Forward:

"Scribe…" The Goblin King said, giving me an uncharacteristically kind smile. "It is time."

With a deep sigh I shook my head, "I can't. It's too soon."

He watched me, tapping the ever-present crop against the leather of his boot. "I know your feelings are still raw and bleeding, my dear, but you must…what is it that the Americans say… 'Get back on the horse'. Jetredgirl has already found her voice again, so you must find yours."

"Please, Sire… I can't. It hurts," I said, not even bothering to keep the pleading tone from my words.

"Truth hurts, little girl," he replied, his mismatched eyes shimmering with a sadness of his own. "My Scribes have one charge and that is to share my stories and ensure that this part of my legacy does not die. Are you one of my Scribes?"

Swallowing the lump in my throat I nodded.

"Am I still your King?" he asked.

"Forever," I whispered, the word rasping against my dry lips, my loyalty to the Goblin King had never been questioned before.

"Then write, my dear. Vent your grief through words, then get back to your 'real' work. There are more tales to be spun. More stories to be told," he ordered.

Sighing, I tried to shake my head, before nodding. His power could not be denied any more than his orders could. "Yes, Sire. I will do my best."

"That is all I ask, Scribe."

Here I offer my darling readers proof of my obedience to my beloved King.

Sarah sighed, dropping her head as the newspaper slipped from her trembling hands to fall upon the table, which was littered with the remains of her breakfast – a breakfast she felt too ill to eat. When she looked up, her eyes were red, with crystalline tears shimmering at the edges. The stark black headline from the newspaper stared up at her, its angular type seeming to add credibility and finality to the horrible words – 'DAVID BOWIE – DEAD AT 69 FROM CANCER'

Reaching up she rubbed her eyes, almost relishing the sting of her fingers against the already reddened flesh. For two days all she had felt was numbness, except for the gaping hole in her heart which caused pain greater than she had felt during the birth of her children. Rubbing her eyes harder, she embraced the burning sting, since it helped deaden the pain in her heart – even if only for that fleeting moment. "It's not fair," she muttered to herself, blinking as she looked out over the ever shifting walls of the Labyrinth which stretched far below the balcony upon which she sat. A choked sob slipped past her clenched lips as she tried to swallow the lump that had lodged itself in her throat the first time she heard the news.

"It's not fair," she grumbled, this time with more conviction, anger starting to tinge her words. She was no stranger to death, having witnessed the death of her father just as she turned 21. This time was different though. For the first two days she vacillated between being angry, denying the news and bargaining – all for nothing. There was nothing she could do. The decision was made by one who had more power than she.

Sarah had never officially met the man she was mourning, but she loved him all the same. His work had formed the background soundtrack of her life, even after she had returned to the Labyrinth. It had been part of her good times…part of her successes…and just as much a part of her sad times. Her fingers lightly caressed the mp3 player sitting on the table next to her untouched plate, the headphones coiled neatly next to it. For the first time in her memory, she could not turn to the one person she usually turned to when her world fell apart. The realization of that fact, combined with the fact that she may never have the courage to listen to his music again, broke her heart anew, sending forth another wave of tears.

The morning sun glinted off the plastic wrapped CD sitting under her mp3 player – the new album. Her eyes fell upon the shiny surface and she choked back a sob. Angrily Sarah snatched up the CD, knocking the mp3 player and headphones to the stone tiles of the balcony. For a brief moment she glared at the stark black star on the crisp white background, then shrieked as she flung it as far off the balcony as she could.

"It's not fair," she sobbed, collapsing back into her chair.

Since she was 14, every time a new David Bowie album had come out, she had managed to purchase it on the first day and listen to it. Each time she got a new audio player, the very first thing she played on it was the newest Bowie album. Those days were over. The fans above had gotten their albums on Bowie's birthday when it was released, some had even gotten theirs early. Sarah too could have had it early, but chose to wait. As a human she ordered the set from the Bowienet site, then waited for it to be delivered to her home above, the house she grew up in, which now served as the Goblin Queen's portal to the Aboveground. The lithographs had arrived just after Christmas, much to her delight. Framed, they now hung in her bedroom, along with the autographed prints and gigantic 'Labyrinth' poster that her beloved husband had surprised her with for Christmas. On January 8th, Bowie's 69th birthday, she haunted the mailbox, hoping that her CD would be delivered – but she waited in vain.

On Monday the 11th, her beloved husband woke her up with the news, his pale eyes clearly expecting tantrums or screaming, but she did none of that. She felt the pain, but squashed it deep within her, after all, she was a Queen… she had a kingdom to run. She couldn't let the death of someone she didn't even know keep her from her duties.

Yet in the stolen quiet moments of the day, she felt the news wash over her and her chest would ache in the most terrible way, until she was sure she was having a heart attack. Part of her wished that she would, so she could die along with him. It felt as if her dreams and hopes had died with him, her inspiration and muse now dust upon the wind.

At 5 that evening, Toby contacted her, sending the padded envelope to her rooms with a goblin messenger. All evening the package sat on her desk, tempting her. For two days she had waited for it, and now that it was here, she no longer wanted it. The very thought of opening it made her heart threaten to burst once more. The agony was too great. To get the album…His last album… after his death.

It wasn't fair.

If she wasn't in such pain at the moment, she might find some humor in the irony of the album arriving after his death. As it was, humor was not something she could find. "It's not fair," she sniffed, wiping her red nose upon the fine linen napkin, before tossing it over the uneaten breakfast. "Not to his fans…or to me…or to anyone of us."

"What's not fair, Precious?" came a cultured voice from behind her, a voice that had come to haunt her every waking hour – and even many of her sleeping hours as well.

Sarah frowned, her body going tense when a pair of strong arms slid around her, only to relax a moment later as his scent washed around her, enveloping her in his presence as it always did. Turning slightly in his embrace, her emerald eyes narrowed as she glared at him.

"It's cruel, Jareth. Couldn't you have waited another year? Or two? Let the album excitement die down first?" she snapped.

Kneeling next to her, Jareth took her hands in his, his slender fingers wrapping around hers. "Sarah, love… it was time. You know the rules."

"Fuck the rules, Jareth!" she snapped, pulling her hands from his as she pushed back from the table and got up.

The Goblin King rose and watched her fretfully pace the balcony. Taking a deep breath he let the magic of the Labyrinth seep into his very soul, feeling his place quite keenly. His pale hair fluttered in the morning breeze, a fine sheen of golden glitter shining around him, giving him the ethereal glow that royalty of his kind always had – his grandmother had always called it 'stardust'.

"Darling, be reasonable," he replied, leaning against the balcony, the warm glow of the sun flashing upon the golden sigil that lay upon his chest, peeking from the silken shirt and waistcoat he wore. "Every king is allowed 100 years in the above."

"Yes…so you had what…31 years left," Sarah retorted. "You could have given the fans another year, let them have hope and joy for another year, instead of…instead of…"

"For what purpose, love? To waste away further with the cancer? No thank you. It was more painful than it seemed," he sighed, waving his hand toward the Labyrinth. A moment later the pristine, plastic-wrapped CD appeared in his hands. He turned it over, examining it carefully, before looking at her once more, her green eyes boring into him as if needles. "Even Fae can feel the pain of human diseases, love. And you know as well as I, that cancer and troubles of the heart are things that our magic cannot heal. The frailties of the human body make our power useless in those instances. Far better to end things now, while I still had the energy to return home, rather than risk being trapped and actually dying in that body."

Sarah frowned, leaning against the railing on the far side of the balcony, well away from Jareth. She looked at him and felt her heart ache once more. Perfect. He looked perfect, not a day older than he did when she first met him. His body seeming to glow faintly, while the light breeze caressed him like an old lover. He was immortal, a fact she had always known. It was hard to reconcile the glowing picture of Fae beauty and health before her, with the gaunt, tired looking man he had been in the Above. When Jareth smiled at her, she saw the resemblance between the two men, who seemed as different as night at day.

It was his smile.

Always his smile. Although both Jareth and David might cherish their privacy and hide away their feelings, his smile and eyes generally gave them away. It was easy to tell when he was happy, because the smile not only reached his eyes, it shone from them, blazing as if his inner magic was straining to contain the joy.

"I still say it was cruel…. Two days, Jareth. You only gave the fans two days to bask in the happiness of the new album, all the while you had your henchman Visconti drop hints of another album, when he knew the truth! How could you?! It's beyond heartless," she shouted, finally giving voice to her own anger and grief over it.

One of the first things she had learned upon moving to the Underground to take on the Queen's crown, was Jareth's 'alter-ego' in the Above. He had explained that being Bowie was something of a 'vacation' for him, when being around the goblins became too tedious. It was the Underground equivalent of a 'season abroad'. Each member of Underground born royalty was granted 100 years to spend in the Above. Many made a living by using their supernatural abilities. As she found out, Bowie was no different – Jareth used his Fae talent for music and beauty to captivate a world full of music lovers, who were at that very moment clinging to his memory as they sobbed their own grief.

In addition to capitalizing on his Fae talent, Jareth had surrounded himself by other Underground expatriates in the Above. Coco, his long-time assistant and friend in the Above was actually a Dryad Princess. Jareth and Coco had been great friends in their youth Underground, and had gone Above at the same time, eventually finding each other and deciding to enjoy part of their sojourn together. Others who drifted in and out of his inner circle had ties to the Underground, even his 'wives'. Granted, Angie was a troll princess and it showed in the way she interacted with humans. Iman was really a Drow Queen, which explained her interactions as well as her ethereal height and beauty.

It took Sarah several years to get her head around the fact that Jareth had a wife in the Above, even as he courted and married Sarah Underground. She had come to understand that it was a marriage of 'convenience' and that Lexi, was in fact a changeling, woven from the tears and dreams of the David and Iman during a Beltane ritual.

Moving forward, Jareth wrapped his arms around Sarah, pulling her close to his chest and kissing her forehead.

"You orchestrated it all… just as you would a tour," she muttered, bitter tears dribbling off the side of her nose to smear against the smooth flesh of his chest.

"Yes, Precious…I did. Have you ever known me not to make a spectacular entrance or exit when it suited my purposes?" he asked, his tone low, soothing and irritatingly reasonable.

Sarah grumbled, her body sagging against his. "No," she grudgingly agreed.

Jareth sighed, hugging her tight. "Bowie couldn't make his exit from the shadows, darling. It wouldn't have been like him, nor would it have been fair to the fans," he added, leaning back and looking at his beloved wife. His thumb gently wiped the tears from her cheek as he smiled at her. "Better to go out on top, already being on everyone's lips and minds, love."

"It's still not fair," she persisted, tracing the engraving upon his badge of office with her fingertip.

"I wonder…." He began, only to snap his mouth shut with a supercilious smile at the angry glare she gave him.

"Don't even say it, buster or you're sleeping in the stables for the next month!" she snapped.

"I wouldn't dream of saying that, darling," he chuckled, the sound quiet, purring and comforting. "I was merely going to say that I wonder how many of my fans might guess the truth."

Sarah sighed, letting Jareth pull her into his lap as he sat in a chair, propping his feet up on the railing of the balcony. "Some will, I suppose. Others may stumble upon it without realizing it, while thinking it is just a figment of their overwrought imaginations," she said, plucking the wrapped CD from his hands and examining it for what felt like the millionth time since he had told her about Bowie's 'death'.

He watched her silently, knowing she was wrestling with grief, as well as a fair bit of anger at what he had done. Still, he was King. It was his prerogative to bow out of his 'vacation' in whatever way fit him. And really, despite the tears and grief from his wife, 'family' and fans, it was worth it. Once upon a time he had killed off 'Ziggy' with spectacular results, why shouldn't Bowie go the same way? It would never be forgotten, nor replicated.

"Someday, you'll be able to listen to that album without anger or tears, darling," he finally said. "It was my parting gift, for the fans…and for those I love."

"Someday…." Sarah sighed, sitting the CD aside once more.

"Besides, Sarah… Bowie will be remembered forever. His legacy is as great as my power. He will live on in the hearts of his fans and his family," Jareth said quietly, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Forever… that isn't very long at all," Sarah sighed, resting herself against his chest and giving in to the reassuring feel of him.

"No, it isn't, my love…and we have all of forever…together," he replied, stroking her hair tenderly.

"I love you, Jareth… even when you've been an ass," she finally whispered, earning an amused chuckle from the Goblin King.

"I love you too, Precious. Always and forever," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Leaning back in the chair, he held his beloved wife quietly and watched the sun rise higher over the Labyrinth he ruled. It had been a spectacular adventure to live the life of David Bowie. He only hoped his children might continue to grow and shape their destinies, with the magic he had endowed them with. In the end, he had left the Above as the King of Musical Creativity, an inspiration to many. He suspected that within the developed world at least, there wasn't a person who wasn't familiar with who Bowie was, even if they weren't a fan – and that pleased him. Even if he wasn't universally loved, he was known.

A crystal flute of champagne appeared in his hand. Smiling quietly he lifted it, saluting the sun over the Labyrinth, "The King is dead…." He said, taking a drink.

Sarah's slender hand took the glass from his, raising it then looking at him, "Long live the King…" she said, taking a sip before kissing him, the cool champagne bubbles tingling against her tongue and lips.

'Long live the King…indeed,' he thought, losing himself in the arms of his wife.

In the end, it is good to be King.

~*~*~*~ Fin ~*~*~*~

Sighing I watched as the Goblin King read through my story, the first words I had put into the world since the sad news. I didn't want to write, but upon my King's order, I wrote… trying to exorcise my own grief, as well as that of my muse who felt frozen with anguish.

Finally the Goblin King looked up and nodded, "Thank you, Scribe. This will do…for now."

I had no words. There were no more left to give. I am a Scribe to the King. He orders…I obey. Sighing sadly, I turned toward the portal back to my world, a world that now seemed only grey and cold – not just because it was the middle of winter, but because 'He' was gone from it, taking with it the color of his soul and creativity. When I reached the edge of the portal, I was stopped by his voice, the voice of the person I was still mourning. "Oh and Scribe… I'd like some more silly smut from you in future. You've been far too serious for too long," he said, a quiet chuckle of amusement evident in his voice. He always was cheeky and loved innuendo as much as I did.

"Someday, Sire… I promise. But for now, let me write through my pain?" I asked, unable to look at that ethereally handsome face.

"Agreed, Scribe… someday, the pain will ease and you will find your muse again," he said quietly, his tone now somber. "You will continue to write your dreams, and I will continue to provide them."

Author's Note: Parts of this story are based on my own experiences with Bowie's death…the fact that my husband gently broke the news to me, and that my CD arrived in the mail the evening of the 11th. I still haven't opened it yet – I can't bear the thought of listening to the last album. Maybe someday I'll be able to open it, but today is not yet that day.

For two days I thought that I would never be able to write 'Labyrinth' fanfiction again, knowing that my King is dead. Then as I was driving to work this morning, listening to a few of the Bowie songs that don't make me cry, my daughter piped up from the backseat, "That's David Bowie. He's the Goblin King." With a hitch in my voice I sighed and nodded, "Yes, darling girl… he is… and always will be." That little exchange and the memory of a meme from 'Men in Black' ("Elvis isn't dead…he just went home."), gave rise to this story.

So my darlings, even as we hurt and mourn the loss of Bowie, always remember…the Goblin King isn't dead… he just went home.

LONG LIVE THE KING!