again and dropped the necklace onto it. He pulled out some water gratefully. When he looked back down he almost spilled it. Where the necklace touched the page, the words had stilled. They were still in another language but they no longer looked different. Mutable. He picked the necklace up experimentally and tried again.

"How interesting."

Toby dropped the necklace in shock and then remained very still. He checked that he and Max were still enveloped by the voluminous folds. When there was no response to the voice, he turned very slowly, hoping the speaker was just admiring the garden.

A tall figure in a dark, expensive looking suit, stood far too close. His hands were casually folded in his pockets and it was almost like he was looking straight at him. Toby chewed his lip again and forced himself to calm. Jareth had done the same, though he'd not seen him.

"I believe you're wearing my cloak, boy."

Pain.

So much pain she might drown in it.

And then a cool hand on her temple, smoothing her brow in a comforting stroke that somehow eased the worst of it. The backs of bare fingers brushed across her skin. Low spoken words that failed to fully penetrate her conscious. Hot breath on her cheek. And then the relief of nothing again.

She was standing at the base of her attic stairs again. The surrounding darkness was so unrelenting it felt like a living breathing thing that had swallowed her whole, erasing her whole existence.

And  again - that lone light from above.

She could not have died. Neither heaven nor hell could be so terrible. She climbed the stairs, eyes fixed on the swinging bulb that cast long shadows over dusty boxes of days gone by. If only it were as easy to walk back down them and return to the life she felt slipping away from her.  Perhaps it had already been snuffed out by the nothing below.

Silence - pervasive and somehow prescient - and then that faint sound of scuttling drawing near. The creature of splintered wood and broken thoughts. Hollow eyes and disjointed limbs crossed into the light, to reveal the child of horror and sorrow.

"Are you ready to fix me now?"

Sarah fought the urge to recoil as it reached for her, snagging the hem of her long shirt with a disjointed finger.

"I still don't know how to. I'm sorry." Sarah looked around helplessly. "What does this mean? Why am I back here again? And wha-who are you? I can't help you if I don't know you want."

The creature let out an anguished wail and released her just as Sarah clutched her head. A ringing pain  threatened to split her open.

"You are waking up. You must fix me before it is too late!" Pieces fell from the creature like a rose past its prime.

Sarah bent and tried to collect them before they scattered and slipped between the warped floor boards.

"I must be whole again before the end. Before it is too late and what is dead can never be reborn."

Another skull-spitting pain. The creature shuffled backwards, limbs creaking like it would snap to slivers at any moment.

"I've got-I've got my own troubles. Don't you understand? I don't know what to do! Don't you see that? Someone else-"

The child-like thing looked almost sad as it crept back into the dark recesses of the attic. "You touched me. There is only you."

Like a fish on a hook, Sarah was pulled backwards down the stairs into the abyss.

She awoke to a voice shrieking, "I'm here!"

It took her a moment in the ether of in between to recognize it was her own. The words felt like they had been ripped from her, her throat was aching and dry and her jaw was leaden. It was more a croak than an actual yell. There was also an almost instant soothing sense of peace – like a bottle finally bursting under pressure.

His question. Her answer. She hadn't forfeited then?

"Yes. Yes you are."

She didn't need to turn to know who'd spoken, the hairs on her neck were standing on end.

There was neither kindness nor warmth in his tone. Ice. Ash. Fur. Death. Her head ached fiercely, and she focused on that. Raising her hands to press against her temples, she paused mid-air, eyes widening at the dried blood liberally covering her palms.

Just as in her dreams. The knife flashing down in the dark.

It had already dried to an earthy brown and was  flaking off like paint.

Perhaps her terror was palpable for his voice turned almost amused. "It's yours, you little fool."

Sarah turned reluctantly, her eyes slow to readjust.

Fenrir watched her from a few feet away, his body resting in a crouch that reminded her of an animal about to pounce. She had a lingering suspicion he'd been much closer just moments before. Perhaps pacing like a wild thing and then preternaturally still once she woke. His expression was so shuttered it was like looking at a statue. His hair hung in dark lanky tangles that might have been waves once. They partially obscured his face.

"I'd imagine you're in a lot of pain right now," he continued. There was no accompanying offer to relieve it.

Sarah said nothing, fixing instead on the corded muscles visible on his forearms. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he had blood on him too.

"I took care of the long term damage you'd done to yourself but I'm no healer."

Her eyes flicked back to his face at that. At the almost vicious pleasure in his.

"No, don't thank me. I did it because you wouldn't be much use as a drooling halfwit. If you'd lived at all."

"I wasn't going to thank you." It was a knee-jerk response. Her voice still cracked tellingly, though it was getting stronger. She had a lingering sour taste in her mouth.

"You weren't, were you?" His head canted, eyes almost too intense in his expressionless face. "Were you chasing death?"

"I was hoping to buy time." She left the rest unsaid. They would both know for whom. It was also a question, the lift at the end silently wondering if it had all been for not.

If he heard it he ignored it.

Sarah considered her hands again, scraping at the sticky blood for a minute, before she raised them to her head. No marks on her skin but she could feel more dried blood in her hair. A lot of it in fact. She vaguely remembered something about head wounds bleeding profusely. She probed at the flesh on her scalp and forehead, but other than the dull persistent ache and the fact that her neck felt wrenched, she felt surprisingly unbroken. Just weak. Tired. Alone.

"Jareth was hunting you." Fenrir had waited patiently during her ablutions. "But you did not want to be found."

Sarah shook her head minutely, and took the pause to look around. They were no longer in the caverns, nor in the Room of Offerings, but outdoors. The sky overhead was a sickly miasma of whiskey tones. A very still, very dark lake lay beside them – the water was so still and dark it looked like obsidian glass. Sparse, spindly looking reeds and stone ruins were the only relief. The smell of loam and of decay, and slivers of magic - sharp like ozone, saturated the air. Sarah was sprawled on a large flat rock. Her hands pressed against the cool surface as she pushed herself upright. It reminded her of an altar and she found her stomach lurch at the thought, ready to empty itself at the implication.

"Then I rescued you," his deep voice, low and even, did nothing to assuage her.

"Hardly," she snapped back.

He laughed at her ire and his eyes warmed to a bright gold that would have been beautiful in another's face. "You react like a wild little beast. With a shrill bark and so little bite."

"And you, do you get off on threatening helpless mortals?"

Fen's eyes flashed and when he spoke, Sarah realized there was sincerity in his tone. "I don't believe you are helpless."

Sarah looked away and shivered. The air, though preternaturally still, was chilled. She looked down and was instantly reminded she was wearing nothing more than the oversized shirt she'd thrown on so desperately. She wore nothing beneath. It had ridden high on her thighs and goosebumps broke across her skin.

Fen followed her focus with a slow tilt of his head, like he too was realizing what she was wearing. Their eyes met as she tugged on the hem. His lips parted and he looked away, but he stood so suddenly Sarah almost vaulted backwards off the rock. She squeezed her eyes shut in pain, clutching her head at the jerking movement. Something rough brushed her leg.

He was holding out his hooded cloak. The same he'd worn as he tracked them through the woods. The same he'd worn when he'd taken Max. "I do not feel the cold. I forget how fragile mortals are. I could make a fire but I don't think you'd enjoy what it would attract here."

She accepted the offering wordlessly, more for coverage than for warmth. It smelled like old fires, musk, ice, and something uniquely him. "How?"

He didn't ask what she meant, clearly he'd anticipated her curiosity. He returned to his low crouch. Within reach should she bolt, but perhaps making himself look less imposing too. "Surely, Sarah," he drew her name out, "you had to know it was too easy." He looked like he relished her fraught expression. "Finding your brothers then making it out again so easily."

Sarah nodded in acceptance. "You followed them.  And then me. You let me take them."

"Naturally."

She clutched the cloak tighter, trying to ignore the crushing sense of defeat. "And Toby and Max?"

His lips bowed, not quite a smile but something that wore its face. "I can feel how much you want to know." He sniffed the air. "Desperate even. Oh yes, I can feel it."

"You're a monster."

"Yes, I am. But I'm not the monster you were running from. Not the one you were hiding from. Not the one you nearly killed yourself to try to escape."

"You saw all of that?"

Fen chuckled, more hair falling into his face. "I saw everything. I could have taken you before, but I was curious what you would do. How far a desperate and frail mortal would go. You didn't disappoint me. I thought you weak at first. Weak and afraid. I could have taken you more than once in the woods too, like a lame animal ready to be put out of its misery. You were so afraid. Yes, weak and afraid and yet more."

"I- he," Sarah stumbled over his mention, "stopped you then."

"Merely delayed the inevitable. No fun if the hunt ends too quickly. This," he gestured between them, "was always fate." He handed her a cup of water. "I owe you a debt of gratitude after all. As I said, you freed me."

She looked down at the small metal vessel and considered flinging it right back in his face.

"I wouldn't do that. I won't offer you another, and I imagine you are feeling desperately thirsty right now. I would also," gold gleamed between unruly sable strands, "enjoy making you regret it. I don't have my cousin's patience or a particular desire to see you unscathed."

Sarah sniffed at the contents, careful to keep her eyes on his face. It smelled slightly brackish but like water.

"It's not poisoned. I could have killed you in your sleep. I could have done many things I didn't. You, without your seal of protection." This time he let his eyes slide down her again, no doubt to rile her. She stayed her hand from reaching for her neck and what lay in its place. She didn't know if he'd seen.

Instead, she rinsed her mouth and forced herself to spit, swallowing only the barest amount just to be safe. Then she dumped the rest out.

He did not acknowledge her small act of defiance beyond a slight curl of a lip.

She passed the empty cup back and then considered him. "You don't have my brothers."

"But you aren't sure of that."

"They cannot be tracked. No, I don't think you have them."

"I've no interest in lying to you." He inclined his head. "No, I do not have them. I don't make it a habit of taking children unless bidden by another of course."

She ignored his bait and adjusted the cloak restively. "Then you don't hold all the cards."

He rocked forward onto a knee, bringing their heads to a level. "I think that I do in fact." He studied her face. "Jareth let you think the squalling babe was important. The boy too. Don't worry, he let me think that as well. But I've had a long time to watch you all now." His voice turned deceptively soft. "So very long with nothing to do but watch. And I think you've been the key all along. The only piece that really mattered to him. And look, mention of hin now fills those green eyes of yours with so much hate. What shame he would feel… were he capable of such a thing. What rage that he can't find you."

Sarah forced herself to stare boldly back. "You sound like you hate him, yet you were on the same side."

Fen reached forward and pushed a strand of her damp hair back, relishing her slight recoil. "I hate him no more than I love him. I feel no more shame than he does. We simply understand one another. Common goals can unite anyone. The rules, however, have changed. I trust him no more than he trusts me. He left out too much concerning you."

"And what do you think he will do when he finds out you have me?"

"Exactly what I want. I think he would go to great lengths to ensure your safety. There was a time he swore there was another end in store for you, but now I think… that was never the end for you at all. Tell me, Sarah, do you dream of it yet? Of a knife in the dark?"

Sarah slid back on the stone, the rough surface scraping her bare thighs, but her expression was fierce. "You gave me those?"

"Not I, lady. I think you are no ordinary girl. And I think you can feel what is coming. Feel it in your marrow. What the waning moon brings."

His words gave her pause, her brow furrowing in half remembered fragments. "He-he said you couldn't return until the waning moon."

"And I can't. These are my still my lands. Oh yes, I can create worlds too. You came into my lair, remember? Did you think my prison was only the dark tunnels? Odin's prison by Tyr's hand? The king of goblins is not as powerful as he thought and I am stronger than he believes. Yet another failure of his, Sarah."

She shook her head. "I would be happy to leave here right now and never come back. Think how much it would foil him if you let me go."

"I believe you. I do. I believe you would love to go home. But I don't care that you never will. And more to the point neither does he. Ah," his eyes turned lupine, "now that one hurt I can see. I think deep down you thought he did. That somehow at the end of this he would make everything right again."

Sarah looked away, her eyes unseeing and on the point of angry tears. "Are you just going to watch me all night then?" It was impossible to tell the time of day in his hellscape.

"Until it's time, yes, I think I will. It doesn't have to be unpleasant though. My manners are rusty but not nonexistent."

Sarah made a sour sound of derision. "When you speak like that, you sound like your father."

"A comparison I don't thank you for."

"Is that how you and Jareth became friends?" She turned back. "You both have daddy issues?"

Fen bared his teeth. "We hate them all. Though I suppose his father at least fought for him."

Sarah's startled expression made him chuckle.

"Ah, family secrets, but then you already know some of them, don't you? A scholar." He apparently found that profoundly amusing. "I'm curious what you know of me?"

"Why? To call me a fool?"

He splayed his hands. "So we can pass the time. I was the monster licking at your heels. but he was the one hiding in plain sight. You spoke to him often enough. Indulge my curiosity. My interaction with the modern world has been… limited."

"You are the son of Loki. Your mother was the giantess Angrboda," she paused as though waiting for correction but he silently bid her continue. "You grew fast and strong," Sarah's eyes flitted again over his large frame. "Prophecies foretold you would kill Odin so you were bound deep in the earth. Bound by Tyr who tricked you into your chains. In the myths you bit off his hand in the process."

"A hand." Fen made a noise of derision. "Mortals have such a penchant for embellishment." His amusement waned, expression growing serious. "Is that all, Sarah? Surely there is more."

"No. That is not all." She stared back just as intently, delaying speaking aloud the fear that had plagued her mind since he'd revealed himself. Since she had discovered Jareth had betrayed them. "Your actions will bring about Ragnarok." Her dry swallow was fraught with fear.

Fen said nothing but when he smiled it was all teeth. The Great Wolf. Devourer of worlds.

"Why are you telling me any of this," her voice warbled tellingly but her face remained fiercely focused on his. "Do whatever you're going to do then! If it's all inevitable, then why should I even care? You know," she picked at more of the blood anxiously, "I always hated when the villains took time to explain everything to the hero. Just do it. Why waste time talking?"

He looked taken aback at her outburst and for a brief moment Sarah wondered at the long years he must have spent caged. Alone and speaking to no one. Pity must have shown in her face for he lunged at her suddenly. They were so close she could see his facial scars in stark relief. A smattering of imperfection on an otherwise perfect face – beautiful once and now savage.

"Save your pity for yourself. You will need it. You call me monster but what will you call him before the end? Save your recriminations for the true villain. And to be the hero, Sarah, you'd have to actually save them. You haven't even managed to save yourself." He searched her face, relishing for each minute reaction – each revealing flicker of doubt that stripped her bare. "It's perhaps only fitting that it will now be you. You'd hoped to save your brothers but never realized that by saving them you'd damned yourself." His rage changed to something closer to the pity he'd rejected, and he raised a hand like he might brush her cheek, before he thought better of it. "All three of you were never fated to make it out alive, I fear." His words were not cruel just indifferent. Matter of fact. And that somehow cut all the more. "It's nothing personal. You were the walking dead as soon as you passed through the gate. No mortal has ever crossed back and none ever will."

"Fuck you," she spat, but she couldn't deny the Goblin King's strange words when they'd unlocked the door. When the Harts had tried to stop them and implored her not to go with him. When they'd come through the tree.

"It will be personal for him though," Fen continued undaunted. "Like a double sided-blade that cuts both ways. His debts have come due and it is time he pays the larger price. You may hate me, Sarah - you certainly would find yourself in elevated company, but I did not harm your brothers while they were in my care. Terrified them perhaps, but I have forgotten what a soft hand is if I ever knew one. Nor will I harm them. Make no mistake. He cannot pledge the same to you."

"And what? You want thanks for that? That you didn't hurt a helpless baby or a boy?" She scoffed, but she clutched the cloak a little tighter. "You've all but admitted you'll kill me."

"No, Sarah," and this time his pity for her was clear, unclouded by amusement or hatred, "It was always going to be him in the end." He almost sounded sorry.

Reviews are better than human sacrifices :) 

Chapter Text

Baby, you’re a liar,
you say you know the truth.
You see it through your green eyes,
It’s calling you…

Counting all the ways that I still love you…

Baby, you’re a fighter
Believe in what you do.
But maybe you’ve forgotten,
I’m a fighter too…

So Close, Ella Joy Meir

Sarah physically recoiled from his words - from the meaning which had burrowed into her skin like maggots; feasting on fetid flesh.  On her resolve. On the last shreds of her fragile sanity.

She was already dead - he’d said as much - she’d just not realized it.  But now the rot would set in. Clutching at her head, her fingers threaded into the tangled mess of bloody hair and pulled.

Fenrir watched her retreat with interest but did not stop her; his golden eyes fever-bright.  She could feel them on her too.  Not for the first time she wondered if he fed off fear. Or perhaps he merely wanted to relish someone else’s pain.  Misery loves company, and a drowning man will always drag you under, no matter how noble.

She was rocking steadily, she realized belatedly.  It was hard to tell if it was from the cold or from delayed shock finally setting in.  Both would likely kill her eventually. If he doesn’t first…

“He wants you back.”

Sarah forced her body to slow so she could peer at him distrustfully.

“He thinks he loves you,” he continued, not quite meeting her eyes this time. His voice still held that gruff, almost animalistic cadence but it was becoming more even with use.

“Shut up!” she snarled. “Just shut up!”

Fen laughed at her pain, but there was no trace of warmth or humour in it.  “It won’t save you.  But it will destroy him, I think.”  He looked at her fully again, and there was honesty in his eyes. A truth that he wanted her to see. “To do it.”

Sarah lunged on her hands and knees toward him, more beast than woman in the moment.  “Do what?” Her words were half growl, completing the transformation.  “DO WHAT? JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.”

Fenrir sized her up with deepening interest. His hand rose slowly, hovering a hair’s breadth from her neck. “I could snap it so easily.  Put you out of your misery,” he offered. His tone had turned almost gentle.  “And think how mad he would be.” Long fingers flexed, not quite touching her, but enough that her skin prickled in wariness.  “It needn’t even hurt.” Golden eyes flicked up, pinning her in place. “Do you want me to?  I will if you ask me nicely. You freed me. I’ll free you.”

Sarah swallowed nervously, the bob of her throat brining her skin flush with the rough pads of his fingers.  They were warm compared to her chilled skin.  A desperate part of her almost wanted to say yes.  The violent, savage, feral thing inside of her that wanted escape through any means.  Wouldn’t death be a kind of freedom?  He might have even meant the offer as a kindness.  In his own way. As close as a broken monstrous thing was capable of…

They stared at one another, each tethered by wills far too strong.  But they were the wrong eyes looking back at her and Sarah was not ready to give in until she confronted the right ones again.

She sat back on her haunches, shifting to inch the blood-stained shirt down her goose-pimpled thighs, and then readjusted his cloak around her as well. She tossed her head defiantly, sending another throbbing wave of pain through her skull.  It reminded her that despite his taunting, she was very much alive. “Not until I know he’s failed.”

Fenrir said nothing, the expression on his scarred face equally shuttered. But he nodded and she thought, though perhaps she imagined it, that there was a flash of respect in the small movement.  He and the Goblin King wanted the same thing after all.

But what?

Not her. A common enemy. No matter how she figured in their plans, she was not the end goal. For either of them. She swallowed again, this time dryly – the kind that hurt and felt like a stone scraping down your gullet. You are not the heroine of this story, Sarah. Don’t you see? You're a pawn. You were always a pawn. The realization should have brought relief. It didn’t. It was just more salt in the wound. I am convenience – not end game.

Fenrir had pressed her on her knowledge of him. He had wanted to know if she knew about Ragnarok.  About Odin. 

Odin who had damned both unwanted boys.

Locked both of them away - Fen in a cage guarded close to home, and under the thumb of father and uncle. Jareth banished far away, though not outright killed.  Odin did not fear Tyr… yet…  Sarah thought back to the dark-haired woman she’d met in that golden field of rolling grass. The one she’d been so very jealous of, though she’d not fully admitted it. 

Idunn of the old ways.  Idunn who had once been a mortal… who had made a god bleed...

The dull throb of her headache turned bright and sharp again. Sarah moaned involuntarily.

Idunn… Idunn… Idunn…

The name rattled around in her head like a coin looking for the right slot.

Idunn who had taken control of the golden apples.  The apples which the gods needed. Odin couldn’t cross her, but he wanted her son nowhere near them. The son that shouldn’t be.  In the lost tale, Tyr had been adamant there could be no child between man and god.  Why had one as old and cunning as he ever believed that?

Sarah’s eyes flickered back towards Fen.  And why keep the one close and the other far, when supposedly both were damned…

Idunn…

Because only one was half mortal.  Odin feared having the mortal near.  Something had stopped Odin from killing him as a babe. He wouldn’t shed his blood.

The knife flashing down in the dark…

The Norns had foreseen and warned him of something.  A mortal touched by magic, as Jareth had ben in the womb.  As she was... As Toby was.... As Max was…

Fen’s words that it would have to be one of them.

Jareth needed a sacrifice.

Jareth was going to kill her to destroy Odin. This was Ragnarok.  Not myth, but reality, and she was not just a pawn but the tool. Jareth had fashioned her into one.  Molded her like he’d honed a blade. Perhaps he’d not set out to kill her – but that meant Max or Toby in her stead.  She’d delivered them both to him.

Sarah’s stomach suddenly lurched at the memory of the snow — at the banquet — at the times his mouth and hands had been on her, and how much she wanted him.  She turned away from Fenrir to dry heave, great racking shudders that made her empty stomach twist in agony.  Her parched-mouth tasted of bile again.  She spat uselessly and then shakily sank down again, wiping her mouth on the cloak.

“Charming,” Fen offered in lieu of sympathy. To his credit didn’t sound particularly disgusted.

“How long?” Sarah croaked, still wiping uselessly at her lips.

Fen rose and stretched — which only emphasized how much bigger he was than her — his muscles cracking from disuse. “Not long now.  I’ll set us both free soon.” He glanced back at her.  “Though perhaps you’ll wish I hadn’t.”

“Why keep me here? Why not where…” she trailed off.

“Why not where I kept the squalling babe?” He sounded mildly amused. “I didn’t hurt him, you know. You think me a monster — and I am — but the child was safe enough.”

Sarah stood unsteadily, if only to lessen their disparity.  “Like a prized pig is fattened before slaughter?”

He shrugged, her insults meaningless to him.  “Call it what you will. He was a child who should never have been. You should thank your lover that he thought to spare both you and the older boy by making a babe. You have to give him credit for creativity.”  Then he eyed her coolly, and for a moment he looked exactly like his father — calculating and calm. She knew the next words would sting like a serpent’s bite. “I told him to just get one on you. And he considered that option. Make no mistake.  Did it ever occur to you to wonder what you’d really won those years before?”

Sarah’s brows knotted. “Toby?”

Fen laughed. “A crying brat as a prize. I imagine he didn’t bother to tell you. That you’d just as well marked yourself for this by stealing his power.”

Sarah schooled her features to betray no wounds.  “You’re doing it again.  Sounding just like your dear daddy.”

The calm shattered and he snarled at her, closing the distance between them with preternatural speed. “I am nothing like him.”

Her eyes glittered despite the keen slice of fear that rattled her marrow. “You are your father’s son. Make no mistake.”

For a moment it looked like he would strike her down.  His breaths came in great ragged bursts — puffing out in the cooler air like steam.  Spittle flecked his lips.

And then he chained himself. His head canted just so, reminding her so much of Jareth that it was another kind of violence — one that cut equally as deep. “You are trying to provoke me.” There was incredulity in his tone. “Why?”

“Why not?” She manufactured a shrug of indifference she did not feel, and did the unthinkable — turning her back on him. “And when this cage door opens, you will what? Bring me to him like you’re a well-trained little puppy playing fetch with his master?”

There was no response at first.  Sarah made sure not to look over her shoulder. Not to press.  And because if he was going to attack, she would rather not see it. She could die on her feet, not cowering in fear.

 “On my own terms, little girl. On my own.” Clipped words, but even ones. “I bow to no one. I would have taken banishment over chains if I had had a choice.”

She turned at that. “You’re jealous of him.” 

He looked at her. Perhaps more deeply than he knew. “Perhaps I am.”

“I suppose you both have cause to be bitter.”

“And yet you pity him.”

Once upon a time. She canted her head. “Do you turn into a wolf?”

His teeth flashed in a disarming grin that almost made her regret asking. “Are you asking because you want to stroke my fur, or because you want me to eat you?”

It was as close to teasing humour as she imagined he ever got.  If Jareth or his father had said it, she might have thought he was flirting.

Sarah took a few more steps away under the pretence of examining his desolate, barren prison more.  She adjusted the heavy cloak about her shoulders.  It was thick and well-worn, but had at one time been made of a rich, sumptuous cloth.  It held a lingering warmth from its owner – surprising, given the cold that trailed him like a shadow.  It held his scent.  Musky, but not unwashed.  Not unclean.  Fires… Wood… Earth… Fur... Beast…  Magic. He’d been a shining one too once.

“You mentioned not making a fire because of what it might attract?”

A longer pause before he spoke.  “You speak endlessly. I think I liked you better unconscious.”

Another few steps away, she bent down to consider a plant.  It was more dead than alive and barely clinging to the soil by strangling roots.  She could empathize with its struggle.

“So they are not your creatures and do not do your bidding then,” she continued. “Otherwise, a big scary beast like you, well, you could stop them.  So perhaps you’re in danger here too?”

He said nothing this time, but he snorted at her temerity.

Sarah smiled faintly, her eyes on the obsidian water as she rose. “Hmm. That’s what I thought.”

Toby swallowed back a startled shriek, clutching Max a little tighter to his frame.  This time his brother woke and broke into a wail.

It was impossible to deny that the figure was looking right at them now.  Despite the cloak that Toby knew had worked on others.  The tall man looked entirely out of place in a modern suit, though his dark hair was longer than most adult man he knew who ever dressed like that.  His lips were curled into a half smile – the kind that suggested a joke Toby didn’t get.  Bright green eyes pierced through the glamour and were fixed on the book and the necklace that Toby juggled awkwardly. 

“Cat got your tongue, boy? Or was it the other kind of creature that haunts these halls?”

Toby did his best to quiet Max. “You can see me?”

 “Evidently.” Thin lips witched. 

Toby felt a flush of red suffuse his cheeks. Of course he could see him. Why would he be speaking otherwise? Stupid question. “Sarah said… well, she said I shouldn’t trust anyone.”

Dark brows shot up in mock surprise. “What? No one at all?”

“Well… no one but… Loki?”  Toby was in fact not stupid and had already begun to suspect with whom he was speaking.

The figure seemed to be particularly amused by his words and didn’t bother to hide it.  Toby felt another flush of embarrassment like he’d said something else foolish.  He’d warned Sarah, he thought bitterly.  He had.

“Aren’t you in luck then?” Loki spread his arms wide.  “Just the god you’re looking for.  How very fortuitous for you.”

Toby pulled back his hood reluctantly. It was clearly useless to him now, but he felt strangely naked without it — like a warrior lowering his shield while the enemy was still armed.

Loki’s smile widened a fraction as he considered the boy and the baby in his arms.  “What a lot to carry for one so young.  Burdened with such glorious purpose.”

Toby shook his head warily. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I make fun of everyone,” Loki agreed. “Don’t assume that makes you special. It does look like you’ve got your hands rather full though.  Perhaps I can be of assistance?”

Toby suspected Loki was rarely of assistance unless it suited his purposes. “Like you helped my sister? Why did Sarah trust you?”  He chewed his lip doubtfully.

“Now that is a very good question… Toby was it?”  Loki tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t think that she did.  Not really. She just trusted my dear nephew even less.”

“Jareth?”  Toby didn’t really need the answer.  Nor did he receive one. “Why did you help my sister?”

“Did I?” Loki asked softly. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

“No it doesn’t,” Toby agreed, showing more bravery than he felt. He retreated towards the small ornamental maze. “How is it you can see me under this thing and no one else could? No one could see Sarah either.”

Loki kept pace, hands folded back neatly into his pockets like he was simply out for a stroll.  “It’s my cloak. Why shouldn’t I see it?”

“But Sarah thought…”

That same smile again.  “I know what she thought, boy.” 

Toby squared his shoulders and faced the god. “Then you should know she wanted me to remind you that you made a bargain with her.”

Sarah moved away a few more steps and heard the moment he rose to his feet.  She was thankful for the borrowed cloak that kept her mostly disguised. 

“Come back here, woman,” he ordered gruffly.

She glanced over her shoulder.  “Why? You said there was nowhere for me to go.” She took a few steps toward the lake and heard him shift.

“Stop.”

She didn’t. 

Stones crunched underneath his feet as he closed the distance to intercept her before she made it to the water.

The rock connected with his skull with a sickening thud. She’d never physically attacked anyone before.  Not like that.  Not without hesitation or concern for killing them.  It was so easy. He’d not been expecting her to be so bold.  Nor had he expected the heavy rock she’d picked up a few moments before.  Or for her to stop running and instead turn. He might have avoided it otherwise.

He made an involuntary, animalistic sound and reeled backwards with the force of her swing.  Her own clumsiness had aided her — her balance throwing her full weight behind the blow.  He crumpled like a mortal man, blood streaming down his scarred face. The rock had been jagged and had split this skin like paper.

Even gods bleed.

The blow would have killed a mortal man.

But he wasn’t a man, and Sarah wasn’t foolish enough to suppose he would be felled so easily.  She paused only long enough to bring the rock down mercilessly on the back of his skull again.  A fine mist of blood sprayed her face.  This time the thud was the only sound.  He went still.  So very still.  She hit him a third time for good measure anyway.  Murder was a messy business.

Sarah didn’t stay long enough to gloat. She turned and ran across the barren wastes; the borrowed cloak whipping behind her.  The terrain was unkind and unforgiving on her tender feet.  She would pay for it later but adrenaline kept her moving.  She could lick her wounds once free… should she live long enough.  Fenrir had made this hellscape, but not for her. There should be no reason she couldn’t leave, providing she could find the door.  And that seemed to be her specialty.  If she could escape she could find her way back to Toby and Max. Or at least escape long enough to last past the waning moon.

Her burst of optimistic bravado was short-lived.

She stumbled, knee slamming down into the ground and connecting with the shale like a hammer.  Pain wracked its way through her leg.  Fuck, fuck, fuck…

The throb in her head thudded back to life.  She limped back upright, rubbing at her joint.  Her hand came back wet. There was no time to assess, and no reason to either.  Live or don’t.  Flee or fight.  She could either wait for Fenrir to give her back to Jareth, or use her himself to achieve his goal...

Or she could do something.

Everything looked the same though.  It was as maddening as the Labyrinth had been just in a different way.  Now there was no choice.  Every rock looked the same.  Every sparse stump or bit of brittle moss was as lifeless as the last.  She was certain she had been running in a straight line, deviating only when she couldn’t navigate over the crumbling shale, but when she pulled herself over another rise, her pulse thundered in her ears.

Fenrir lay motionless where she’d left him.  His dark hair slick with the blood she’d spilled, and his hulking body twisted where’d he fallen.  She sucked in a few reedy breaths desperately, even as she kept her eyes on him; wary for any trace of movement.  She wished now that she’d taken the water when he’d offered.  Her lungs burned painfully and her adrenaline was starting to wear off again, so she'd begun to shiver once more. It was only if the shivering stopped that she'd be in real trouble.

One last cautious look at him, and she shoved herself back off the rock and went in another direction. 

When she came to a wizened tree, she pulled at the cloak uselessly.  The fabric was old but too well-woven to rend.  She settled on her shirt instead, tearing a ragged strip from the worn cotton and tied it around one of the branches.  She did the same at the next rise, stacking a few of the smaller rocks atop of one another, and wedging another strip of material beneath them. 

Her run soon turned into a stilted walk, her gait growing uneven and lethargic. Her stomach twisted again in protest, but there was nothing left to throw up.  Realistically, she knew she was weakening.  Without water she would hardly last long, and she’d abandoned the only safe source of it.  The only source of protection too.  She didn’t think she remembered how to start a fire with no matches.  Nor did she think it was even wise.  He’d warned her of attracting things.  Her pulse spiked in fear and her ears pricked, listening for any movement.

He might have said it just to scare her of course…

She picked her way over some more dead trees, her face crumpling when she saw the same wide flat rock on which she’d first awoken.  The same lake of obsidian glass.  And the same unmoving body a few yards away. 

Maybe she had killed him.  Maybe without him she was trapped there and no one would ever find her.

Her hand went to the sigil at her throat – it thrummed lightly.  She couldn’t decide if that was comforting or not.

Sarah slammed her palm down on the weathered wood.  She hadn’t come across her marks again so there was no way she could have doubled back.  Her legs begged her to sit and rest, but if she did she didn’t think she would ever get up again.

“I hate you!” she screamed, her parched voice cracking. She was uncertain if she meant Fenrir, Jareth or herself.

She kept walking; her gait now a full limp. It left her mind plenty of time to torture her. Death by a thousand steps.  Destruction by a thousand thoughts.

Her shirt was now in tatters. Strips of it now presumably littered the landscape like Hansel & Gretel’s bread crumbs — and just as useless. 

When the lake came into view again, unwanted and unwelcome, she couldn’t even manufacture outrage anymore.

“Well, hello again,” she called hollowly, more to hear another voice than anything else. Her mouth was dry and her breathing shallow.  As she took stock of her aches and pain, it took her a beat too long to notice that the body was gone.  A dark stain on the ground was the only proof he’d ever even lain there.

The slight crunch of shale was the only warning that allowed her to dodge his arm.  She shrieked and rolled just out of reach, painfully scraping her body down the razor-like stones. He staggered into view above her. His face was crusted with blood, hair matted to the back of his skull where she’d hit him twice. No... three times. His face was a mask of fury, though his movements were stiff. 

“There you are, you little bitch.”  Pure venom threaded through his voice.

He made another grab for her, his fingers snatching as the edges of the cloak.  It was enough to trip her back. Her bruised knee buckled and she went down hard on the shore of the fetid lake.  The wind was knocked out of her. She couldn’t even fight as he flipped her over beneath him like she was nothing more than a rag doll.  Her lungs inflated again on a painful gasp, as she brought an elbow towards his nose, still wheezing.  He fisted a hand into her hair and slammed her head down twice — hard — until the remaining fight went out of her. One hand easily held two of hers above her head. The weight of his body on hers was enough to almost choke the breath from her again. His lips were pulled back into a sneer, spittle flecking her face with every exhalation, the way his blood had when she’d struck him.

They were both breathing hard.

“You tried to kill me,” he snarled.  She wasn’t sure if he sounded angry or impressed.

“I didn’t,” she hissed back. Not really. Hypocrite. “I just tried to get away! I just had to get away!” Her words ended in a sob; roiling emotions threatening to spill over.  She didn’t add that she had worried she had killed him though.  Not so easy to kill a god, she noted.  She’d just needed time to get away but the cursed place kept bringing her right back.  She sobbed again.

“Your tears won’t work on me,” he growled into her ear.

“They aren’t for you!” She swung her head around, trying to bite him. She’d go down fighting at least.

He pulled back defensively.  The ire in his expression had muted somewhat and he clucked his tongue at her like she was nothing more than a naughty kitten trying to scratch.  That galled her even more.  Everything had been in vain.  Everything.  All of it. 

“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Give up.  Surrender to the inevitable.  I can feel it.  You know your fate now.”

Her eyes flashed back to his.  “I’m not giving up.  I’m not giving you – any of you - the satisfaction. I warned you that I won’t just lie down and die.”

He finally lifted some of his weight from her, though he did not release her arms. The few inches of space between them made Sarah realize that her ruined shirt had ridden up during their struggle.  It bunched uselessly about her waist, leaving her completely bare from the navel down. At her sudden stillness, his eyes swept down between them and then back up to her face.  His throat bobbed. She looked away, breath catching — anywhere but at him and the expression she couldn’t read.

“So you did. And you managed to brain me after all.”

When he shifted against her, she choked out a sharp, “Don’t.”  It was more command than plea.

His expression twisted at her implication, like she’d struck him again. Then it settled back on cruel. “Beg me not to.” To add urgency to his words, he splayed one hand across the bare skin of her stomach.  His fingers almost spanned the width of her. And then, more taunting, he hissed, “Or would you rather I did?"

A side of her wanted to plead.  Not this too.  Not now.  Not after everything else she’d faced. Pride wouldn’t let her, however.  Rage wouldn’t either.  “I’ll rip out your throat next time.”

His lips curled like he at least understood that sentiment, but something flickered in his savage face. She could feel him semi-hard against the jut of her exposed hip. The position of one of his knees kept her legs from snapping shut. And yet he made no other move to touch her than the hand that lay hot against her middle. His eyes flicked down again and then swept up across her breasts, hidden by the shirt. When they found hers, she still couldn’t quite glean his expression.  Predatory maybe, but not like Jareth. Not cunning and poised. He was not unaffected either, that was clear enough. She began to doubt that he would force her and hoped she was not wrong.

“Why hasn’t he had you like this,” he asked finally when the silence stretched.

 “What do you care?” Her brow furrowed and then cleared. “I’d rip his throat out too right now if he tried.”

It wasn’t the answer he was looking for apparently.  His hand flexed warningly against her. “You wanted him.” He shushed her when she made to protest. “Maybe not now, but you did.  Why did he never take what was before him?”

His question cut like a knife.  Her answer cut deeper.

“Maybe because he understood that being given something is worth infinitely more.”  Jareth had wanted her to trust him.  She’d wanted to as well.

Fenrir stared down at her, unfocused, but his throat bobbed again.  Her mind returned to the awkward, gangly boy of Odin’s memory. Trailing behind the golden son and an impishly cocky Jareth.  He’d been so awkwardly out of place by comparison.

A wild, dangerous gambit presented itself if she dared.

She shifted as much as his restriction allowed, bringing her pelvis flush with his thigh.  The movement bumped his hand upwards, until his fingers slid under the edge of her shirt.

His eyes widened and then narrowed cagily; the bright gold darkening as they focused on this unexpected new development.  When she squeezed her thighs around his, he openly gawped.

“What are you doing?” It was half growl.

“I’m uncomfortable.” She kept her voice even. “And cold. You’re so much warmer than I remember from the forest.” It was not a total lie.  Cold was seeping through the cloak at her back – a thin barrier between her and the frigid shore beneath them. He was hot by comparison.

He said nothing, his jaw flexing as she pressed against his leg again in a seeming effort to stretch her muscles. The pads of his fingers bumped into the pillowy underside of one breast.

He sucked in a ragged breath. When her lips parted and his attention fixed on them. And then again on his own hand disappearing under her shirt. She squirmed against his thigh.

“What are you doing?” he repeated, though this time the words were less firm.  More husky.

“Given, not taken,” she reminded him. She flexed her wrists against his hold and then whispered, “Imagine how angry he would be…”  He betrayed me.  Let me betray him.

His eyes darkened at her unspoken implication. Her invitation…

Fen’s grip loosened but she sensed a wariness in him still.  He was no fool. He was ready for another rock to come crashing down on him. He was not prepared for her newly freed hand to cup his face.  He flinched at first, as though the gentle touch pained him more than when she’d nearly crushed his skull.  Her fingers brushed some of his matted hair away from his scars, before teasing along the edge of his jaw to trace the shell of his ear. She felt his breath catch in his throat. She paused.

“Do it again,” he ordered brusquely, leaning it her.

She did.

When her other hand closed around his wrist on her ribs, he froze like he expected her to pull him away.  Instead her fingers moved from his jaw to card into his hair, and then she pushed his hand fully under her shirt.

For a moment it did nothing but lie like a heavy weight against her sternum. Only when she canted her head up to whisper again in  his ear, did he tentatively shift and close it around one breast. The rough pads of his fingers brushing over her nipple.

'Maybe I do want to be eaten after all,' she’d whispered.

She felt his body shudder against hers, and his cock pressed into her hip more insistently. His hand cupped her breast more aggressively too, squeezing and rolling the weight of it in his palm — his thumb eagerly exploring the pebbled surface of her nipple. She made a slight mewling sound in response and rolled her hips towards him.  Hooded eyes returning to her face to see what she would do, he nudged her shirt up above her breasts.  She let him, though she could feel her face flush at being so exposed.  Jareth’s amulet, caught in the folds, remained hidden and heavy against her throat.

When she still didn’t stop him or protest, he looked back down at her breasts — at his large hand palming her so intimately. At her pale breast overflowing it. His skin was darker – ruddy against her own. Her rosy nipple peaked out, sharp and prominent in the cold air, between his thumb and forefinger.  His eyes flickered to her other breast, bare save for the mark Jareth had left on her with his mouth.  He focused on it, face inscrutable for a moment, and then back to her eyes — like he was waiting for her to scream at him.  She rolled her hips instead and his attention dropped back down to the trimmed thatch visible between her thighs. 

She boldly parted them.

Sarah felt the moment his final guard slipped. That minute surrender into sensation she’d been do dangerously wagering on. His hand freed her waist to pull on the fastening of his pants, relieving some more of his weight from her.

But not by you! She finished in her head.

With all of her strength she heaved him off of her. His balance was already unstable and her weak efforts were enough to use his size against him.  His reactions were also slow enough that she was able to make it the last few feet into the water.  It was colder than she’d expected – enough to make her heart seize in her chest.  Her feet sank into the heavy silt but she didn’t hesitate.

Every path had led back to the black lake. To the lake she would go then.  The drop off was swift, and it was up to her neck in no more than a few steps.  She kicked off wildly towards the deep.

She didn’t once look back.  Not until he yelled.

“Stop, you fool!”

She kicked out father, the cloak dragging her down as it tangled around her ankles and choked her neck with its sodden weight.  She pulled at the ties, releasing it from her body and then turned back warily. 

He stood on the shore, a few feet into the water but no more. 

His face was a mask of fury, and something else that she was slower to recognize.  When she did, it was strange to see it on someone else’s face — like looking into a distorted mirror.

Perhaps because she’d felt it for so long, it was nothing more than a second skin to her.

Fear.

He waded a few more feet into the water, cupping his hands to his face. “Come back now, Sarah! Before it’s too late.”

A frisson of disquiet shot up her spine at his words.

But she turned away anyway and kicked out in broad, even strokes.  The water was deceptively clear but so dark it seemed to leach the very light from the air. 

Something brushed her foot, and she yelped by rote. Childhood memories of swimming at summer camp in that deep, rocky lake, imagining all manner of monsters lurking below.  She shook the thought away.

The only immediate monsters she needed to worry about was the one on the shore.

And the one who’d started it all.

But she broke the cardinal childhood rule of never looking down and pressed her face down into the water and opened her eyes.  Broken tree stumps marked the bottom.  Pale grey sepulchres of a forest long drown. They stared up dolefully from their resting place, but gave no hint of movement save for her frantic strokes moving the still water.  Her foot kicked a spindly branch again.

She lifted her legs in the water, careful to keep her strokes and body shallow, and resurfaced.

“-rah!”  He was wading fully into the water now and sounded almost desperate. “Come here now.  I vow not to touch you.”

She kicked away faster.

Something brushed her leg again, this time coiling about it.

She glanced down, her pale limbs disappearing into darkness. 

Nothing but the deep. She could no longer even see the trees and those childhood fears coalesced. Took shape. Took form.

Bubbles from below broke the surface around her.

She’d been a fool.  The lake had never been her escape.  It had lured her in. She turned back towards the shore, kicking frantically.  Fen was almost to his neck, his hand outstretched towards her.  She very much wished she could grasp it.

When something caught her ankle again, she knew when she looked down that it would not be a branch.  The feel of fingers was unmistakable.

Her eyes met Fenrir's – wide and yellow - just as she was pulled under.

Sarah was drawn inexorably deep in mere seconds; so deep, the light faded above her like a candle snuffing out, and the pressure in her ears popped. 

Her eyes were wide, pupils blown, as they attempted to fix on anything. The water almost froze her heart.  Through the underwater forest, she saw faces — bleached white.  They looked as though they were sleeping, but she knew better. Their bodies were bloated and mottled with rot.  Bones were exposed through stringy flesh. Their hair wafted in the still water like lank weeds.  It was a graveyard of a different kind.

A gnarled hand still gripped her ankle like a vice. A wordless scream escaped her mouth towards the surface in a funnel of bubbles.

Milky eyes cracked open in unison all around her and they began to move in a writhing seething mass. Too many fingers to count sunk into her flesh like fish hooks, tethering her in place. Maws opened full of rotting teeth; drawn to life like a moth is to a flame.

Her lungs were on fire.  She struggled against their grip but it was like trying to bend iron. In that ephemeral moment between life and death — between a breath of air and the final one of water — she heard the echo of a splintered voice in her mind scream, Fix me!  She instinctively clutched at the amulet that floated in front of her face.

Water coursed down her throat and into her lungs like fire, burning everything in its wake.  The last thing she felt was something tug at the cord around her neck and pull like a noose.

In the next instant she was out of the lake and choking up the black water in racking spasms; her eyes still glassy and unseeing.  A hand pounded against her back mercilessly — hard enough to leave bruises.

Though she gulped in air gratefully, she knew it was not salvation that had found her.

Jareth’s face swam into focus — his expression feverish in its intensity.

Loki straightened, his features falling back into shadow.  “Well then, you had better come along with me.  This garden is no place for little lost boys.  Who know what else might find you.”

Toby stared at him distrustfully.  He desperately wished Sarah was there — that she could tell him what to do, though he was no longer sure he trusted her judgement.  He was convinced she’d been wrong to put any faith in the god.  He also believed she must have good reason to no longer trust Jareth, though he found himself wishing he could speak with him too. He was sure there was just a misunderstanding.  That if they all talked, they could make things right again. 

Loki waited patiently, watching as the emotions flickered over the boy’s face as clearly as the moving picture shows mortals so favoured.

Toby looked down helplessly at the book and Sarah’s amulet, and then at Max who was beginning to squirm in earnest, and was too heavy by far in everyway.  He turned back to Loki. “But Sarah said she would meet us here,” he tried again. 

Loki made a show of looking around the space.  “And yet she is not here it seems.” His green eyes were lambent. “She does know where my rooms are, however. Perhaps she will think to look for you there if we’ve missed her here.”

His proposal sounded reasonable, even logical enough, but there seemed something so foolish in following the god anywhere. He didn’t want to consider why Sarah had been gone so long.  Had it been a day already? Hours?  He was running out of milk for Max and he stupidly didn't know if his brother could have anything else. Why she hadn’t come for them? What could be preventing her…

Toby took a few tentative steps forward, but decided against taking Loki up on his offer to lighten his burden.  He’d certainly not give him Max to carry. And there must be something significant to the book for Sarah to have packed it.  He couldn’t betray her there either. Even if she'd been wrong.

Loki turned and left the garden, keeping his stride short so Toby could keep up.  “Do put your cloak back up, boy. It never ends well for gods who openly cavort with mortals.”

Toby did as he was bid but he felt doubt return as they wound through the Vale’s great halls until they came to the serpent door. Sarah might always warn him against speaking his thoughts aloud, but she was not there. “Did you really not want to be seen with me, or did you just not want anyone to see me, so they wouldn’t know you had me?”

Loki’s eyes crinkled. “Yes.”  And then he pushed the brothers through his door.

Somehow she was in his arms in the next ragged breath, no longer in the lake — no longer in the hellscape with Fenrir.  No… she was with another monster.  A monster who was squeezing her so tightly she wondered if she would snap.

Sarah sagged against him anyway for a moment, not defeated but exhausted. Spent. The weight of him was solid and familiar — his scent filled her nose with memory that was not quite comforting but known.

He shifted and stood, pulling her up into his arms fully like she weighed nothing. She could feel her dampness soak through his dry clothes and she took some relish in that.  Let me ruin you like you have ruined me. She was so very cold, even his warmth couldn’t penetrate her numbness. She wasn't shivering though. That had stopped.

Vaguely, she heard him kick open a door and then the sound of running water. No more water, she thought, but lacked the strength to protest. 

He must have felt it though, because he hushed her, his face pressing into her matted hair like a parent calming a child.  She hated him for it.  She hated more that she didn’t want him to stop.

When the back of her bare thighs touched the warm water, she jerked — like a cat arching away from a bath.  The difference in temperature penetrated her frozen skin like needles filled with ice. He hushed her again and forced her down into the copper tub, albeit gently.  The ruined shirt pooled up around her waist and it was only then that she felt him pause — his sudden stillness and the tenseness in his arms as he took stock of what she was wearing.  And what she wasn’t.  She curled her knees into herself protectively. She could feel something vicious radiating off of him.  There was still blood on her; blood the lake hadn’t taken.  She was no longer sure if it was hers or the wolf’s. She laid her head wearily against her bent knees and closed her eyes.

He didn’t say anything but she could feel him watching her.  Probably cataloguing ever mark.  Every wound. She wonder if they pleased him or was he perhaps sorry he’d not made them himself. Most of the damage she’d done to herself.

She didn’t open them when she felt the air shift.  He’d left the room but only briefly.  He was not fool enough to leave her alone again, she suspected. Even though she wasn’t sure she could muster the energy to so much as lie back in the tub. 

“Sarah-”

“Don’t,” she croaked and though her eyes were closed, she kept her face averted too. 

She didn’t stop him when she felt the edges of her shirt lift in question.  It clung to her skin, cold and filthy.  She crossed one arm across her chest modestly as he did,  and then the other, and cradled her knees again.  He offered no comments.

A moment later she felt a cloth lightly touch her back.  She jerked at the contact and cracked one eye open warily.  He’d removed his gloves and had rolled his shirt sleeves up. He was kneeling beside the tub, his face a carefully constructed mask as he began to bathe her. What little of her she allowed.

Had she every imagined herself naked in a bath, being bathed by the Goblin King, it would not have been as such.  Him a statue of barely repressed fury, belied by his gentle hands.  She, an indifferent shell skating close to collapse. There was nothing sexual in it.

She gave a choked sob and felt his eyes shift to her face. 

His hand paused. “Did I hurt you?”

Her eyes cleared, spearing him in place. “In every way, yes.”

His lids shuttered and he resumed his attentions.  He lifted a small copper jug of water and carefully tipped it over her head, using his fingers to begin working out the dried blood and snarls in her hair. His fingers mapped over her scalp and she realized that he was looking for wounds.

“He healed it,” she whispered, only to make him pause again.  His gentle touch was too soothing. Too intimate in its care.  Tenderness was poison from him. “The rest of it is his,” she added, with no small amount of relish. “At least I think.”

She could feel the weight of an unasked question, but he focused back on his task silently.  Her split knee ached, so did her head, but the warm water was lulling her senses. It would be so easy to fall asleep.

When her hair was clean, he scrubbed down her arms, careful not to pry them loose from her legs.  He gently worked the dried blood and dirt from her knee. She watched him cautiously. He made his way down her legs to her damaged feet and lifted them enough to attend to the ruined soles.

She peered at him over her crossed arms.  To think a king… no… a god… was washing her feet.

When he finished, their eyes met.  There was nothing lascivious in what he’d done — nothing lascivious in his look either, though she felt his eyes on her.  She was keenly aware she was naked, despite hiding most of herself, and she was more than vulnerable she’d ever been before. 

She choked on a dry sob again — choked because all of her desperate gambles had been for naught.  She hadn’t reached the castle in time this round. A pyrrhic victory at best.

He must have misinterpreted her look; mistook the cause. “Did he hurt you, Sarah? Did he,” Jareth swallowed thickly and she could feel the tension radiating off him again.  If anything it made her stronger.  His displeasure and concern was her reward.

She didn’t answer and looked away.  But Jareth wouldn’t allow it this time.

“Did he hurt you?” The question pushed into her skin, the magic from their bargain giving it weight.  He wasn’t specific, she supposed, but she had a feeling he meant rape. She thought about forfeiting just to leave him hanging, but she wasn’t ready to be defeated yet.

“No.  Not the way you mean,” she said finally. 

The lines in his body relaxed marginally, his eyes closing.  She wondered if he’d worried what Fenrir would do in revenge. How he might like to punish her to get to him.  Fen had hinted at that, though he’d done nothing.  She’d been the one to start it.

Her head tilted. “Why don’t you ask me if he touched me though?”

Jareth jerked, his eyes sharp as they studied her new expression. 

It would cost him though. She'd make it.  “You’ll have to use one of your precious questions if you want to know.”

His look hardened, but there was something else there too — something more uncertain in his face. Her suggestion had found fallow ground.  “Did he touch you, Sarah?”

Once she felt the push and knew it counted, she nodded at him over her folded arms. And then because his reaction was not satisfaction enough and perhaps because it was the only way left to wound him, she said, “More so than when I was in the woods that day.  When you forced me to confess.”  She her free hand to stir rings in the water. “More so than you have. Seen more. Felt more,” she added, though the question had not compelled any of that.

It had gone deadly quiet in the room.  The kind of silence you can chew. When she looked back up at him, he was like a bow gone taut.  Ready to fire. His bare hands were bone-white fists on his corded thighs.  She had perhaps never seen him so enraged. But not at her.  In that moment she could imagine he would kill.  Not an accident like Baldur, but with deadly intent.  She reminded herself that he was the son of war.  No matter how much he resented his blood line.

Perhaps she’d shocked him too. Perhaps it had not crossed his mind as a real possibility. The shock or revenge, she could not tell which, compelled her to goad him more.  To hurt him with words in any way that she could. “One more? Surely you can spare.  Ask me if I liked it.”

At last he finally moved.  Rearing up to clutch either side of the tub facing her.  She didn’t shrink back, though he was terrifying in the moment. There was a wordless warning in his face.

“Ask me,” she demanded.  “Ask me so you’ll know what is true.”

His whole body shuddered, his head dropping for a moment before snapping back up. “Tell me.”

She smiled at him — a cold, cruel thing that matched her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

He stared at her, weighing her words. Feeling the irrefutable truth of them in the magic’s binding. In the only way he couldn’t deny. 

A mask slid over his face before she could savour his defeat. It enraged her — somehow more than anything he’d done so far.  All those betrayals and machinations and half-truths.  He was denying her something so small, so petty, but something that was hers by right.

She lunged out of the cooling water and launched herself at him; surprising even herself by her sudden burst of strength.  The force of her attack and his body balanced over the tub, made them both land hard and skid against the stone floor.  He took the brunt of the impact, with her body landing sprawled atop of him. She wasted no time in clawing at his face, like a wild and feral thing, and fueled by a rage so ravenous it threatened to consume her too. Teeth, fists, nails… she gave him all.

He absorbed the first few blows without defense — due to shock or shame, she didn’t care.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” came in angry bursts. 

He finally snared her wrists, trapping them between them — but only after she’d gouged a bloody track down his face.  They both panted in exertion, both lying soaking on the floor.  His eyes honed to his sigil around her neck and then to the upper swell of her breasts where they pressed into his chest, and to the mark he’d left on one.

Something in his face changed. The hold on her wrists slackened though he did not release her.  The fight had gone out of her anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly.

His expression was so confusing to her, Sarah flinched, and only then seeming to remember she was naked.  Strangely she no longer felt as vulnerable.  He let her retreat, even averting his eyes until she’d snagged a towel and wrapped it around herself protectively a few feet away. Neither of them immediately  pulled themselves from the floor.

“I will not let you do anything to my brothers.” Her eyes blazed like Greek fire; a rumour of tears in them nonetheless.  “Either of them. Ever. I will destroy everything here if I have to.”

It should have sounded like an empty threat.  She might have expected him to laugh at her — mock her for such empty mortal words, but he didn’t. And that unnerved her too.

“Some would be envious of that kind of loyalty,” he said flatly. “There are few who offer something so dear."  He sat up, bending his knees in front of himself so he could rest his arms, but not standing.  Perhaps to keep them on an even level. His eyes studied her wan face.  “I vow not to harm a hair on either of their heads, Sarah. I vow it on my mark that you wear round your neck — the symbol of all of my power.” He’d not yet asked for it back, or tried to take it.

She waved a hand to stop him but he continued.

“And I vow to do all that I can do to stop any harm from coming to them.”

She stared at him — both of them sitting on the wet, stone floor like fallen game pieces — and reflected how they’d come to this.  He sounded so earnest that a childish part of her wanted to believe him; the part that still believed in happy endings.  Was desperate to.  She wanted to admit that she was so tired, that she was in above her head, and that she needed him. For no reason at all. 

The other part of her wanted to excise him from her life forever.

“An easy, empty promise to make when you have neither of them,” she replied bitterly.

“We will get them back, Sarah.”

She looked at him morosely. “More promises? All of this is your fault. Even Max…” She trailed off.

“I assure you I had no part in the activities that led to his conception.” A trace of humour had returned to his tone.

“But you had a purpose for him,” she pressed, finding no reason to laugh. “For him to exist. For all of us.”

He did not deny it.

“I thought… at first, that this was all an excuse to get back at me,” she continued carefully, wondering how much he would read in her tone — in her face.  “And then… then I thought it was perhaps about me… and about you…”

“About me wanting you,” he finished for her.

She glanced at him and then away just as quickly.  Not because she was embarrassed, but because she didn’t like the intensity of his gaze. At how easily he’d said it aloud.

Silence and then a sigh.  Almost resigned. “Do you recall when you and Toby had your childish game in the snow?” He didn’t wait for her answer though he could tell he held her attention.  “You looked up at me for a moment, your face free from everything but you.”

Sarah swallowed, her throat gone tight.  She was unsure if she wanted him to continue or to stop, but she was unable to look away when he finally looked at her.

“In that moment there was nothing I wanted more than you.” His eyes flickered like he would say more but then thought better of it. “I wanted to keep you long enough to discover all the ways I would fall in love with you.”

The words were softly spoken but they concealed daggers in their truth.

“I will never look at you that way again,” she whispered. She could make vows too, and she hoped they cut as deep.  “I know what you want,” she added before he could speak again.  “What you really want.”

A mirthless laugh escaped him as he rose. His mask was in place in place again when he looked down at her, but an ember of something hot and hungry flared in his voice. “You have no idea what I really want, Sarah.  You will.”

Chapter Text

The wolf sits at my door
Can't escape him anymore
He knows I've lost the war
And he's taking me for good

The Wolf, Billy Talent

Jareth lifted Sarah back into his arms effortlessly before she could protest. It was another unneeded reminder of their differences.  Of his unfair advantage in all things.  His words should have frightened her – the ferocity and fervour of them.

You have no idea what I really want, Sarah. 

More so when he returned them to the bedroom and approached the bed.

But the fight had gone out of her. For now, she reminded herself. Anything more would only demean the few blows she’d managed to strike against him.

She also knew he had no such designs, despite the picture they much present. Her naked, but for a loosely tied towel. Him, soaked through and dishevelled—emotions jagged and barely caged.

What a mockery of possibilities they made. 

There was a subtle shift in him, relief to rage and to something new and yet undefined.

She let her head loll on his arm in exhaustion—her brain too far gone for deeper contemplation. Or the weight of his confession.  But it was in no way surrender. Far from it. And she suspected he understood that too. Goosebumps pebbled her rapidly cooling skin, bringing dimension to the bruises that had begun to blossom.

Let him coddle her then. Let him treat her like something fragile. Fragile things were so easily broken.  But broken pieces could cut deep, and she now knew firsthand that gods could bleed.

Catching the sharpness of her eyes in her otherwise wan face, his own narrowed. She didn’t wait for him to ask; though maybe she should have tried to make him waste another question.

“I’m imagining what it would be like to split your head open with a rock.” She let her eyes flicker down to the open collar of his shirt. “Or maybe slitting your throat. That would be fine too.”

She tracked the bob as he swallowed in shock at her admission. She was too tired to know if he was amused or not and he’d mastered himself again.

He clucked his tongue. “You’ve developed a desire for bloodshed.”

“I am in good company then.” His body was tantalizingly warm, but it felt as though none of it could penetrate the frozen prison of her flesh.  “You told me once to let the magic in. Perhaps instead I let in the thirst.” She knew she held his attention.

“Thirst?”

“For vengeance.  That’s all this is.  Your desire to see Odin fall.  All of them… fall.” Her voice dropped. “All of us.”

“Not all of you.” His lips thinned in frustration. “You don’t understand.” For a moment she thought he meant to say more, but instead he waited. When she did nothing but lay her damp head back on his arm, he glanced down—mindful to keep his eyes on her face and away from the towel that was doing so little to hide her. “Aren’t you going to ask me to help you understand?”

“No,” she whispered and then closed her eyes again. Her head was filled with a dull buzz—like the chirring of insects. “Because I just don’t care anymore.”

It was a mockery of the truth, but she meant it in the moment. And he heard her conviction.  Felt it in her withdrawal.  And in her dismissal.

“Your hatred used to excite me.” His tone was deceptively flat. “Now it only wounds.”

She ignored his pretty, maudlin words, and she didn’t struggle when he set her down in the expanse of the bed—his.

Not even to cover herself when the towel slid open enough to partially expose a breast.

The one with his mark on it.  Where he’d worried the tender flesh with his teeth.  It was a scarlet letter, but not hers to bear, so he might as well see it. His amulet still lay heavy in the of her throat, gleaming back at him.

Eyes lingering for a beat too long to be indifferent, he tugged the sheets and coverlet up to her neck—perhaps surprising her yet again.  They’d both managed to do that today.

“You need to tell me where Toby is, Sarah.  Where your brothers are. I know you don’t trust me—you’d be a fool at this point.” He lids flickered. “As I would be to expect it. It’s far more dangerous out there than in here.” With me.

“Is it?” she asked, her eyes widening with open derision. “Are you sure?”

“Damnit, Sarah!” The mask had begun to slip again—his patience with her beginning to fray. But then he cupped her face; thumbs stroking gently like she was the most infinitely precious thing to him. If she closed her eyes maybe she could believe it.  But she winced at his touch. At how easily she might have once fallen for such a tender look from him.

“Tell me,” he insisted; managing to sound imperious even though she knew he was trying to hide it.  “I make you a vow to bring them straight here, and place them in your care.”

She imagined his patience with her like a precariously worn cord the Norns were prepared to snip.  And what would he do then? With his velvet words and bloody hands?

“So many vows,” she drawled tiredly. “Promises, promises.” When she turned her head into the pillow—vaguely registering that it smelled of him—exhaustion leeched the rest of her conviction. She’d feel guilt for it later.  For succumbing to sleep when her brothers were lost. So very lost, even if they were found. She couldn’t look for them while he watched though. They were safer far away from her, and that stung too. “If I believed you, I don’t know where they are now. Waste another question if you want.”

He released her reluctantly to study her expression. He seemed to find the honesty in her face sufficient, if disappointing, and settled himself in the chair opposite. But every muscle in his lithe body spoke of being tightly wound.  His watchful eyes were still so cold and calculating. Her leash had just shortened dramatically.

The silence between them stretched, precarious and thin—begging to be broken.  But to do so would invite him back in, with all that he would promise and poison.  They could stare each other down until the clock ran out… and in the meantime Toby and Max were alone. Or perhaps Toby had already sought out Loki, and that might be all the worse.

Or maybe they were already home.

Such a happy thought had no place in her mind.

Not with the other beast in the story. The wolf would not soon forget her deception. Her time was short. Desperation had made beggars of them all.

“I want to speak with your mother. Alone.” She saw a flicker of surprised cross his face at her request. “When I wake,” she amended after a more measured moment. “Don’t…” a flash of vulnerability coloured her words, “don’t let me sleep long.” Not waiting for his reply, she turned her back on him and finally let oblivion draw her under—like so many pale hands beneath dark water.

Toby looked around the well-appointed and lavish suite, torn between trepidation and curiosity at the eclectic mix of decor. He’d been raised on Sarah’s stories—tales of gods and monsters—for as long as he could remember. He was only now truly beginning to understand that sometimes they were one and the same.  The veil of childhood had been shed like a snake sheds its skin, and he was suddenly desperate to return to the bliss of ignorance—an expression he’d never understood, but now did.

“I rather enjoy desperate mortals,” Loki mused wryly, as much to himself as his guest. “They add a certain… fervent excitement to the air. You may leave the cloak over there, boy.  I have no further need of it.”

Toby dutifully draped the cloak over a chair carefully—fat lot of good it had done him. His eyes swept over the small table of expensive looking toiletries next to it. 

“My d-dad,” his words hitched and his timorous smile wobbled even further, “has those same cuff links.” He glanced down at Max in his arms. “My mom bought them for him last Father’s Day. Supposed to be from us both. I just signed the card.”  When he looked back up at the god, he’d schooled his features again. It would be embarrassing to cry in front of a god. “Do you have kids?”

Loki’s lips slid into the shadow of a grin. “I think you already know I do. You seem like a passably smart child.  One who is now trying to appeal to some sort of… what? Mutual familial affection.  Perhaps stoke some latent fatherly duty in me?  I assure you I have none of either.”

“How sad for your kids then.”

 “Don’t pity monsters, boy. They certainly won’t pity you.”

Toby settled into a leather chair without being invited; grateful to rest Max on his lap and alleviate the ache in his arms.  He tucked the book and the amulet to the side, feeling Loki’s eyes on him as he did. “What about you?”

“Now that is a question, isn’t it? Am I monster? That’s what you meant.” Loki poured himself a drink, and then considered the child sitting across from him over the rim. “Shall I let you in on a little secret? One that everyone really knows but pretends they don’t? Everyone is capable of becoming a monster. God, mortal, creature and lowly beast. The ones that don’t simply lack the power.”

“You have the power.”

Loki toasted him. “See? I knew you weren’t entirely dim-witted.”

“But you also have the choice,” Toby pressed. “To not be one, I mean.  I don’t think everyone wants to be a monster.  Not really.”  He thought of his sister… so desperate to save him. All over again, apparently. She’d given up her dreams. That made him think of the Goblin King too. For all his teasing, Toby suspected Jareth kind of liked him. That he hadn’t minded all his questions—maybe even tolerated them. In a way a lot of adults who said they cared for him didn’t.

He was very certain the Goblin King liked Sarah, at least.  No matter what he might have done to make her so angry.  He found the conviction to look the god in his eyes again.  “Some monsters probably wish they weren’t ones.”

When Loki said nothing, Toby decided that if the veil had truly lifted, there was no point in dancing around it anymore. He suspected that’s what they were doing.  Loki was taking his measure for his own amusement, much like how Sarah’s namesake cat played with his dinner some nights.

It took all his courage to ask. “What do you plan to do to me?” He looked down at his brother.  The one he’d wished away. “To us?”

Sarah was standing at the base of the attic steps. Alone in the dark.

But not alone… Never alone here.

Please, she thought. No more. I have nothing left to give. Nothing left to take. I have fled and fought too many nightmares today.

Unlike before, the splintered creature was already at the entrance. Peering down to where Sarah stood at the base.  And somehow that filled her with dread. She wanted to snap up the ladder and shut the attic door.  Anything but let the wretched thing come down.

But then it let out a plaintive cry like Sarah’s thoughts had been heard.

Pity tempered her fear. “I don’t know how to fix you,” Sarah called up desperately. “Please stop bringing me here. Find someone else. PLEASE! Can’t you see?” And then quieter and full of disgrace, “I can’t even save myself.”

The creature regarded her sorrowfully. “But you can destroy. Destroy that what they have done.”

Sarah shot awake to the ineffable feeling of being watched. It wasn’t Jareth.

Idunn sat across from the bed—her nimble hands moving flawlessly over the unseen piece she was stitching. But her eyes—cool and dark as fathoms deep—were fixed on Sarah.

She’d been so blinded by a confusing jealousy when she’d first encountered Idunn in that golden sea of grass. Disarmed by the smudge of earth on her face, and the easy laugh… the sunlight in her dark hair—so different from her son’s. Now, now she saw the goddess born of blood and sacrifice.  The steely gaze spoke of a strength Sarah had yet to fully realize but was beginning to suspect.  It was echoed in her son.

He’d done as she asked. And left them alone.

Sarah swallowed and looked away; the thought too keen a blade in her side.

I wanted to keep you long enough to discover all the ways I would fall in love with you…

Rest had drawn his words back up for morbid reflection, like a bloated corpse rising from the deep. Once she would have welcomed such a declaration. Now it was fetid and rotten.

“I was told you wanted to see me.”  There was a question there, but it was toothless and didn’t pick at her skin the way his always did.  Idunn would wait for her to share if she so chose. Gods and goddess had all the time in the world, after all.

“I—” Sarah’s voice was gruff from the sleep. “Sorry,” she began again. “You probably don’t take kindly to being summoned.”

Idunn canted her head. “That always depends entirely on who is doing the summoning.”

Sarah slowly registered that she was still naked. And in his bed. The sheets were pulled up, but likely not disguising the fact she was bare beneath save for a damp towel. Her indifference from the night before faded with the dawn and she felt her cheeks flush instinctively. Idunn might appear younger than her at first glance—if you only skimmed the surface of flesh and bone—but she was still his mother.

“I remember blushing.” The goddess set her needlepoint aside, tone almost wistful. “Feeling shame. Excitement.”

“It’s not—”

“What I think?” she finished without judgment. Maybe there was even a shared pity. “You can’t possibly imagine what I think, child.  But you were going to tell me why you asked for me.”

Sarah started and then stopped, her own head canting towards the goddess at the implicit order in the words. “Was I?” The corner of Idunn’s lips curled in a manner so like her son’s that Sarah’s breath caught. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. I thought… I thought you might understand best.”

And for a moment Idunn look touched. “I remember what it was to be a mortal in these halls.” Her eyes flickered. “My son tells me you’ve not had an easy time.”

“Did he also tell you he’s the cause?”

Idunn gave her a sharp-edged smile. “Aren’t they all, my dear?”

Sarah felt herself deflate a little. “I just want to go home.” She felt like a child. Helpless and alone, and yearning for someone to make it all better.  At one point she’d naively thought—stupidly so—he would be the one to do it.

“I remember that too.” The sympathy was still there, but so was a wall, hard and black as obsidian.

“You can’t let him.” Only modesty and the tattered remains of pride kept Sarah from throwing herself to the goddess’ feet.  Everything else had died along the way. “You can’t let him do what he’s planning.”

 The goddess looked surprised. “You think I can stop him?”

“I do.” It was strangely crushing to admit. That Idunn might succeed where she had failed. “I think you’re the only one who can.”

Idunn’s lips twitched again. “You ascribe more power to me than I think is warranted.”

“And I think you downplay just how powerful you really are. To them all. I think you live so far away from them, not only because you hate them, but because you want them to forget.  To forget the hold you have over them… Idunn of the old ways,” Sarah finished carefully.

“You are more than you look, Sarah. As wise at times as perhaps as you’ve been foolish.” The goddess considered her again; her expression still betraying nothing of her deeper thoughts.

Too late to turn back now…

“You were foolish once too.  Trusting the words of someone you,” Sarah forced down the telling hitch in her voice, “may have loved.”

The obsidian wall cracked just a little. Idunn’s lashes flickered—emotions roiling in the grey sea beneath. Anger. Hurt. Regret. Longing…

The last was interesting, and Sarah filed it away.

“That I cannot deny, but I hardly think you asked for me to cast my missteps at my feet. Nor to compare our scars.”

“No. Of course not.  But I need you to understand me… to remember what it’s like. I’m not a mother, but I am responsible for two very innocent boys in this. My brothers. And I will do everything I can to protect them. As you did once for your son. All I ask is to be returned home. With my brothers.” Once upon a time she would have said it to him. “Please help me.”

“You ask for me to betray my son,” Idunn chided gently. “As all others in his life have.”

Sarah felt the burn of failure—sharper and colder than the water in which she’d almost drowned. “Is it betrayal though?” She sat up straighter, clutching the sheets. “Will you let him destroy the whole fucking world for vengeance?” Her fingers curled into the plush coverlet, knuckles bleeding white to keep her voice even. “Will more innocent blood spilled make everything right this time?”

There was a tense silence for a moment between the women.  A warring, but perhaps mutual mourning of their fates. To be used and betrayed by the men in their lives. Then the flicker of something else on the goddess’ face—a memory surfacing to catch hold like a fish hook in an eye. “Blood was the beginning of it all.”

“I can see you are torn,” Sarah pressed cautiously, not quite daring to hope. “But you must see this will not end well. You can save him again… by stopping him.”

Idunn spared a pitying look. “There is so much you don’t understand.”

“You had a sister you loved once…” Sarah let the words hang for a moment. “What would you have done to save her?”

“My sister did more than I ever managed, and saved herself. Carved out a life, however brief.” Her smile was brittle, but sincere. Perhaps even envious. “She did not waste away by degrees without noticing. I’ve just met her descendant in fact. He’s something to you too, I understand. A teacher. He’s certainly expressed his concern over your welfare.”

Sarah’s brow furrowed, trying to parse Idunn’s meaning. “What?” Then as if another wretched puzzle piece slid into place, she tensed. “Professor Gunnarsson? He’s your… Is he part of this?” It was like being sucker-punched. “In league with Jareth too?”

The goddess held up a staying hand. “Far from it. I would say he’s feeling somewhat as lost as you are now.”

Sarah digested her words. “It’s a trick. His. He’s another pawn of Jareth.”

“He would be capable of that,” Idunn agreed. “But Jareth was surprised by his presence. And perhaps even unnerved. He had no knowledge of what his father had done… so many years before.”

“Tyr?”

The goddess nodded. “A token of protection to my sister’s line. The fool,” her voice caught, “wanted to atone. He was never afforded the opportunity.”

Sarah looked down at the sheets, brushing her hand along their smoothness and imagining all the pieces now in play on the board. “Did…” she paused, wondering at the wisdom of asking—of trusting again—but she had to know. Each encounter was more desperate than the last. “Did Tyr also make the wooden creature? The one I see in my dreams.” She wasn’t even sure they were dreams anymore. “The one begging to be put back together before it’s too late?”

When Idunn said nothing, Sarah glanced up. 

“Who?” Idunn finally whispered, her eyes dropping back on her needlecraft.

In that moment Sarah knew the goddess was lying.

And that she was afraid.

“I keep finding you skulking outside doorways. Not much has changed since you were a boy. Though I trust you’ve not lost your little mortal so soon again after getting her back.”

Jareth spared his father a scornful look, and then scrubbed a hand down his face irritably. “I see there are no secrets.”

“If that’s your subtle way of asking if Odin is aware. Yes, in part.  His eye is ever on you.”

“Through you, his obedient servant.”

Tyr’s lips thinned at the slight but said nothing; his eyes fixing instead on the closed door.

Another rank of Valkyries passed; well-armed and stone-faced and pausing only to genuflect in deference to the god of war. Several such contingents had passed in the space of time his mother had been with Sarah, Jareth had noted. Belatedly, he also registered that his father was likewise in full-battle regalia—a sword pommel resting deceptively lightly under his palm.

Jareth’s brow arched. “Are we going to war?”

“He’s free now. As you know.” The censure was clear. “Odin wants no more mistakes—laws be damned. No show of weakness before Loki’s bastard.”

“You throw that word around a little too liberally,” Jareth snorted. “The mortals have a saying about glass houses. I take it Odin won’t be hosting a welcome-home banquet this time.”

“You’d be wise not to underestimate Odin. I never have.”

 “No, you’ve just bared your throat to him at every turn.”

“I’ll forgive your insolence and your ignorance.” Tyr’s tone was the sharpest steel. “Ignorance that has led to Odin finally questioning the presence of your companions.”

At this Jareth stilled; his eyes falling back to Tyr’s sword.  A sword which he’d once struggled to lift with a sort of reverent awe as a child.  A sword which had been baptized in rivers of mortal blood. He returned his father’s stare unflinching. “You’re here to take her.” It was expected, but he’d anticipated more time. More time to find her brothers first.

“I’ll see that no harm comes to her. You have my word. Odin wants them under his thumb, not slain.  Not yet. Be thankful for that. Your desperation to get her back did not go unnoticed. You might well have given her to him as a weapon against you.” There was tempered disapproval in his tone. All the more galling as Jareth couldn’t disagree. “He’s concluded you brought them for reasons other than as insult to his halls.”

Jareth drew for the tendrils of his magic and weighed the balance. He was skilled and trained in combat by Tyr himself, but he doubted he could overtake the god with swordsmanship alone. Not while so tired—he’d dared not sleep while Sarah had. He’d exhausted much to get back, while still recovering from her poison.

No matter.

“You know I won’t let you.” And in those quiet words was promise and power in equal measure.

Tyr’s expression did not waver, though a lesser god’s might have. Pride tinged his tone instead. “I would have expected nothing less.”

In one fluid motion, so quick a mortal eye would not have registered it, Jareth unsheathed Tyr’s own sword and brought it to his father’s throat.

Not even the god’s pale eyes flickered. And then Jareth felt it—the press of another blade to his middle. Tyr held an unseen dagger to his gut.

“You’re fast. But tired.” Tyr’s throat scraped against the blade as he spoke. “I would hate to harm you. Your mother would be disappointed. And she’s not yet forgiven me for the last time I managed that. I am not here to take her.”

They stared at one another. Self-made villains and victims both. And then Jareth lowered the blade—even as Tyr tucked the dagger back into a fold in his dusky armour. He flipped it and offered it hilt first back to his father.

“Not when you will deliver her yourself,” Tyr finished. “But somehow I imagine that was always your intent.”

Jareth turned back to look at the closed door, feeling generous. “Yes. But not yet.”

When the door snapped open a scant moment later, both gods stepped back in surprise. Idunn stood on the threshold, her face pale and expression rattled.

She softened ever-so-slightly as she fixed on her son. “I’ve been a fool. There are always consequences. Always. Come with me.” Her eyes swept over Tyr. “Both of you.”

Throughout Odin’s hallowed hall, screams tore out and rent the silence of the space. And those that did not voice their fear and fury, watched in wary silence as the ragged beast made his way. 

Unfettered for the first time in centuries.

Freed from Odin’s prison in earnest. Flesh and blood and teeth ready to render fat and bone, gods be damned.

The wolf was free, they whispered behind their hands... Hands grown soft and weak over time.

First Jareth and now him, they agreed. Tyr’s son had brought it upon them.  

Fenrir Lokisson felt their eyes upon him and wondered what they saw. Did they fix on the tattered clothes he wore? Once as fine and costly as theirs. On the lank strands of dark hair that obscured the amber gleam of his eyes. Could they see them rimmed in rage?

Or perhaps they focussed on the blood spatter he’d not bothered to wash away.

He’d not slept. Nor eaten. Nor licked the wounds the girl had dealt him.

He’d licked her, though. Tasted for a moment what his treacherous cousin coveted. Until her deceit had played him.

He’d like to taste her again… use his tongue and teeth until he peeled the flesh from her bones.

She’d been laid bare beneath him. A temptation too strong for one such as him. So soft and easily crushed.

But he’d not wanted to crush her. Not in that moment. The destroyer of worlds had desired—just for a moment—something for his own. 

And had he sunk into her warmth, what after? Would he have eaten her up like the wolves in tales? Sucked the marrow from her splintered bones and then presented his leavings to the King of Goblins? Fenrir rather liked the thought.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps he would have kept her. Give a starving beast meat and he will devour. Once fed he will savour.

Rage and shame splintered his imaginations when he finally came upon the closed door. The instinct to destroy it boiled through his veins.

Instead, he knocked.

Sometimes it was best to give them time to fear first.

Sarah startled at the knock.

She’d dressed quickly but with thought, in deep green sheath-dress, cinched at the waist by a simple leather belt. Underneath were a pair of trousers that would make running easy if needs be. When Idunn had left so abruptly, Jareth had not returned as expected.

She was not naïve enough to think she’d be left alone—not again and certainly not for long anyway—but she’d take whatever opportunity she could to prepare. To find a way to slip away to the garden, or to Loki, and then with luck to Toby and Max.

Another knock.   

Jareth wouldn’t bother. Not anymore. They were beyond pretending she had choice. A frisson of cold possibility skittered down her spine.  She smoothed a handed over her hip, feeling the stone statue she’d slipped into her pocket as the only makeshift weapon available. “Enter.”

Her eyes widened in almost comic disbelief when the door opened inwardly to reveal her professor. He stood on the threshold, looking completely out of place and keenly aware of that fact. His expression was a cross between relief and contrition. When he took a few steps into the room, she choked on whatever she’d been about to say and pressed herself into his arms.

Despite her lingering suspicions he was somehow complicit, he was everything she needed in that moment. 

He was home. And proof there was more than one way back.

Startled at first—he wasn’t in the habit of embracing students—he caught her inelegantly and clutched her back.

He smelled like woodsmoke and fresh linens. The wiry hairs of his grey beard scratched at her forehead, grounding her when it felt like everything else had falling away.

The door closed quietly and Sarah saw over his shoulder that Bragi had accompanied him. He was respectfully keeping his distance from the reunion; his attention fixed on a tapestry like it was fascinating.

“Sarah, I—”

“You’re here—” They spoke at the same and then laughed stiltedly as they separated.

“I did not know,” Professor Gunnarsson began again, perhaps catching the subtle wariness in her eyes. He looked around the space as though still in wonder. “I truly did not know.”

“If only I could say the same.” She then waved a hand at his confusion. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now.” Her voice warbled tellingly. “I’m sorry you’re here.”

“Shhh,” he hushed her kindly. “You can’t be sorry for things set in motion before you were born.” And aiming for levity he added, “Before even I was born.”

Sarah folded her arms around herself. “I can be sorry for my choices. For trusting,” her eyes flicked to Bragi and then away, “the wrong people.  My brothers… It’s my fault. Toby and Max are—”

He stopped her self-flagellation. “Are no doubt showing the same fortitude as their sister right now.”

She took a step forward, whispering by rote despite knowing immortal ears could hear whatever they wanted. “You aren’t safe here, sir. None of us are. Don’t be fooled by whatever they said.”

He patted her with a kind hand. “I am just happy to see you alive.” He wasn’t sure she was ready to know that he alone seemed to be the only to remember she’d ever existed.

“He would not leave off asking after you,” Bragi added genially; finally acknowledging that he was even present and witnessing their exchange. “Rather persistent fellow. Takes after his great, great, great—well, you get the idea—aunt.  And I suppose that’s only fair after he practically forced his way here with an enchanted horn to rescue you. Poetic, really.”

Sarah felt a spark of hope. “A horn? Do you still have it? Where is it?”

Gunnarsson raised his empty hands regretfully. “Ah… I am afraid, it seems to have stayed in my office. Or perhaps it disappeared after one use?” He looked towards Bragi.

The god shrugged. “Enchanted horns were never my forte. Ones filled with wine are what fuel the poet.”

“I am sorry it cannot be the way home for you. For either of us. I was shocked it worked at all. Nothing more than the desperate fancy of an old, mad fool I had supposed.”

“Tyr was likewise shocked, no doubt,” Bragi added, not bothering to hide that anything complicating his rival’s life was something to be admired.  

“And Idunn!” Gunnarsson slipped back into wonder. “I am from the line as the great lady herself.”  Then he seemed to remember himself. “Apologies. I am rather certain that’s not what you want to hear right now. But so few can appreciate.”

Sarah’s eyes flicked back to the god guardedly and then away. “She’s part of this too. Don’t be fooled. And her son…” Sarah instinctively touched her chest. The scooped neck of her gown hid his sigil beneath. Even while she’d been asleep, he’d not claimed it back. She could feel the faint pulse of it through the linen—almost seeming to radiate warmth. “We’re all caught in this now, I think.” Sarah spared a hopeful look at Bragi. “I don’t suppose you’d leave if I asked you nicely?” She debated asking to be taken to Idunn’s courtyard garden. Would he believe that she just needed fresh air?

“And let you talk about me behind my back?” He sniffed. “I much prefer to hear how wonderful I am to my face.” He didn’t need to add that he’d been tasked with watching her. They both knew it and Bragi was generous enough not to rub salt in the wound.

Gunnarsson drew Sarah to one of the chairs and settled himself in the one opposite. For a moment it was almost like they were back in his office. She could almost pretend she was merely consulting him on a finer point of research.

Almost.

“Now. Tell me everything.”

Toby startled at the knock, Max fussing for a moment in his arms at his jerk.

Loki evinced no surprise. He rose and with a twist of his fingers the heavy door swung inwards.

Toby almost fell over the side of the sofa as he recoiled defensively. “You…”

“No introductions are needed, I see,” Loki remarked dryly.

“Father.” There was pure venom in Fenrir’s voice. No warmth in the affectation.  He snapped the door shut behind him with his heel.

Toby stared between the two, wondering yet again why his sister had sent him to Loki of all people. Why he could not have gone to Jareth if he’d had to trust someone to help them. He felt small and insignificant in that moment, and if it had not been for the shameful fear that rendered him immobile, he would have slunk towards the door and took his chances.

“I see you did not bother to bathe first.” Loki’s nose wrinkled as he poured a second glass and slid it across the desk. “You never did care for appearances.”

“I leave that to the vipers who skulk in the dark.” Fenrir crossed the space and picked up the glass, sniffing the contents with narrowed eyes, before draining it in a single swallow.

Together their resemblance was marked. Though the wolf-god was much larger than his father’s lither frame—and his features less refined—they both shared the same sable hair and imposing presence. The same air of power. Cleaned up and the lineage would likely be even more apparent.

“You never cared for subtlety either.” As condemnations went, it was mild, but Fenrir bared his teeth at Loki. The glass came down and splintered on the desk.

“Your displeasure means nothing.”

“Once upon a time, it meant everything.”  Loki’s lips cruelly. “Once upon a time, you lapped at my heels like a puppy so eager to please.”

Fenrir didn’t react to the insult. The viciousness in his face didn’t fade, but an uncanny gleam flashed in his eyes instead. “Once upon a time, you were stronger than me. No longer, I think.”

Loki’s expression almost gentled for a moment. As close to a fatherly look of pride as the god was perhaps capable. “You might have made such a force. In another lifetime. On another thread. Even Odin would have knelt.”

“He’ll bleed instead. You all will.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki sat, flicking his suit jacket open one-handed as he did. “The terrifying revenge you and my nephew are here to deliver. It must be time for the big show. Odin’s so terribly frazzled of late. Keeping to his room like even his own shadow is not to be trusted.” He nodded towards the sofa. “Are you here to collect your little spoils?”

Toby inhaled noisily. He’d been rather happy to be ignored while they postured. When the wolf god turned his lupine gaze on him, he felt all the air leave the room. And then, just as suddenly, something in him snapped. “Where’s my sister, you jerk!”

Loki chuckled. “Isn’t he charming? Like a spitting kitten that’s been cornered. She sent him right to me. His sister. Delivered him to me on a platter.”

If he was capable of pity, Fenrir might have felt it in the moment. “She doesn’t know you like I do.”

“You don’t know me either. My little terror in the deep. Your mother wanted to strangle you at birth. But I must have been feeling generous.”

Fenrir cocked his head back to his father slowly “I will savour your screams last.”

“Perhaps.” And for once there was no trace of ridicule in Loki’s voice.

“Keep them. I have no need.” Fen’s jaw stiffened as he crossed to the fire.

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Loki whistled. “We are being rather rude to my guests, however, with this touching reunion. Family strife is so mundane. Shall I tell you a story, little mortal? All little boys love stories. Be thankful I don’t share the nightmares I nursed this one on.” He leaned back in his chair restfully. “Once upon two gods had two very disappointing sons.” He paused, waiting for a reaction from Fenrir, but the wolf ignored him. “Oh, they were made fine enough at first glance. With all the right parts in all the right places, you see. But they were wrong in all the ways that mattered. Odin did not like imperfect things. Things that should not be. Gods should not breed with monsters. Nor with mortals either. It might let out his little secret. And then.” Loki spread his hands, his lips bowing into a grin. “Well… chaos.”

“He might have suffered the monstrous one,” his eyes flicked to his son, “but could not suffer the other. The mortal brat born with old magic. From the old ways. Older than Odin himself. Rather wasted on the god of war, when one thinks of it.” Loki almost sounded wistful. “The All-Father’s hands were tied however. The sisters-three had warned him. And the one boy, well, he still had a mother that cared. So Odin may have done nothing after all.” Loki held up a finger. “But that would simply not do. A whisper in the right ear does wonders. Poor Baldur the Gold. So bright… so dreadfully boring. But he served a purpose in the end, because now Odin had cause to act.”

Fenrir’s hand curled into a fist on the mantle but he let his father continue unchecked.

“Only Tyr had the power to leash the wolf. Much to Odin’s shame. But the oh-so mighty Tyr would only do it for a secret boon… well, not entirely secret.” Loki tapped his nose. “No death for his whelp. No cage either. Banishment instead. The god of war is ever the god of strategy. A place where he would be free. Free from Odin’s eye. Free to flex his magic. Tyr struck a bargain to save his only son. A blood oath. But one he could not share.” Loki lips twisted into the shadow of a grin. “Even with his little wife. Tyr would bind the wolf. His owlet would fly free. And he would lose everything that mattered. To serve Odin henceforth and none would be the wiser.”

“No boon for yours, of course,” Fen added flatly.

“No, indeed. Ask your dear uncle how it is to be in Odin’s debt. No,” Loki agreed without any trace of shame. “Chains suited you just fine. And here you are. Only slightly worse for wear, and oh so ravenous for revenge now that you are free. I do wonder at what whispers in the dark you and Jareth shared.” His eyes swept over Toby and Max curiously. “If I am right… what a terrifying prospect.” He did not sound afraid.

Fenrir snorted. “You’ll let this play out because you’ll relish their fall. You have always had your own plans.”

Loki inclined his head. “Perhaps you’re not a complete disappointment.”

“Bear in mind, father.” It was unmistakably a warning. “Jareth changed the rules. Now I have too.”

Toby, who’d been trying to follow Loki’s tale, at least enough that he could warn his sister, felt the god’s eyes settle on him again. Even Max had fully awoken, as though sensing danger.

Loki tsk’d. “Did you think I’d just confessed some secret plan with you? Mortals do so love that trope. No. I’m afraid I was just amusing myself while we wait.” And then he waved two neatly manicured fingers. “Forget.”

“Forget it,” Idunn warned her son as she closed and locked the door to her rooms. She tucked a braid behind her ear. It was a nervous habit Tyr had never forgotten. “Forget your vengeance. As I should have done mine. Leave now. Take the girl if she’ll forgive you, and make a life in your world.” Her eyes flicked to Tyr and away. “Or let her go if she won’t. Let this one fade to dust. But leave.”

Jareth’s watched his mother’s pacing with a deepening frown. “What exactly did Sarah say to you?” He should have listened in on their exchange, but he’d betrayed Sarah enough already. And it seemed such a small request to grant.

“Nothing of consequence.” A lie. She’d paused to look out the window into the skies the gods favoured. How she hated their cold light. “Something I did. A long time ago.” And half to herself. “I was a fool not to see. How tangled the roots would get.”

“You turn on me too?” Jareth’s tone was deceptively measured. In his chest, his heart thundered. Was this what Sarah had felt at his deception? Idunn moved to touch him, but he pulled away and she let him go.

“No. I want to save you. From them. From yourself. From me. I became what I hate.” She shook her head. “I should have never let you get this far. I should have stopped you on that hilltop when I felt an aching sense of dread.”

“You can’t know how this will end,” Jareth countered, but even he felt the same tendrils of doubt. They’d been clawing at him for some time. From the snow-dusted forest. To the boy’s inane chattering that he somehow missed.

To the moment he’d whispered those words and realized he’d meant them.

I wanted to keep you long enough to discover all the ways I would fall in love with you.

“I know you want to pull them all down. Topple them like pieces on a board. You think I would not know my son’s mind? His heart?” She rounded on him. “You think I did not feel the same?”

“Ragnarök.” Tyr stared at them both. “I did not want to believe it.  Could not believe you sought to start it. Even with the wolf in league. You’re both fools if you think Odin is so easily defeated. This is madness!”

Jareth spared him an impatient glance. “Loki keeps him plied in sleeping droughts to forget his pain. His latest dose… if it slows his wits and dampens his powers. So be it.”

Tyr’s ire was palpable. “You are a greater fool than I thought possible if you trusted Loki.”

“Trust is hardly the word I’d use. Our purposes merely aligned.”

“And your mortals? Touched by magic.” Tyr tossed his head back in frustration. “One is a sacrifice. Did you think she would forgive you? Welcome you back after you, what? Slit the throat of one of her brothers? Because I assure you that your unending penance would be far greater and longer than mine.”

Idunn stared at Jareth white-faced and tight-lipped, and then shook her head. “You wouldn’t…”

Jareth had the grace not to lie. “Plans change. I’ve vowed none of them will come to harm by my hand. And you?” He sneered at his father. “Time to run off and warn Odin?”

Tyr stabbed a finger into his chest. “Be careful what vows you make. You may likewise live long enough to regret them.” And then he pulled back, his expression growing thoughtful. “If the wolf is free and Loki is involved, it’s too late to stop this now. Blood will spill before the end. Fools. All of you.” His eyes narrowed—the god of war in his element—and then snapped his fingers. “The new arrival. You’ll use him instead. Perhaps ‘twas fate that landed him in my lap after all. The Norns have their ways. He’s long in tooth anyway, and now touched by magic. He’d likely be the sort to nobly want to save her. That’s why he’s here after all.”

“I will pretend I did not hear that,” Idunn warned, and then she stared between them both. “None of this matters now. None of it. Whatever plans you may have had.” Another pluck at her plait. “I did not want to believe it. But she’s seen her too…” She held up a hand at Jareth’s questioning look. Her next words were whispered and full of shame. “Yggdrasil is dying.”

Tyr studied his lost-wife. Took stock of the haunted expression on her pale face—the one usually kissed by sun and dirt. The one that would have withered into dust long ago, had he not visited her upon that rocky shore. When she’d cursed the gods…

Curses had a way of sticking.

“What did you do, Idunn?”

When Jareth entered his suite without knocking, his eyes tracked to Sarah immediately. Startled, Gunnarsson rose by rote at his entrance and then looked down at Sarah questioningly. In another mood, the Goblin King might have found that amusing. An old man of no discernible powers ready to play knight in shining armour. His father would have felt vindicated. If only he knew that the damsel was by no means a damsel. Had never been a damsel… even when he’d all but made her one.

Bragi lounged by the fire; an unlikely but capable choice in guardian when Idunn had ordered him to the privacy of her rooms. Bragi had survived Tyr and surely that was testament enough to his resilience.

Sending her Gunnarsson… Penance comes in many forms.

Bragi nodded at Jareth with a look of keen-eyed worry. It stopped there though. The god had done his part trying to dissuade him. So many times. Even the poet had evidently exhausted his store of words. Without a word, Bragi rose and slung his arm around Gunnarsson to propel him gently, but firmly from the room—assuring him that, yes, he would see her again. That she was safe.

Sarah did not protest, though her eyes followed them both out of the door like she wished to follow. Sleep had left her looking less wild. Less broken.

And she’d eaten, if the half empty plates spoke true.

When she still said nothing—offering no opening volleys with which to gauge her mood—he took the opportunity to study her. She’d tied her hair back, clean but still tangled. A scant smattering of faint bruises had begun to form on her face.  He promised himself he’d pay the wolf back for each tenfold.

The gown she wore was simple, no doubt chosen with purpose. The wide neckline skimmed the bones of her collar, and he could see the cord of his sigil disappearing beneath.

In that moment he was thankful she could not glean the swift direction of his thoughts. That despite everything happening—and yet to happen—the image of her bare, save for the symbol of his power at her breast, would haunt his days. His nights.

That he should have liked, in another lifetime and in a different tale, to lay her in his bed with better cause. To imagine that the sight he woke to every morn.

That it had been impossible not to notice the fullness of her breast before he’d averted his eyes for her sake. And his own. The skin so smooth save where he’d worried the skin. Skin he knew the taste of. Beneath the dusky-tipped nipple still glistening from the bath.

Guilt had never come naturally to him, but he recognized she’d been at a disadvantage and that he’d given her cause enough to hate him. He didn’t want her broken.

Not anymore.

The thought left a damning taste in his mouth. Acrid and unexpected.

He wanted to taste the salt of her skin instead; flushed again from desire. Not in this cursed place, but in his own castle. At leisure. No ticking clocks and no wolves at their door. Bathed only in moonlight, and a look of craving in those cruel eyes. He’d seen that look on her face. In fleeting glimpses that he’d greedily stoked. Tasted it on her tongue and drawn the truth from her lips.

He’d known it to be real.

And then he’d stamped it out as easily as snuffing out a candle.

Sarah’s head canted and he wondered what she made of his silent observation. She didn’t look afraid. He couldn’t decide if that made her brave or foolish. He’d take it either way.

“I half expected to find you gone and Bragi in need of rescue.”

She stared at him, unblinking, and then finally shook her head. “No, you didn’t. Or you wouldn’t have left me with him. You trusted him not to let me leave your rooms.”

He inclined his head. She’d called out his white lie—the least he’d ever dealt her. He wouldn’t mince words. She deserved better of him.

“He’s free.”

Sarah flinched, but did not say anything immediately. Some of the savageness returned to her eyes, making them fever-bright. He wondered again at what had happened while the wolf had held her. An irrational spark of jealousy burned through him at the possibilities. Desperate men did desperate things. Desperate gods, more so.

But she’d been so eager to use that against him. To hurt as he’d wounded her. That soothed his ego too. She wouldn’t have forced the question if she didn’t want him to hear the answer. That she’d used it as a weapon meant she’d cared about his reaction. Indifference was the death of love, not hate.

Ask me if I liked it.

She’d chosen the question by design. The right question teased out the right answer.

Ask me if I liked it… to hurt you.

He approached her slowly, hands spread to seem less imposing. Another lie of sorts. “You know we must find them. Before he does. I meant my vow, Sarah.” The truth at least. He paused to gauge her reaction. To see—not quite daring to hope—if she believed him. But she was carefully guarded. His cunning girl who knew him well.

“You said you don’t know where they are,” he continued, closing the distance and then crouching before her to bring to them a level. Surely, she could see he was trying at least. “But you saw them, I am convinced.” His ever-resourceful champion. “And you must have sent them somewhere until you could get them back.”

It was the slight tremble in her lip—barely noticeable to an untrained eye—that was her only tell. That she’d seen them. Perhaps even stolen them back from the wolf. He felt a flush of pride.

She lifted her chin in that stubborn jut he’d come to admire. “They might be back home by now.”

“They’re not,” he said. And then, maybe because he wanted to her hope again, he added, “Not yet.”

It did not provoke the reaction he’d intended.

“Because of you!” She launched herself in an attack so sudden she almost toppled him. Whatever rein she’d held over her emotions had snapped. She wasn’t quite the fragile, feral thing that had attacked him on the floor the night before. She wasn’t entirely lucid either.

He snared her wrist before she raked his face, remembering only at the last minute to loosen his grip so that he did not snap it. Her knee, even hampered by the skirts, slammed into his upper thigh—dangerously close to unmanning him.

Feeling his own frayed control begin to slip, he snarled at her. The baser side of him wanted to roar that she was dangerously close to ruining everything. Every meticulous plan he’d made. Perhaps already had. He’d like the freedom to lick his wounds and air his grievances too.

She wasn’t as drained as the night before, and controlling her without hurting her was proving difficult. And tiresome. He couldn’t deny he relished her squeal of indignation when he shucked her over his shoulder like she was a sack of flour.

A sack of flour with teeth and claws, and a mouth that would make even his mother blush.

While the position greatly limited her ability to crush his balls, it gave her unfettered access to his back and she wasted no time in grabbing fistfuls of his hair and yanking.

He hissed, his uneven teeth slicing through his tongue at the unexpectedly pain. A few long strides and he tossed on her bed in a graceless heap to save his scalp. A sliver of fear sliced through her fury, but was as swiftly replaced with determination. She reared up towards his face one-handed, the other reaching into her pocket—snagging his attention.

A knee across her thighs, he used his upper body to hold her down and forced her arm up. It was holding a stone carving. An effigy of Idunn of all things. The irony certainly wasn’t lost on him.

He knocked it from her hand, the statue clattering to the floor in pieces. Then he secured both wrists in one of his, and held them between them; mindful not to stretch them above her head.

It didn’t escape him that he kept putting her in his bed for all the wrong reasons. Nor that he wasn’t completely unaffected by having her under him. Even if less than pliant. At least her fire had returned. The thought stroked the baser side of him. But the gravity of it all—how far they’d fallen from his course—quelled his thoughts. He wanted her. But not like this. Not now.

With his other hand he gripped her chin to hold her quiet.  Her flailing was as likely to hurt herself than him. She was panting—hard—but her eyes were fierce and yielding.

“Are you finished?” He could taste the coppery tang of his sliced tongue. “Did you enjoy that little display? Still so bloodthirsty?”

She opened her mouth to snap something, and then seemed to think better of it. Her eyes turned flinty. “He held me like this too. Runs in the family.”

Oh, but his Sarah knew how to wound.

He should have felt shame that she’d gleaned his darker impulses. The part of him that would have liked to slake his frustration. He could make both of them forget their defeats… even for a moment. But mention of the wolf was like a knife to his gut.

“You know I won’t rape you,” he managed. And then because his pride always played dirty, he leaned closer, so close his lips might have brushed hers if he’d wanted, and whispered scathingly, “There was at time not so long ago I wouldn’t have to.” He wanted to remind her as much as anything. To make her see that she couldn’t take it back. No matter what had happened. What’s said is said.

He felt her still as his words registered. Found purchase in the flesh he held down. Her eyes glittered up at him coldly. “We both know that time has passed.”

Oh, how he loathed her ice.

And her honesty too.

He’d pay her in kind. “You’d wanted to know what I planned? What I want? You’ve already guessed. The end. The end to the gods. The end to my punishment. And the price?” A part of him clawed at him to stop. To not put into words what could not be taken back. That Ragnarök was not the end, but this would be.  Perhaps he needed the absolution of saying it. So, there could be no mistake when the time came. “Blood. It’s always blood. The beginning and end of everything. Spilling the blood of a mortal touched by magic. Given my confinement, you can imagine there would be limited options.” He couldn’t guess what she was thinking. She’d gone quiet beneath him, absorbing his confession in silence, save for the rapid beating of her heart beneath their tangled hands.

It struck him then that they lay in a mockery of handfasting. But instead of cords and promises, they were bound by something infinitely darker. “It could not be you.”

She shook her head silently, as though rejecting the meaning beneath.

“I thought of Toby for a time, but even I am not that cruel.” He waited for recriminations but she just stared up at him damningly. “You loved him.  Had risked everything to save him. So, instead, a babe born of magic. Unexpected and not desired. One you could spare. If I gave it, I could take it back. It was only fair. Even Toby did not want him. The choice was left to him. To you.”

Sarah’s face twisted and he thought she’d fight again, but then she stilled again—waiting for the rest.

“It… would have been quick.” He swallowed dryly. Feeling the emptiness of his justification. “Painless.” He hesitated then.  Some things she did not need to know yet. “I came to realize that I was mistaken. That like everything you meet… everything you come to love… you make yours. I could not take him from you so easily. My vow was true, Sarah. Is true. I will not harm them. But others will. It was never just my revenge as you know.”

Jareth pulled her up gently, still holding her in case she bolted. He could see the war play out on her face, and knew that he would lose.

So be it. He was already a villain in her eyes. And by his own admission. “What did you tell Toby? When last you spoke.” He pressed the magic into the question, seeing her flinch at the bargain’s relentless pull. He half expected her to forfeit right there.

She fought it for as long as possible, though she knew from experience it was inevitable. The look she gave him was malicious—murderous even—but tempered by a sliver of hope that his promise was true. He held onto the last.

“I told him to remain out of sight. To go to your mother’s garden.” The words rushed out in a torrent once freed. “That if something happened and I didn’t come back and find him straight away, to find Loki instead.” She paused, holding his stare meaningfully. “Not you.”

Jareth kept his expression even. He wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or proud that she considered him the greater of the two evils where Loki was concerned. He had no doubt that if he’d left her alone, she would have gone straight there. But he wanted to shake her for going to Loki. Hypocrite though he was. It made upholding his vow harder.

“Loki does nothing for free. What did you promise him, Sarah?”

Before he could inflect magic into the question, her expression crumbled. “I don’t know.” Her eyes were glassy with furious tears. “What have I done?” Fury directed at herself.

He wanted to draw her into his arms then. To whisper that he would fix everything. To be the hero in the way he’d almost had her believing he could be. But he’d lied enough, and he was certain she would not welcome his comfort.

“What I drove you to do,” he offered instead, releasing her hands. She needed to hear it and he needed to say it. “Save your blame for those who deserve it.”

He’d changed the rules once. He could change them again. Once a fallen god and now the Goblin King.

The Goblin King who had fallen in love with the girl.

“I’m coming with you. You’re not leaving me here.” It was an order as much as a plea. The wariness had not left her face. Nor the pain. He’d painted them across it as masterfully as an artist. But there was that tiny, infinitely precious sliver of hope. And he’d like to be the cause of it too—his mother’s words were a heavy weight—before the end.

Jareth nodded. Expecting nothing less. “For a price.” He could guess, but he wanted to hear it. Even if she’d hate him more for it. He needed to know.

 After everything and before everything to come.

“Did you love me, Sarah?”

Chapter Text

Oh, you can't hear me cry
See my dreams all die
From where you're standing
On your own
It's so quiet here
And I feel so cold

So Cold, Ben Cocks

“Did you love me, Sarah?”

The question was sharper and more sudden than the cold bite of the black lake. The one in which she almost drowned to escape a monster…

Only to be rescued by a worse one.

Perhaps she should have anticipated it. Another question driven into her flesh with a blade. He kept carving the answers out until she was little more than a butchered piece of meat. But the alternative…

She regarded him with eyes he’d once called cruel.

Now they were bruised.

She took solace in the fact that he looked bruised too. And for a moment she thought she saw him wince. Then it was gone. Hidden behind his mask.

How she envied him his masks.

The pull of magic hurt less than the truth. Still, she waited—dragging it out until it singed her skin—if only to remind herself what he’d done. Long enough to make him doubt. And so they’d both know it wasn’t some willing confession.

“Maybe.” Her voice cracked. It wasn’t enough for the magic. “I think so. Yes.” And then a little more forcefully. “Once.”

It felt monumental and like nothing at all in equal measures. There was more she could say, but she’d satisfied the contract.

“It doesn’t matter now.” That truth she offered for free.

If her words hurt him, she couldn’t tell. But her pulse quickened at the thought he might ask another. That he might reword the question and dig into her deeper. She mentally tallied his questions; her brain still fogged. The perils of almost killing yourself.

He didn’t.

They stared at one another as though from across an impassable chasm. The desire to destroy him had abated. He’d called her bloodthirsty and that had been the truth too. Perhaps she’d let the magic in too much. Perhaps once you kept the company of monsters you became one.

She thought of how guarded she’d been—how she’d tried to keep Toby from eating the food he’d provided. How she’d denied herself anything that might her bind her to his world. A bubble of wild laughter threatened to escape. It all felt so absurd now. So utterly futile. She was thankful he’d not seen her eat earlier. Shovelling the food in like she’d been a starving beast.

Sarah stared at him; her emotions so roiled it would have been impossible to land on one. Instead, one word beat in time to her rapid pulse.

Inevitable.