The Winner, a labyrinth fanfic

Title:The Winner

Author: Yodeladyhoo

Beta: Anij

Summary: Hoggle's thoughts after an anniversary visit to Sarah.

Genre: Fantasy

Pairings: none

Rating: K +

disclaimer (dĭs-klā'mər): noun

1. (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

2. denial of any connection with or knowledge of

syn: disavowal

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Plea for Reason: They say imitation is the highest form of flattery. This is my attempt at writing in the style of one of my favourite authors. Honourable mention will be made for the one who can figure out who it is. It isn't plagiarism if I give credit. Areas in bold are lifted directly from Labyrinth--a novel based on the Jim Henson film, written by A.C.H. Smith, and published by Henry Hold & Company in New York.

"Argh! Landed in a damned puddle, again."

Hoggle extricated himself from the muck swearing like no one has ever heard before, simply because, although he is a dwarf, he is a dwarf with manners and a bit of a self-esteem issue—not that he would let anyone know about that. Tromping through the brush back to his home, he made sure, multiple times, that his pouch of jewels made it back with him and was not lost along the way.

Entering his home noisily, he made no attempt to quiet his arrival. He lived alone, the way he preferred, and did as he pleased. If it pleased him to bang about in his puttering as he removed the fouled shoes and leggings, then so be it. On bare feet beneath bare, bowed legs, Hoggle made his way to the hearth. It was too late for supper, but he definitely needed something warm to soothe his aging body before he had a case of the aches and pains.

He set the kettle over the grate and stoked the pile until weak flames shot up through the ash. Gently, he placed some dry birch branches within the embers before settling down in a hand-hewn chair to watch them be consumed by the growing fire. The crackling of the wood kept him from dozing off. With a deliberate motion, as if it were difficult to move his elbow and shoulder, Hoggle removed his baubles from their place on his belt. He did not need his eyes to find the latest addition to the collection. Deft, if not large, fingers felt the sharp points of the pin Sarah had just given him as a gift. An anniversary present, she said. He admired it in the aura of the fire; how the miniscule tumbled hematite stones glowed within the antiqued silver, giving it a reversed image effect; all this to offset the oval amber setting in the center that gave the pin its radiance.

Setting the pouch down on the table before he rose, Hoggle went to retrieve an earthenware mug from a shelf. Standing in front of the pantry, open crock in hand, he placed a healthy pinch of some herb and dried flowers into the hand thrown cup, thought about it, and then added a bit more. He wondered if he should also draw a bucket for an oat straw bath to accommodate his feet and decided against it. The fatigue caused by the evening's events determined the outcome—he was too tired to sit up with a footbath.

All that travelin', and I wouldn't change one bit o' it.

Sarah had said it had been four years since her adventures in the Labyrinth. What would he know; time meant very little for him, other than it's been four years, by her reckoning, since he had to move out here to the swampland near Didymus.For four years, more or less, he has had to finagle to get honeysuckle nectar for a decent cup of tea, he thought to himself as he measured out parsimoniously the ambrosia from a corked vial. He could no longer afford to keep it in the trumpet of a lily flower for fear that it would evaporate too quickly and it was near impossible to find a trader who would be willing to travel to the Bog for his meager business.

Four years of being her friend.

Friend. That is what he was to her, her friend. Even now, he liked the sound of that. He hobbled back to his chair by the fire to warm his rheumatic toes while the warm tonic seeped into all the chilled spots within his lungs. Hoggle took another deep sip of his tea.

For four years now, he has crossed the paths between their worlds; most times alone, some times with the old fox that he called his neighbor. Each time, for four years, he watched her eyes widen with amazement from their momentary cynicism as he would step through the mirror. Each time, she would ask how things were in his home. Each time, he could hear the wonder being rekindled within her that was slowing fading because of the mundanity of her life.

Four years ago, she was vivacious, spirited, spunky, and ready to take on the Labyrinth. Now, she seemed ready to take on her world, but she did not have the heart to do it. Four years ago, she did it all for her little brother. Now, she has her brother, and she would not change that for the world, but something about the world changed her. Four years now, watching the lad grow from an infant, through a toddler, now a child. Four years now, watching her change from a girl, into a young lady, to becoming a young woman; and for four years now, trying to keep his goings and comings under the attention of him.

Hoggle shuddered and wished he did not put the shawl that was normally draped over the back of the chair in his bed. Yet, he knew that is was not a case of the momentary chills. The dwarf twisted and turned, scanning the room for anything different, anything out of the ordinary. Maybe an unusual formation in the mud of his home that would vaguely resemble a face, or the dull tamp of a well-made heel on the hard packed, earthen floor. Turning to stare into the fire, still looking for a sign within its flames, Hoggle did not feel relieved that there seemed to be nothing there. He took a long pull on his tea to steady his nerves.

He supposed that the king brooded for all this time. Hoggle was not one who went out of his way to allay his curiosity and it had been quite a long spell since his Highness has paid a visit here in the murky depths of the Labyrinth. Not that his wanderings made him a regular visitor, but there were certain intervals when he could be expected. Usually he made an appearance whenever there was a runner in the Labyrinth to ensure their 'allegiance and assistance', but also during Ostara, to ensure the growth of all things, and at Mabon, to harvest what the land offered. Although he did not sully himself with the manual labor, Jareth was there to oversee and 'inspire' his constituents.

Nor has he paid his 'valiant' knight a call. No checking up of the guard, no rousing of spirits or moral. His Majesty was usually quite fond of visiting the old sentinel, or of coming around and tormenting him to no end. However, since Sarah's completion of the maze, his Highness had lost interest in those that he threw into her path. For the last while, the king hardly ventured from his lair in the heart of the Labyrinth. Hoggle was not sure if this was a blessing or something he should be concerned about.

I'll just watch out for Hoggle, and hopes for the best.

He tossed the dregs of his brew into the hearth and watched the flames splutter before they caught the sodden herbs and sugar to flare up with a bright orange burst and a whiff of summer. Creaking joints groaned with the effort of supporting his weight as the manikin rose from his seat to bank the blaze before retiring for the night. Pushing ash into the flame so that the living glow of the fire was contained in a corner, it seemed reluctant to settle down after being stirred awake so late. Like a patient father with a recalcitrant child, Hoggle encapsulated the ingle with its own soot, followed by some budding rushes that would smoke upon flaming. Not yet completed with his chores, Hoggle wiped the mug dry with a coarse cloth that was none to clean before replacing the vessel to its spot on the shelf. Only then did he allow himself to turn towards the corner that his bed occupied, but not before repossessing his satchel from the table.

Four years, he though to himself as the old bones and muscles protested to a controlled landing before assuming a prone position on the straw mattress. The hemp cords that suspended the mattress from the rough, stout logs that made up the frame of the bed creaked a bit with the shifting weight as the occupant sought a comfortable spot. Blankets were rearranged and pillows were punched before blind fingers reached out for the new treasure. What was it that rat said, Hoggle pondered as he traced the pin on his pouch. Tired eyes, half-shut with sleep, barely registered the flecks of light that bounced off the stones and metal.

--"You don't imagine that a young girl could ever like a repulsive little scab like you, do you?"--

A repulsive little scab, eh? Fingers continued to trace the gift that Sarah gave to him, ever slowing as each circuit was completed. A yawn punctuated the air with a final thought. Well, you might think me as such, but I'm the one that she calls a friend.

Author's Note: I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you.