Sarah's heart echoed the rumbling thunder outside as she stared at the man who had come into the pub. He hadn't changed much, really. He looked less Fae-like and more human, but noticeably handsome. His wild hair had been tamed, cut short and falling in soft waves across his forehead. His formerly ornate brows looked relatively normal, sandy blonde but with a regal arch. He had also traded in his leather and armor and extra-tight breeches for mundane clothing: plain, but perfectly tailored dark blue slacks, a white button-down shirt with a loose blue tie, and a pair of sensible black shoes. His ensemble was capped off by a long black trench coat and a pair of black leather driving gloves. Despite his human-like appearance and unnoteworthy outfit, Sarah would have recognized the Goblin King anywhere.

He smiled at her for a few moments before speaking. "Sarah dear," he said sweetly, "Are you going to continue gawking at me or are you going to invite me to sit down?"

Sarah stared at him, still dumbstruck. She wanted to ask him what he was doing there. What he wanted with her. She wanted to scream her former declaration at him.

"You-" she began, thinking the lines in her head. "You… are dripping wet."

The Goblin King looked down at his sopping coat and squishy shoes. "Yes," he replied. "The weather turned ghastly and caught me off guard, I'm afraid. Pity, it had been so pleasant."

"Funny," said Sarah, her gaze not leaving his face. "I thought you liked thunderstorms."

He chuckled. "Only for dramatic effect," he told her. "May I?" he asked, nodding to the chair opposite her. Sarah nodded and he sat down after depositing his parcels into the seat next to him and shrugging out of his damp coat. He gazed at her from across the table as he slowly removed his dark gloves and set them aside.

"Well?" he asked at last.

"Well what?" echoed Sarah.

"Have you nothing to say?" he continued. "No 'What are you doing here?' 'What do you want from me?' 'You have no power over me'?" He grinned and Sarah could tell he was baiting her. She refused to take it.

Shaking her head, she replied, "No. I kind of always figured I'd run into you again some day." She looked around the pub. "I just never thought it would be here."

The Goblin King nodded, smiling. "Ah yes," he said. "Which brings us back to the question of what we are doing here. What is Sarah Williams doing in Great Missenden?"

"I live here," she answered flatly. "Your turn."

"Really?" asked the Goblin King, splaying his tapered fingers across the table. "Interesting." He paused and looked out the window. "I'm here for books," he told her.

"Books?" asked Sarah.

"Yes, you know those things with words on pages that people used to enjoy before everyone started staring at their phones?" the Goblin King snipped.

"I know books, Goblin King," Sarah retorted. "In fact, I write them. That's partly why I'm here. For inspiration."

"Well well," said the Goblin King. "Congratulations, Sarah dear. I'm glad you're making good use of your rather vivid imagination." Sarah could tell his remarks were heartfelt.

"Um, thanks," she mumbled in response.

A waitress approached and handed the Goblin King a menu and Sarah stood.

"I- I have to go," she told him. "I have work to do and…"

"Oh nonsense, Sarah. Sit down. You haven't even finished your stew, which smells delicious." He turned to the waitress. "I'll have the same as the lady here," he said with a smile.

Sarah flopped back down into her chair and fiddled with her napkin. She could feel the Goblin King's eyes on her, but couldn't bring herself to look back at him.

"Sarah," he said at last, "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

"No," she answered, finally venturing a quick look at him. "I- I just don't know what to think. I mean, it's ridiculous, you being here and all. What are you doing here?"

"I told you," he said leaning back in his chair. "I'm here for books."

"But why here? Don't you have bookstores in the Goblin Kingdom?"

The Goblin King sighed. "The book I needed is very rare. I managed to track down a copy at the bookstore across the way," he told her, nodding to the store across the street. "I'm just over in London, so rather than pay horrendous shipping costs and wait several days, I decided to pop over and pick it up myself."

"Wait," said Sarah. "What do you mean you're in London?"

"I live there," he answered. His stew arrived before he could elaborate and he quickly tucked into it. Sarah watched him eat, transfixed by the sight of the king of the goblins enjoying a mundane bowl of stew from a cheap pub. Her own stew was getting cold, so she turned her attention to it rather than questioning him further.

They ate in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the pattering rain on the window and the slight slurping and non-verbal appreciation of the hearty stew.

Finally sated, the Goblin King pushed his bowl away and glanced at Sarah. "I suppose," he began, "you're wondering why I'm living in London."

"I did wonder," answered Sarah. "But I figured it was none of my business."

The Goblin King glanced wistfully out the window where the rain was finally letting up. "I've left the Underground," he told her. "I'm no longer the Goblin King. I've abdicated."

Sarah's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" she exclaimed. "You can even do that?"

"Of course," chuckled the Not-Goblin King. "What did you think? Did you believe I was chained to it like a genie to a magic lamp?" He paused to gauge her reaction. Sarah only gazed back, wide-eyed.

"I was weary of it before your run," the Goblin King told her. "Your triumph gave me the push I needed to finally give it up and leave it to someone better suited to it. Heaven knows I haven't the patience for drunken goblins and screaming babies."

"You didn't enjoy it?" asked Sarah.

He gave her his trademark smirk. "No more than you enjoyed babysitting your baby brother."

"Point made," said Sarah.

"How is your brother, by the way?" asked the Goblin King.

Sarah looked up at him, alarmed. "Oh no, Goblin King. We're not going down that road again. You can just stay the hell away from Toby."

The Goblin King rolled his odd eyes at her. "For pity's sake, Sarah. Do pay attention. I'm not the king of the goblins anymore and have no intention of doing anything in the slightest to your brother. I was merely asking. He was quite a charming fellow as I recall."

"Yeah? Well, you might not think so now," Sarah replied, relaxing somewhat. She thought of the surly teen who was driving her parents mad with his angst-ridden outbursts and his blasting of heavy metal music. "He's changed quite a bit."

"Pity," said the Goblin King.

"So, if you're not the Goblin King anymore, what do you do?" Sarah asked him. His eyes lit up and he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a silver case. He pulled a card from the case and slid it across the table. Sarah picked it up and read it.

Dr. Jareth G. Brenin

Professor of European Mythology and Ancient Music

King's College London

Sarah glanced up over the card to where he grinned at her like the Cheshire Cat. "You've got to be kidding me," she said.

"No," he replied. "That's what I've been doing for the past ten years. Enlightening young minds to stories of fairies and Celtic gods and goddesses and heroes and villains and everything in between."

"And Ancient Music?" added Sarah.

"Oh yes, that," he said. "It's really just a hobby, but it doesn't hurt one to have a side-hustle, as they say."

"You've no idea," Sarah wanted to say.

"Is that your real name?" she asked instead.

"Partly," he replied. "Jareth is my given name. The others I made up since I have no surname. Apparently only pop-stars go solely by their first names."

"Brenin," said Sarah. "Welsh?"

"Very good," said the man known as Jareth.

"We get a surprising number of Welsh tourists at the Dahl museum," Sarah explained. "I volunteer there when I'm not writing, which is pretty much all the time."

"Writer's block?" asked Jareth.

"I guess you could call it that," Sarah told him. He leaned forward, interested, and she continued. "To be honest, I have ideas, but I can't make them fit. You see, I wrote my first series about the Labyrinth."

She expected him to smile and be pleased but his scowl attested otherwise.

"Why the hell would you want to write about that?" he asked.

Sarah sat back, deflated. "I don't know," she told him. "It made a big impression on me. I wanted to share my experiences but I couldn't come right out and say what had happened, so I wrote it out as stories. Unfortunately, my time there was limited and I ran out of material. Perhaps if I'd had three more hours…"

"Very funny," Jareth said dryly.

"Well anyway, that's how I ended up here in Great Missenden. I was chasing inspiration and maybe hoping for some residual creative mojo from Roald Dahl."

Jareth studied her for a moment, a look of mischief in his eyes. "Your stories of the Labyrinth," he began. "Do they include me?"

Sarah felt her face flush. "Well, I… No," she told him. "I didn't really interact with you much," she gushed when his face fell. "And besides, I didn't just want to write you as the villain of the story. That wouldn't have been fair. And before you say it, I am older now and do in fact have a basis for comparison."

Jareth gave her a slight smirk, but didn't press the issue and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. In reality she had tried to include the character of the Goblin King into her stories. She'd written him as sly and seductive, wily but wise. She'd described him in detail, from his wild golden hair to his lithe figure to his pointed boots. She had not forgotten the look her editor had given her.

"I'm not sure how well young readers will respond to a villain who is so… alluring, Sarah," she'd said. "Children are very black-and-white and this Goblin King is definitely a gray area. Though I think I have a bit of a crush on him."

"Get in line," thought Sarah.

Unable to cast him as a pure villain, Sarah had ended up dropping the character of the Goblin King altogether. She kept her notes on him though, planning to revisit him and perhaps write a young adult series around his character. She knew it would be a big hit with the fifteen to eighteen year old female demographic.

"Well, Sarah dear," said Jareth as he laid his napkin and a few crisp bills on the table, "This has been lovely, but I'm afraid I have to dash. I have to catch the train back to London. I have an early class in the morning."

Sarah shook her head slightly. Those words coming out of his mouth sounded so strange. Even surreal.

"I'm sure you get over to the city now and then, correct?" he asked as he pulled on his gloves.

"Yes, regularly," Sarah answered. "My agent is in London."

"Splendid! Then you'll have to look me up so we can chat some more. My number is on the back of my card."

He stood and slid his coat over his shoulders and leaned down to retrieve his parcels.

"Wait," Sarah heard herself say. She rummaged through her purse for a moment before producing a somewhat crumpled business card.

"Here's my number as well," she said, extending her hand to him. He smiled and took the card but didn't release her hand right away. Instead he leaned down and kissed the top of it and the sensation of his lips against her skin sent a jolt of electricity zig-zagging down her spine.

"Till we meet again, Sarah," he said with a wink. He gathered his things and left the pub and Sarah fought the urge to turn in her chair and watch him go.

"Well, that was…" Sarah mumbled to herself aloud. Crazy? Fucked up? Arousing? Her mind supplied adjectives.

"And what the hell possessed you to give the Goblin King your fucking phone number?"

Sarah grabbed her purse and threw on her parka before leaving The Cross Keys. She looked around the empty streets, but there was no sign of the former Goblin King and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure how she would handle having someone like him hanging around with her in Great Missenden, abdication or not. It was likely he still retained some magic and even if he didn't, Sarah knew better than to fully trust him. He was still Fae, despite his human glamour and she had read plenty about how notoriously tricky the Fae were.

Sarah stuffed Jareth's card into an unused side pocket of her purse.

"No," she thought, "There is just no way I can allow him too close to me. Not with these not-so-literal skeletons in my very literal closet!"

A/N:

Posting a bit early in celebration of a long weekend (it's Labor Day for non-American readers.) Enjoy this with your burgers and hot dogs and beer. Comments are greatly appreciated, so let me know whether you love it or hate it. Thank you!

~Fanny~