DISCLAIMER: I don't own Labyrinth, Jareth or Sarah….all other characters are mine. I make no money from this….I only wish someone would pay me to sit around and daydream all day and then write those daydreams down. That said, I would snog his glittery hotness the Goblin King within an inch of his immortal life if given half a chance.

WARNING: This story has mature content…sometimes. This particular chapter will make some readers rather angry with me – hang in there until the next chapter and all will be revealed! :)

No goblins were harmed in the writing of this chapter, except those that HisNibs bogged. Oh yeah, and the one I swatted for stealing M&M's from me.

Lies, Damn Lies and Running Away

"We have to do what?" Sarah yelled, shoving herself away from Jareth, before flinging herself bodily from the bed and storming across the room. Her ivory skin shimmered in the moonlight streaming through the French doors of the room as she glared at him, emerald eyes snapping viciously.

Only hours ago they had had a lovely dinner with Sarah's family and friends, celebrating Toby's sixth birthday. At dinner, Jareth had pulled out a ring and proposed to Sarah in front of her family – for the second time that day. Luckily for him, she accepted both times, although it seemed that in light of what he had just told her, she might reconsider her decision and that worried him considerably.

Frowning, Jareth watched as she angrily pulled a shirt over her head, before rummaging through the clothes randomly strewn around the room, searching for her jeans. With a sigh, he ran his bare hand through his hair. Damn it all. How did I manage to lose control of things yet again, he wondered.

…and so quickly too – interjected his inner-self, being ever so helpful as always.

"Honestly Sarah, I fail to see why you are so put out," he said, attempting to soothe his beloved before she said or did something they would both regret.

"Put out? Jareth I am not just put out, I am horrifically pissed off! You…you…. proposed under false pretenses!" she shouted, pausing only to yank on her jeans. Sarah managed get one leg into her pants, stumbling as she tried to put on the other, and falling onto a chair.

Muttering angrily, Sarah tugged her socks and tennis shoes on, "I should've known that the mighty Goblin King couldn't do anything without some ulterior motive."

"Marry me, Sarah," she snipped, mimicking Jareth, "be my Queen." Sarah grumbled, grabbing her jacket as she rounded on him, glowering darkly as the candlelight of the room cast long shadows on the walls.

"Hah! Some proposal since what you really meant is 'Please say yes, so I can keep my throne and get the High Council off my back, and because we have to announce it at some betrothal ball in 13 days.' You don't really love me, you just want to keep your kingdom!"

"Blast woman!" Jareth cursed, unable to understand why she was so angry, "That isn't true and you bloody well know it!"

"Do I really, Jareth? It seems like every other thing I hear from you lately is a lie of omission or a half-truth. You say you love me, but then you hide things… important things, from me! How can I believe anything you say when you keep doing that?"

Sarah ripped the blue sapphire ring from her finger, pausing momentarily as a twinge of pain shot through her heart at the sight of it. Taking a deep breath, she threw the ring at him. The ring glittered through the air before hitting Jareth's chest and landing in his lap. Without another word Sarah wrenched the door to the room open.

"Where are you going, Sarah?" he asked, his voice wretched as he watched her prepare to leave.

"I don't know," she muttered, snatching her purse and car keys from the chair. "And you have no power over me, so no stalking me with those damn crystals of yours," she snapped. "When you are ready to come clean with the whole truth, check with Sir Didymus. If you can convince him of your sincerity, perhaps he'll tell you where I'm at."

Then Sarah slammed the door, storming past the room where her parents were still asleep, as she fled the inn trying to get as far away from Jareth as she could.

She hadn't wanted the car phone, it was clunky and cumbersome, but tonight she was glad her mother had insisted on it being installed in Sarah's car when she moved out of home. Picking up the phone, she dialed her mother's number in London.

Hi Mom….Yeah…I'm fine. Look, I've decided to take the semester off and wanted to know if you could arrange for me to visit Nana Gunn in Ireland. Terrific. Look, put me on the first flight you can find….. Yeah, I'm okay, I just want to get out of here for a bit…..Great. I'm heading home now and will start packing.

The next morning, Sarah stopped by her father's house to tell them where she was going, a meeting that did not go well. Her father was unable to understand why she was suddenly dropping everything to go to Ireland, after becoming engaged to a young man that Robert thought was perfectly suitable husband material.

If he only knew the half of it, Sarah thought bitterly.

Luckily, Karen remembered what it was like to be young and in love. She came to Sarah's aid, supporting her decision, despite the fact that she liked Jeremy and wanted nothing more than to start planning the wedding, instead of helping Sarah pack for Ireland.

Within 24 hours of that meeting, Sarah was tucked into a faded over-stuffed chair next to the fireplace in her grandmother's front parlor, in Antrim County, Ireland. Sarah had a cup of tea in her hands and a Persian cat snoring in her lap and was quietly staring into the fluttering embers of the fireplace. Her grandmother's cottage was old, cluttered and peaceful, just what Sarah needed – a quiet place to think, without Jareth popping in whenever he damn well pleased.

"So tell me killean, what are you running from?" asked her Nana Gunn, her gentle voice soothing Sarah's disquieting thoughts.

When she picked Sarah up from the train station, the girl had been unusually quiet, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Nana Gunn knew a girl in love when she saw one, and her beloved granddaughter was fighting it for some reason.

"I'm guessing it is a matter of the heart. A man?"

Sarah laughed bitterly, sipping the warm tea.

"A man? Sort of …." Sarah sighed, her face creased in a frown as she tried to figure out how to explain what was happening, without telling Nana the whole story.

"Fine then… not a man. One of the Fair Folk. Either way, it is a matter of the heart," Nana Gunn replied matter-of-factly, her pale green eyes dancing knowingly as they looked at Sarah.

Sarah gasped, her eyes wide as she stared at her gran. She had never told anyone about Jareth and no one had certainly ever guessed there was anything different about him. Here her gran had never met him or even heard Sarah talk about him and she knew the truth.

"But…. Nana….How did you know? I've never told anyone before!" Sarah whispered, as if even speaking of Jareth would call him.

Shrugging, her grandmother laughed, "When you have been around as long as I have and heard the tales, it isn't hard to guess. You have been wearing an old iron key on that black ribbon around your neck since you got here. You think I didn't notice it? And you took the sea salt from the kitchen, I found a line of it sprinkled along the windowsill and door crease to your room? You're clearly trying to keep something from coming to you."

Sarah looked at her grandmother in shock. In a rush, she told Nana Gunn the whole story – at that point it was useless trying to deny it. The feeling of relief found in telling the story was amazing. Nana Gunn listened silently, frowning once or twice as Sarah told about how she had wished away Toby as a baby and smiling when she told of the many ways Jareth had entered her life since that day – birthdays (both his and hers), holidays, good times and bad.

"Well killean, you seem to have survived your run-ins with the Fair Folk far better than most. The lore is filled fair to bursting with stories of young'uns who tangled with the Fae and were lost to the world or worse, left longing to return to the land of fairie, without a way to get there. I may just be an old woman not long left for this earth, but sounds to me like this king o' yourn most probably does love you, in as far as the Fair Folk can."

Considering this, Sarah sighed, "Do the Fae truly love, Nana? I mean…can they?"

Nana Gunn sipped her tea quietly, her wrinkled face relaxed as she pondered both the question and her precious grand-daughter. "Killean…you know more than I would about that, as my dealings with the Fair Folk were many years past and far less involved than yours."

Seeing the questioning look on Sarah's face, Nana Gunn smiled, her faded green eyes shining brightly at the memory.

"Aye, killean…I have danced in the arms of the Fair. He was…" she sighed deeply, a wistful look filling the faded eyes at the memory, "…magnificent. I would have stayed, but your mum was just a wee one, and I couldn't stand the thought of leaving her. Oh, he promised me pretty things if I would stay. But, tempting tho he and his words were, they were just that, words. So just like you, I too am Fae-marked."

Sarah nodded as she listened. She had never heard of being fae-marked, but it made sense.

"So what do I do, Nana? How do I know if he loves me or is merely trying to save his throne?" Sarah asked, pressing her face against the sleeping cat's fur as if trying to draw strength from the strong purr that rumbled from its chest.

Chuckling, Nana Gunn prodded the fire, an impish smile playing across her ancient features. "You've got a choice my girl, you can call 'im to you or you can go to 'im, but sooner or later you two 'er gonna have to talk it out. If you leave it like this, 'im losin 'is kingdom and you losin 'im, yer just gonna end up another lass lost to the lore – in love with a Fae king forever, with no way to get back to 'im."

Stretching, Nana Gunn rose from her chair, depositing the elderly cat in her lap onto the seat. "In the meantime killean, you'd best get some sleep. I talked to Mary MacCray yesterday and got you a temporary job up at the pub. You start tomorrow at 11. Maybe talking to some locals for a bit might help you find some perspective before your king's deadline."

Nana Gunn pressed a soft kiss to Sarah's forehead, the smell of lilacs and vanilla wafting from her apron as she shuffled to her room, leaving Sarah alone with her thoughts as the fire died.

"That's Mr. Rose," said Chelsea, Mary MacCray's middle-aged daughter who ran the pub, as she gestured at a rotund, bald man in a green and brown tweed jacket. "He breeds sheepdogs on a farm near the base of the mountain. Now remember, whenever you serve him, take him a saucer too. He always gives his dog Shannon a bit 'o his drink."

Chelsea handed Sarah a foamy Guiness pint and a saucer, before shooing her toward Mr. Rose.

Her whole afternoon had been like that. Customers would come in and Chelsea would tell Sarah who they were, what they liked and then send her over to them. Sarah was something of a curiosity to them, as she was the first new barmaid the Oak and Stag Pub had seen in nearly thirty years. It hadn't taken long before she was behind the bar, pulling pints like a pro, while bantering merrily with the old farmers that frequented the pub. The farmers for their part, loved having the attention of a pretty young girl, who wasn't afraid to tease and nag them just as Chelsea always did – and Sarah was far prettier than Chelsea had ever been. More than one left the pub that afternoon with a spring in their step, wishing they were thirty years younger.

It was nearing 7pm when a tall, muscular, older man entered. Sarah was returning to the bar with a tray full of empty glasses, when her leg got caught in the leash of his dog, threatening to send both her and the glasses crashing to the floor.

"Whoa, lass," he murmured, his ice blue eyes piercing hers as he steadied her with a firm grasp on her elbow. "I'm sorry about the dog. She is an impulsive young bitch and hasn't yet learned how to handle her lead," he said, his voice rich, deep and melodic, twanging a chord deep inside Sarah's chest with each word.

Tugging gently on the leash, he turned from her and walked toward a booth in the far corner of the pub, away from the noise and raucous laughter of the bar area. For a moment Sarah watched him. For an older gentleman, she found him oddly attractive. He wore his white hair long, pulled back in a sleek ponytail, offset with a neatly trimmed white beard. He was dressed in grey wool trousers, a dark green sweater and a wool blazer. The other men in the pub nodded in greeting to him, but did not offer to socialize.

Chelsea grabbed Sarah and hustled her behind the bar, whispering in hushed tones, "That is Lord Lugh. If he sits at the bar, then he's in the mood to be social, anywhere else, then you'd best just get him his drink and leave him be."

Fighting back a wave of nerves, Sarah gingerly carried a glass of brandy to the elder gentleman, gently placing it before him. She blushed as he fixed her with another piercing look, his blue eyes seeming to look right through her. He seemed familiar, yet she was quite sure she had never met him before.

"And who might you be, young woman?" he asked, his lush baritone voice making Sarah flush further.

"I'm…I'm Sarah Williams, Sir. I've come from the states to visit my gran, Colleen Gunn, in Bridel Cottage over by Slieveanorra Forest," she replied, pleased that her voice sounded stronger than she felt. Knowing he was the manor lord for the area was nerve-wracking enough, but having him staring her down was quite another.

She could have imagined it, but his eyes seemed to get brighter at mention of Nana Gunn.

"Welcome, my dear. I trust you are enjoying your stay?" he enquired quietly, his eyes washing over her as he lifted the glass to his lips.

"Um…so far, Sir. I only arrived yesterday."

"Well, I do hope you'll join us for the Harvest Celebration at Dohmnaill Manor on Saturday. It is open to the entire village and out-lying areas you know. I'm sure your grandmother knows of it," Lord Lugh replied, smiling gently at her.

"That sounds lovely, Sir. I will be sure to mention it to Gran. Perhaps we will be able to make it. Will there be anything else tonight, Sir?"

Shaking his head, Lord Lugh turned to look out the window as the last of the fall sunset faded from the sky.

When she had walked away, he turned back to watch her. Something about her was familiar - too familiar. He couldn't decide if it was the long chestnut waves that fell about her shoulders, or the vibrant emerald eyes that seemed to absorb everything they saw, but something about her chimed in the back of his mind, like a partially forgotten dream.

It was Wednesday night before Lord Lugh returned to the pub. He smiled and nodded to Sarah as she bustled past with a tray of pints for a rowdy table of tourists in the back room. When she breezed back into the main bar area, she was pleasantly surprised to see him perched on a stool at the bar, his wolfhound Nemain asleep at his feet. Without pausing to ask what he wanted, she poured him a glass of Glennfidich, setting it in front of him with a soft smile.

"Are ye goin to the Harvest do over at the manor, lass?" asked Mr. Rose through a mouthful of steak and kidney pie.

Laughing, Sarah shrugged, "Don't know yet, Mr. Rose. I don't know what to expect or anything, so I've got to talk to Gran about it first."

"I've got a son ye'd like. He'd swirl ye 'round the floor some if'n ye want," offered Mr. Sine.

"Bah, Sean! She doesn't want to go with yer son. He reeks of sheep and didn't even get out of the town school. Sarah 'ere needs someone smart…" said Mr. Rawlings.

"Aye…and handsome," added Mr. Quigg.

"C'mon lass…. Tell us about your beau," teased Mr. Rose, taking a long draught from his pint. "Pretty thing like you is bound to have one. Hell, if not ye bloody well should!"

His statement was met with grunts and nods of agreement from the usual crowd of farmers that ringed the bar.

"I'll tell you about him, if you tell me about your wife," Sarah countered, snatching up Mr. MacComhain's glass and refilling it.

"Aye," laughed Mr. Fitzpatrick, his voice thick as he had been drinking pints most of the afternoon, "Tell her 'bout yer ole nag, Daniel."

Cringing, Sarah watched Mr. Rose's face go red at the insult to his wife. She wasn't sure how this got out of hand, but she knew it had the potential to get very bad, very quickly.

"Now gentlemen that is hardly called for. What must Sarah think of Balleymoney men if we insult each other's wives?" asked Lord Lugh, his deep voice cutting through the tension that had risen at Fitzpatrick's insult. "I suggest we sing a song for Miss Williams. How about it boys?" he suggested quietly, the others nodding in agreement.

"The Night O'Malleys Goat Got Loose on the Grand Parade," offered MacComhain.

"O'Rafferty's Motor Car," suggested Fitzpatrick.

"Paddy McGinty's Goat," replied Chelsea with a laugh.

"The Peeler and the Goat," retorted Dunschlibe.

Sarah laughed. The way the farmers of Balleymoney liked to sing about goats, reminded her of the way Jareth's goblins felt about chickens. Chasing away the pang of sadness that edged its way into her heart, she forced herself to laugh, "What is it with all the ballads about goats? I thought the Irish were known for their sheep."

"Aye lass…sheep make us money, goats make us laugh!" chuckled Mr. McCoy, downing the rest of his pint.

Lord Lugh noticed the way Sarah's face momentarily seemed pained, her usually shining green eyes seeming faded and sad.

"No, no, no. It would never do to let Sarah hear some of the more questionable ballads about goats," laughed Lord Lugh, his icy blue eyes sparkling. In the next breath he began to sing.

Far across yonder blue lies a true fairy land
With the sea rippling over the shingle and sand
Where the gay honeysuckle is luring the bee
And the green glens of Antrim are calling to me
Sure if only you knew how the lamp of the moon
Turns a blue Irish bay to a silver lagoon
You'd imagine the picture of heaven it could be
Where the green glens of Antrim are calling to me

Sarah gasped, her heart racing at the heartfelt tone of his voice as he sang the words. Lord Lugh sang each word, each note, with such feeling it made Sarah's heart ache. The look on his face reminded her of the look on Jareth's face as he sang to her in the crystal ballroom, all those years ago. Sarah's eyes fluttered shut, as she listened to the beautiful melody fill the pub.

'Tis alone my concern if the grandest surprise
Would be shining at me out of somebody's eyes
It's my private affair what my feelings would be
Where the green glens of Antrim were welcoming me
But I'd be where the people are simple and kind
And among them there's one who's been aye in my mind
Sure I pray that the world would in peace let me be
Where the green glens of Antrim are heaven to me

Lord Lugh smiled as the room erupted in applause when he finished the song.

Looking at Sarah, he noticed a single tear rolling down her cheek, her hands clasped around a pendant hanging from a ribbon around her neck. Opening her eyes, she glanced down at the pendant, before tucking it back beneath her sweater, returning to filling glasses and wiping down the bar.

Seeing his empty glass, she moved to refill it, stopping as he placed his hand on hers.

"Tears lass?" he murmured quietly, his eyes tender as he looked at her, "If he means that much to you, why are you here instead of with him?"

Sarah looked at him, her green eyes swimming with more tears as the pain washed over her face. Having been around many women in his years, he knew that one more word would have her in tears.

"Come lass," he said gently, motioning her around the bar. With a nod to Chelsea, he led Sarah toward the empty side room, guiding her into his favorite booth. Nemain followed on her lead, sitting next to Sarah to lay her head on Sarah's knee.

"I… I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice shaking as she tried to control the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Lord Lugh was the last person she wanted to cry in front of. "The song. It was just so beautiful. That's all."

"Aye, The Green Glens of Antrim is beautiful, but that isn't why you cry my dear. No sense trying to lie to one as old as I. I know a heartsick woman when I see her," he replied, the deep timbre of his voice rumbling through Sarah's mind, soothing the ache that had built up inside her.

"I assume you've told your Gran what happened. Would you care for a male viewpoint?" he asked quietly, his blue eyes tender as she looked at her. He still couldn't figure out why her very presence called to him, but it did. The pain she was feeling was palpable, hanging over her like a curtain – one he very much wanted to brush away.

Studying her carefully, Lord Lugh frowned. She smelled of peaches, yet it was early fall, they weren't in season and it couldn't be a perfume, the scent was far too real for that. His eyes moved over her form, glad her eyes were fixed upon her lap, as his own were drawn to her breast – or rather what lay under the sweater. There it was. How he had missed it earlier he didn't know, but now that he saw it, the problem was obvious. The girl had been touched by the land of fairy. She was marked.

"He hurt me, is all," Sarah sighed sadly. "He didn't tell me the truth about something that he should have." Sniffing she continued, "He proposed, then told me he had to declare his engagement soon or…well…there would be family problems if he doesn't. So…I'm trying to forget him."

Patting her hand gently, Lord Lugh smiled at Sarah, "Kind of hard to be forgetting when small things remind you of him, I suspect. Like your pendant."

Sarah gasped, placing her hand over her heart, where the pendant now lay between her skin and her sweater.

"I…I couldn't bear to remove it. Not yet….maybe soon," she whispered, clutching at the pendant as it hid under her sweater.

Nodding sagely, Lord Lugh stroked his beard thoughtfully. "What you need, my dear, is a distraction. I have a son…" he began, before being cut off by Sarah's gasp.

"Oh no, Lord Lugh…um…Sir… no blind dates," she begged, her ivory skin flushing deep pink in embarrassment.

A deep rumble of laughter echoed through the small side room, as Lord Lugh looked at her, his clear blue eyes twinkling merrily.

"Give me more credit lass," he chuckled. "I would be far more subtle if I were trying to set you up with my son. Nay. I propose that you come to the celebration Saturday night and keep him company, as you are two are the youngest people in the village at the moment. He must attend as it is his duty since he will be taking over the manor in a few more years, and you should attend if for no other reason than to get you out of the house for an evening."

Sarah sighed, giving Lord Lugh a small smile as she wiped her eyes. "Okay….I accept. Might as well. The pub will be closed anyway since everyone else will be at the manor."