Bottom.

Nick Bottom was his father.

Nick Bottom, donkey-headed idiot, was his father.

Nick Bottom was his father!

"What are you talking about, old man?" he barked impatiently, slamming his hands on the table once more. "I've never heard anything more ridiculous. And people consider you a smart man?"

Oberon's sheepish expression tightened until he looked unquestionably peeved.

"I don't care if they consider me smart. Titania gave birth to you, but I did not sire you. My relationship with your mother ended years before your conception. Besides, I bewitched Nick Bottom myself. Somebody else provided the necessary material for your conception."

Jareth stared at Oberon, mouth open in disbelief. He searched Oberon's features for any trace of his own, but nothing matched. Oberon definitely resembled his other siblings. His face appeared most strongly in Enyo and Enlil, but Patricia shared her mouth and ears with her kingly father. Jareth, though, looked like someone else. Someone other than Oberon. Jareth remained quiet, mulling over these new developments. Oberon must've mistaken his silence for despair, as he suddenly placed his hands on Jareth's.

"I know I just destroyed your entire childhood, but you are still my son. I want no one else. I don't even want Sarah. I will take care of her, of course, but she has a father. I doubt she wants another."

"You owe her so much," Jareth hissed under his breath as he glared at his father. "Her mother rejected her and her father… I've eaten mollusks smarter than Robert."

The two men stared at each other, daring the other to speak their mind. Jareth ached in so many ways and Oberon looked both worried and distant. Then Oberon tightened his hand around Jareth's wrist, and smiled gently.

"My son," he said quietly. "I love you dearly, more than your other siblings. I don't care if you love Sarah. Two of my children already dally with one another. What do I care if two more engage in the same behavior?"

Jareth blanched. "So Enyo and Enlil… well they… with each other?"

"Yes," Oberon nodded. "Thankfully they don't desire a family, otherwise my grandchildren might look like the Elephant man."

They chuckled at the joke as much as they could. So many problems remained, the first being Sarah and Titania, naturally. To retrieve Sarah meant opening Pandora's Box. Titania ranked highly in any royal court. Pursuing her might result in their doom. But he was willing to take that risk.

"I'll get Morgaine," Oberon muttered quietly before patting Jareth's hands. "Enough of this emotional humdrum. It suits neither of us."

They both stood from the table. Oberon left the kitchen while Jareth lingered. His heart hurt. Even if they shared no blood, little hope for a relationship with her remained. Ridiculous taboos determined human behavior, after all, and incest disgusted most mortals. Even if they weren't siblings, Oberon was his stepfather. Sarah could never be with her stepbrother. Never with him.

When Oberon failed to return, Jareth knew he hadn't gone to retrieve Morgaine at all. He left to go deal with Titania. Morgaine said only the descendents of gods could kill fairies without repercussion. As the son of a man… donkey-thing, he could only sit tight and wait for the outcome. Still, Morgaine probably needed company, and he knew just where to find her.

Flicking a crystal from his wrist to his fingers, Jareth focused all his energy on Morgaine. When he found her, he dropped the crystal at his feet. Without even a hint of glitter, he transported himself to Avalon, dressed head to toe in black silk. To wear leather and sequins to a funeral was just in bad taste.

He found deep within one of her orchards. Though Morgaine manicured her gardens to perfection, the rest of the island she let grow wild. Years of harsh winds bent and twisted the trees until they hunched over like old men. They bore no fruit this year because of a long winter, but their flowers still bloomed. Jareth wove his way between them, crushing dry grass beneath his flat boots. He peered through the flowered branches at the starry sky above them, picking out constellations, both known and unknown. Some even moved. A hunter chased a boar.

Softly he came upon her, at the top of a treeless hill. Within a circle of standing stone, Morgaine knelt before little gravestones. He recognized the names on them, even though he never met them. Morgaine wore jeans and a red sweatshirt, clothes hardly appropriate for the situation, but comfortable. He'd want to be comfortable if he wore her shoes.

"Did you bury them yourself?" he asked quietly as he walked up behind her. The wind tossed her wild curls around her long neck and thin shoulders. Under the pale moonlight, her freckles mimicked cinnamon on whipped cream

"I did," she replied, rather emotionlessly. "Rather, I used a spell. Little remained of the poor girls. They required a quick burial, and I can't dig that fast."

She gave the girls another moment of her times. Her fingers passed under the names on the gravestones, first Diana then Bevin. Dusty smoke curled as the heat from her fingers left an epithet.

'Here lies Diana, a huntress in her own right.'

'Bevin lies here, her crown topped with fire.'

Grunting, she placed her hands on the ground and pushed herself up before turning to stare tiredly at her stepson. Jareth winced at the dark circles beneath her eyes and the leaves stuck in her hair. The lines around her mouth spoke of tiredness and age.

"Did you love them?" he asked. Morgaine's brows rose, and then she chuckled while rubbing a hand over her eyes.

"No. Diana and Bevin were just nice girls with nicer figures. They wanted to get ahead in the world. Lots of people do. It's a shame they didn't get to fulfill their dreams."

Jareth oftened wondered at his stepmother's moods. Extreme as they were, he couldn't say they were inappropriate. They were simply extreme. He expected ranting and raving, to be railed at for dragging her poor paramours into his troubles. But she acted so docile, so resigned. Something was askew.

"You're behaving oddly," he drawled quietly. "Where's the fearsome Morgaine who ruined a kingdom? A kitten stands in her place."

A quick, slight smile flitted across Morgaine's face, but a frown quickly replaced it.

"The mirror showed me my future," came her tired response. His interest piqued, Jareth moved closer and tilted his head to the side.

"What did you see?"

For a moment, he swore her eyes turned glassy with tears, but then they dried despite her next statement.

"I am not long for this world," she sighed. "I will not survive the coming war."

Morgaine laughed mirthlessly and closed her eyes. Jareth staggered under the weight of her words.

"In truth, I may not make it past morning. Oberon may meet the same fate."

This chapter is incredibly short, I know, but a certain private message prompted me to post it. I hope to be finished with this story soon.

Thank you all for hanging on. Real life often gets in the way.