It was cold and wet, and the wind whipped at them in a frenzy. Jareth did his best to peer through the stormy haze, able to see only the hazy outlining of a small building of some sort not too far in the distance. Was that the reason Melisande had brought them to the heart of this tempest? Was Sarah there?

"We don't have much time," Melisande said, her hand solid and warm where it rested on his arm. She was untouched by the torrential downpour, a halo of gentle, white light surrounding her.

"It's Michael's doing, isn't it?" Jareth said, and he had to shout just to be heard. He could practically taste the magic in the air, and he was sure he did not imagine that hint of sulfur on the wind. Michael was surely behind the unnaturally foul weather. His power was vast and great, but even it could not touch the Lady Melisande, at least not physically. Jareth, lamentably, was not so fortunate as to be immune.

Her grim silence was answer enough. "Sarah is there?" Jareth pressed, pointing towards the building. He could just make out the glow of candlelight through a window, dim but seeming to grow, like a beacon in the night.

"Yes," Melisande said, stepping down the hillside and gently but firmly pulling Jareth along with her. "We must hurry, yet there is much still to be said. Listen now, and listen well."

Eager as he was to reach the building—a cottage, he could now see—Jareth nodded his agreement. One did not take Melisande and her aid lightly, particularly not under these circumstances. There was an ill-omen here, and he would be a fool to think otherwise.

"Michael forgets nothing," Melisande said, sorrow in her soft words. "Many believed his power had waned, and for a time, I dared to hope… But no. He has been waiting, gathering his strength. He has been watching, Jareth, watching you."

He should have known. He should have gods-damned known. Why had he not taken more care over all these centuries? Why had he not taken more care?

"He thinks to take revenge," he said, practically snarling. The implications of Michael's decision to kidnap Sarah were impossible to ignore. It had been a gamble and a risk, surely, since the Goblin King knew of very few in his realm who even knew of Sarah's existence…

Let alone of what she was to him, truly was to him.

Until tonight, even he had not fully grasped the depths of his…what, exactly? Regard? Interest?

Obsession?

"You punish yourself, as ever," Melisande said, and with anyone else, the ability to speak so softly and still cut through the terrible noise of the growing storm would have been eerie and unnatural. Not with Lady Melisande, of course, who was the very personification of gentleness.

She was so very unlike her brother.

"But there is no time for such things," she continued. "Even now, Michael pushes through barriers. My power has weakened, and he has moved far more swiftly than I supposed. When you reach your Sarah, you must take her to safety as soon as possible."

As if there was any doubt of that. Were it anyone other than Melisande, Jareth might have scoffed in their face for even implying that he would act otherwise. "I will do so, and with great haste," he assured her.

"She cannot return to her world, you understand."

Jareth's frown deepened. She was right, of course. Restoring Sarah to her own life—let alone restoring that life in the first place—would be no easy feat, but one that the Goblin King could manage. But if Michael could rip her from it so easily once, he would do so again.

"Sarah Williams will have sanctuary with me in the Goblin Kingdom. Michael's powers do not exceed the strength of the Labyrinth."

They were very near to the cottage now, but before they could step onto the path that would lead them to its door, Melisande stopped. "He will employ every trick, Jareth, every dark deed he can to finish this. I cannot help you again, much as I wish to."

"Dear Lady," Jareth said, awed as ever by her grace. "You have done much already. For that you will have my undying devotion. Never will any denizen of my kingdom forget the mercy and power of the Lady Melisande."

Her sigh was wistful. "So many have forgotten. I knew that in time memory would fade, and so too would my power. I planned for this day, of course, and look forward to my rest. If only Michael had turned his attention to such worthy pursuits."

Soaked through as he was, and anxious as he had ever been to reach the cottage, Jareth paused all the same to give Melisande a moment. It was only right. But a moment was all it was, and with a regal nod, Melisande resumed their walk.

"There you will find your Sarah," she said, and Jareth's breath nearly caught in his throat as he watched the door ahead swing slowly open. But there was no dark-haired beauty awaiting him there, and soon enough he breathed more easily again. "She sleeps by the power of my magic but will awaken at your touch. Fly from here with all due haste."

Jareth nodded. "I will," he said solemnly.

"Goodbye, Jareth."

This was to be their farewell, then. Turning to face her, Jareth gathered her hands in his, kissing them lightly but with the reverence due to a fading goddess. "Return when you are able, my Lady Melisande."

Her eyes bright in the darkness, pools of light lit by the power that still glowed within her, regardless of her weakened state. "I shall. Take care of your Sarah, Jareth, King of the Goblins. I am entrusting you with her care. No one, let alone a gentle mortal, deserves to be Michael's pawn. See that you guard her well."

She faded like starlight before his very eyes, a fitting departure for one such as she.

Turning on his heel, Jareth hesitated for the space of a heartbeat before striding inside the cottage.

Sarah became aware of something just out of reach. She was comfortable and safe, yet now something—or was it someone?—wanted to pull her away. Resisting, she let herself sink deeper into the deep, dark nothingness that welcomed her so willingly. She wanted to sleep forever. She wanted—

Wait.

Sleep. She was sleeping. Awareness permeated her thoughts, like sunlight through dark clouds. She was asleep, and she needed to wake up. She needed to…

"…wake up! Sarah!"

With a breathless cry, Sarah jolted awake, flinching against the hand that gripped her shoulder. "I'm up, I'm up," she said, the words awkward on her tongue. Her eyes, still weary from sleep, were unfocused. Had she overslept? God, had her roommates finally convinced her to spend an ill-advised night out? Samantha could out drink them all, but Sarah couldn't resist a challenge, and if pushed enough-

"Sarah."

That voice.

Like ice-cold water, it snapped her back to wakeful reality with savage swiftness. Eyes wide and seeing, she turned her head so quickly it nearly gave her whiplash. She was awake, and this was real, and that, that was the Goblin King looking down at her, concern in his eyes.

Concern? For her?

"Goblin King."

It had been six years since a hormonal, teenaged Sarah had set eyes on the Goblin King, at least in the flesh. For years he'd skirted the edges of her dreams, hovered on the fringes of awareness even when her mind was elsewhere. How could anyone forget the mystical king after tangling with him, even if they emerged the victor?

Tired as she was, bewildered as she felt, Sarah saw him with new eyes. He was regal and haughty, just as she remembered. The angles of his face were viciously sharp, and yet that strange light in his otherworldly eyes softened him somehow. He was soaked to the bone, literally dripping what she assumed was cold rain water onto her as he towered over her, yet even in such a bedraggled state he was more striking than anyone had the right to be.

"Get up, quickly," he said, and for the first time since she'd awoken he took his hand off of her shoulder. It still ached, the flesh tender where the monstrous bird had gripped her in its talons.

Sarah didn't know what to feel. Relief? If the Goblin King was here to rescue her, then Sarah could certainly find it in her to be grateful. Or should she feel anger, distrust, even disdain? It wasn't as if they were friends. They couldn't even rightfully call one another acquaintances. He'd been the villain, the cruel king who had toyed with her, punished her, withheld her infant brother and, lest anyone forget, dumped her in a grotesque cesspit, among other indignities.

Where did that leave them now?

More to the point, what in the hell was going on?

"Why are you here? And where are we?"

The Goblin King stood back, gesturing impatiently with a gloved hand. His message was clear, but Sarah wasn't feeling particularly anxious to jump at his command. After what she'd been through, she wasn't about to leap into dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, at least not without a better idea of who, what, why, and where.

"We haven't time for your inane questions, Sarah. Come along, and I'll tell you what you need to know once we're safely away."

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sarah fought for calm as she pushed herself up to a seated position, shoving the warm quilt away from her. "I'd hardly call them inane," she argued. "I've been yanked away from my class, from my world, chased by a giant, angry bird, tossed around by trees"—never mind that they were helpful trees in the end; she needed to make a point—"and now you want me to just follow wherever you lead? Give a girl some credit, Goblin King."

"It's Jareth," he said, his eyes icy. "Save yourself the syllables."

"You mean syllable, singular." The moment those words left her lips, Sarah knew she'd made a mistake. If the Goblin King—Jareth—was a little less regal, she was sure he would have snarled just then. Jaw clenched, eyes even icier than before, if possible, he reached for her. Self-preservation and instinct led Sarah to leap back out of his grasp, but there was nowhere to go with the wall behind her shoulder.

"Get up, now," he ordered, reaching for her again. "This isn't a game, and your insolence could very well get the both of us killed this time."

Sarah dodged his hand again, moving faster than she would have thought possible just a few moments ago. Scrambling around him on hands and knees, she half rolled off the edge of the little bed, stumbling to her feet with about as much grace as a cornered foal. Her body was sore, but there was no time to worry about that. She needed to find her equilibrium and fast if she had any hope of finding equal footing with an angry Goblin King.

He whirled on her, and just when Sarah was sure he was about to stalk after her, he paused. With a ragged breath, he seemed to visibly deflate before her eyes. If Sarah didn't know better, she'd say the Goblin King was ashamed of himself.

Good. He should be.

"Sarah. You're bleeding."

Following his arrested gaze, Sarah looked down at her shoulders. Sure enough, fresh blood stained her shirt. "There was a bird," she said, determinedly looking away from the evidence of her own wounds. It wouldn't do to linger on it, or the pain would seem even worse. This wasn't the time to act like a wimp. "He stalked me through the woods, and then he picked me up by the shoulders. I barely managed to get away from it."

Jareth was tall and slender, but he seemed to fill the room. He had an undeniable presence, Sarah noted distantly, the kind that you couldn't fake no matter how you dressed or what airs you put on. He took a small step closer, but this time, Sarah held her ground.

"I…apologize," he said, so quietly that Sarah almost didn't hear him.

"You what?" Goblin Kings, in her experience, didn't apologize for anything.

Not that you've had that much experience, her inner voice of practicality helpfully pointed out.

Taking a long, steadying breath, Jareth spoke again. "I acted hastily. It was not my intention to frighten you, and certainly not my intention to harm you in any way. But you must understand: time is of the essence. That bird"—he all but spat the word—"is an enemy of mine, and a great danger still. If you hadn't noticed, we're not out of the woods yet." He gestured broadly to the mullioned window, where, Sarah noticed for the first time, a howling rain was pelting against the glass.

Out of the woods. Had the Goblin King just made a pun? An honest to god, well-meaning and not cruelly meant pun?

Bemused, Sarah nodded once, then twice. "Right. So what are we supposed to do now?"

Jareth tilted his head ever so slightly, and although his usually feathery hair had been flattened by the rain, he still looked uncannily owl-like. "With your permission, I will transport us both to the safety of my castle. There we will have time to discuss the matter as long as you wish, but it is imperative that we leave directly."

He spoke with great care now, his words measured and almost polite despite the circumstances. Sarah was convinced that the Goblin King really was sorry for his high-handed behavior before, and it left her absolutely reeling.

"All right," she said, her mind made up. She would trust him, and not only because she had no other choice, but because she dared to believe she actually could.

Jareth nodded as well, and with the same care one might use when approaching a wounded animal, he took another step closer.

"Jareth," she said as he raised his hands with almost painful slowness. "I'm not going to break. And for the record, you didn't harm me." He'd been an intimidating and vaguely predatory pain in the ass for a moment, but it wasn't his fault she was sporting tears in her shoulders just now.

For a moment, Sarah could have sworn she saw tenderness in his eyes. Whatever the look was, it was gone as swiftly as it had come. "Hold onto me," he directed her quietly, and then his arms were around her, careful to avoid her shoulders, and it felt uncomfortably natural to let her own arms wrap tightly around his waist.

The room was disappearing from view, and while the sensation was strange, it wasn't at all unpleasant. It was like floating, almost, and soon enough a new scene was materializing around them. Just when Sarah thought she could make out the gray of roughhewn stone walls, an enraged shriek pierced the air.

The air around them rippled horribly, and something buffeted them. Sarah screamed as the world around them fell away, until there was nothing left but darkness.

Author's Note: I'm the worst. They don't make Hallmark cards for this, so I'll keep it simple: Sorry for disappearing for like, you know, nine years. I'm still here, believe it or not, and this story is still officially a WIP. Now, some of you are probably thinking, "A cliffhanger?! Really? Will I have to wait another nine years to learn what happens next?" And you have every right to feel that way. But if it's any consolation, the next chapter is already written and just needs some editing, so it won't be a cliffhanger for too long.

Thanks for not giving up on me, friends. It's good to be back.