5 minute refresher because it's been embarrassingly long between updates: The last we saw our intrepid heroes, Fenrir finally revealed himself to Sarah and in so doing, reveals the fact that Jareth was not entirely honest. Fenrir now has both Toby and Max and made a play for Sarah, but Jareth bound him (temporarily) and tried to make Sarah forget. It didn't work and Sarah instead poisoned Jareth with Thrush (mistletoe) having read the forgotten lay (his parent's story - and the true death of Baldur, part of the reason Jareth was banished). Jareth recovered from the poison only to find Sarah gone. He sought out Tyr and was surprised to find Gunnarsson as well (Sarah's professor... from oh, 84 years ago, when this story began) who is also a distant relative. And here we resume our tale. Enjoy.

Part XVIII

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

It was, Sarah found, remarkably easy to slip through the halls unnoticed. She imagined that mortals were treated like spiders in corners - largely ignored until they made a nuisance. And then she remembered she was only the second mortal to ever darken their halls.

She relaxed only marginally however; her heart still a steady staccato in her ears. The adrenaline had started to give way to fear, and with it came the stark realization that her plan had been hasty in ill-formed. Foolhardy even. More risk than reward. Driven as much by revenge as self-preservation.

And 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 slowly 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 only hesitated a second before tugging one over her head. She took a scarf and wrapped her hair inelegantly. It was as close to a disguise as she could manage. The silent attendants were fixtures of the hall, but hardly noteworthy. No more than a chair or a goblet. Their role was more performative than required. With magic at your fingertips, the act of being served was power over 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. The first time she passed a goddess, the same who'd warned her at the banquet, she feared immediate discovery. But the ethereal woman walked on without sparing her second glance.

Finding his door was the challenge.

She'd begun to panic in earnest when she spied the intricate carving. Two snakes circling one another. She didn't knock, instead slipping inside when she found it unlocked.

The interior was large, lavishly furnished in dark colours, and only dimly lit. It took her eyes a moment to adjust and find the lone god seated behind a large lacquered table largely covered by an orderly array of scroll, tomes, and bottles. His dark head was bent. One long-fingered hand writing steadily.

It afforded her a moment to begin second guessing her decision.

"Just leave the wine there." The hand paused its scratching and indicated a scant few inches of empty space to his left.

When none appeared as expected he glanced up. Lips twisted into the shadow of a grin.

"Isn't it customary to actually have wine, when delivering it?" Then those green eyes narrowed keenly 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." 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 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. "And 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." But 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, and then paused, those cunning eyes dancing with mirth when she didn't take it. "What? Was it in the wine? Tell me it wasn't so predictable? Not like father and 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, unlucky 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 hands 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." 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 tell 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 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 by 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?"

"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 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?" She couldn't help herself it seemed.

The dagger stilled midair. Frozen. And then it turned on its axis, blade pointing in her direction.

"Do you presume to lecture me, mortal? 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 marginally coloured by anger. Leashed power and an implicit threat. 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. "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 was the most dangerous Loki by far. "You might have had better luck with Tyr. He nearly lost his head over a scrap of mortal flesh."

"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. As I said, I just want to go home again."

"Is this not interfering though? To take a piece away 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?"

"You find mortals interesting. You visit them. Watch them I think. Probably find them – us – amusing. Like rats in a maze."

For the first time Loki looked genuinely surprised. "What a thing to say."

"Your clothes," Sarah nodded. "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? There must be a way you could take me there? Send me home?"

"I could do it right now."

He might be lying, Sarah was not so naive. But he dangled it above her head like a treat. Testing her perhaps.

"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. 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 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. "If not kill you maybe I do want to fuck you. You yourself pointed out I have… eclectic tastes."

Sarah licked her dry lips. "I don't think you do. I think you want to toy with me. Make me afraid. And I am afraid. Afraid enough to ask you for help. To put my faith in the god of lies. I've played my hand. It's your turn."

Loki's eyes narrowed. The blade hovered for a moment and then vanished.

Sarah exhaled shakily. Her fingers flying 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 fast 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.

"You are proposing a head start."

"I am proposing that you help me cheat."

"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 sometimes 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 breathe and 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?"

She shook her head.

"The cloak ofTarnkappe."

Sarah's eyes widened.

"Ah, so you do know it. Not really my taste. Bit gaudy at first glance, no? 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 so there would never be its equal again. You see, 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 find your brothers, return it to me and I will in turn, bring you all home."

"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. 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 so long 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 bird before you find your wings torn off."

Sarah clutched the cloak in one last moment of indecision. She'd played her hand. 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 within her anger and the sense of betrayal she was loathe 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 pulled 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 dryly. 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' false sense of modesty. The cloth must bind to your skin, though you may keep your footwear." 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 as an imperfect shield. It reminded her of the incident in the woods. It 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. His eyes were on her face but she imagined he'd missed nothing.

He held his hand out expectantly. Sarah stared 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. "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."

Sarah's ire was writ plain on her face.

"Perhaps I only wanted to see how far you'd go. Or how far you'd gone. You yourself called me the God of Lies. And now I've also 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. again

"Don't forget I want the cloak back. Preferably unbloodied. And by that I mean that though it comes so easy to your kind, try hard not to die, hmm?"

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 couldn't 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 shaking hands again and thrust them towards the fire. "Hello," he offered finally, his accent more heavily pronounced.

"How?"

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 still lingered was fire in his veins. Unbidden, he remembered Baldur; his face contorting in the final death throes.

"How much did you ingest?"

Just as swiftly 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. Enough that 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 mortal.

Tyr crossed to the fire and stoked the embers in more of a blaze. Sparks flew for a moment.

"Idunn had a sister once." The words were directed to the coals. "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 considered 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, 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. Might have ended him in the woods when he'd been at weakest, doing everything to cross the barrier and keep the wolf at bay.

"After - you, she was so angry."

"That made two of us," Jareth interjected coldly.

"I thought to make amends."

"How generous."

Tyr frowned, hand rising and curling to a fist against the mantle. "You have no idea the loss. Wife and son."

At that Gunnarsson's eyes flitted between the pair.

"By then too many years had passed. And mortals did as mortals always do. She'd died. But the villagers remembered the taken woman from Eire. The one with the dark eyes and old ways. I found her granddaughter alive and well enough for that time. I decided to keep an eye on the family. Waiting until-"

"Waiting until you could bribe your wife back with her long lost blood?"

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. 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. No. He brought himself here."

Jareth scoffed. "How would did he do that?"

"With this," Gunnarsson answered quietly, perhaps tired of being talked over or 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.

The god 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 couched in 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. It – she – opened all the doors."

Gunnarsson's brow furrowed 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 jerked in realization. "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 his son. "Try very hard not to spill blood. At least until we make sense of this."

Gunnarsson's bravado fled. "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 and you know nothing of our history. What? Did you came to rescue the damsel in distress?"

The professor coloured 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 that nascent attraction had almost 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."

Tyr laughed at that.

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 turned 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 green eyes narrowed.

"You always were so fascinated by them, weren't you?" Odin considered a garishly coloured 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, right?" 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 Sarah was hiding. "Even now I feel tendrils of 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 lovely Idunn."

The older god grimaced as he accepted it. "There is no reasoning with her. 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 evenly.

"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 reply. She wished she'd thought to ask if the cloak covered sounds as well.

She slipped out the door before it closed completely.

The All-father's gait and pace were almost too much to keep up with. Despite his lavish robes and the older face he wore, he was every bit the virile warrior legend described. Following him did not seem wise. But then trusting the god of lies felt like sticking her hand in a viper's nest and trusting she wouldn't be bitten.

They'd arrived at a set of polished stone stairs, leading down into darkness. Two tall female warriors awaited them at the join.

Valkyries, Sarah thought, 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 barrier. Her bare skin prickled in defense beneath the folds and she imagined if not for the magic, she'd see her breaths puff out in little bursts.

As it had in the snow with him. When she'd thought… Sarah swallowed the traitorous memory down, willing fury to fill its void.

When she reached the bottom, only a faint glow lit the rough hewn cavern. Had she not been the 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 flanking the entrance but not following.

Sarah was instantly assailed with the smell of water. A few steps more into the dark and she felt it beneath her feet; the coolness seeping through the thin leather of her boots.

Unlike the hallway and the passages, the cavern stretched high above them. Faint lights above them, muted and wavering, giving the impression of a night sky. It would have been beautiful if it had not been so cold.

The god tensed, as though bracing himself, and then knelt in the water.

It began to roil. And then it rose and took form.

A golden-haired boy on the cusp of manhood but still holding onto the telltale lankiness of youth. His youthful face was exquisitely handsome; his mouth was curved into a smile that bespoke an easy nature. He laughed a moment later, the infectious sound echoing in the vast space.

Odin's shoulders hitched and sank. Sarah took a few steps to the side until she could see his face. All the harshness was gone replaced with something altogether more raw. His eyes were blown wide and glossy – trained on the boy.

With it came the recognition 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 – not much older than Max. There was a sense of pride and love in his face. She'd seen it in her father's. Karen's too.

The waters shifted again and the youth returned. He was riding a great war horse, his hair flailing behind him and glinting in the unseen son. He hefted a spear and deftly launched it, 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, shorter, but with the same mismatched eyes and lithe form.

Sarah's eyes widened as she recognized a younger Goblin King.

But not yet a king…

Instead a little God-ling.

Odin's face tightened but he let the scene play on uninterrupted.

Baldur took a friendly swipe at Jareth, who ducked out of his way laughing. The goblin king-to-be leapt onto a fence in a crouch and pulled a small flute from his pocket. Baldur laughed and then began singing along – a ribald tune about Loki dressing as a woman. In that moment Sarah thought that young Jareth looked like a woodland sprite, with his fey features and wild hair.

A Valkyrie passed and both boys stopped long enough to shout shouting that earned Baldur a cuff upside the head. Jareth managed to duck it. There was an ease in manner 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 again. 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 coming back wet.

The waters splashed down and stilled. Odin rose unsteadily and passed a damp hand over his face. The broken expression washed away to reveal the imperious mask Sarah had first seen. If anything he looked older. And features worn 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, her skin already tightening from the salt.

She wiped them away angrily, her hand shaking them loose into the shallow pool below.

The still waters shifted, rose and formed something new.

Sarah stuffed a fist into her mouth to stifle her scream. Stifle the scream at seeing herself, expression bare and painfully broken.

Her hands empty and bloodied, pressed to her middle. Her mouth open with no sound escaping.

And then receded and fell away.

She was lucky that the draught had started to take effort, for Odin was slow to turn. He glanced about the empty space curiously and then he turned back towards the opening. His shield maidens said nothing as they fell into step as by rote. As though they had done this many times before.

They were halfway to the stairs before Odin paused and looked back, his face creasing in an expression she couldn't discern. She might have worried that the cloak had failed her but his eyes were trained on one of the other passages.

His hollow expression eased and he left without looking back.

Toby clutched Max to his chest, loathe to admit he was taking more comfort than he was providing to the slumbering babe.

He was so very cold. The small fire seemed to provide little warmth and even less light. He wanted to sleep but he was even more reluctant to succumb. Half afraid that he wouldn't wake up and half afraid he would. And then to what.

Though nothing could be worse than the dark that seemed to leech the remaining heat from his bones.

Max gave a fitful cry in his arms and he shifted him, realizing he'd been squeezing him too tightly. As he used to do with Lancelot when he'd have a bad dream.

When his parents had brought Max home and everything had changed.

When Sarah had moved out.

After he'd…

"I'm sorry," Toby whispered.

When Sarah re-entered the light of the upper levels, Odin was gone. To sleep she imagined. Fraught with nightmares or perhaps in the deep dreamless kind aided by whatever Loki had given him.

Her thoughts were wholly disjointed and unfocused as she tried to make sense of it all. What exactly had Loki wanted her to see? Bargaining with him had bought herself time but no real advantage, and the more that passed the more self-doubt leeched her confidence. Finding Max and Toby seemed impossible. Fenrir would return and whatever Jareth might have planned, the wolf had made clear he only needed one of them.

Her lone ally was gone and she was an ant surrounded by boots.

Ten years before there had been no trail to Toby through the Labyrinth, but 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. Her fingers stilled.

There was a trail, she just couldn't see it. But she had once. In the twisted woods. A deep red thread spun with gold she'd wrapped around her wrist to lead them here. She flexed her wrist experimentally – the same one that ached…

A wild thought took her. She had to find the Norns.

Because there were other things to fear than the dark.

She had met some of them.

And some had clawed their way beneath her skin. She needed to cut them out again.

Toby was just 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 give in.

He didn't.

Sarah wouldn't have.

His stomach clenched and then gurgled. She'd been on her way to get them food when everything had changed.

He imagined what his capable sister might do when she discovered him missing. He was confident she would get him back. Unless she'd forgotten him as she'd almost forgotten Max. As his parents had so entirely.

"I killed my brother."

Toby startled, his weary eyes searching the surrounding dark.

The gravelly voice was not the same as the nursemaid's. Nor had he heard its owner's approach. The sound sent a shiver of pure ice through his frame.

The cold 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.

By his own demand.

Toby nodded to himself. 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 spring at any moment. Though hunched, Toby could tell he was tall. Broad too. His eyes – golden and almost molten compared to the flame, were over-bright.

"It would have been far easier had you simply slit his throat."

Toby's fingers tensed around Max guiltily.

"I… I didn't want him dead." Gone was not dead, he reasoned desperately. He hated how childish his voice sounded to his own ears. How weak.

The monster chuckled but there was no warmth to it. "No, you wished for something far more cruel than a swift end."

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. "You're going to eat him?"

Another chuckle. "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! And 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 that was not at all kind. "You should be careful in whom you put your faith, boy."

"My name is Toby, not boy."

"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 answered, surprising him.

"We can't let you go. We need you. Although 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. And he's made it clear he has different designs on the girl. So I'll have all three, I think."

Toby tried to follow his meaning and failed. 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 might have grown more powerful than me. Unlikely. He was more beast than god."

"Weren't your parents upset?"

"I have a sister. Two were enough in the end." 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. But no, they were not upset. Our mother abandoned us soon after birth – disgusted by our very nature. Our father…" Fen trailed off. "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 human emotions where none exist."

It was a warning even Toby understood. "Mine 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 means to that end."

"But what-"

Fen held up a large hand. One Toby recognized. The same 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 seamlessly melted back into the darkness.

Toby waited a few moments 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 occupants. Tyr made a motion to ignore it but the unmistakable sound of a key turning followed and then the door opened. He rose swiftly, his posture showing clearly that his title was well earned.

Idunn was framed by 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 adornments 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. He noticed her own track about the space – the same they'd shared – as though cataloguing everything she remembered.

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 shook. "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 piece of her sister. Her expression had settled into a strange mix of furious sorrow that neither husband nor son could quite face. Jareth was too restless for a reunion. Plays were now in motion beyond his carefully controlled ones and the acrid taste of potential failure set him on edge. The cage would not hold the wolf long.

His own actions left him little peace. Desperate deeds were dangerous ones.

"He's free isn't he?"

Jareth paused at his father's words, wondering if it showed in his face. "Don't think to censure me. Not now. One door opens and they all do. We were both wronged."

"I'm aware. Was I not the one to bind him?" Tyr did not add at what cost.

Jareth pointed at 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. 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 from her ploy. And that she might cost him everything. Again.

Perhaps, in the end, Tyr recognized the same unchecked fire in his son. "She could be anywhere."

Jareth had come to the only conclusion that she'd been masked somehow. There were precious few places a mortal could hide and scrying brought nothing. So that meant help. He'd could feel, in some unfathomable way, that she was not far however. Their paths were entwined whether she willed it or not.

She would not leave her brothers in the end. His hand touched his throat. And she'd made the mistake of taking something that was his.

Finding her way to the bright hall proved easier than she expected. The thirteen thrones sat empty, the fire 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 leafless place.

Sometimes the way forward is the way back…

She stood shivering in the cool night air before the gaping tree. The one that her spit her out. And the broken creature in the dark.

She knelt. From within her pack, she pulled it free with shaking fingers.

His amulet.

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. She'd been wary of touching it. Even in the low light, the silver gold of it gleamed and shifted.

Let the magic in, he'd once said. In that she hoped he'd been sincere, even as she did. Letting warmth spreading through her limbs.

"Please." Sarah's voice was little more than a whisper. I need to speak with you, she thought. I've brought you a gift.

Nothing happened at first, long enough that she sat back.

And then three hands reached out of the darkness of the tree, took hold of her - nails biting into flesh - and dragged her in.

On his third try, Toby managed to fashion Max's blankets into a sling that held. He'd seen Karen and Sarah carry him in a similar fashion. His arms had begun to tremble from the weight and he was afraid of dropping him. Max had woken but seemed content 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 and neither had the monster. A plate of cold food had been left out and another 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 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. He was so tired.

But Sarah wouldn't give up.

"Come on, feet," he whispered.

Sarah blinked at the sudden brightness of the stars above and then looked down at the pool of water.

She turned to three sightless faces.

"You can see me."

"Always," answered the girl. He voice the same bright and airiness Sarah remembered, but with the hint of mockery that revealed her years.

"We hope you don't waste our time." There was 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 it's so full of sorrow and betrayal. Perhaps it is ripe now after all."

Sarah pulled away. "I have a… boon 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," 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 and then mutely offered the amulet.

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. Friends and foes alike.

Sarah pulled it back at the same time they shook their heads.

"A pity 'tis not yours to give."

She was relieved even as resignation settled. "Then what?" Her hand lifting to her face. She swallowed back bile.

The woman reached for her sheers, but the girl stayed her hand when the branches above creaked and shifted in wind that was not there. "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.

"Go before we change our minds," the woman inclined her head. "Even we cannot see how this will play out but the woods will it."

The faint red thread appeared again. This time instead of weaving through the trees it snaked down into the centre of the well.

"But how- " Before she could finish the Norns reached for her again and pushed her backwards into the dark waters.

Sarah sucked into a startled breath and they 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 water painfully. Back in the underground cavern again, soaking wet, she looked up at the strange lights she now realized were the stars.

In her damp hand she clutched a red thread shot with gold. It went taut.

Toby could no longer stem the tears. He must have gotten turned around for he'd ended up at back at the same room. A prison with no door, because none was needed it seemed in a maze in the dark.

Just as it felt like all hope was lost it appeared. The red thread. And when he tugged, it tugged back.

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.

Through twists and turns they finally met at a deep fissure in the stone. A broken chain, – so bright and fine it shone like a beacon, lay on the ground. Toby reached blindly, Sarah grasping his hand even as she remembered to toss back the hood of the cloak to undo the spell and reveal her face.

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. "You did it. You saved him, Toby."

Toby's mouth warbled 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." It does.

In the end she should have known it was too easy.

They'd only made it back to the fork again 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. 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 his narrow shoulders and over Max. Toby looked away in embarrassment 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? But don't show your face to anyone. I mean it, Toby. If," her whispered voice cracked. "If something happens and I don't find you, find Loki. Remind him he made a bargain with me."

Toby opened his mouth.

"Not Jareth." Then she pressed the clasp at his throat.

She opened her bag and quickly pulled 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 pride.

And then she ran deeper into the passage.

It opened almost immediately into a seemingly endless space filled with treasures of every imagining. Jewels, stone carvings, entire ships, weapons, furs. It was all haphazardly piled and covered in thick layers of dust. Small pyres burned about the space but it looked as though the room was little used.

Offerings she realized. Centuries of offerings to gods who'd never cared.

She wound through the mess, concealing herself within the treasures long forgotten as footsteps approach.

Wolf or Goblin King. She wasn't sure which was worse.

Jareth and Tyr paused in the doorway.

"You're certain?"

Jareth nodded, his eyes scanning the vast space. He was certain. Could almost feel it. Feel her. His too-clever Sarah to have gotten so far.

"You'll never find her in here."

"I don't have to find her." At the look of disbelief, Jareth smiled. The first since she'd tried to shift the balance. The satisfaction was intense. "All I have to do is call out and ask her where she is." His voice 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.

AN: *clears throat* I'm not dead. And neither is this story.

Hopefully this wasn't too confusing with the shifting storylines - all getting a bit tangled, no? *looks meaningfully at title*

More will become clear next chapter. I'm sorry some of you waited so long only to have no J & S interaction. Rest assured *that* comes next and we are reaching the exciting climax… (I'll let you decide if that was pun intended or not).

Thanks for your patience.

Credits:

Tarnkappe - The "cloak of concealment" comes from Germanic myth, in particular there is the tale in which Sîfrit acquires it from the dwarf Alberich in the Middle High German epic Nibelungenlied.

Vegvísir (or Viking Compass) is an Icelandic magical stave intended to help the bearer find their way.

Mímisbrunnr – In Old Norse "Mímir's well" is a well associated with Mímir, and is located beneath the world tree Yggdrasil. In the Prose and Poetic Eddas the well is located beneath one of three roots of the world tree Yggdrasil, a root that passes into the land of the frost jötnar. It's often referred to as the well of memory or wisdom. In the Prose Edda, after he killed Mimir, Odin sacrificed one of his eyes to the well in exchange for a drink. In this case I played fast and loose with the myth and adapted it to my purposes. The idea that Odin feeds it with his tears instead and that it is ultimately the same well from which the Norns feed the tree.

The idea of the lake above being the well, and connected to the cavern below was inspired by the underground lake in Clare Dunkle's Hollow Kingdom.

Fenrir: As mentioned he's the son of Loki and the giantess Angrboda. He's also the brother of the serpent Jormungand and the underworld goddess Hel. In The Binding of Fenrir, it is mentioned that he is the only one who was raised among the Aesir but that he grew too strong and too quickly and the gods were afraid of him. Eventually the only god brave enough to try and bind him was Tyr. In the myth they use a silver chain forged by the Dwarves, but Tyr loses his hand in the process. More on that later…