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Chapter Text

The winter of 1941 was not any more or less harsh than any other winter in Lithuania, from purely a weather standpoint. The snow was no deeper than the tops of Hannibal's knees, and the wind was no more icy that what had rattled the windows of his cozy room while the fireplace roared and crackled. The difference was only that Hannibal and his little sister were not in the cozy rooms of their family castle, but out in the snow; dressed for indoors and with no food or coats or proper shoes. They were also, horribly, lost.

Mischa's hand in his was clutching hard and cold, but the rest of her was falling too often, her petticoats and woolens soaked through and her long golden hair hanging in icicles. Hannibal brushed the ice from her shoulders but knew that without shelter, there would be no escaping it. They would be buried by morning, and long past the need for food and a fire. Mischa yawned. "M' so tired, 'Annibal," she whined, her voice brittle with fatigue. Hannibal swallowed his own exhaustion for a moment or two longer and picked her awkwardly up in his arms again, pulling her against one narrow hip as he lurched forward with her added weight. He would not be able to carry her far. He was strong for his age, but the winter of hiding from the soldiers out in the isolated cabin in the woods had taken its toll on everyone. Watching their parents slowly die had shocked Hannibal in a way that he had not managed to face. And now they were lost, and dying as well, and it suited Hannibal well enough that he allowed himself to slump at last to the ground, holding Mischa out of the snow as much as he could, and settling their small bodies into the drift in hopes of shelter from the biting wind.

Mischa smiled at him, then, as if he had settled them both down in a chair to read a story before bedtime. "'Annibal?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and he only understood her by watching her lips. "Are we going to see the king?"

Ah, that story, then. One of her very favorites, the story of the Goblin King who ruled over the Labyrinth and who carried away children who had no one to love them. He had read it to her often enough, as reward for practicing her letters, that they both knew it by heart. He wiped her hair from her eyes, ice leaving crystal traces on the flush of her cheeks. Her skin looked gray in the moonlight that scattered illumination through the thin branches of the pines. He stroked her cheek. "Yes," he answered, because he didn't have anything else to say. There would be nothing else. She put a cold hand against his throat. He barely felt it.

"I wish the goblins would come and take us away," she recited, eyes bright and unfocused. Her mouth gaped but no sound came out, and her eyes began to fall closed.

"Right now," he finished for her. She murmured something against him, and then was still. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, but his heart was too cold to mourn. He rocked her until he was too drowsy to move, and then he moved no more.

***

The first thing that intruded upon his senses was the smell: a stale, moldy smell that reminded him of the mossy, water-damp corners of the cellars in his home. What was he doing in the cellar? The last thing he remembered was that he and Mischa had been running through the dark snowy woods, escaping from the soldiers that had killed their parents. But that still couldn't be right, because for the better part of a year they had been living in the cabin in the woods, and that had a root cellar but no stonework, which he definitely felt pressed cold and smooth against his cheek. He tried to lift his head and heard a shivery, whispered skittering-- likely rats, if he had been at home in the castle of his family. His hands were empty, fingers spread against the a well-cut flagstone. "Mischa?" he grated out, his throat tight and dry.

A susurrus of motion surrounded him. "Is it awake?" someone whispered, too loudly. A voice on the other side of him made an even louder shushing sound. Hannibal winced, and tried again to lift his head. His back ached as if something heavy had fallen on him. He managed to get up on one elbow and opened his eyes to a dimly lit space. Blurred impressions of thin, high windows wavered in front of him. A loud skittering filled the space, like a hundred rats, and he shuddered up on his knees, which caused a collective gasp to vibrate the air around him. Hannibal peered at the shadows, his own eyes bleary and aching. Small shapes ringed him, far enough away that he could not reach them. They did not look like rats.

"Where is Mischa?" he managed. A smallish, furry creature with a fat beak came into focus. It was covered in feathers, or fur, or perhaps both, and its eyes were enormous, taking up a good half of its face. It lurched forward, and then turned back angrily at whomever, or whatever, had shoved it. The shadows moved further back, and the smallish beaked creature sighed and took another step towards Hannibal. Not close enough to reach, he noticed. It made an awkward bow, but was truly so close to the floor that it was fairly ineffective.

"What is a 'mischa', Lord?" it squeaked, and then blinked at him. Twice. Deliberately.

Hannibal pushed himself to kneeling, towering over the diminutive bird thing. "Mischa," he said more strongly. "My sister. She was with me in the snow." The small creature made a small surprised face, eyebrows lifted and beak open. It looked over its shoulder for assistance, but the shadows shuffled even further way, until Hannibal and the creature were ringed about together.

"Ah," it finally answered. "Yes." It made a nervous gesture with an unidentifiable appendage. "The girl who called."

Hannibal tried to rise, but his legs would not hold his weight. The creature stepped back but was shoved unceremoniously forward again. It shivered, the first genuine reaction Hannibal had seen from it. "Is she here?" he asked, cold and firm.

The creature looked at him for a long time, and then nodded. "Yes, Lord."

Hannibal scowled, and forced himself to his feet. The room spun, and a clamor of feet and claws and sharp breaths and whispers threaded through his ears. He stood still for a moment until he was certain he would not fall. "Take me to her."

"Yes, Lord," the creature murmured, and turned to lead Hannibal slowly out of the room. The circle of shadows parted, and Hannibal walked through unmolested, his eyes on the small furry body waddling in front of him, and the rustle of the entire population of the room behind. Together they walked down a wide hallway, under an arch, and into a long corridor set with white stone columns carved into strange configurations of fantastic creatures. Windows were set at regular intervals, unglazed, but at a glance Hannibal could see nothing out of them but a curious orange sky. The procession wound through many similar corridors, past unopened doors and wide open spaces, until the small creature stopped at a wide white door. It pointed at the handle, an old fashioned iron pull with a catch underneath. "We put her in here, Lord."

Numbly, Hannibal pulled the handle back. The heavy door made a horrid creaking sound, as if it had not been opened in a hundred years, and Hannibal was assaulted with bitterly cold air. His skin remembered the pain of it immediately, and his lungs stuttered on a breath. The room was blinding white, with columns of ice holding up a ceiling made from pure white stone. He stepped further in, past his small guide, shivered uncontrollably. On a clear ice plinth in the middle of the room was his sister. She was perfectly composed, in a clean white dress and woolens. Her hair was clean and free of ice, in a smooth and heavy braid. Her skin was nearly translucent, and her lips were bloodless, as white as her cheeks. He stared at her, his heart as frozen as hers. Behind him, the collected creatures made no sound at all.

After what might have been a lifetime, when his body was numb and frozen through, he turned. "This door is to be closed. No one may enter but me." There was silence. He glared at the little one in front. "Do I make myself clear?"

It bowed so hurriedly its beak cracked against the floor. It lurched upward and spun slowly around, dazed. A much larger creature grabbed it and held it close. It spoke in a rumble. "Yes, Lord." Hannibal nodded. He left the room and closed the door, not succumbing to his desire to see his sister once more. She was dead. So was he.

Except, the little bird thing, still unsteady on its little bird feet, attempted another bow. It straightened, checked itself for injury, and then audibly swallowed. "What now, Lord?"

Hannibal stared at it. His mind was nearly blank, only beginning to filter questions as to exactly where he was now. He swallowed to wet his throat. "Why do you call me that?"

A murmur rippled through the congregated creatures. He could see now that they were all bizarre amalgamations of all different shapes and sizes and colors. Dark skin and light, feathers and skin and fur and pelts, hooves and claws and flippers. Sad eyes everywhere turned to him. It was again, his tiny guide, who spoke. "King Jareth is…" Its large eyes filled with tears, clearly distressed, but it struggled on. "He…" The assembly began to sniffle in earnest. The bird creature cleared its throat and tried again. “We have been alone without a king for…”  It paused.  The large creature, the one who had held it, tipped its head in contemplation.

“Long,” it finally managed.  

“Long.”  The echo was taken up by all sorts of voices, until it resonated throughout the corridor.  “So long,” was added at some point, and “Too long” was then forwarded hesitantly and agreed upon.  The small creature nodded.

“Too long.”  It managed an awkward, beaky smile.  “But now you are here, and we have a king again.”  

A few watery-eyed nods began the motion that then increased to a wave encompassing them all.  As one, they kneeled to the flagstones.  “Bow to the King of the Goblins,” intoned the little bird creature in a shaky voice.    “Forever reign King…em...” There was an awkward petering off of sound.  The small thing looked up at Hannibal, large eyes round.  “What is your name?”

Hannibal swallowed.  He shook his head, unable to comprehend what might be happening to him.  He distantly realized that this might be shock.  He had seen it enough to know.  Any attempt to gather himself would fall woefully short.  He found his voice.  “I don’t want to be your king.”

The small bird goblin looked at him with something that might have been empathy, sorrow recognizing itself.  “Where else will you go, Lord?”

Hannibal stared at him.  The goblin stared back, unflinching.  Where else would he go, indeed?  “My name is Hannibal.”

Chapter Text

Will opened his eyes to unfamiliar white track lighting over his head. He flinched at the brightness of it, and tried to lift his hand to cover his eyes, but his hand wouldn’t obey him. He squinted down at his body, wrapped in white, and realized the ivory blurs on either side of his body were handrails. It looked like a hospital bed. His lower arms and hands were tucked into the sheet that was wrapped around his body. When he wriggled his arm, oddly weak and sore, out from under the binding sheet, he saw that at the end of his finger was an oxygen sensor, as well as a needle taped into the back of his hand, and a tube leading away to a stand on which a clear bag hung.

"You are awake." A strangely resonant, cultured voice invaded the quiet of the room. Will started violently in his prone position, wincing and holding his hand out as if to prevent the voice from coming closer. He tried to speak, but his voice was caught in his throat. A rustle of fine fabric and a blurry shape moved into his line of sight. Closer, until Will recognised it as a man. He didn't recognise him, but like his voice, he was elusively familiar, as if Will had perhaps seen photographs, or had met a relative. The man didn't smile at him, but did reach and press a cup with a straw into his hands. "Drink."

Will sucked at the straw reflexively, and a flood of cool water filled his mouth. He gulped it down and sucked up another mouthful before the strange man pulled the straw gently away. "Enough for now, Will Graham."

Will shook his head. His name in the man's mouth elicited feelings of confusion. "Do I know you?"

The man's mouth quirked nearly imperceptibly upwards. Now that he was closer, in the soft flood of yellow light from the ceiling, Will knew positively that he had never met this man before, because this man, he would remember. He was handsome, in the way of Nordic men, with a heavy brow and high sharp cheekbones and a generous mouth. His brass and silver hair was caught into a messy braid that fell over his shoulder and hung halfway down his chest, over which was fitted a beautifully tailored three piece wool brown and blue suit in a disorienting pattern, like a windowpane check but… off somehow. Perhaps it was just Will's hazy vision, or the low light, but Will could have sworn that the pattern was moving. Instead of answering Will's question, the man responded with one of his own, a pleased smile drifting around his mouth. "How much do you remember?"

Wil shook his head, and that curious smile vanished. He gathered his voice. "Remember of what? My dad and my baby sister and Winston… they're dropping me off at university." Will swallowed with difficulty, and the man gave him another sip of water, holding the cup steadily for him. "There was an accident?"

The man nodded at him, eyes glinting with a cold light. "I am afraid so." He settled back in the bedside chair with the air of someone relieved to be completing a long-delayed task. "Six months ago you were driving to university when you were hit by a driver who had left his lane. I am sorry to report that your father is dead," he recited in a voice that did not contain an ounce of sympathy. Will shook his head, eyes wide, unable to process.

"What?"

The man sighed, and lifted a strong-looking hand to his face to rub a finger through his dense, silver and copper beard. "I am afraid it's true, Will Graham."

Will forgot for a moment that he was in a hospital bed, and his jolt upwards from the bed became an awkward flailing. He tugged the sheet out and wrenched his weak, unresponsive body to a sitting position. "But my sister!"

"I have your sister." A delicate smirk drifted over those inscrutable dark eyes. Will stared at him, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Had Abby been kidnapped by this man?

"Who the fuck are you?"

Now the man grinned, and it was beautiful and terrible. "I am the Goblin King, Will Graham. I've been waiting for you." He leaned closer, until he was inches from Will's face. "To wake up."

The sound of the heart monitor squealing out an alarm was the last thing Will heard before unconsciousness took him.

***

In the dream, because it had to be a dream, Will was watching the tall man teach Abigail to dance. She was tiny and resplendent in a full white dress covered in pearls and spangles, something she would adore to pieces in real life until it was worn out in the elbows and muddy at the hem. She was standing on the man's bare feet with tiny soft white shoes, and he held her hands gently as he stepped them around the floor. Her hair was in its customary braid, but ribboned elaborately in a style Will knew wouldn't last five minutes of her normal tearing around. She was laughing. Will smiled at her, watching them dance with a deep-seated feeling of pleasure in his chest. He looked down at himself to see he was lounging at the side of the parquet floor, dressed in something soft and velvety, so black that it soaked up light. He tried to focus on the detailed brocade on his sleeve but it was like looking at something underwater-- the true nature of it rippled in the half-light. Abigail shrieked with delight, and Will looked up to see the man spinning her around in his arms. The man caught her up, comfortable and familiar, his arms loose around the expansive fabric of the dress, and turned to Will. "Will your brother come and play with us, little Abigail?" he murmured in her ear. She squirmed to get down and he let her loose immediately, and she ran towards Will, laughing until it echoed.

Will woke with a shock. There was a woman in a doctor's white lab coat standing above him, smiling. "Welcome back, Mr. Graham."

"There was a man!" were the first words out of his mouth. "A tall man with a braid." She cocked her head at him.

"In your dream?"

He shook his head, frustrated. "No, in the room!"

She nodded lightly, her eyes glowing with something like pity. "I'm sorry to say that you haven't had visitors, Mr. Graham."

"He was just here," he insisted, pointing at the chair. "He gave me water to drink and told me that… he told me my father was dead?"

She grimaced. "Sometimes our minds play tricks when we are coming out of coma, Mr. Graham." She sobered. "You've been unconscious for…"

"Six months," he interrupted. "He told me."

She nodded, taking it all in stride. "There was an accident. It is true that your father didn't survive. I'm very sorry."

The shock of it was less than if he had been hearing it for the first time. The grief he felt for his father was subsumed by the urgency he felt for his sister. "My sister, where is she?" Surely she had been placed in a home while he was out, and he could take possession of her now. The doctor's eyes took on a wary cast, still gentle.

"Mr. Graham, we're unaware of a sister. Do you have a number that we can call to alert her?"

He gave a short, desperate laugh. "She's six. Abigail. Abigail Graham."

The doctor shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Graham. We have no records of a sister. Just you and your father were in the car. You were badly injured. We had to induce a coma, and then you slipped into a natural one. We've not had contact from any relatives or friends, although we did contact your school."

Will reached out to grip her wrist, and she flinched. "Was she thrown clear? Someone has to know!"

The doctor looked at the clock on the wall while gently extricating her arm from his weak grip. "Let me find the report of the accident for you," she said with clear sympathy. "But now you need to sleep." She pressed a button, and he felt himself sinking. He groaned aloud, but sank all the way down, and went under.

***

When he woke into the dream, they were no longer in the ballroom, but in an elaborately decorated round room. The walls were stone and hung with richly-colored silks. Small creatures covered in feathers and fur trotted around his feet busily, making strange music with their murmured voices. Arched windows looked out over an orange and pink sky, and as Will drew closer, he could see the ground below was blanketed with twisted roads and walls, dark groves of trees, and open courtyards. His vision was incredibly clear, and even up as high as he seemed to be, he could see creatures going about their business on the ground far below. It was dizzying, so he stepped back, and bumped into a solid body behind him. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and kept him from turning around.

"Will Graham, you seem to have unprecedented access to my home even outside your comatose sleep." The voice was low and dark and rumbled right in his ear, and he flinched away.

"Tell me your name, because I'm not calling you Goblin King," he gritted out. The hands squeezed him, and a laugh tickled his neck, along with the wiry curls of a thick beard.

"Why should I give you my name?" the man murmured close to him.

"Because you want to," Will whispered back.

"Why do you think that, Will Graham?"

Will turned his face into the man's cheek, until he felt those generous lips pressed hot against his jaw. "Because you let me in." He shifted backwards, very slightly, pressing himself against the man's body behind him. The man rocked back and then forward again, his fingers tightening even more, until they began to hurt. "You give me… access."

A low chuckle, and the man's lips parted to nip at Will's jaw. "You think this attempt at seduction will get you your sister?"

Will shook his head gently, snorting a soft laugh through his nose. "No. I think this seduction attempt will get me your name."

At that, the hands dropped away, and the heat from the body behind him faded. Will turned around, but the room was dark. He squared his jaw, ready to call out a challenge, but the soft voice fluttered back to him. "My name, little Will, is Hannibal."

Chapter Text

Will was released from the hospital a week after he woke, with no further clue who Hannibal was or how to find his little sister whom no one seemed to remember. He notified his university that he was alive and well, but that he didn't know when he would be returning. He took the train back to his hometown, visited his father's grave with a profound sense of disassociation, and retook possession of their small family home, now his in its entirely, debt and all. And all along the way, no one remembered his sister. In the house, where her room had been, there was a utility and craft room set up for tying flies and fixing small engines. The family albums were missing pictures of her. She existed only in Will's memory, and his dreams. He was terrified and mystified and very alone.

Every night he dreamed of the man who called himself the Goblin King, dancing with his sister, throwing grand parties with people in elaborate costumes, eating and drinking and dancing. In these dreams he was occasionally an observer, occasionally a participant, but forever unable to speak, as if Hannibal had locked him out of his own voice. He woke from these dreams tired and aching, unable to stir himself from bed until the sun was well up in the sky. This went on for a week, to the accompaniment of multiple bottles of whiskey, until he finally had exhausted every other effort. Once night had fallen, a week after his return, he washed himself, put on clean clothing, and limped out to the main room.

"Hannibal!" he roared to the dark windows. "Goddamnit, Hannibal, show yourself!!"

The room took a breath, and the world exhaled, and Will knew without looking that the man, or whatever he was, was standing behind him. He didn't turn. "Let's just do this," he gritted.

"You aren't well, Will." The man's soft voice reverberated in his skull.

"Then give her back!"

"What's said is said, even if you don't remember it." And Will didn't remember, could not recall saying those words, and could not imagine why he would. He imagined that they might have been playing, since she loved the book of the Labyrinth. How he might have uttered those words in jest to his little sister, laughing in the back seat. The clipped sound of expensive heels against his wood floor tapped around to his left, until Hannibal appeared in his line of sight. "I saved her life, and yours." He paused. "You should be grateful."

Will couldn't bear to look him in the eye, so lost was he in the complex tugging of his conflicting thoughts. "If that's true, I am grateful," he began. "But no one remembers her but me. No one mourns her but me!" He clenched his teeth, a rage boiling up inside him. A sigh escaped the man in front of him, and he lifted his eyes to the face that haunted his dreams. Hannibal was all in black this time, his braid draping over the lapel of a supple-looking leather jacket. His eyes were glittering in the dim light.

"Why do you mourn her, if she is not dead?" He tilted his head, a lilt of genuine curiosity in his voice. "One would think that you would rather her be dead." His eyes became darker at that, and a hint of menace swirled around them both. Will shrugged it off.

"I doubt you would understand," he sneered.

All at once he was overcome by a screaming blackness, a fog of despair thick enough to choke the breath from his lungs. Hannibal gave him a look so feral he looked more like a beast than a man, and Will, despite his own incoherent rage, took a step back. "Don’t." And his voice shook the room, rattling the dishes in their cabinets and knocking an empty bottle to the floor, where it shattered into glinting shards. Hannibal took a deep breath, visibly struggling for calm. "Don't speak of what you don't understand."

Will held his gaze, shaken. "I understand," he enunciated carefully, "that you have taken my sister from me. No one remembers her-- it's as if she never existed."

Hannibal looked at him with cold calculation. "I can make you forget her as well."

"What?"

"Forget her, and I will make your dreams come true on this earth."

Will stared at him. "What the fuck do you think would be worth losing her?"

Hannibal sneered. "Wealth? Power? Every person has their price."

Will stepped forward again, until he was close enough to smell the sharp reek of ozone, the crackling power of the man. He lifted his face until he was looking at Hannibal right in the eye. "I would die before I would willingly give Abigail up."

Hannibal smiled at him then, fanged teeth gleaming. "I might be able to oblige you after all, Will Graham."

Light flooded his eyes, and he started in surprise. He was standing on a gritty hill, dead trees all around him. A clock hung from a low branch, and he knew without looking it would have a clockface of 13 hours. Hannibal stood beside him, looking out over the expanse of the waste, to the dark, crumbling walls of what could only be the Labyrinth, the castle in the center seeming impossibly small. "Will Graham, you have 13 hours to solve my Labyrinth, or your baby sister becomes mine forever." He paused, and then added, "And some friendly advice. This is not the Labyrinth of the book. I am not that King. If I were you, I would expect anything."

Will turned his face away from Hannibal and the clock, staring down at the impossible task. He nodded. "Expect me."

Hannibal seemed to pause for a moment, his dark eyes lingering on the side of Will's face, before nodding. In a snap of wind he was gone.

Will blanked everything from his mind but the task ahead of him. He refused to think of it as impossible, because it clearly wasn't impossible. Like any problematic engine, this puzzle would too break down into its component parts, and the design would become clear. The Labyrinth was a reflection of the ruler, or so he had gleaned from the book. The previous ruler had been whimsical-- this one was clearly not. Whatever drove him would shape the Labyrinth, Will was certain. It was only a matter of finding out what drove Hannibal, and Will had a strong suspicion that it had something to do with the fury Hannibal had shown over Will's own grief.

By the time he reached the bottom of the hill, he could already see that this Labyrinth was not like the one that had been described. There were no gardens, for one, and the stone walls had all fallen down through what appeared to be intense neglect. Rubble lay everywhere in moss-covered piles, and there was not a fairy to be seen, nor a grumpy gatekeeper. He limped closer, his legs still stiff and weak from the limited amount of work they received while he was in his coma. The walls were honeycombed with low places, where the rock had been either pushed or pulled outward. Had there been some sort of battle? There were no scorch marks that he could see but the neglect seemed ancient. Well, not his concern. He made his way carefully through the fallen stones until he could touch the broken wall. A voice startled him from the side.

"Don't. Don't go in there." The voice was wispy, and Will strained to see into the dark, ivy-filled corner he was near.

"Hello?" he offered.

A shuffling disturbed the leaves, and a small… it might have been a mushroom but… it definitely had eyes, which blinked at Will. "Don't go in there."

Will shook his head. Was this his first trial? "I have to."

The mushroom looked at him a long time, and then, with the air of relaying something it shouldn't, it said, "He hunts. He kills and eats us."

"Well, you're a mushroom," he pointed out, possibly indelicately.

"All of us," the mushroom replied in a tiny whisper, and a shiver shook its cap and stem. Will felt a chill too, but he shrugged it off.

"I can't…" He was attempting to reason with a frightened sentient mushroom. "My sister is in there. I can't leave her." The mushroom just blinked at him, and then turned away. Will waited for pithy advice, but there was nothing further. He debated picking it to eat later, but… that seemed kind of crass. Plus, it might be poisonous. He straightened, and sought out a low place in the wall, climbing clumsily through an ivy-thick crevice, and vanished from sight.

Chapter Text

He dropped not into a stone corridor but into a long, tree-lined boulevard. There was no sight of the stone wall he came through, and no structures in sight in either direction; just the golden meadow extending as far as the eye could see, and the endless row of trees. A narrow red brick path ran under them, crevices between the bricks filled with bright yellow moss that softened his steps as he walked. Above him, the branches twined in a lattice pattern, so tightly woven that no light at all got through. Will walked off the path and in-between two trees, their massive trunks easily twice his embrace, and looked out over the fields. Had he taken a slightly longer step, his adventure would be over nearly the moment it began, because beneath his feet, hidden by the tall grass, was a chasm.

Will eyeballed the distance to the other side. It appeared to be well over 10 feet, a far greater distance than he could hope to safely jump. Out of curiosity, he crossed to the other side of the path, only to find the same obstacle. On this side, he could see the sun just now rising over the horizon, casting feathery shadows over the tops of the golden wheat. He sighed. He could walk down the boulevard, exhausting his still-weak body, but he had a feeling the puzzle to solve was here, right in front of him. He walked to the edge, his hands outlined with sunlight, and peered down into the chasm below. Was the darkness an illusion? He picked a rock up from the ground and tossed it towards the gap. It vanished quickly into the darkness. Will listened for an unnervingly long time before he heard a tiny little 'pip.' So. Not an illusion then.

He stood and thought for a moment, watching the sun float slowly upwards and color the sky with blazing streaks of pink and orange. It reminded him of sunrise back in his youth, out on the docks with his father, before Abigail had dropped into their lives. He had hated what seemed like cruelly early mornings then, the sticky heat far enough away that he wore a jacket as he half slept, half fished off the dock, catching little crappie for supper while his father worked on the boats. And later, he had learned engines and their intricacies-- what could be jerry-rigged and what had to be replaced. Will Graham had always thought he was good at puzzles, until now. He toed the path where he stood, and crossed back to the other side, where the shadows of the trees stretched long over the shadowy fields.

The bores of the trees were straight and branchless for a hundred feet at least, before they twined neatly together at the top. He might have been able to climb them, had he been in top condition, except that the branches didn't extend over the crevice, and wouldn't do him any good. He raised his eyes and watched the leaves flutter down in the soft breeze, his mind totally blank. Until, a flash of gold caught his eye.

There, sitting on air in the middle of the gap, was a leaf. He walked closer to it. It was perfectly still, floating in midair, until a stronger breeze kicked up and skidded it across a flat surface until it reached an unseeable edge and plummeted off into the darkness. He kneeled down right at the edge, just beyond the treeline, and waved his hand into the edge of the crevice. His fingers met no resistance. He reached farther… stretching to where the leaf had been… and overextended.

And lost his balance.

Flailing, he fell, a sickening wrench in his gut as he stretched his arms wide, trying to catch the edge. His hand smacked sharply against something and he clamped his fingers down hard as his body jerked to a stop, reaching up with his other arm for a handhold. He looked up and was astonished to find that he was clinging to the edge of a dark, semi-translucent bridge that stretched from edge to edge. His arms already trembling, he swung a knee up and managed to haul up onto the surface of it, kneeling and panting. Just as he caught his breath, the edge that he had been holding on to crumbled under him, and he nearly fell again. Rather than pondering his reprieve, he scrabbled across on hands and knees, breathless and undignified.

On the other bank, he panted and shook as adrenalin flooded his system. He flopped down on his back, the firm surface of the invisible bridge against his back, and rested for a moment, staring up at the slowly bluing sky. He only realized something was wrong when his shoulder fell off the surface, and he rolled over to look. From here he could see clearly that he was laying on the shadow of one of the giant trees. He had just a heartbeat to be amazed, and then a cloud covered the sun, and he was plunged into icy water.

"Fuck!" was the first word out of his mouth when he managed to surface. The water wasn't deep-- knee high where he was standing in soft, sucking mud, but he was thoroughly soaked, tip to tail, and already freezing. He sluiced water out of his hair, and with a frustrated sigh, began sloshing through the drowned field towards the west, hoping that Hannibal wasn't just playing with his food, so to speak. "Serve me with mushrooms," he muttered, and then, not wanting to contemplate that particular fate, just stopped thinking entirely, focusing instead on wrenching his feet out of the mud, one in front of the other.

It didn't take long for him to succumb to exhaustion and cold. He managed to crawl up onto a mound of earth, out of the water, and the abused muscles in his legs locked up. He flopped onto his back with the last of his energy, his body shivering violently, and thought, well… the Labyrinth would take him after all. He panted and stared at the now perfect blue sky and wondered what would happen when he died here. Would the swamp take him? Would he be dead in his own home, his body decomposing in the living room for weeks until the mail carrier became worried? He decided that it didn’t matter. He closed his eyes.

When Will swam to awareness again, he was in the dark, sitting knees drawn to his chest with a hard surface beneath him, but his cheek and shoulder were warm. He shifted his body, but was immediately seized by the brilliant pain of limbs slowly warming, pins and needles stabbing him everywhere. He knew this was a good sign but it didn’t take away from the agony of it. He groaned out, trying to see where he was.

"Don't move, Will Graham."

Will shifted his head towards the voice. He blinked until the low light yielded the figure of Hannibal, slouched in a chair by the window. Soft dawn light poured in, casting half of the king's body in blue, the other half outlined in firelight. He was wearing a loose linen shirt and soft-looking pants, barefoot, for all the world like he had just rolled out of bed. He was staring right at Will. "The pain of the cold will pass."

"Am I dead?" Will shook his head, trying to jumpstart his thoughts, because clearly he wasn't dead. He tried again. "Did you rescue me?"

"Rescue?" Hannibal sneered mildly. "I brought you here to cede the game to me."

Will shook his head, his stomach sinking at the thought of what he had to face. "Put me back, then."

"You will die." Hannibal sounded completely unbothered.

"It's just a little cold." Will tried to stretch his legs outwards, but his body refused to obey him. He realized he was propped on the hearth of a small fireplace, still in his damp clothes. "I'll be fine in a moment."

"You may warm yourself in my bed, if you like." And there was a gleam in Hannibal's eye, something not quite friendly, that shook a laugh out of Will, unbidden. Hannibal's expression closed immediately. Will shook his head.

"Not that I don’t find you appealing, Hannibal, but I am on the clock here," he murmured, to soften his rejection. Hannibal turned away from him, and looked out the window.

"You've been unconscious for over an hour."

Regret was not an emotion he could afford to entertain. He gritted his teeth. "It doesn’t matter. I'm not giving up on Abby."

Hannibal turned back to him, his face void of all expression. "She is happy here."

That did hurt, whether or not it was true. Will forced himself to move through the pain as he rolled onto his hands and knees and pushed himself off the floor. He was exhausted, barely able to stand. "She deserves an informed choice."

At that, Hannibal's eyes flashed with some horrifying inner light. "She has her life! And you have yours, at the moment." He stood and stalked over the flagstones to stand in front of Will. Will held his ground, but only because he couldn't force his legs to move. "You should be satisfied."

"Put me back in the Labyrinth. I will be satisfied when I have done everything I can to save her."

Hannibal stared at him a moment, and then shockingly, smiled, sharp incisors gleaming. "Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered…" This close, and with his features softened into something like amusement, Will couldn't help but appreciate how handsome he was. His beard was silver with a warm golden stripe right under his bottom lip, and his braid fell unhindered across his shoulders, thick and a little wild. Will's mind flashed unbidden to the bed, to the thought of curling into its warmth, and the heat of the man in front of him. Hannibal smiled wider. "I can see my offer does tempt you after all, Will Graham."

Will grinned at him, charmed in spite of himself. "I never said I wasn’t tempted. Ask me again when I fight my way to the castle beyond the Goblin City."

Hannibal lifted a hand and rubbed a thumb over Will's mouth, gently. "To take back the child that I have stolen?" he murmured. His voice was mesmerizing, his heat a siren to Will's tired body. With tremendous effort, both physical and mental, Will took a step back.

"My will is as strong as yours," he whispered. Hannibal regarded him with something that looked suspiciously like affection.

"We shall see, Will Graham." He tilted his head, taking in the whole of Will's body as he stood with that strange cat's light gleaming in his eyes. "We shall see."

And then Will was back outside in the blinding morning sunlight, standing on solid ground just beyond the freezing marsh. He patted himself, and realized his clothing was dry. A shaky sigh left his lungs. He was at the end of his energy, and had the entire Labyrinth to traverse. It was an impossible task. He would do it anyway.

Chapter Text

Will had not been walking for very long when he heard a sound. It was not a loud sound, but it was distinctive in a way that sent shivers of recognition through his gut. It was the sound of running, four pads hitting the ground in delight. He turned to look behind him, realizing that he could no longer see any hint of snow. And WHAM, he was hit from the front and knocked to the ground. Suddenly terrified, he flailed and struck out, hitting a furry nose and earning a yelp. A familiar yelp. And then he opened his eyes.

"Winston??" His dog, the dog that had been lost, the dog that no one remembered, was wagging her tail in front of him, tongue lolling. As soon as Will said her name, she barked exuberantly and attacked him with a wet tongue, all over his face and his hands. He cried out with joy and held her tight as she wriggled against him, her entire furry body vibrating with happiness. Will felt tears come to his eyes as he squeezed her, and she tilted her head awkwardly to lick them away. They lay together on the ground for a moment, until Will's heart calmed its frantic beating, and his tears fell freely. "Hey girl… hey girl…" he soothed, rocking them both gently.

After a moment , Winston wriggled from his arms and barked at him again. He sat up, and she leaped forward, dashing a few feet ahead and then turning to bark at him again. He slowly lifted his aching body off the ground, his knees and thighs on fire, and watched her turn in circles. "You know where we need to go, girl?" She wriggled and barked again, and then trotted back to him to take his sleeve carefully between her teeth and tug it. He patted her head, wondering if this was all a trick. Not that he had any choice, really. Winston looked imploringly at him. "Yeah, okay girl," he smiled at her, and she trotted ahead, turning again to wait for him.

They walked together for what seemed like hours, through deep forest and thin, following a trail that only Winston could see. Slowly, the deep undergrowth thinned to show a hewn rock here, a wall there, until all at once the forest broke into a dappled clearing, in the center of which was a dilapidated old hunter's lodge. It wasn't large, as lodges go-- perhaps 40 feet by 20, and two stories high. The windows had lost their glazing long before, and their crumbling lintels gaped out like dark, sightless eyes. The roof had caved in on the side closest to him, and worn stone blocks were scattered all around them. Winston barked and ran towards the door, and before Will could stop her, she had vanished across the threshold.

He made his way carefully across the lawn, calling her name, and stepped gingerly through the door onto a warped wooden floor. It bowed under his weight. Staying carefully to the side close to the wall, he stepped softly down the hall to a sturdier-looking flagstone floor through an arched doorway. "Winston!" he called, but there was no sound, not even of footpads. Worried now that she had fallen and hurt herself, he stepped through the doorway into a large stone room. Light filtered in through the squared holes in the stone walls. On the wall, a clock ticked. He squinted at it, moving closer, and saw the hands were sitting at a little after two in the afternoon. Somehow he had lost half a day already. Only seven hours more. A chill shivered through him, and he stepped purposely forward.

And fell right through a hole in the floor.

Crying out, he reached for a handhold and his fingers tightened on a swath of vines. He gripped as hard as he could, leaves shredding through his hands, until he came to a halt, hanging an unknown distance from the darkened floor below. He threaded his legs through the tendrils, trying to get a rope hold, and something tightened like a band across his thigh. Trying to pull away was impossible, and helplessly he hung as the vines wrapped around him and tightened, until he was held through no effort of his own, and without any idea of how he would get either up or down. Glancing above him, he saw the grey light of the room he had been in well out of reach, at least a body's length above him. Looking down there was the tops of his shoes, and shadow.

A light flashed and glowed beneath him, to his right and behind, and he twisted to see what it was. A round, soft orange glow was floating up to him. As it got closer, he realized that it was an enormous firefly, as big as his thumb. The thought of it landing in his hair made him thrash in fright, but it alighted on his shoulder, seemingly unfazed. Another flitted to find purchase on his cuff, and two more perched on his knees. He tried to shake them off, his skin crawling, but they clung with impressive tenacity. A chuckle sounded from beneath Will, then, and he knew then exactly who the fireflies obeyed.

"What a lovely present is wrapped up here for me." Hannibal grinned up at him, the sharp edges of his teeth picked out in the glow of the fluttering insects. Will felt a hand on his ankle, and he kicked out. He felt shockingly vulnerable, and so weary he could cry.

"Fuck off, Hannibal."

Hannibal's grin, if anything, grew wider. "And how are you liking my Labyrinth?" he asked in a soft, knowing voice. He stood directly beneath Will's hanging feet, dressed in deep red and black plaid wool this time, his hair woven with tiny black and red roses. His grip on Will's ankle was not painful, but it kept Will from kicking out at him. Will settled for sneering.

"Where do you get your suits?"

"Mmm. I have an excellent tailor in Baltimore. Very discreet." Hannibal moved so that he was behind Will, and Will had to twist to watch him. Hannibal squeezed his ankle lightly, almost affectionately. "I have to be honest with you Will. Most people don't make it this far. No one has been here in quite some time. But you are a lovely addition to the décor."

Will turned away, not even wanting Hannibal to have the privilege of viewing his face. He realized that this gave the king an excellent view of his ass, but he stamped down his blush with extreme prejudice. "Because you are killing and eating them," he shot back.

This got no reaction from Hannibal beyond a light huff. "The offer of my bed is still open, if you are tired." Will imagined that there was a faint upswing of hope in Hannibal's tone, right there at the end. He managed a smirk, more bravado than he actually felt, as the temptation of any bed was all too profound.

"I'll consider it after I rescue Abigail."

"You assume the offer will still be open then?"

If it isn't, then it wasn't genuine in the first place, and I've no interest in warming your bed as a distraction."

"Then… You are interested?" Yes, that was definitely hope. When he walked back around to Will's front, his eyes were glittering in the light cast by the fireflies.

Flustered, Will cast back for something appropriately cutting, but what came out of his mouth was, "You think I'm lovely?"

Immediately, Will was consumed with mortification. He could only stare down at Hannibal, at his enemy, he reminded himself, who was keeping his sister hostage and forcing Will to play this deadly game. Hannibal's face was upturned in the soft green-gold light, heavy shadows under his cheekbones and bottom lip. He was tall and graceful, with powerful shoulders and a dancer's curve to his back and hips, and Will hated himself for the realization that the Goblin King was painfully handsome, and had they met under better circumstances, Will would not have put up much resistance to being in his bed. If any. Hannibal seemed lost in his own perusal, which if anything, made Will blush harder. He sighed, shaking his head to clear this ridiculous longing. "Will you help me down, Hannibal?"

Hannibal smiled softly, wickedly at him. "For a kiss."

Will was flabbergasted, and not just by the spike of heat that lanced through his belly. "You're fucking with me."

"When I am fucking with you, Will Graham, you will know." And he just stood there, in his stupidly beautiful suit, with his stupidly beautiful face, and Will considered denying him just for the pleasure of watching that smug curl fall from his stupidly gorgeous lips.

"Ugh. Yeah, alright, one kiss." And Will gave up all pretense of struggle, and just hung there, feeling irritated and tired and a little aroused and furious with himself for the latter. Hannibal raised his hands, and all at once the vines let him loose. Will fell with a sickening lurch right into the king's arms, who set him lightly down on the floor but did not let him go.

Hannibal took in Will's expression, his eyes roaming across Will's face, and stepped back. "Which I will collect at a later time," he murmured.

Will swallowed, ruthlessly refusing to be disappointed. "Well, you had better make sure I live then," he rejoined.

Hannibal's fireflies winked out all at once. "That, my dear Will, is up to you." A breath later, and he was gone.

"Ridiculous, dramatic bastard," he muttered. But if Hannibal heard him, he made no reply.

Chapter Text

Will walked through the corridors of the lodge, if that was where he still was, battling an exhaustion so profound he could barely lift his feet off the ground. He stumbled often, and even worse when the floor stopped being made of relatively even flagstones and began being made of rough cut stone. The sporadic light from high cut windows faded completely and was replaced by even more sporadic torches, flaring as he walked past them and snuffing out immediately he passed beyond. There was no sound to keep him company besides the roar of the torches and his own unsteady footsteps. Winston was nowhere in sight.

He had been walking down a long corridor with no turnings, but now came to a split in the path. One fork went to his right and the other kept straight. Will paused, anxiety flaring in his belly. Here is where he could be lost, like the Greek children sacrificed to the Minotaur, roaming until starvation or the monster found them. He examined each branch in the flickering light, but they had no distinctions. They both looked equally abandoned. He looked down at the dusty floor, and there, in the middle of the right-turning corridor was a perfect paw print. Winston had been here before him! He carefully examined the floor of the other passage but its dust was undisturbed. With trepidation and a small amount of hope, he turned to follow the tracks of his beloved dog.

As he walked further, the corridor widened to accommodate pillars of stone, on which faces were carved-- or rather, the remains of faces. He could make out a nose, here, a top lip there, and broken pieces of eyes in hollow sockets. The ground was littered with shards of stone. It looked as though someone had come in with a sledgehammer. Will shivered at the idea of Hannibal, here, smashing these faces to bits in a cold rage. With a violent start, he realized one of the mostly intact eyes was staring right at him. As he moved forward, it rolled to follow him. Shivers crawled down his spine and settled in his belly like a thousand butterflies. Another eye gazed at him, rolling a little in its socket.

"Hello?" he ventured. He both did and didn’t want an answer. If these faces were sentient, then this was not just destruction, but murder.

A hiss caught his ear, and he turned to look behind him. A mouth had fallen open, and a long stream of glittering sand poured out. The lower jaw trembled. Will reached forward, frightened and unnerved, and lifted the stone jaw back into place. It shook. And then it spoke. "Go… back."

Will suddenly remembered from the book that these were called False Alarms. When the young girl Sarah had walked through them in the storybook, they had told her to beware, in a ploy to get her to turn back. This was the first part of the Labyrinth that Will recognised from the story. But the False Alarms had been playful. The whole Labyrinth had been sweeter, friendlier. Before Hannibal. Will swallowed, determined to try anyway. "You are telling me this because I'm on the right path?" His voice was not as firm as he wished it had been.

"No." It's one good eye rolled frighteningly. "Death lies… ahead."

Its jaw clunked to the ground and broke in two. Will sighed, emptying his lungs to expel his own trepidation. There was nothing to gain by being scared. It didn't change what he had to do. He looked around the floor for another paw print, and finding the trail again, he went on. There was nothing else to do.

Eventually, the uneven stone floor gave way to an uneven dirt floor, and a grey, sickly light filtered through the dust of the passage. Will walked out into a garden. It was bordered by hedges, and looked very much like an old time garden maze, except that the hedges were 12 feet high , and many of them were half dead, so that he could see through to the other side. Here the ground became short grass, and the paw prints disappeared. He was on his own again.

Will trudged for what seemed like an hour, winding through paths that ended in dense, prickly growth. Occasionally he could push through to the next row, suffering scratches from long thorns to his face and hands and clothing, and in that way he slowly made his way to the center of the little garden labyrinth. No other creature showed its face except for a sinister looking murder of tiny crows, who sang to him in German, a language he recognized, oddly enough, from a friend of his father's who worked on the boats during his childhood. All along the path as he walked, they swooped up and down, near him but never touching, their high pitched voices echoing in the channels of the privit hedges.

Komm wir essen eine Leiche,
Ich das Harte du das Weiche,
Ich das Aug' und du das Ohr
Und dann singen wir im Choooooor!
Blutgerinsel, Eiterbatzen,
Ach wie da die Mäuler schmatzen.
Und zum Nachtisch ach wie heiter,
Eine Tasse warmen Eiter!!

He was completely fine until they realized perhaps that it was not having the affect they wanted, and they switched, after a deliberate pause, to English.

Come, let us eat a corpse,
Me the hard parts, you the soft parts.
Me the eye, you the ear
And then we sing togetheeeeerrrr!!!

(Here they paused to join up in a dramatic chorus, taunting him from high branches)

Clots of blood, festering boils,
Oh how the yaps smack at that,
And for dessert, how delightful,
A cup of warm pus!!

After a few rousing turns of the chorus, he fixed one large crow with both eyes. "It doesn't really rhyme in English, though, does it?" It focused one beady eye on him for a long moment, and then made a rude gesture with wing and beak and flapped irritatedly into the air, leaving a few feathers drifting down into Will's hair. Blessed silence sank over him again. It was as still as had been the cavern passages, but without the echo of his steps. He began to feel hungry, and thirsty, and ignored it the best he could. And then, around the turn of the corner, he came to a wide open space, in the middle of which was a tall black statue.

Will came closer. It was carved of a pure black stone, like onyx, in the shape of a man with an intimidating crown of antlers. The statue was naked, and its long flanks and the curve of its ass were gorgeously sculpted. Will was enraptured. As he came around the front of it, he saw that the statue was sporting a sizable cock, fully erect and uncut and as intimidating in its way as the antlers. Surrounding the impressively thick base was carved dense whorls of curly hair. Long powerful legs led down to impressive hooves, split like those of a stag and topped with more intricate curls. He reached out to run a finger through the dust accumulated on its flank. The stone was cold and smooth. One of its hands was curled down by its thigh, and the other was curved upwards, and Will realized it was standing in the same position as Michelangelo's David, down to the natural grace of its hooves splayed in a relaxed and easy stance.

"Aren't you beautiful," he whispered. The statue did not answer him, and for a moment Will was confused by his disappointment. Where he should be terrified, he was only fascinated. Emboldened, he trailed his fingers up the statue's rippled abdomen, feeling the muscular curves under his fingertips, and the jut of its prominent ribs. The smooth surface under his hand seemed to warm with his touch. He stroked it for a long moment, tracing over muscular pectorals and down the inside of its arm, to rest his fingers at last against the claws of the carved creature. But the statue did not stir, and Will stepped back, suffering a sudden embarrassment. It was not alive, no matter how much he might want it to be, even if the though sent a frission of fear through him. He pulled deliberately away, and looked off the way the statue was gazing, and in the distance, he saw a grove of trees. Fruit trees.

Startling into motion and with quickened steps, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten, he headed to the grove. The promise of food and water was too much for him to bear. And he wasn't disappointed; when he was under their branches at last, he saw the trees were apple trees, and a small fountain was in their midst. Ignoring the muffled shouting of his subconscious that this was a Very Bad Idea, he plucked a ripe apple from a branch and bit into it. Sweet and tart juices exploded on his dry tongue. He ate the entire apple, and then cupped his hands into the fountain to drink as much as he could. Too late, he saw Winston on the other side, flat on the ground. But he was already falling to his knees, and his last thought was that at least he would not die alone.

Chapter Text

Music was the first sensation that Will understood as happening around him, rather than inside him. It was not music he was familiar with, but something low and deep and mournful, a slow waltz in a minor key, picked out on crisp, echoing strings. He opened his eyes to darkness speckled with stars, and he absorbed the deep depth of field until he realised he was looking at the night sky. Was it nighttime? In a panic, he turned in search of a clock, but there was nothing but an endless stretch of warm wood flooring, polished to gleaming, radiating a gentle light.

His clipped footstep rang out in the space, and Will realized two things almost immediately. The echo off invisible walls meant the space he was in was much smaller than Will had realized. As well, he was dressed very differently than he had been before he had eaten the apple. Gone was the soft denim and plaid and comfortable boots, and in its place was a dove gray tuxedo, gleaming in the soft ambient light of the stars. On his feet were soft grey formal boots, with smooth soles that slipped easily across the floor. He sighed, smoothed his hands over the luxurious silk of his jacket, and yelled. "Hannibal!"

"No need to shout, little pup!" Will spun in place, but it wasn't Hannibal that stood behind him, but a short wizened creature with a long beard, standing barely up to his waist, in a ragged overlarge ballroom gown of indeterminate color and style. The gown was caught up around the creature's waist with ropes of vine, and on its head was a… it was a bird. A skinny-necked bird with bright eyes and tiny little feather plumes on an otherwise naked head. The bird peered at him curiously. "Well then!"

Will peered at the old man below, but he looked like he was asleep on his feet. The bird sighed and shook its little head. "You need some information, yes?" It blinked at him, and Will could hear the click of its eyelids in the quiet.

"I… what time is it?"

A little rattle brought his attention down to the old man. In his gnarled hands was a tiny iron box with a little slot in the top. "Contribution first!" the bird sang. Will gaped at him.

"For the time??"

The bird looked slyly at him. "Is it important, yes?"

And Will was about to say yes, but then he realized, if he had to pay for every question, that he might have to be circumspect, because he had nothing to offer. "I can't pay you," he admitted.

"Hmph. Nothing free here!" The old man, suddenly sprightly, turned to go. Will's hand shot out before he could stop himself, and he gripped the creature's shoulder more gently that he truly wanted to.

"When I solve the Labyrinth, I can pay you then." He thought, a little desperately, back through his foggy memory, to his life before. "The best fishing lure I own."

The bird turned its head, and whispered to the old man. The old man took stock of Will, in his borrowed silken finery, and scowled. "If you lose, what then?"

Will smiled, and it was not a pretty smile. "You can make a throne from my bones."

The bird gasped. "How generous, yes?!" The old man muttered at him, and the bird twittered back, and Will was ready to walk away, when it said, "Two lures. Two per question."

"Deal," Will answered quickly. "How much time do I have to solve this Labyrinth and save myself and my sister?"

The bird peered down. The old man was wearing a wristwatch, which had been hidden by his dress. It clearly read a little after nine. Since Will had begun as the clock struck one, he realised he only had four hours left. A shiver burrowed into his gut.

"One more question. How do I get out of here?"

The old man looked at him a little sadly. "If you are looking for a door, Will Graham, you will not find one here." He harrumphed, shaking the bird hat until it trilled angrily. "But doors are not always the way through."

Will stood and stared after them as they walked away. The bird hat looked back at him, and trilled, "Four lures! Or your bones! Either will do!" And it cackled madly until they vanished into shadow. Will shook himself and trotted over to where they had gone, and his hand hit a smooth clear wall, curved like a bubble. He stroked his hand over it, but there was no door, indeed. Another footstep sounded behind him.

"I could have saved you the barter, Will." Will turned despite his own frustration. Hannibal was breathtaking, of course, dressed in black silk threaded with silver, his braid threaded and falling over his shoulder in a cascade of silver filaments and glittering diamonds and pearls. The suit was so dark he looked like a part of the field of stars that surrounded them. "Whatever you want to ask, I will answer if I can."

Will barked a laugh, even though he knew it was rude. He was entirely in Hannibal's power, playing a game for the lives of himself and his sister, and he had no idea of the rules, or even if there were any. "Are their answers yours?"

Hannibal looked amused, starlight dancing in his eyes. "Everyone who lives in the Labyrinth is their own. I believe very strongly in autonomy."

Will scowled at him. "But you took my sister," he pointed out.

"She asked me to, Will." He frowned, a storm brewing on that elegant brow. "She whispered the verse with the last of her strength. And I find I quite like her. If you hadn't survived, I would still have taken good care of her."

Will felt the truth of it resonate within him. The thought that Abigail would be safe with Hannibal was as much a relief as it was terrifying to think about. He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. It came back covered with glitter. He sighed harder. "And now, Hannibal?

"And now, Will Graham." His voice was solemn, but a tiny smile graced his lips as he held out a hand. "Will you dance with me?"

"I have no time, Hannibal, to dance." Will frowned at him, trying to sort out what he had to do next. Hannibal tilted his head, questioning, and then waved a hand. A clock appeared in the air. It was just after nine, same as the watch of the little old man. Hannibal twitched his fingers, and the hour hand spun backwards, to settle on the eight. He raised a curious eyebrow, and Will snorted a laugh despite himself. He sketched a bow, and stepped close enough to settle his glitter-covered hand gently into Hannibal's.

Will was expecting the scene to burst to life with the touch of Hannibal's hand: bodies swirling around them, sumptuous music, the smell of sweat and perfume and sex. But when Hannibal pulled Will loosely into his arms and swung him lightly around, it was just them, alone on the smooth wood ballroom floor, surrounded by stars. The music that Will had heard as he woke was still there, an undercurrent to their soft, neat steps and quiet breathing. Hannibal was a generous dancer, graceful and strong, and he telescoped his movements so that Will could follow with ease. It felt an unimaginable luxury to be held by him, like this, and Will felt his body respond with a flush of heat as he moved with the king. Hannibal gazed openly at Will's face, taking in his curls, his eyes, his mouth. The look on his face was one of curiosity softened by uncertainty, as if he was not sure what to say to bridge their silence, now that they were so close.

Will was not one for dancing either, so he decided to look intently at the floor rather than to face the growing silence between them. Didn't people speak during dancing? Instead of aimless, comforting chatter, or whatever might pass for it between a king and his challenger, his ears filled with the sounds of Hannibal's breath, the slick rustle of silks brushing together between their bodies, and his own treacherously escalating heartbeat. Hannibal's hands felt good on him, unnervingly secure, and he found as they danced they closed the distance between them, inch by inch, until their thighs pressed warmly together on every turn. Will swallowed, his treacherous thoughts settling on Hannibal's mouth, thinking of the promised kiss, despite everything. He turned away, scrabbled in his mind desperately for something to say.

Hannibal spoke first.  "I will make you a bargain, Will Graham."  His voice was low and inviting, and Will shivered as it dropped soft against his ear.  Hannibal's hand on the small of his back tugged him in a little closer, their bodies just barely touching.  He turned his head to find Hannibal's eyes fixed on his.  He looked very serious.  "Abigail is here, within the bubble.  Should you find her, now, I will let you both go back to your home, and our bargain will be settled."  Will stared at him, searching for deception, but Hannibal's face was a perfect blank.  With more reluctance that he liked to admit, Will stepped back, out of his arms, ignoring the twinge of regret as Hannibal's large, warm hand fell from his back.  "You have the remainder of the hour."  His voice came out a little rougher than before, and Will's throat was also dry.  He swallowed.

"Thank you for the dance, Hannibal." He bowed again, politely, and then turned to walk straight to the wall, leaving the tall king and his warm, gentle hands behind him. As his hand met the cool surface of the clear dome that contained them, he began walking forward, trailing fingers to keep his place. Hannibal stood watching him, his tall dark form marking the spot Will had begun his perimeter search, his eyes in shadow. Will was so close to the edge that he could see stars under his feet, and he tried very hard not to look, concerned that he would lose the apple that was the only food his stomach had to surrender. His mind began to haze with fatigue, but he struggled on. After what seemed a very long time walking around the perimeter, giggles came to his ears, and a strange scratching sound, and his heart quickened in his chest. Further and further, until Hannibal was a tower of shadow, a black column against the midnight blue of the starfield. Will continued on, and the sounds grew louder, until he came upon a small clutch of white wicker furniture, framed like a miniature sitting room, right in the middle of the empty ballroom floor. Several small elaborately dressed dolls sat in state with teacups before them, and perched on a settee in her little white dress, Abigail.

"Abigail!" he cried, relieved. He scooped her up in his arms and spun her around. "Abigail, is it really you?" She hugged him, laughing.

"Will! Where have you been!" And she was light in his arms, and his head was a little foggy, and he smiled down at her.

"I've been looking for you." She beamed at him, her small hands clutching his shoulders.

"You found me!"  And he had, hadn't he?  He'd found her.  After everything, they could finally go home.  He began walking with her back towards Hannibal, and in the back of his mind he heard the scratching getting louder, but he was overcome with joy, and the wailing of his thoughts, crying 'Too easy too easy!' didn't reach him.  As he came closer to Hannibal, he saw the king smiling-- a strange too-bright smile, but he ignored that as well. Nothing could touch him, now that he had Abigail in his arms again.

"Have you found her then, Will Graham," Hannibal asked, and his eyes were cold and merry, but there was an awful shattering sound behind them, and the clacking of claws against the hard floor. Will turned to look, his body responding to that noise on a cellular level, and there was Winston, careening toward them with a wild, fierce snarl full of teeth. She spun a full circle to a stop in front of Will, stood on her hind legs, and sank her teeth into Abigail's arm.

Abigail screamed, but it was not the scream of a child. Suddenly, a shocked Will was holding a bundle of rags, and a wailing goblin with its arm caught in a strong jaw, blood spattering blackly all over Will's fine silk coat. Will hollered and dropped the flailing, bleeding creature, and it tore its arm from Winston's jaw and skittered over the edge of the floor into shadow. Jaw dropped, Will stared at his blood-covered arm, and then at Winston, who was now growling at Will. Or rather, what was behind Will. He turned to look at Hannibal, ready to tear into him for lying, and his voice left him with an undignified squeak. For there, hooves to antlers and everything in between, was the statue from the garden, its teeth bared back at Winston. Hannibal was nowhere to be seen, and as Will took in the face of the statue with wide eyes, he could come to only one conclusion. "Hannibal?"

The antlered being turned and snarled at him, and then without answer, lunged for Winston. She yelped as long claws caught her flank, and Will kicked out, catching solid flesh, and then he was scooping up the howling dog in his arms and running for the wall of the dome. There was no door, so he was going to have to make one. He leapt, turning as well as he could to shelter Winston, and as his back breached the thin wall and he fell out into the darkness, he could see Hannibal, the antlered beast, reaching one taloned hand out, far too late to catch him.

Chapter Text

The fall was not a plummet but rather a floating down, and as Will's body spiraled softly in the glittering air, he could see the castle in the distance, still impossibly far. Above him the bubble that held the ballroom was gone, and with it Hannibal-- the Antlered Man; Will remembered with a blush stroking along the flanks of the statue in the garden. Had it actually been Hannibal or just a likeness? If he ever got the chance to ask, he would likely been too mortified. And the If loomed large in his mind. How long did he have? Was the clock in the ballroom just a trick, like everything else had been? He felt his hope deflating, but shored himself up the best he could. No time for sorrow. No time for anything. As if Winston could sense his anxiety, she licked him right on the nose. And the ground loomed beneath them.

Will hit the ground running, Winston jostling around in his arms, making every step twice as burdensome. Already well beyond exhaustion, Will's body was being pushed to breaking, and he could not stop to care. Winston struggled in his arms, and he stumbled, and to his horror, dropped her. She crashed to the ground with a yelp. Will fell to his knees, anguished, and was not entirely shocked to feel hot tears streaking down his cheeks. He slumped to the ground, fingertips curled against the scrubby dirt, breathing hard but still breathing. With a shuddering breath, he unbuttoned his shirt, back to the flannel he had worn at the beginning of this ordeal, and tied it into a sling for Winston. He wrapped her up and tied the sleeves tightly together across his chest. When he stood, he adjusted her so that she could see over his shoulder, and then forced himself forward. If a few tears fell as he lurched onward, who would be able to tell?

A clatter rose behind him, the sound of an army on horseback thundering through the scrub and sparse wild woods he had just passed out of. Without anywhere to hide, he turned to protect Winston as well as he could. To his astonishment, there was only one horse-- and not a horse, but an enormous antlered stag, pure black in color, with feathers for fur. Will gaped helplessly, entirely in the monstrous animal's path, and only began breathing when it careened to a halt beside him, snorting plumes of hot, smoky breath. Winston barked, and wagged her tail, straining to lick the stag on the flank. It peered over at her, and at Will, and then looked behind its own shoulder. In the distance, Will could see a flurry of orange. The stag nudged Will with an antler, and bowed its head.

"I'm supposed to get on you?" he asked, but Winston was whining as she looked behind them, and whatever was coming Will knew he would not be able to outrun. He was going to take his chance with a beast that Winston was willing to lick. He took tight hold of Winston's sling and heaved himself inelegantly on top of the stag's shoulders. As soon as he had a leg across and a hand full of feathers, the stag lurched into a run, nearly unseating Will in the process.

And they flew.

The orange cacophony had drawn close enough that Will could hear snatches of conversation, like "-still wearing his head!" and "-ucker gimme back my leg you've had it too-" and, possibly most ominously, "Fuck that Hannibal sideways with a beak!" which made Will suddenly very glad that he was heading away from anything who didn't feel threatened by Hannibal. The stag snorted as if in agreement, and Will awkwardly loosened his death grip to pat it on the flank.

"What the fuck are those things?" he shouted over the sound of the wind and the ground-eating strides of the stag. His seat was becoming more sure as he relaxed into the lope of the creature beneath him, slowly realizing that he wasn't going to fall off.

"Fieries," came a deep basso rumble.

Nothing was going to faze Will at this point. A giant talking raven-feathered stag was really low on his bizarre meter at the moment.

"They sound like assholes!" he shouted back. The stag snorted, and Will risked a look behind him to see that the fieries were a flash of orange here and there among the thickening trees and then nothing at all. He turned back, sinking down into the soft feathers and fur of the creature.

"The Labyrinth is old and wild, and far too long has the King left it to its own devices." The stag sounded dissatisfied. "Many do not acknowledge his kingship, and the dark corners become dangerous for even those protected by the Pact."

"The Pact?" But Will was struggling to stay awake. On his back, Winston was already snoring in his ear. He snuggled down, gripping feathers in both hands.

"The only way to fail is to give up, Will Graham."

And then Will succumbed to his exhaustion.

***

A cold shock of water woke him. He gasped and flailed an scrabbled for a hold, even as the smooth wet back of the stag rose under him. Will looked up, sputtering, to see that they were in a deep, wide moat, and that the castle loomed before them. "We're here!" He hugged the stag's thick neck and squeezed. "You got us here!!" But still he allowed the stag to swim them up to the shore rather than swim with Winston on his back. At the edge of the shore Will collapsed onto the ground and untied Winston to check on her. He ran his hand over her shoulder, and it came back clean. The cuts were not deep-- already healed over, and now that he saw them in the light they looked more accidental than intentional. Was it possible that Hannibal had been as surprised by his changing form as Will had been? Where he had expected fingers there had been claws instead? Will just remembered a sense of shock pervading the entire scene, and he shook his head. He had business to attend to with the lord of the castle and Hannibal was going to answer some questions if Will Graham had anything to say about it.

"Any last advice, before I go?" he asked, more hopefully that with any certainty. The raven-feathered stag eyed him, and then shook. Hard. Feathers and fur and water went everywhere, until Will was even more wet than when he had come out of the moat. He stared at the feathers plastered against his chest, belly, and flanks. The stag snorted at him.

"Everything you need to know you already know, Will Graham." And with that, it sauntered off, flicking its fat tail saucily, or so it looked to Will.

Still. "Thank you!" It didn't look back, but it bowed its head in acknowledgement, turned a corner of the wall, and was gone. Everything in this place was so dramatic. Will turned to Winston, who wagged and barked at him. He patted her head. "Stay, girl. I'm doing this by myself." Winston barked again, and Will turned to walk up the steps to the open portcullis, only to look around and find that Winston was following him. He sighed. "Stay, girl." And he made the sign for stay, an open hand outstretched, and she lay down, whining pathetically. He turned and walked the rest of the way up the stairs and through the heavy gate. The portcullis was not deep, and he cleared it in a few strides to find a wide, dusty courtyard, empty of all life. One tower stood in the center, and at the top a long buttressed bridge reached to the castle proper. But first, more stairs.

The tower had a curving staircase, and even with his rest on the back of the stag he was trembling a quarter of the way up. In the stillness he heard the neat clicking of toenails, and shook his head. "Alright, but you have to stay behind me." A joyful bark and Winston was at his heels, urging him onward when he flagged. It was a weary climb, but eventually he made it to the top. A small arched window looked out on the Labyrinth below, and from this high it looked even more vast and impossible than before. But it hadn't been. He had traversed it, with help from all sorts of unlikely places. And he was going to get his sister back. Everything else could wait.

The castle was deserted. Their footsteps echoed against the clean well-cut walls, without a tapestry or a stick of furniture to dull the sound. Will didn't know where he was going, but Winston soon took the lead, and he followed her through room after room of emptiness, until they reached a circular throne room. It was also empty, but there were signs of life here. A throne of antlers sat on a slightly raised dias. Behind it hung a single white silk curtain that fluttered in the breeze or their passing. "Hannibal!" he shouted. "Hannibal, I'm here!!" His voice bounced madly across the room and faded slowly.

Nothing.

Curious now, in the heart of this demented kingdom, he meandered around the room. Along the sides were shelves filled with stones and bones and feathers, piles of fine cloth and filigreed bowls filled with perfect crystal globes. Books took up half of the wall on the opposite side of the antler throne, and he was surprised to find novels and other books written in English amongst the more obscure-looking texts. Dumas, Eliot and Sinclair Lewis were mixed with Heidegger and books on opera and Renaissance art. Will flipped one open, and found that it was heavily annotated in a neat hand. With nothing better to do, he took a book on the Vatican museum back to the throne, and settled into it, his naked torso still plastered with feathers, his legs over one arm and his back propped against the other. It was surprisingly comfortable, though an antler point poked at his thigh.

He was disturbed, some time later, by a rustling in the hall that lead into the throne room from the opposite side of where he had entered. It was not Hannibal, but rather a small creature with a very long nose and a tall hat. It shuffled over to his side, and peered over his shoulder. Will turned to look at it, and caught his own reflection in the smoky lenses over its eyes. "Do you mind? It's rude to read over someone's shoulder."

"Hmm," the creature trilled. "Is that your chair? I think not." It shook its head fussily. Will grinned tiredly.

"No one else is using it at the moment."

"Is that your book?"

"No one was using that either."

The creature stared at him. "Are you not afraid of the king?"

Will tipped his head back. "I want my sister back. I did what he asked. Now I just want to go home with her and Winston and sleep for a year."

"Be careful what you wish for, Will Graham." And it was not the twittery voice of the intruding stranger, but Hannibal's voice, right in his ear, sending goosebumps across the entirely of his skin. "It might be granted."

Chapter Text

Will looked over his shoulder, still lounging in the throne, but he put the book carefully down on the ground, to avoid scuffing the leather cover. Hannibal stood solemnly behind him, the long hat and beak hanging from his curled fingers at his side. He wore soft robes, ragged at the edges, and looked as if he didn't know exactly what to think about the young man sitting on his throne, reading his book. Will slowly stood, his muscles aching, to face the king. For a long moment, they just took each other in, gentle curiosity waning to a soft, pleased familiarity.

"You didn't give up," murmured Hannibal. His lips tilted in a barely-there smile.

"I had a lot of help," Will murmured back. His smile was more generous, lighting his eyes.

Around them, the throne room shivered slowly to life. One by one, small goblins came out of the shadows. There, by the window, the tiny little bird goblin held hands with his large ox-like friend, and a tall necked giraffe-looking goblin peered over the gathering crowd. By the bookcase was the old, wizened man, his bird hat bright-eyed and keen. Soldiers in odd armor and blunt weapons milled dutifully by the exits. A small fox wearing a paper crown peered down from the top of a bookshelf. They all waited silently, nervous witness to the pair by the throne, dog wagging delightedly beside them.

Will reached out, his fingers wiggling, and Hannibal looked down at the proffered hand, his eyes widening in surprise. Will lifted his hand a bit more, and wrapped his fingertips around Hannibal's. Their hands twined together, and a soft smoulder of something that might have been hope rose like a will-o-the-wisp in Hannibal's dark eyes.

Until Will spoke.

"Through dangers untold." Hannibal's eyes dropped immediately, his generous mouth curling unhappily. Will cleared his throat, forcing a swallow. "And hardships unnumbered."

"Will…" And Hannibal's voice cracked under the strain. Winston whined, nudging Will with her bony head.

Will looked down, and then gazed up through his eyelashes, settling somewhere around the tip of Hannibal's nose. "But you know… I'd hate to overstate it." A small breathy gasp rippled through the congregated creatures. Will looked around him, meeting the eyes of the astonished audience, even if he wasn’t able to meet Hannibal's yet. "It's been a really long fucking day, to tell the truth, but hardly 'hardships unnumbered.' The untold part might be true though, since no one else has made it through, have they?" He raised his eyes finally to meet Hannibal's gaze, and tightly, Hannibal shook his head. Will squeezed his hand, took a deep breath, and continued.

"I have fought my way to the castle beyond the Goblin City…" His brow wrinkled in confusion. "Where is the Goblin City, anyway?"

Hannibal frowned, looking awkwardly at the flagstones under his feet. His voice took on the timbre of a small child when he answered. "Under the moat."

Will's eyebrows shot up. "Under the…?" He glanced around, and a few of the goblins shuffled and muttered, clearly unhappy about this. He decided not to belabor that point-- if there was a later, then perhaps. "To take back the child that you have stolen." He finally allowed himself to look long into Hannibal's eyes. Misery and pride were mixed in a complicated knot that tensed the crows feet around his eyes. Will stepped closer to him, until their entwined hands were pressed in between their thighs. "But you didn't steal her. You saved her."

Another rippling murmur now, but this was tinged with a sorrow that Will didn't understand. A few of the goblins wiped tears from their large eyes, and the susurration of sniffles rippled around the large open space, echoing off stone walls. Hannibal himself was struck silent, for a moment. Will waited, feeling like he was on the brink of something momentous. Eventually, Hannibal spoke, but his voice was unsteady.

"You still have not found her, Will Graham."

Will couldn't help but grin at him now. "Haven't I?" And he turned to look at Winston, who was wagging her tail eagerly. "How long did it take her to convince you?" His question was directed at Hannibal, who gave a rueful chuckle.

"How did you know?"

"Winston is much more obedient," Will replied, smiling openly now. One single dog bark, and then Winston shimmered and Abigail unfolded from being crouched on the flagstones, barefoot in her favorite jeans and flannel. She giggled as Will picked her up and held her tightly, squeezing his eyes shut against a flux of tears. "You could have been hurt, my girl," he murmured to her, overwhelmed. She had him around the neck, choking him a little.

"He didn't mean it," she whispered back, looking at Hannibal without fear. "We surprised him, that's all." And to Will's shock, she reached out to Hannibal, and after a moment, he handed her over. The king kissed her forehead and stroked down her hair as she tucked herself in his broad arms. "But it was rude, Hannibal," he chastised him, and he dropped his eyes, chagrined.

"I did not mean to, but I regret harming you nonetheless." He held her with ease and familiarity, which made a soft, unexpected warmth bloom in Will's ribcage. "Your brother has unsettled me greatly, and I find I am not in complete control anymore, of myself." Hannibal turned to him, his expression vulnerable as if expecting to be reprimanded. "She gave me an ultimatum after I brought you here to warm you. She told me if anything happened to you, she would never speak to me again." And a gentle, wondrous smile teased at the corners of his mouth. "How could I stand against such a dire threat?"

Will shook his head, gentle in his mocking. "She uses that to get a later bedtime too." He eyed Hannibal carefully. "You will have to toughen up if you are going to help me raise her."

Hannibal stared at him, mouth gaping open dumbly. "I… what?" Abigail squealed in his arm and leapt back over to Will's to hug him fiercely. Then she squirmed down to the floor and ran off, shouting, "Winston! Winston!" She turned a corner and her voice echoed back to them as she ran pell-mell down a hallway in search of her dog. It was Will's turn to gape.

"Winston's here?" Hannibal nodded, still robbed of speech, and then visibly gathered himself.

"Why would you…? Will Graham, you don't even know me, or what I am capable of," he managed. Will looked at him squarely, their audience fading into the background. He took in the king's shocked features, his dark eyes filled with uncertainty. He took Hannibal's hand back into his own and squeezed.

"I know you well enough." He stepped closer, so that he was speaking only to Hannibal. "I know you could have left me to die in the freezing water. That I was on the brink of giving up and you took me and warmed me, and let me rest." Hannibal swallowed, but made no dissent. "And in the lodge, you could have left me strung up like so much meat, but you freed me. That was mercy, twice over. He bowed his head. "In the garden you showed me your desire." Hannibal's hand tightened on his. "And in the ballroom, you held me like a lover. You also showed me your devious nature, which is absolutely necessary for raising that girl." He smirked, and Hannibal smiled shyly back.

"I also lost control of myself," he admitted. Will nodded.

"We'll work on that." He sighed softly. "But it was the stag that brought home to me that perhaps…" And here he leaned close in, and Hannibal bowed his silvered head to listen. "Perhaps you are not happy here either. And maybe we both need a little help with our respective burdens."

At this, Hannibal scowled and bristled, jerking away slightly. "I need no assistance, Will Graham."

"How long have you been king here, Hannibal?"

Hannibal looked at him and said nothing.

"Have you ever left?"

"I have visited…" And just like that, the king deflated, his shoulders bowing. "I was brought here as a child. I have ruled ever since."

"Do you even know what the world looks like now?"

"I see through my mirrors. War and pain." He scoffed. "Like it always was. There is no place for me, Will Graham."

Will took his other hand. "There is now."

Hannibal raised his eyes to Will's. "You would bring me into your bower, into your home, and make a place for me, but I am no longer human, Will. As you have seen. I do not belong there in a place of iron."

Will sensed he was not going to get anywhere with that, so he switched tactics. "Where do you get your books?"

Hannibal glanced at the bookshelf. "Some come and go between the borders." His eyes lit up with a thought. "I should like to see the work of Michelangelo. And perhaps opera."

Will, who had never done either, and for whom opera sounded like four hours of pure torture, nodded brightly. "Lots of reasons to come home with me."

"Home with you," Hannibal repeated. And his eyes, fixedly on Will's eyes, drifted to his lips.

Will nodded. "Come home with me." And he leaned up the last inches, and kissed Hannibal right on the mouth. Tentative, delicate, unsure of his reception, still he pressed gently inward, until his body unbalanced and Hannibal's hands slid from clasping his fingers to clasping his hips. A broad hand slid up his back to settle in between his shoulder blades, and Will sighed into the king's mouth, and pressed a little harder, kissing him slow and sweet. Hannibal gave a soft groan, tilting his head to fit them together, deeper, and the kiss took on a life of its own all at once, shivering fire into their bellies. Will found Hannibal's braid, and laced his fingers deep into the thick wiry hair at the king's nape, his other hand trying to find its way under layers of robes.

A loud squeak startled them apart, and they both turned as one to look at Abigail, who was beaming at them and clutching Winston, the real Winston, who was squirming in her grip. "You're getting married!!" And with that proclamation, the entire room burst into astonished celebration. Will and Hannibal found themselves in the center of a swarm of fur and feathers and beaks and hooves and the loud chatter of a large crown for whom good news had been sparse for a very long time. Confetti and rose petals began falling from the ceiling, and a group of goblins dressed in hodgepodge aprons began pouring drinks from a keg that had appeared in the middle of the room. Somewhere much too close a horn section started to play. Hannibal untucked one hand from Will's waistband, where it had been sinking slowly downward, to rub a hand over his face. Will just gaped at his sister.

"Abigail Graham!" But she was dancing with the little fox, his paper crown now askew on her head, and pretended not to hear him. He gave an embarrassed laugh and looked ruefully back at Hannibal, but Hannibal was gazing at him with dark eyes, and with an intent Will could not mistake. Will swallowed past the lump in his throat, overcome suddenly with nerves. Hannibal leaned into him.

"Will you allow me to court you, Will Graham, with the intent to marry, and to tie our houses together?" His voice was soft and rough, and he was clearly nervous as well. "You would be co-regent of my kingdom, if you should desire that. We would share each other's burdens."

Will found himself speechless, his throat dry. It was what he had intended, after all-- to date, if one could date the king of a fairy kingdom. To share his bed, sooner hopefully than later. The prospect of wedding Hannibal made him anxious, but not frightened. He tried to imagine himself leaving Hannibal behind, after all of this, and the thought felt like a stone in his throat. He nodded, and then cleared his throat, because he did not want to be mistaken in this. "I want that very much, Hannibal." Hannibal smiled at him then, a brilliant toothy smile that lit up the entire room with a golden glow. Will stared in awe as the cacophony of music and noise ground to a screeching halt, and everyone in the entire chamber looked to the stone cut windows, where the sun was shining through. Everyone but Hannibal, King of the Goblins, who had eyes only for Will.

Chapter Text

They stood, holding hands, before the small door in the corridor that hadn't been opened for more than thirty years. Hannibal hadn't spoken all morning, and Will didn't know if he had slept, since they still kept separate rooms. In fact, after the impromptu celebration in the throne room, Hannibal had kissed him good night at the door of a suite of rooms that Abigail and Winston were sharing, and had begged for some time to settle a few affairs for his kingdom. And Will had readily agreed, more than a little stunned by the turn of events now that he had time to think on it.

Not that he wasn’t willing to marry Hannibal-- no, that was a shining beacon in his mind, a steady light of pleasure that thrummed in his chest at all hours of the day. And the happiness of the Goblin Court, who now, to his great discomfort, called him Lord, was apparent even to Abigail, who was still six and had only been settled there for half a year. She was delighted that she was going to be a Goblin Princess, and spent her days swirling about in fancy dresses with muddy knees and elbows, chasing Winston around the grounds of the castle with an indulgent Ravenstag watching over them all. Will saw Hannibal at nearly every meal, and they shared more than a few kisses in stolen corners, but as the days went on, Will began to wonder if something was stalling the King after all.

He discovered what it was about a week into his rest, as he had been sleeping and resting a great deal of every day and night, still exhausted from his long ordeal, and hadn't explored much of the castle. Finally, one day he was feeling better than usual and began to wander. The long corridors were slowly brightening up with silk tapestries and beautifully carved furniture, some of it gifts from other Fae rulers who, as the Ravenstag explained, were seeking to ingratiate themselves into a Court that had long been ignored, its ruler uninterested in Fae politics, until now. Other things had been brought out of storage and polished up, and a happy sense of purpose pervaded the halls.

But one corridor remained dark, cobwebs and vines allowed to grow in the neglect. Will stepped quietly, unsure of what might be waiting, but what was waiting was actually Hannibal, sitting stone still in front of a little white door, his knees drawn up to his chest. Will paused for a long moment, but then moved forward, and sat down on the floor beside his husband-to-be. They sat in silence, until Will's ass began to cramp, at which point he took a breath to speak. "What is behind the door, Hannibal?" he asked gently.

Hannibal turned his gaze on Will, and Will was shocked to find that Hannibal's handsome face was marred by deep greyish-purple bags under bloodshot eyes. He clearly hadn't slept, and looked as if he had been crying. Will shifted his body to better face him. "Please tell me." His hand reached for Hannibal's hand, and he intertwined their fingers. Hannibal's palm was overwarm, and damp. He did not let go.

"I…" he began roughly, and then stalled. He squeezed Will's hand. "We have much in common, dear Will. I also had a sister. She also called to the Goblin King to save us both." His voice was low, and set off a deep ache in Will's breast. He tucked his head into Hannibal's shoulder, pressing his bare cheek against Hannibal's neck. Hannibal heaved a great sigh. "But there was no king-- he had passed on some time before then. She was brought here by the residual magic of the Labyrinth, on the brink of death, much like our Abigail." Despite the weight of the story, Will snuggled into Hannibal at his possessive reference to his sister. "The goblins of the court have limited magic, and not the healing kind. I was able to save your sister, but there was no one to save my Mischa." He sighed. "By the time I became king and received the full power of my crown, she had been dead for more than a day." Will nuzzled against him, bleeding out the sorrow that swelled within him in tears against his fiancé's skin. They leaned against each other for a long time, silent in the darkening hallway.

Finally, Will roused himself to speak. "And you have kept her close, Hannibal?"

"I have," he agreed, his voice a whisper.

"Does your sorrow over her death preclude your happiness?"

Hannibal's face twitched into a snarl, but Will didn't flinch from it. He had been through much worse. He watched Hannibal steadily for several heartbeats, and Hannibal glared at him out of the corner of one amber eye, the menacing feeling ballooning like a stormcloud in the dark, dusty space. Will thought again that for all his trials and his affection for this strange man, he barely knew the man he had promised to marry. He had no idea if Hannibal was actually willing to allow himself happiness. Trying not to think too hard about his empty family home, he leaned over and kissed the king's cheek. "I will wait for you."

As he stood, Hannibal stared at the door, and then roused himself. He took hold of Will, wrapping his hand around Will's warm thigh. Without looking, he squeezed once, hard, and said, "I will need your help if I am to bury her."

Will sank back down, his arm sliding around Hannibal's back to clutch at him. He didn’t know what to say, so he nodded instead. They sat together on the stone floor until the night crept all around them and swallowed everything up.

***

The day of the funeral dawned a sickly grey, and Will woke in his bed to Abigail sitting down on the bedcovers beside him. Her braids were messy from having been slept on, and Will stroked his hand down one long braid, tugging it a little at the end. She twitched away, giggling, and then collapsed on top of him. They lay there together for a moment, and then she spoke in a soft voice, "Mischa was my age when she died, right?"

"Mmm," Will replied. "She was very young."

"Is Hannibal going to forget about her now?" Her eyes were wide in the dim light, and Will leaned up on his elbow to better look at her. He smoothed her hair back from her face.

"No, he isn't. Why would you think that?"

She wouldn't look at him. "Hannibal told me that you were going to forget about me."

A bubble of outraged disbelief bubbled within him, but he stifled it. He swallowed, choosing his words carefully. "Hannibal felt abandoned by his sister when she died. He's always been alone." He cleared his throat. "So if that's all he knew, then he would naturally expect everyone to leave each other."

"But you aren't going to leave me?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. He hugged her tightly to him.

"No, Abby. I'm not going to leave you."

"Ever?"

He knew this was something he could not promise, but he did it anyway. "Ever. As long as I live and it is within my power."

She seemed to understand his caveat. She had mourned for both him and their father, after all, and it still haunted her. "And we aren't going to leave Hannibal?"

Will met her gaze, and shook his head. "No. We aren't going to leave him."

She absorbed this, and then hopped off the bed, only to turn around and leap back on, landing right on his stomach. He gave a great, comical OOF, only half-playful since she was growing taller every day. "Come on, Will, wake up!! Out of bed, lazybones!!" And she drummed her little hands on his chest until he wrapped her in a blanket and threw her over his shoulder, where she flumped like a sack and allowed him to carry her back to her room to wash and dress.

***

The funeral itself was attended by the entire Goblin court, although Will was certain Hannibal would have preferred a smaller affair. The Ravenstag presided, his feathers shining somberly in the grey light. Hannibal walked out of the castle to a large garden behind, holding Will's hand tightly the entire way. Will could no longer feel his fingers, but he didn’t care. Abigail was with her little fox friend, Sir Didymus, and Winston and Ambrosias trotted behind. They made a quiet procession down to the center of the garden, where a stone monument of a little girl stood carved from ivory stone. Hannibal stared at her, swallowing, and then clutching Will even tighter, until Will had to bury a squeak of pain under a cough, he nodded at the Ravenstag.

To Will's surprise, he began to sing, in a deep sonorous voice that they could feel under their feet as vibrations in the earth.

The memory of you will always be with me
Crossing over with me as I cross over
These varied lands beneath my feet;
Your hand will always be in my hand
Your laughter in my ear
I leave you here not to forget
My darling, but to remember you.

The melody was something deep and pre-verbal, that swelled up within him until tears streamed down his cheeks. He was clutching Hannibal's hand as hard as Hannibal was squeezing his, and on his other side, Abigail's little hand slipped into his. On her side was Sir Didymus, and beyond him the Court ringed the grave like a sheltering grove. Those who knew the words sang, as the Ravenstag repeated the same verse, twice over and once more. And then they all fell silent at once. Hannibal sniffed once, and cleared his throat.

"Her name was Mischa. Let all who speak in this kingdom and beyond remember her name, until the world crumbles into the sea."

The Court murmured her name. Mischa. It echoed around them, gaining force as the birds in the trees and the beasts and creatures of the Labyrinth took it up and spoke it. The air was alive with her name, and Will trembled at the sorrow of it. Beside him, Abigail tugged on his arm and he lifted her up into his arms, where she rested her small head on his shoulder. They stood in the garden until the sound of Mischa's name faded into the wind. One by one, the Court began to quietly leave, until only they and the Ravenstag were left. The stag looked at Hannibal, in his dark eyes something knowing.

"You mean to go, don’t you."

Hannibal nodded. "For a little while." He relaxed his hold on Will's hand only to lace his fingers through Will's fingers, holding him more gently. Will turned to him with a question in his eyes. Hannibal, tears wet on his cheeks, managed a tiny smile. "You offered to take me to your home."

Will nodded, smiling back. "I did. I do."

"I would like to see it."

The Ravenstag sighed. "I suppose I'm babysitting Abigail as well as running your Court, my king?"

Abigail squealed in delight, and climbed down from Will to wrap her arms around the Ravenstag's great neck. Will grinned at him. "If that's alright with Abigail?"

Abigail affirmed with a laugh as she hooked her hands into one set of antlers and her feet into the other and swung up two feet off the ground. With a dignified huff, the stag began walking back to the castle, Abigail tangled happily in his antlers, leaving Hannibal and Will alone by Mischa's grave, the ivory stone now glowing blue and orange in the dusk.

Hannibal, his eyes downcast, leaned into Will, sinking his silvered head down until his forehead rested against Will's. Will breathed him in, and moved inward until he could wrap his arms around Hannibal's waist. Hannibal embraced him loosely, and they were warm and close in each other's space. After a long, quiet moment, Hannibal spoke. "After all of this, do you still want me to court you?" And his voice didn't carry the strident confidence Will was becoming accustomed to, but a soft insecurity. "I will understand if you don't want the burden of a kingdom along with a husband who knows little except loneliness and sorrow."

Will pushed up into him, kissing him gently, and then less gently, biting at the bottom bow of his lip. Hannibal nipped at him in return, and Will felt that crackling heat that often kindled between them. Pulling back slightly, he nodded, and then spoke to make certain that Hannibal heard him and understood. "I want you. I want this. I want you to come home with me and not leave my bed for days." Hannibal shivered, actually shivered in his arms, and Will kissed him again. "I want to learn you, to know you, to keep you."

A shaky breath or two, and Hannibal nodded, his hands gripping Will's hips tightly. "It will take me many years, perhaps, to believe you."

Will grinned at him, nudging his body up against Hannibal's body. "Good thing we have time and a good babysitter."

"I heard that!" shouted the Ravenstag.

Chapter Text

The end of the afternoon was graced with a solemn meal, with the entirety of the Goblin Court gathered in the banquet hall. It was a magnificent room, with tall wide windows entirely glassed with exquisite stained glass murals of beasts and creatures and the Labyrinth itself. Will had spent hours in here with Abigail, reading the stories from the murals, and the Ravenstag had been excellent company, telling them of Queen Sarah as a girl, and her adventures through the Labyrinth with the Great Friend Ludo, caller of the Rocks, and the wily fox Sir Didymus, great grandfather of the current fox of that name and Abigail's fast friend. Abigail wanted to be just like the Queen when she grew up, and promised to navigate the Labyrinth by herself when she grew taller. Will had made her promise to take Sir Didymus, and possibly had whispered in the Ravenstag's ear to keep an eye on her, just in case, to which the Ravenstag responded with an exasperated sigh and clomped away muttering something about needing to be cloned.

Now every member of the Court was here, including a table of subdued and intact Fieries, heads attached and all, and even the little goblin in bandages that had masqueraded as Abigail, now sitting with her and Winston at a lower table, gleaning much admiration for her bravery. The wizened old man was now sporting four beautiful new feathered lures on the collar of his cloak, as his hat had objected fiercely to being impaled. Everyone ate in murmured near-silence, having become so accustomed to not talking about Mischa that now that they were allowed, they had no idea what to say.

Will sat with Hannibal in the middle of a small table full of members of the Court-- the little bird-looking goblin that answered to the name of Paukštis, and who had importantly informed Will it meant 'bird' in Lithuanian, was to Will's right, and the Ravenstag, who had no other name as far as Will knew, was on Hannibal's left, standing at the table and munching on sweet timothy hay seasoned with sauteed liver and mushrooms. When Will had eyed the mushrooms on his own plate, Hannibal had just given him an amused eyebrow, and stabbed one with a fork to bring it to Will's mouth.

Will ate. It was delicious. He was discovering there was little he would not do for his king and fiancé. That thought didn’t trouble him as much as maybe it ought to have. There were no speeches, but the wide wondering eyes of the Ravenstag as he looked out over the crowded hall made Will think that perhaps this gathering was entirely too rare for speeches. He gripped Hannibal's hand between their plates, scooted their chairs close enough that their thighs were touching, and basked in the warmth of all that surrounded him.

After the meal was cleared, and Hannibal was watching him with a soft gaze over their coffee, Will thought of his promise to bring Hannibal home. It seemed entirely too much to ask Hannibal tonight, and Will was contented to follow Hannibal up the winding staircase to their rooms, hands still clasped together. Hannibal, weary and relieved and fragile from the day's events, did not let go of Will's hand as they made their way down the hall to their separate bedrooms. Instead, he stopped at the door of his own, pressed Will up against the hard wood with his body, and leaned down until their lips brushed against each other.

"You owe me a kiss, Will Graham."

Will smiled against the king's mouth. "Have I not repaid that debt in full already, ten times over?"

Hannibal kissed a wet promise against his cheek. "Mmm, for saving your life?"

Will gripped Hannibal's braid at the base, where it was thickest, and tugged, tipping Hannibal's head back just enough for Will to fit his mouth against his throat. He sucked a bruise into the thin skin there, and another, pleased with the soft moans from the other. "When you were the one who imperiled it in the first place?" Hannibal grinned, a tightening of the skin over his jaw.

"Ah, but you agreed to the bargain, and now I intend to claim what I have been promised." His voice was rougher than Will had ever heard it, and it did things to his belly he wanted to explore in minute detail. He tilted his hips outward to feel the satisfying weight of Hannibal's heavy cock against his thigh, and Hannibal tugged him close with an arm around his waist as he turned the handle to open the door.

The room was exactly like it had been when Will had been there last, a lifetime ago and desperate for warmth. He spoke haltingly, distracted as Hannibal pressed him backwards, a kiss at a time, toward the bed. "What would you have done had I taken you up on your offer, when last I was here?" The last word squeaked upward in pitch as Hannibal's hands snaked under his shirt and vest, working them impatiently off Will's shoulders. His fingers darted to the buttons of Hannibal's shirt as Hannibal's hands spread possessively over his back.

"I don't know," he answered with a soft honestly, as he shrugged out of his jacket and vest, letting Will fumble with the last of the buttons before shrugging the shirt to the floor. "I was already rather taken with you. Anyone else I would have bedded and then killed." A frission of shock rippled through Will's body, not entirely unpleasant. Hannibal's teeth captured the fragile skin over his carotid artery, and he bit down, holding Will's body as Will's knees threatened to buckle. "That arouses you," he murmured, pleasure radiating from his voice.

"And eaten them?" Will pressed, not entirely sure while he was still talking now that Hannibal's deft fingers were unclasping his trousers. He held on to Hannibal's shoulders as his legs were not entirely trustworthy.

Hannibal snorted, his crooked canines flashing in the brilliant light of the setting sun. "Eat the wrong mushrooms just once, and a reputation is forever secured."

"You did drown a city," Will pointed out, with fracturing thought being overtaken by the flushing heat of a strong hand against his ass, squeezing satisfyingly hard. His own fingers tugged frantically at the button of Hannibal's pants, and then there was a give and a ping as the button zinged across the room. Will shoved the pants down as far as he could reach without dislodging Hannibal's hand from its perch, kissing his ribs and furry chest on the way back up to his mouth.

"Outdated infrastructure," Hannibal murmured, and then his mouth was on Will's again, and there were no more questions. By the time Hannibal pressed Will down into the thick warm blankets covering the bed, they were both bare, and Will spared a delighted thought at the feel of cool heavy silk against his ass. He groaned at the weight of Hannibal on top of him, and canted his hips upward hopefully.

"Please tell me you want to be inside me, Hannibal," he keened, and then strengthened his case by wrapping both thighs around Hannibal's hips and arching his back. Hannibal groaned helplessly, nodded, mouthed against Will's shoulder, and then shimmied onto his knees, Will's legs still clasped around him. His chest heaved appealingly as he struggled to reach the bedside with a long but sadly inadequate reach. Scowling, he snapped his fingers impatiently, and a bottle appeared in his hand with a snick. Will laughed as Hannibal thumbed it open. "I bet you could do more than that with a snap of your fingers," he breathed. Hannibal smirked at him.

"I could. But I want to take you apart with my hands and mouth and cock, Will Graham, not my magic." Will gasped out another laugh, and unhooked his ankles to spread his legs wide.

"Good choice." His voice was nothing but breath and desire now. Hannibal slicked his fingers and reached down to lift Will's hips with one arm, splaying him out like a banquet, and slid a long finger into his hole. Will pressed his feet down so that he could open more, his thighs trembling, and Hannibal found a pillow from somewhere to slide under his ass. As he worked a second finger gently in, Hannibal's mouth licked delicately at Will's cockhead, sucking a kiss to the tip. Will tipped his head back, panting out soft moans as Hannibal's hot mouth sank deeper over him, strong fingers spreading him relentlessly, and then rubbing over the plum of his prostate until Will was squeaking out frantic gasps of air, his hands fisted white-knuckled in the sheets. "Ha- Hannibal!" he begged, and Hannibal relented, pressing in a third finger as he climbed back over Will's body to take his mouth, and lick the desperate sounds from his tongue.

"My beautiful Will," he whispered into Will's mouth, and Will felt his fingers pull out to be replaced with the blunt head of his slick cock. The stutter of Hannibal's hips indicated that he might be intending to go slow, but Will was done with slow. Done with tentative kisses in hallways; done with the keen ache of unfulfilled want. He angled his hips and clasped his ankles tight around Hannibal's back, and pulled him right in. They slid home together in a single, deeply satisfied groan, and it was Will who set the rhythm, urgent and hard and as deep as it was possible for Hannibal to get. Hannibal seated himself with a smack, and his arms and back flexed powerfully to gain leverage to pull out of Will, nearly all the way, and then slam back in again. They cried out together, and Will tugged Hannibal down into a wet, messy kiss, as Hannibal's and his hips thrust together, shifting them both up the bed, an inch at a time. Will spared a hand from clawing at Hannibal's shoulders to protect them both from hitting the wall, and it gave him the extra leverage to seat Hannibal so deep, the king bucked above him with a sharp groan.

He grinned, feral and more than a little wild, and thrust short stabbing thrusts into Will's prostate. He slid his hands under Will's shoulders and pulled them tight together, and his hips made abrupt circles against Will's hips, their bones interlocking, their bellies heaving, with Will's cock trapped in the middle of the sweat and heat of it. It built all at once, a blossom of white hot fire at the base of his spine, and then Will was coming harder than he ever had in his life, come spattering his belly and chest as he rode out his orgasm with breathless screams. Hannibal shook above him, teeth bared, gasping as Will's throbbing body pulled him over the edge, and bit into Will's shoulder with a shuddering groan.

It seemed a very long time, drifting in hazy bliss, before Will registered that his shoulder ached almost as much as his ass. He grinned, shifting enough that Hannibal's softening cock slipped out of his hole with a warm trickle of semen that tickled between his cheeks. Hannibal rolled all the way underneath him then, and Will propped himself up on Hannibal's chest, stroking at the thick silvered fur there. He kissed at Hannibal's nipples, earning a twitch and a firm squeeze to his thigh. "You bit me," he observed lazily.

Hannibal tilted his head back, exposing his throat, and closed his eyes. "Mmm." His large hands stroked over Will's back, warm and comforting, and Will settled into him, worn out and contented. A flash of light tickled at his eyes, and he opened them, to gaze at a room full of fireflies blinking lazily around the couple on the bed. They flashed in chains of light, bathing Hannibal's and his skin in a green-gold glow, mesmerizing them both.

"Is this your magic?" Will asked him softly, awestruck. Hannibal's hands tightened against his hips, shifting them both to the side so that he could wind his long legs around Will's.

"It is the excess of it, when…" His eyes fluttered closed. "When I am overwhelmed, when I feel more than I can contain." His voice was pitched so low that Will tilted his head so that his ear was pressed against Hannibal's mouth.

"So in the lodge?" He kissed the sweat from under the bolt of Hannibal's jaw. Hannibal nodded.

"Seeing you there, so determined but so tired that you gratefully ceded your weight to the embrace of my vines… I wanted to end the game then. But the magic of the Labyrinth is stronger than any of us. It would not have let you go without a fight that I may not have been able to win."

Will nodded, not understanding the mechanics of it but willing to accept it, for now. "I'm not giving up, Hannibal."

Hannibal squeezed him again, and rolled Will beneath him, settling his strong body into Will's. "That makes two of us, Will Graham."

Lit by fireflies, they drifted off together, come drying on their skin, sweaty and sated and finally home.