AN: Inspired by a DeviantArt piece, "Forgiveness" by lily-fox, a really amazing artist.

He dreams of hazel eyes, the color of the winter sea, green cold nothingness that spills over his head, foaming up around his nose, his mouth, his eyes. He can feel the swooping, helpless sensation of a person being thrown about in the crush of a wave, and his mouth opens, gasping for air. Lungs fill with icy water; and he reaches out, spindly fingers outstretched to grasp at the whispering tendrils of deep, brown hair.

Then the dream is gone, too real, too heart-wrenching to be a non-truth. Jareth knows those eyes, recognizes the trailing brown hair as it slides out of his reach. Some days, when he sits up, sheets tangled around him, he catches himself whispering a name:

"---Sarah!"

But it's gone before he is truly awake, slipping away from him as the tide of dreaming wanes.

The winter has set in, snow hitched up around pine trees, obscuring the bases of their trunks from view, like children with blankets pulled up over their chins.

Jareth's boots make no noise in the stillness of the December air as he inhales the scent of icy wind, the freshness of pine needles. During the colder months, when everyone is forced into hiding and the goblins of the Labyrinth grow more restless than usual, the King takes up long walks through the snow.

The whiteness of new snowfall is clean, and Jareth's eyes are only half-open as everything slides away, washed blank.

There is another set of footprints beside his, curving out of the clearing into a huddle of small firs, and his foot snaps on a twig upon the immaculate ground. A young woman whirls around.

Hazel eyes, brown hair, those pouting lips.

It's not fair.

His Highness sinks to his knees in the freezing snow, cloak swirling about him, surrendering. He has no power over her, and never will.

Never, ever.

Sarah looks relatively the same, the same as his dreams, only her face is slightly narrowed by adulthood and her soft smile hides the pains of loss. Her eyes are glistening.

"Jareth."

His name is like music when she speaks it aloud, and oh, he hadn't known how much her loss had hurt until she stood before him now. The pain of it has taken his voice from him, and all he can do is blink back.

"What are you doing here...?"

She draws closer, til they're sharing the steam from their breath, and his eyes slide shut; he can feel her nearness, the heat from her coat, the thudding of her heartbeat in perfect time with his. They're all alone in the snow in the woods, Sarah above him, rosy cheeked. He cannot think of anything else to say, except:

"I've been dreaming of you."

It's a whisper, and he lets his head fall into her stomach, wrapping both his arms about her waist. She does not stiffen under his touch, and he feels her inhale deeply through the itchy wool of her coat, feels it rise and fall, scratching his cheek. Sarah kneels, wrapping both her arms about his neck, touching her forehead to his, and she breathes back:

"I know."