Disclaimer: This marks the end of playtime. I have to put the Labyrinth characters back in their boxes since they were never mine and never will be. I didn't make any profit from playing with them anyway.
AN: This is light-hearted over all. Just snippets bordering on ridiculous, sometimes fluffy, sometimes smutty, sometimes maudlin. It serves only as an epilogue, with no real plot. Sort of an overview of their lives together.
*sheepish look* This was a long time coming.
Part XXXVIII - Epilogue
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat (excerpt) ~ Edward Lear
"What is that doing on the bed?"
Sarah glanced over her shoulder. "It's an afghan. I know it's hideous, but it reminds me of home. My - old - home," she amended with a half smile.
"Yes, it is hideous, but I was referring to the," Jareth's lips curled, "thing atop it."
The thing in question hissed by way of response.
"Oh. Cute, isn't it? They're really not so bad when you're not helpless and vulnerable. And after a few baths," she added glibly. Sarah's eyes were still trained on the window or she would have seen the apoplectic look directed at her back.
"Only you would try and make a pet of" - the Cravling hissed again - "that."
Sarah turned and scooped the creature up into her arms, perching its bulk on her rounded belly.
"Mmhmm, but it's quite harmless now. They've learned they lesson." She scratched the creature under its chin. "Haven't you?" Her attention returned to Jareth. "Magic may have helped. I've decided to try and domesticate them. Seems to be working."
The look it shot him said it begged to differ. Jareth's lips thinned in distaste.
"Is this some sort of human thing? Did I do something to upset you and this is your revenge?" He twined his arms around her shoulders. A deftly placed elbow knocked the filthy creature from her arms. "Because perhaps I should just offer my surrender now. You are a formidable enemy, and one never to be taken lightly." The words rumbled against her neck, his lips teasing over her hyper-sensitive skin in a way that never failed to make her toes curl.
Sarah pulled back. "Is that a knock at my size?"
Jareth stilled immediately, only relaxing again when he spied the laughter in her eyes. His hands dipped to her curved stomach, stroking lightly.
"And risk your wrath? Hardly. As it is I'm not convinced that," he glanced at the bristling ball of fur on the floor, "creature isn't an attempt at regicide."
Sarah sniffed imperiously. "In that case it wouldn't just be an attempt."
"Consider me duly warned." He took her hand in his. "Let me draw you a bath."
"I had one this morning," Sarah protested, though she allowed herself be led. "Are you implying that I need another one?"
"Not at all," Jareth replied with a wide grin, kicking open the door with his boot. "I just want to watch you splash around naked. No bubbles this time."
"You're a complete degenerate."
"Without a doubt. I'm a slave to your every whim. You very much enjoy warm baths and I very much enjoy looking at you without any clothes on. Especially wet. It seems the fault entirely lies with you." His hands reached for the ties on her shirt. "And Sarah," he leaned in, brushing his nose along brow, "you do smell of feline."
"Just for that I am using extra bubbles!"
After some 'persuasion' the Cravling did not make a re-appearance in the bedroom. It was given free reign of the castle, much to the displeasure of the resident fowl, but never again the highest tower.
Small concessions, she reasoned, were easier to make than large ones. And far easier to live with.
As her pregnancy progressed, Sarah continued to visit the Orchard - almost as though it had become a holy rite. She was still unsure of her feelings towards it, and of her involvement in its resurrection. Some days it left an ashen taste in her mouth. Other days she felt like a saviour. The growing life within her did little to help her unease. The love she felt for her child was already overwhelmingly fierce – but she could not shake the sensation that she had become a cog in the wheel when she could have become its destruction.
She had sown the seed. Not a goblin king.
And powerful things always had such small beginnings.
The child stirred within her, as though echoing her thoughts. She smiled. She'd been nervous at first; unsure as any normal woman. She'd insisted on visiting a human doctor despite Jareth's vehement protests. And her family to tell them the news. They had been happy in their dazed way. Only Toby had shown uncanny interest – his eyes less veiled than those of her parents. It was the price she had paid.
As the weeks progressed, her visits to the doctor stopped altogether. There was a connection, heightened by magic no doubt, that no machine could ever reproduce. She could feel her son grow within her. She could feel his strength – the tiny spark of his life as he flourished daily. It lent her a strange sort of confidence.
Her eyes returned to the fruit. And reminded her of who he would one day become.
The babe kicked again just as arms curled around her from behind, hands splaying across her distended belly possessively. Without turning, Sarah knew the expression Jareth wore. She had come to recognize these moods; the need to clutch and hold. Ensnare. Jareth had come a long way in accepting Sarah's independence - her hard won powers. But it was still in his nature to trap and keep; to bind what was his. And that need was always there – heightened if anything - by her unique position. It was difficult not to test his limits from time to time. To see how long it took before he snapped. It was sometimes thrilling, she reflected, when he lost control. But not today. Today she allowed it.
"Villain," she whispered, affection numbing the sting.
Jareth's lips curled against her hair. She knew his eyes were on the tree, his hands resting on her abdomen, even as she guessed the direction of his thoughts.
They fell into an easy silence, remaining in the warm orchard until sunset. Sarah disengaged herself to join her friends for their weekly supper. Sir Didymus grew more ecstatic about her pregnancy each time; Ludo was likewise thrilled. She'd been given more rocks as presents for the baby than she knew what to do with. Only Hoggle had been reticent to openly show joy, still harbouring his doubt. He did, however, express a fervent desire the baby would take after his mother for a change, and not be like "Him". Sarah considered that a great concession.
Later that night, as she prepared for bed, Jareth wordlessly parted the fabric of her dressing gown, prying the fabric from her stiff fingers when she tried to stop him. She wore nothing beneath. His mood had not passed. Eyes on her face, he knelt at her feet, his hands coming to rest on her swollen stomach. Leaning forward he kissed her navel. His touch was soft and reverent and so gentle that it made Sarah's breath catch. Her hands came to rest over his.
"What a Goblin King you shall make," he breathed gruffly. "The most powerful yet, I've no doubt."
A smile. "And perhaps the noblest?"
"From you and I?" Jareth snorted softly. "I would not count on it."
"True," Sarah laughed lightly. "And yet you would think that with so many mortal mothers in the line, Goblin Kings would have a little more…er, humanity in them by now."
"No doubt they do. You're just supposing that all the 'bad' comes from us. I'm rather insulted really. Any faults our son will have will be thanks to your side of the family."
"Mmmhmm. Because you're all without fault. You and your father are such generous, patient and generally all 'round nice guys."
"I'm glad you agree." He smiled lazily. "Though that does make us sound awfully bland."
Sarah shook her head. "You are deliberately obtuse."
He stood, but kept his warm hands on her stomach. "While you are delightfully rounded. Not to mention delightfully naked." He immediately snatched a kiss, muffling her sound of outrage. "And all mine." His fingers trailed down further after a moment, eliciting a hiss of pleasure mingled with annoyance.
Sarah slapped his hands away, backing him into the bed at the same time. She took some satisfaction in his less than graceful sprawl.
"Oh, no," she admonished, as she followed him onto the bed, losing the dressing gown in the process. "Mine, mine, mine," she mocked. "We are doing this my way tonight."
At his bemused expression, she smiled coyly and slipped her cool hands into his pants. "Ask me to stop. Otherwise I won't." Her expression said it wouldn't matter anyway.
Jareth had no intention of asking anything so foolish. In fact, words failed him completely. He did manage a very guttural groan, his hands fisting into the sheets when she slapped them away from her body again.
She arched a brow even as she used her nails. "Really, Jareth. Think of the poor goblins."
He couldn't stop a small laugh at that. It turned into a hiss on the same breath as she freed him from his pants.
Before he could react, she slid herself down onto his length in one smooth movement, arching like a cat. She brought his hands to her heavy breasts, holding them there as she began to rock against him.
Tendrils of magic licked along her skin.
Her body was so hyper-sensitized that it was not long before she was arching her back in pleasure. Jareth thought she had never looked so beautiful – her skin moist and glowing, her expression lost to pure sensation.
When she caught her breath, she let him tug her down for a kiss. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you," she whispered against his lips, before deepening the kiss.
She skimmed her nails down his chest, teasing his nipples, and began moving again - slowly at first and then faster. Jareth's hands dropped to her hips in encouragement; his attention rapt on her bold face, on the rhythmic movement of her breasts. The feel of her against him.
It soon sent him over the edge and his body tensed in release. Sarah bent to his ear, catching his lobe in her sharp teeth. "Mine," she whispered.
On the next full moon, the baby came. Before the first hint of pain, Sarah knew it would be that night. At first, she'd wanted to go to a hospital – mortal habits die hard – but with the first throb came a measure of peace; the sense that all would be well. Two practiced Fey assisted.
It the end it was not an easy labour, magic aside. Jareth was deathly pale by the end of it; Sarah exhausted. But when the clock struck thirteen, magic sparked in the air and their son gave his first plaintive cry.
Sarah smoothed his face with a clean cloth, marvelling at his perfect features. Tears streamed down her face. Jareth's were glossy, though he would deny it later.
"He's so perfect. And he's mine," she breathed. She caught Jareth's hand. "Ours."
Jareth bent and pressed a kiss to her temple and then to his son's. "Yes." The baby's lids fluttered open and Jareth's breath caught. "He has your eyes."
He dismissed the attendants once Sarah was settled and comfortable, their son nursing at her breast. Jareth sank into the chair next to them, legs stretched, with vest unbuttoned and shirt sleeves still rolled up. Resting his head on one fist, he watched them in wonder. Marvelling at what fate had given him. At what he'd won and lost and won again.
When the baby was sated Jareth pulled him from Sarah's lax arms, smoothing the hair back from her face even as she drifted to sleep. He adjusted the covers around her and dimmed the lights.
Distantly he could the sounds of celebrations. The castle would no doubt be a disaster in the morning, he mused with a smile. They'd do something official later, but tonight he would not leave their side. Not even to witness the fire that would burn on Tara. Tonight was for his son. And for Sarah.
Hours later when Sarah awoke, it was to the sound of Jareth's voice. The fire had gone low in the grate, casting the room into shadow. Jareth sat in the chair beside it, his arms cradling their son. He was crooning a low lullaby. Without missing a note, he caught her eyes. Sarah's breath hitched at the look on his face. Love like she'd never seen before – a reverent, indefinable sort that was part possessive, but ran so much deeper and so much purer. It tugged at her heart, making her want to weep. She smiled instead and lay awhile watching them. She eventually fell asleep again listening to the logs crackle and Jareth sing to their child.
The named him Oran – Gaelic for song.
The celebrations lasted for days, perhaps weeks. Sarah had lost count. Goblin ale flowed freely. Fey lords and ladies– flawless in their splendor – from the surrounding lands paid their respects. Mrs. Gannon presented them with a beautifully woven blanket of Celtic design. She did her best to hide the smug look of 'I told her so' but Sarah spied it simmering harmlessly right below the surface.
The birth of their child was not only a joyous occasion, it was also a covenant. A renewel of the magic that flowed through everything in the Underground and inherently joined all life together. The cycle would continue unbroken. Sarah could feel it in the thrum of the crowd; in the beat of Oran's heart. In the cord that bound her to Jareth and he to her.
He was a child now, but one day he would be a King.
She clutched him to her tighter.
Sarah pushed open the throne door quietly. The Goblin King sat with their young green-eyed son perched on his knee. He was in the midst of telling a dramatic story. Gurgles and giggles suggested his success. She smiled at the picture they presented.
When she heard the part about the "spoiled, greedy girl that destroyed the city in order to overthrow the valiant and just Goblin King", she knew she'd have to disabuse her child of those falsehoods later, but for now she'd leave them their moment.
Goblins, by nature, were highly destructive creatures, but easily managed. Goblin princes were far worse. As Oran grew, so too did his mischievous nature. Silence was generally met with suspicion – justifiably so.
"What is in your pocket?"
Both Oran and Hoggle turned, twin looks of guilt on their face. The toddler recovered first.
"Oh?" Sarah's brow arched. "And why does 'nothing' appear to be squirming?"
Hoggle coughed. Oran endeavoured to affect a look of cherubic innocence.
Scowling, the boy produced a wriggling, rather rumpled looking fairy in his hand.
"Do I want to know why you have a fairy in your pocket?"
"It's not in my pocket, mummy. It's in my hand."
"Best fess up, lad," Hoggle murmured, his eyes trained on his shoes.
"'Cause I was going to put it in daddy's boots."
Sarah's lips twitched. Hoggle coughed again, although it sounded like a suppressed snort.
"Oh. I see," she said after a minute. "Carry on. Be careful. They bite."
Riven's words had not gone unheeded. Sarah began putting pen to paper. There had been no real intent at first; she'd just started writing – surprised as the words flew so readily from her hand. She'd started writing for Oran – harmless adventure stories to interest a child. Before she knew it, she was writing tales of goblins and Fey; of lords and hapless mortals… of owls and water horses. Of ravens. Tales of loss and regret and those of pure joy. Tales to tempt mortals… to renew magic.
Her eyes flew to the bookshelves – to the endless books - as realization struck. She would one day begin a tale for Oran… one that fate would finish.
Sarah put the pen down with an unsteady hand.
Jareth later found them both in the garden. Sarah was watching their son play from a stone bench. He smiled until he noticed the look on her face. He joined her silently.
Eyes still on the boy, she said, "He will be King some day."
Jareth hesitated, unsure whether or not it was a question. "Yes."
"And he will need a bride."
He stiffened. "Eventually… yes."
Sarah nodded slowly. "And I will wear a blue cloak and seal some girl's fate with fire and blood. Like your mother did for me."
He wanted to reply that she had ultimately sealed her own fate, but thought better of it. "You'll play your part," he answered carefully.
Sarah lapsed into silence, but her frame remained rigid. After several minutes, he touched her hand lightly. She started.
"So it just continues on and on-"
"We've discussed this, Sarah."
"Yes, about us." Sarah gestured at the laughing child. "Not about him."
"You had to know what would happen. What will happen."
"I did… but not really," she floundered angrily. "Now it's… real."
"He's a child. It will be a lifetime before his time will come."
Oran paused, catching his parents' interest on him. He grinned devilishly; silvery hair wild and green eyes shining. He looked like a mischievous sprite. Sarah pictured him grown – tall and imposing, dressed in goblin armour. Her heart sped.
Noticing her discomfort, Jareth waved the boy on. "What is really bothering you, Sarah? That he will eventually grow up or that he will follow the same path as his father? And all the kings before. That you will be part of it? Even now, will you mind that much?"
Sarah exploded. "What bothers me is that I won't mind! I would do anything to make him happy." Her hands shook. "And that makes me the worst sort of hypocrite. I'd let some child be taken from her family to make MINE happy."
Jareth was surprised by her outburst and he took a long moment to mull her words over. It was not something he'd ever really discussed with his own mother. She'd never openly questioned their traditions; had even counselled him when needed. She'd proved to be as devious as any Goblin King. But perhaps she had once felt the same.
"And what if she comes willingly?" Sarah looked confused at his question. "Would you be a hypocrite then?"
"I… no, I suppose not. It's hardly likely though."
"Perhaps not," he shot her a sidelong glance, "but you did."
Her lips twitched. "Willing is perhaps relative."
"Would you deny him his birth right?" He brushed his knuckles along her jaw. "His happiness?
She caught his hand. "I just hope he doesn't choose some twit with no backbone, who doesn't know how to hold her own. Not if he has your ego. Then again," she continued, missing Jareth's wry look of amusement, "he could end up with a stubborn fool who will make his life a living hell…" she trailed off when she realized what she was saying. "God! What is wrong with me?"
"Nothing at all. You're thinking like the mother of a Goblin King. I told you the mortal half was responsible for the so-called 'faults'. Stubborn fool was it?"
Sarah punched him in the arm.
"You are not helping your point, Precious."
Sarah's eyes returned to her son. Jareth's remained on her.
"Tell me you're happy."
"You know that I am," she answered automatically.
Something in his voice made her turn to face him. "I would change nothing." She cupped his cheek. "I beat you, remember? You're mine to do with as I'd like."
He grinned against her hand. "I don't quite remember it that way, but I'll play along if you promise not to be gentle."
He kissed her deeply, with the same fervour as their first. It would always be that way between them. They only pulled apart when they'd had a surfeit of Oran's cries of 'ew'.
Sarah knew she would one day play her part, but she was by no means helpless.
Both Sarah and Jareth felt the pull in the darkness that night. Sarah felt it with confusion; Jareth with disbelief. They answered nonetheless. A fire burned on Tara. A familiar robed figure by the Lia Fail, ready to pronounce a High King on Tara. The old words were spoken. He'd failed but had proven himself in the end. Perhaps more so than any other. The ancient stone's roar rent the air. Sarah had once found the archaic ritual brutal and damning. Now she watched in awe – fierce pride on her face. It was her victory too. Magic suffused the air, drowning out the cheers of the crowd – of the covenant renewed.
Jareth pulled her to him, looking stark and imposing in his armour. His skin burned against hers, fire reflected in his eyes.
"Thank you," he whispered against her ear.
Soon after she was accosted by Mrs. Whelan. She had the same smug glint in her eye as her doppelganger. Declan, more wizened, humbly presented her with a carving of a Raven, offering his heartfelt congratulations. His hands shook but the twinkle in his eyes had not dimmed.
When they withdrew, Etain approached.
"My role is finished it would appear." She canted her head. "The mantle is now yours."
"This was… surprising."
"Was it really?" Etain asked. "I said you'd turn the world upside down. Throw all their rules out the window. Well done."
Sarah caught Etain's hand. "I understand… better now, despite how I feel. I'm happy you could do this for him. That you and he were not robbed of this bond."
"As am I." Etain's smile turned coy. "But I was not speaking of this rite." She twisted Sarah's hand so that it lay against her own abdomen. "Upside. Down."
Sarah's eyes flickered in realization. "No…"
As far back as memory, Goblin Queens had only ever birthed a sole heir. It was assumed that magic played its part, and considering the relationship between the Labyrinth and its monarch, it was understood that such power could not be divided. Should not be divided.
But Sarah had already once divided it… only to reunite it. They should have known it would be forever changed.
Jareth reeled at the discovery. He spent hours pouring over books, even more consulting with all the wise minds he could find. The news rocked the kingdom just as greatly. Many whispered that two heirs would split the kingdom and sever the line, despite the renewed favour of the Lia Fail. Power should never be torn. The worst whispered that the queen must have had a lover. Jareth put those rumours to bed with characteristic viciousness. They were not felt it promised wondrous change. That great fortune would come. That the magic would, for the first time in ages, overflow.
For her part, Sarah fluctuated between worry and joy, buoyed by the connection to the spark within her. And Jareth's reassurance that all would be well – that he was thrilled. She wasn't sure he even believed his own words but she was glad he offered them.
As though the fates had a sense of humour, the child was a girl. To say it was a first was a gross understatement. Jareth could only stare wide-eyed and silent as he cradled his dark-haired daughter in his arms. Sarah watched him warily, her pains and fatigue forgot. "She's…"
"Beautiful. She's," Jareth swallowed awkwardly, "beautiful." He did not smile.
"She is, isn't she?" Sarah's eyes glossed. "But… what is she?"
Jareth's brow furrowed.
"She is our daughter, Jareth. A daughter. But what place does she have here? What does this mean?"
Jareth still hadn't smiled, nor did he acknowledge her question. Sarah could not help but compare it to the birth of their son; the surfeit of joy that had been in his face; in his gait. Its lack made her both sad and incredibly angry, and she was on the point of demanding he give her the baby and leave them both.
When a tiny hand closed reflexively around his finger Jareth lips twitched and then bowed. He turned so she could see and Sarah bit back her words.
"I do not know what it means," he said after another hestitation. "I only know that she is mine. She is a gift. A precious one."
Sarah smiled, wincing as she sat up. "She is ours. And you did not answer my question."
"Only because I do not know." He carefully eased beside Sarah on the bed. "I only know that she will fiercely carve her way. And all will tremble in her wake," he laughed. "Just like her mother."
"I will take that as the compliment you did not mean it to be." Her brow furrowed suspiciously. "You aren't… upset?"
"I will not take that as the insult you meant it to be. I am… overwhelmed. I should have expected it, I suppose. You were ever anything but normal. But how could I be upset?" He swallowed again. "I am in awe. She is…unique. One of a kind."
"And if some Fey lord comes to steal 'our one of a kind' away?"
Jareth's eyes darkened. His fingers curled, eliciting a sound of discomfort from his daughter. He immediately relaxed his hold apologetically, his expression lightning. "If anything, I imagine she will do the stealing." He looked at Sarah. "It's in her blood. On both sides."
The baby gripped his finger again, tiny wrinkled fingers clutching. "And if a man were to be so daring and foolish, I'd wish him good luck. He would most certainly need it."
Sarah smiled at his hypocrisy. Some things were not so different from above.
Oran was absolutely thrilled with his sister and grew to adore her. The pair would one day move the stars, their father sagely predicted.
If, somewhere along the way, a certain young man with a penchant for glam rock and stripes made his way to Ireland, and just happened to board with a lively little landlady in Dun Laoghaire, only to stumble upon a very ancient Hill – well that's a rabbit hole for another story.
The days would stretch on, filled with fierce love and moonlit dances, until the cycle began anew.
Goblin traditions must not be broken…
The Hill still waits, fires burning.
Fruit still ripens, juices curing.
For the queen has power,
Two babes in the tower.
And the High King smiles,
Having passed his trials.
Their tale is told, their story writ,
But that is not the end of it.
For it will all play out again,
Once the magic begins to wane.
Until that time, when the fruit starts turning,
The Hill will wait, with fires burning.
Oh, the Hill will wait, with fires burning.
"In any light, in any weather, any smallest piece of Ireland, hideous or ordinary or lovely, looks like only Ireland, and like nothing else at all. For the real beauty of Ireland is much more than skin-deep. And it can hide itself. And I truly think that Ireland at its best is still a secret for connoisseurs."
Kate O'Brien, My Ireland
Last chance to leave your thoughts… just saying :)
Update (April 2014): Hey! My story has been nominated for an award (my first)! If you enjoyed it, please visit: fanaticfanficsawards. blogspot. ca (remove spaces)and vote for it under the category 'Favourite Complete Fanfic'. Thanks for your support!
Notes: It might have been a stretch that Sarah would try and domesticate the Cravlings, but I couldn't get that scene out of my head. So deal with it. She had a momentary lapse in judgment. Hormones, whatever…
"And powerful things always had such small beginnings" – Is a play on the line from the movie Prometheus (David was such a great character).
Oran is a real name and does in fact mean song (in slang form) - but it's Scottish Gaelic, not Irish.
Lia Fail – Stone of Destiny
I know some of you wanted me to have the first child be a girl. I get it and I get why. But I decided that would be too predictable – in the sense that a lot of writers might employ that tactic. Twins would have been the same oh-so-convenient trope. I really wanted Sarah to have to deal with having a son and all it would entail. Plus, it's ALWAYS been THE way with the Goblin King line, so I figured the fates or magic (or what have you) would hardly bend so drastically. Instead I thought the curve ball (albeit still convenient and predictable) would be a daughter later on - a first on several levels. Hate it, love it, it's what you got.
I have mixed feelings towards this whole chapter/ epilogue. The true end of the story was last chapter.
The poem at the close is my own clumsy attempt at poetry/ traditional Irish ballad.
N.B. Also please note that there are two pieces of art inspired to some degree by this story! I posted the links in my profile and in the chapter to which they pertain. Check them out and give the artists some love.
Final AN (*sniff*):
Can't believe it's done. I feel rather bittersweet about it all. It's been a pleasure writing this story (over the span of 4 freakin' years!). During the course of it all I went from engaged, to married, to becoming a mother. So it's sort of grown with me too, so to speak. And now I am pregnant with another baby due in the summer – wee! (The last has contributed greatly to my tardiness in posting).
I can't say enough how much all the feedback has meant. A huge thank you to everyone, especially to those who have stuck by since the beginning; I am amazed you stayed around. A special thanks to those of you that left a review (or several). I'd buy you each a properly festooned celebratory cocktail if I could. Your words were fuel to the fire that is my often lazy, layabout of a muse. I can't believe it - this story has the second highest number of reviews in this Labryinth fandom and the HIGHEST for rated M. I'm seriously humbled. Thank you.
I truly hope this won't be my last fanfic – It's been too fun to stop. And I've discovered that I am a bit of a hooker for reviews (I like to think a classy one). It took me WAY longer than I expected to finish and sometimes my characters ran off and did unexpected things, making my original plot points go out the window. So if I do ever write again, I will have a better outline drafted before I start posting or have the whole damn thing written. And stick with it!
I may try my hand (like so many others) at an original fiction. I've thought that Riven and Etain deserve an original story. There are just not enough books out there that deal with Kelpies (Celtic water horses). We'll see. I'll keep my day job (otherwise I'd starve).
I urge you all to make a trek to Ireland if you get the chance. And go to Tara (and Newgrange). Just watch out for those hill fires…
Until next time :)
~ Viciously Witty ~