Important Announcement: Unfortunately, due to extreme lack of inspiration, I have decided to discontinue this story. I've sat on chapter 25 for more than a year, trying to write more than discussions, arguments, and tangles, but could not find a way forward to the end. I apologise to all fans and readers who have kept up with this over the years.

I'll leave you with what little I managed to write for chapter 25.

Disclaimer – I don't own the Labyrinth, or any of its canon characters, settings or situations. Don't sue.

"I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away, right now."

It was very late. The household had long since settled into silence, the servants resting, the guards not on watch dozing, a drowsy, dulled sense of awareness. Bran, Caeth and Ophir had long since retired to their bedchambers. Only Sarah and Jareth remained, the Goblin King standing at the drawing-room window, his attention fixed on the north-east, on the origin of the Call that had been tugging at him for hours.

"It's Toby, isn't it," Sarah said, watching him, watching the moonlight shine on his white, white skin and hair. She was curled up in an old, over-stuffed armchair, a warm woollen blanket clutched around her shoulders.

He tilted his head, half-turned towards her. "Yes." For a moment, she was struck by the movement, the sudden resemblance to an owl.

"But he is still with those other men, with Vane and…and the High King."

"Dante, yes. He is still in their custody, and Calling upon me – hisright, twice-returned from my kingdom – but when it comes to my answering him, as is my right and obligation…" he paused. "That is where it becomes complicated."

"You think it's a trap."

"It would not be the first time my geas has been used to ensnare me." His eyes darkened, as if at an old, bitter memory.

Weeks ago, before she had tumbled into this mess and was forced to rely on Jareth, because otherwise she would be hopelessly outmatched, she would have flared up hotly in Toby's defence. But she had promised to trust Jareth, on that day by the stream, even if only a little. She forced herself to be patient, to believe that he was not always concealing nefarious motives and alternate agendas.

Perhaps – just perhaps – he was doing the best he could.

"Jareth, please. He is my brother. Is there any other way? Turn this trap back upon Vane? From what you've told me, taking him out would be a terrific blow to the enemy."

The closed, bitter expression faded, smoothed out as Jareth considered her suggestion. Abruptly, he strode to the door and out into the corridor. Sarah, taken aback, rose to follow him, hurrying in his footsteps. She caught up with him at the door to Bran's chambers, where, instead of opening the door and going in, he rapped softly, even politely.

He looked at her. "It does not do to startle him out of sleep. He wakes extremely quickly."

Moments later, Bran opened the door. Shorn of his drifting black robes, his hair unbraided, he looked softer, less like the menacing shadow of his daytime persona. He turned his eyes to Jareth, questioning.

"Is there any way we can snatch Toby away from Dante and Vane in their own war-camp?" Jareth asked, without preliminaries.

Bran's eyes slid to Sarah's, then, but he said nothing, simply headed back into his chambers, leaving the door open so that they could follow him in. There were old, twisting designs tattooed on his back, like intertwining Celtic knots. Sarah looked away, uncomfortable with interfering in such a reserved man's privacy.

"Very few things are truly impossible," Bran answered, sinking down into an elegant, inlaid chair. "if you are willing to bear the consequences. How badly do you want this?" He looked to Jareth when he said that, not Sarah.

Sarah, if so questioned, would have hesitated only a moment before deciding she would do anything to rescue her brother. Jareth was not so certain.

"What would it cost?" he asked, finally.

Bran was silent for a moment, his eyes distant and turned inwards in thought. Unlike Vane, he did not play chess. He thought not of pawns and tokens, but of flesh and blood – but nor would he hesitate to order men to their deaths.

"A diversionary attack, perhaps, to cover a targeted infiltration – I assume you only want the boy, not Vane or the High King?"

Jareth grinned, slowly, his teeth white and predatory. "If we could kill Vane…" he drew in his breath.

But Bran wasted no time in disabusing him. "Black Donn will lay the entire Underground to waste."

"I know." Regretfully, Jareth conceded. "And whatever else he may be, Dante is the High King, rightfully anointed –" His eyes flicked to Sarah. "To slay him in anything but ritual combat would incur a horrific curse."

"Do you really believe that?" she asked, curious. "I mean, you don't seem –"

"Superstitious?"

Sarah paused before answering, dimly aware of all the pitfalls in Jareth's sharp-edged retort. remembering the naïve girl she had once been. Here, in the Underground, words, actions and ideas had power beyond imagining in the world Above. Jareth, though at times almost humanly rational and cynical, was still a creature of magic, bound by the fundamental laws of the Underground.

She did not want to start another argument. And so she bit down hard on her tongue, and said nothing.

"We will need more trained men," Bran continued, smoothly filling the taut silence. "The Exiles number nearly three hundred, not nearly enough for an assault on the High King and his allies."

Jareth shifted his focus back to his lieutenant. "How many men do you need?"

Sarah drew in her breath, let it out in a long sigh of relief.

And for the next few hours, she watched Jareth and Bran working in concert, Jareth giving the objectives, and Bran seeing that they were carried out. It was a long-lived, successful partnership, based on trust and long experience, and Sarah tried very hard not to feel left out –

She need not have. Had he been so inclined, Jareth could have reassured her on that point.

But Jareth had always been overly fond of games.