The king of the goblins was old, much older than those who challenged his labyrinth realized. For five hundred years he'd been in the Underground, living in the castle at the center of the Goblin City and watching those who came to challenge the magic of his kingdom; after their attempts, he graciously rewarded those who defeated the labyrinth and sent home those who failed, unless of course a wager or hostage had been involved. After five hundred years, he'd had enough experience with these heroes to learn to guess who would win and who would lose before they even set foot in the Underground.

But the long turning of the years had also had a more troubling effect, one that even he, secluded in his castle, could not escape. The fact was that the Aboveground was changing at a rate that seemed to grow faster every day. Mortals were learning more about the world around them, making scientific discoveries, and inventing new technologies, and the side effect, perhaps unavoidable, was that they were becoming more cynical. Fewer people believed in fairy tales and legends—and therefore in him, because what was he but a fairy tale?—than ever before, despite the human population growing steadily. There was a time when someone came to run the labyrinth nearly every day, whether because of some foolish, misguided wish or through a desire to win glory. But then the number dropped down to one a week, then one a month, then one a year, if he was lucky.

And, in the perverse way Fate often has, this dropping off of human visitors came just as the king began to feel he needed the contact the most. He was not old—those in the Underground aged incredibly slowly, only a few years every mortal century, though he'd never figured out the exact numbers—but he was beginning to feel every one of his five hundred years in his heart. And he began to feel tired and lonely. The goblins weren't good company, not really, because they were simple and crude and, as a species, did not feel affection as humans and other inhabitants of the labyrinth did; unfortunately, humans now rarely ever visited, and only goblins lived anywhere near the castle. And traveling to the surface in animal form allowed him only to look, not to interact, and in the end it only made him feel more isolated. He'd had friends and family, he remembered dimly, once upon a time before he became king, and the thought made him feel more keenly how alone he was now.

And this is why, when a voice finally came to him from the Aboveground, wishing for the Goblin King to come, he paid such close attention as the labyrinth was run. He made it harder than usual, throwing every obstacle he could think of in the way, and in the back of his mind he felt guilty because he knew it had nothing to do with fairness and everything to do with the thought that the harder he made the labyrinth, the longer he would have company in his kingdom. This new hero met every hardship the Goblin King could produce, and the king was pleased to have a worthy challenger—clever and determined, if a bit petulant and self-absorbed.

And that was how he found himself standing in his castle, staring at a determined youth and suddenly realizing he couldn't stand to be alone any longer, couldn't stand to watch another person leave his castle, never to return. And the youth would make a fine companion. Yes, he decided, he would ask this child to stay, even beg if he had to. "I ask so little . . ." he began.

The boy heard him out curiously. "And what would I do here?"

"Be—be my child, and take over this kingdom when I am gone."

The response was soft and almost wistful. "I have no one back home who would miss me." There was a long, thoughtful pause, and then a nod. "Very well. I will stay with you, Goblin King."

The king smiled. "I'm glad to hear it." He held out his hand. "I am Arden."

The boy shook the offered hand firmly. "Jareth."