NOTE: I do not claim to keep a specific Labyrinth canon. Thus, as most of my stories will be one-shots (I'm sure), do try and read them separately.

As always, thanks for reading!

They have been fighting over his—hers—theirs—the kingdom for what seems like forever. And this time, forever seems quite long. In fact, it seems like a fucking eternity.

Of course he had been devastated when Sarah had refused his offer—a proposal in more ways than one —but he had a kingdom to run, so he had attempted to ignore his own misery. But the Labyrinth had no such plans. It was like a needlessly strict schoolteacher who stuck to the rules even when they didn't understand them.

The Labyrinth wanted what it wanted, and it would do anything to get it. It wanted Sarah, its champion, as its monarch, or it wanted her dead. There was no in between. And Jareth had fought with the entity, insisting that she be left alone, because in truth, he was still far too wounded to ever see that cruel brunette again.

Then I suggest you kill her, the Labyrinth had sneered. Because those are really the only two options.

It wasn't like the idea was repugnant. He would have loved for Sarah to be queen, because he loved Sarah. But she didn't want to be the queen. She had turned him down. He had nightmares about it every single time he dared to sleep.

"Perhaps she didn't understand," his advisers had claimed. "She is so young, even for a human."

Yes, perhaps. And he could have been a bit clearer—he'd demanded the right to rule her, and then claimed that he would be her slave. But that was the only way he knew how to say what he felt. And what part of but the King had fallen in love with the girl, and given her certain powers was so complicated?

The King had fallen in love with the girl, and he would love her for all of this awful, miserable eternity. But Sarah did not want to be monarch, and he couldn't give her that desire.

Things worsened as soon as Sarah became of age in the Aboveground. Jareth cast every protective spell on her that he knew, attempting to strengthen the blockade between the two halves of the world, but it didn't work. The Labyrinth was part of Jareth, so it managed to find ways around his spells. As often as Sarah was pulled into the Underground, she was replaced back above by Jareth. He barely had time to explain what was happening to her, afraid that the Labyrinth would trap her for good. And every time he saw her, he had to double the effort it took to keep his heart beating.

But one time, she had refused his spells, holding up her hand as he prepared to return her home. "Why is this happening?"

"Because…" There was no simple way to say it, not even close. "Because the Labyrinth wants you as its queen, or its wants you dead."

First surprise, then a sneer. "I guess it'll have to kill me, then."

"Be the queen, Sarah," he said tiredly. He could not differentiate her as my queen.

"I will not!" she screamed, clenching her fist—and the window nearest to her shattered into a million pieces.

Mismatched eyes met moss green ones. Before she could say, or gods forbid, do, anything else, he sent her away.

She knew. She had to know.

When Jareth woke up, his pendant was missing. It wasn't the source of his magic, but it served to center it. Without the pendant, Jareth's powers would be considerably weaker. He tried to conjure a crystal, experimentally. It was lopsided, oblong, and cracked a moment after it appeared.

To someone with a burgeoning ability, it would bring everything together. Even if they were a novice.

He supposed Sarah did understand that line after all.

Because she had certain powers.

Once it became clear that the king lacked so much of what had made him strong, his reign began to be questioned, first quietly, then with more force. Somehow, he barely minds. He needs her back. Beyond selfishness—which he has- But Sarah becomes something much more intense, the female version of everything he used to be. She snatches in and out of his kingdom and does as she pleases. She is even able to take an avian form: a little sparrow with gorgeous feathers, barely noticeable.

A small gathering begins to crusade with her, supporting her anti-cause: the freedom from reigning. It's not that they all like Sarah, per se. Her army is a strange hodgepodge of those who don't want her to be queen, those who are fascinated by her, and her friends: Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus.

Eventually they come to visit him, to corner him in his own throne room, although it's not a social call. It's a queen at war. She points her finger at him, his—her—their pendant glimmering in the light. It might as well be a dagger.

"Jareth," she threatens, "reliniquish me of my responsibility. I hold no claim to this kingdom, nor do I want any. In return, I will give you back your pendant."

"I can't do that," he tells her—tries to tell her. "It isn't possible. I do not control the Labyrinth, Sarah. It controls itself."

She fumes. It's clear on her face, and from the way the stone floor cracks into two. He jumps over the chasm under the guise of not falling into it. She doesn't seem concerned.

"You can keep my pendant. But you must accept what the Labyrinth wants for you."

"No. Never." Her eyes shine with her arrogance, her defiance, but Jareth can still see how very tired she looks.

He may not be as powerful, but he is still a king. With all of the grace in his being, he snatches the pendant from around her neck and throws her over his shoulder.

"Jareth!" she shouts, enraged.

He understands. He's carting her off in such a human manner, despite being aggressively magical, and that makes it so, so much worse.

"Let go of me!" she screams, punching his back with fury. There are literal sparks coming from them both every time her fists impact his shoulder, bleeding magic instead of blood. Jareth can feel himself turning black and blue, the muscles close to ripping, but after a war that's been more about avoidance than confrontation, he wants to feel it. He deserves to feel it.

I said you were cruel, but I promised you your dreams. And now you're fighting a war against me that neither of us could ever have seen coming.

I'm sorry.

Crystals, windows, mirrors, lamps and lights break as her magic explodes with her fury and indignation. By the time they're out of the hallway, the entirety of the castle looks to be covered in snow.

Jareth has enough strength to summon the door to his room to be the next one he opens, and it is. He dumps her—deposits her—both, really—on the floor, and kneels over her. He dangles the pendant in front of her face. Her fingernails rip out sheets of his skin. "Take it," he tells her.

Her eyebrows crease and her eyes slant in suspicion.

"Why do you think the necklace worked for you, Sarah? The magic is yours if you want it. Take it."

She fumes beneath him, understanding that there has to be a catch, and he continues, "But you take my hand if you take the magic. You take your crown."

Her eyes remain pointed, but for a very different reason: she begins to cry. His heart breaks, but he pretends it isn't true. He does move off of her, though.

"I don't want it," she sobs. "I never wanted any part of this."

"Oh, really." It's not a question. "Is that why you dressed in romantic clothing and put on plays in the park? Is that why the book appealed to you?"

"The book ends," she hisses through gritted teeth. "She takes the baby and she goes home and it's over."

"Well, you took the baby and went home, that's true." He moves even closer. "But this is far from over, precious."

Just agree to be my queen. Please help me save your life.

But it's like she can hear this—and maybe she can, after all. Her magic is part of his, and it's all about wishes, spoken or not. "I'll take the other option."

"What other option?"

"You said that the Labyrinth wants me dead."

His soul seems to wrap around his heart and suffocate it. "Yes, I did."

Fumbling—she isn't quite used to it yet—she seems to concentrate on something for a moment. And she tells him, "Then that's what I'll do."

He can't stop her this time—she must have gathered enough power from using the pendant—and she simply slips away in a shower of glass and glitter. "Sarah!" he screams, but he can only follow, wondering where she would have appeared. He aims for the very center of the Labyrinth, its heart, but lands somewhere outside of it, surrounded by walls. He runs along those walls and trips over rocks and bushes and leaps to avoid traps and he will tear this whole damn Labyrinth down if it so much as scratches her. He swears it. He knows it to be true.

When he finally breaks out of his prison, he finds Sarah in hers: at the core of the Labyrinth. Ugly black vines are twisting upward out of the ground, approaching her, as she stands there. Her body trembles, but her lips don't.

She's ready to die.

No.

No, no, no. Anything but her death because it's selfish, it's stupid, it's ridiculous but he loves her so much that if she dies, he dies. Sarah Williams is the center of his universe, the sun around which he revolves. It's actually quite simple and yet the Labyrinth doesn't seem to understand because it wants her to die.

The kingdom, the power, the glory. He doesn't want any of it; doesn't need any of it. What he needs is for Sarah Williams to live.

As a reigning fae, there's something like a well of magic in his chest, resting underneath the pendant. He's never used it all before, couldn't even have thought of anything that might. But Jareth gathers every last atom of everything that he has, everything that he is, and pushes his hands together. When he pulls them apart there's a thick, massive crystal, simultaneously every color at once, and he throws it into the Labyrinth's mouth.

The beast seems to chew it for a moment, almost thoughtfully, before having the good sense to explode in a splash of blinding light that smells, unsurprisingly, like rotten peaches. He realizes suddenly he's horizontal, and wonders when that happened. He blinks up at the blinding sky, his vision reporting an empty periphery, and tries to get all of his senses back. He calls for the Labyrinth in his head. There's no answer. He thinks of Sarah, and her sweet face appears.

The Labyrinth is gone.

The Labyrinth is dead, and Sarah is alive.

He tries to move, but he really can't. He's a 1200-year-old fae regent in the Underground who has suddenly been stripped of all of his magic, and he feels every single one of his years. He stumbles a little, legs not responding to his commands: Move. MOVE. GET TO SARAH.

Sarah kindly comes to him, helps him to his feet as she links her hand with his. The small amount of magic she has flows into him, grounding him, making him feel more like himself. It's enough for him to realize that he's holding her.

She looks at him—they're almost the same height now—and he wonders what she sees. What she saw in crystals.

Her eyes wrinkle at their corners again, and he has the good sense to pull their bodies together before she begins to cry. And oh, she cries. These aren't the tears she could just barely contain earlier. Sarah is sobbing like she might never stop. Weakly, with gravity pulling his arm down at the elbow at the slightest movement, he snaps his fingers and takes them back to his room.

Jareth's bed is so much cozier than one might think it is. It's piled with furs and pillows and sheets and there's one valley in the middle for a sole, lonely king. They're both caked in black and brown—some dirt, some bruises—but neither of them has the energy to sort it out. They pull each other down into the crevice and discover there's room for two if they stay very close. Her fingers absentmindedly stroke his hair, trace the bones of his face. His hand is unable to release her hip. Slowly, they relax into each other.

"Must I be the queen?" she finally asks him, half-somnolent.

How can he explain this to her? Whatever he might want to say, he needs to be honest. "You don't have to say yes," he tells her gently, even though the words are literally melting his tongue as he does so. "The Labyrinth is gone. It won't pull you back here."

"And you?"

Honesty. Right. It works both ways. "I would love nothing more than to have you reign by my side."

She pressed her hand to his and makes one last wish.

"I wish that you would understand how I feel."

Three days later, in the presence of his advisers and his—her—their kingdom, Sarah takes on her roles. She becomes his queen, officially, although she always was. And his wife, but he daren't gloat about that. He knows better than to tempt chance.

The kingdom, the power, the glory could be his—hers—theirs.