Heart's Desire

By: Tallulah

The chilly night descended on the Labyrinth. A guttering wind tore through the passages causing her citizens to hunker protectively against the bite of the cold. Creatures of imagination and dreams sought refuge from the searching hand of winter and settled in restlessly for the night.

On the outskirts of the kingdom, in a small cottage of tumbled grey stone, a single light shone out into the darkness like a beacon.

Within its confines, Hoggle limped heavily across the rough wooden floor and reached for the banging shutter that had wrenched loose in this god-forsaken wind. Snarling in frustration as the capricious piece of wood remained elusive he finally resigned himself to a return trip into the cold night and sat down to strap his boots back on. He cursed wordlessly as his crabbed fingers fumbled with the laces.

Practically useless his hands were anymore. Couldn't hardly even hold a hoe these days. The garden would have suffered mightily this year if Jareth and Sarah's oldest two hadn't come along to help out with the weeding.

His eyes narrowed in concentration as he willed his arthritic hands to cooperate. At long last he had pulled the laces as tight as he could manage and stood to don his jacket. He flinched in pain as the twinge in his back took up. Hot compresses were what was wanted, but there wouldn't be any of that kind of comfort 'til that shutter got fixed – first things first and all.

Hobbling slowly out the creaky front door, Hoggle rooted around in his tool box until he found the sack of nails and hammer that were wanted for the job. He made a mental note to grease the hinges of the door tomorrow and shuffled around the corner to where the offending shutter flapped merrily in the bitter wind. Wincing as the full force of its strength hit him in the face and tore at his clothing, he pulled his coat closer against the aching chill that settled immediately into his bones.

He was an old man now. The memories of his youth were dim and faded as an old patchwork quilt. What little hair he still had beneath his ever-present skull cap was wispy and thin and the lines on his face were cut deep, a furrowed testament to a long life of hard work and discontent. The limp he had carried with him since the long ago days of the Goblin War was exacerbated by age and the piercing cold and made his movements even more jerky and erratic than usual.

When he had completed the task at hand, nailing the shutter firmly closed until he could fix the latch, he turned, and with the tearing wind at his back, forced his aching joints to carry him back into the shelter of the house.

The act of closing the door behind him and leaving the chill wind to do her damage on some other poor soul cheered him somewhat. He divested himself laboriously of his heavy coat and boots while looking forward to a nice hot mug of tea to chase away the lingering cold.

He filled the battered old kettle with water from the well and hung it in its customary place over the fire. Leaving it to boil he lifted the lid on the large pot that had been left keeping warm in the indirect heat of the flames. The enticing and nearly palpable scent of stewed chicken and vegetables flooded the cottage and a beauteous smile spread across Hoggle's grizzled old face.

It was just like Sarah to think he wouldn't be bothered to cook. There was enough here to feed a small army. He chuckled wryly to himself as he shambled off to fetch a bowl for the stew. Could be she just intended to make up for the havoc and good-natured destruction caused by her passel of brats every time they came by the house.

His gaze fell on a doll laying in the corner against the dust bin, no doubt left there earlier today by the youngest of the royal family, a dainty little girl of three years. He stooped to pick up the toy, supporting his protesting back against his hand.

It was a tiny little thing with silken hair and a painted on smile, no doubt some of Jareth's own handiwork. He touched it fondly and then set it up and out of the way so it wouldn't get dirtier than it had already. Likely little Princess Elsbeth was even now throwing a royal temper tantrum at finding her dolly missing. He guessed Sarah would be by in the morning, looking frazzled and tired, to retrieve the little majesty's favorite toy.

He set the bowl and spoon on the table and then went to the larder for some bread and cheese. He cut off a bit of each, admiring as he did so, the sight of his full pantry, replete with the bounty that would carry him through the winter. The eldest of Sarah's brood, Jaden, a boy of sixteen, who took so very much after his father it was uncanny, had helped him stock up from the cellar during their visit today. Doubtless Jareth himself would have assisted, but a small issue regarding goblin property rights within the city limits had demanded his attention at the castle, so Sarah and the five little princes and princesses had paid him a visit on their own.

His mind turned to the enigmatic king as he ladled out a brimming bowl of Sarah's stew and settled himself at the table with his meal. His relationship with the King of the Goblins had been a volatile one over the years. After being banished unceremoniously to his lowly groundskeeper position for his role in the Goblin Rebellion, he had been summarily dismissed by the king and left to live out his days in exile, far from the comfort of another soul.

Countless years had passed before another reason for an insignificant laborer to cross paths with a king had arisen. Sarah had come.

Sarah had come and Jareth had returned. Giving no sign that he recalled their history together, though Hoggle knew better than to assume he had been forgotten, Jareth had appeared outside the gates and commanded him to distract and disorient his latest adversary, a young girl who had appeared over the hill mere moments later.

Though he had risked courting his majesty's displeasure once again by helping the girl, Hoggle had not lived to regret it. Sarah had been his friend and shown him in a short time the joy of caring for someone other than himself again. He imagined he had been forgiven for his lapse at some point in the intervening years. Especially after Sarah had come back to stay.

Ruminating on the changes wrought in the unpredictable King in the years since Sarah had taken her place at his side, an image came unbidden to Hoggle's mind from the day of Jaden's birth.

Shortly after the prince made his entrance into the world, Jareth had brought him to the anteroom to present his heir to the assembled denizens of the realm. The King had been wide-eyed and pale, though outwardly as calm and collected as ever. It was only a fleeting moment of unguarded awe that Hoggle had chanced to see shining in the monarch's eyes as he beheld his newborn son that told Hoggle unequivocally, that any ill will Jareth had held towards him was firmly absolved.

Not that he felt as though he deserved absolution.

Hoggle bitterly regretted his part in the uprising of the goblins against their King those many years ago. He had been young and idealistic and thought only of righting the wrongs of this world. His heart had beaten more fiercely in his chest at the call to arms that had come to his village, the strength of its pounding matched only be the beat of the war drums. The plea had gone out for his people to come and aid their goblin brothers in a time of need and he had been one of the first to answer. He had never stopped to think that perhaps the goblins were in need of a king to rule them and arbitrate their petty bickering. He thought only of the thrill of the adventure and the glories of battle…only to discover that it was neither thrilling nor glorious. For his troubles he reveled only in defeat; banishment his only reward aside from the legacy of the goblin war hammer that had nearly taken off his leg.

Forcibly pushing aside painful and pointless reminiscing, Hoggle swiped the last bit of stew from the bottom of his bowl with the last bit of bread, popped the morsel in his mouth and gave a contended belch.

After perfunctorily washing out his dishes and leaving them to dry, he poured himself another mug of tea, this time adding a healthy dollop of goblin whiskey to the brew. He felt a small spurt of defiance as he did so and then furtively re-hid the flask back in his trunk. Sarah wouldn't be best pleased to know he was tippling. She was forever cautioning him to watch his health.

He took a sip of the brew and smacked his lips in satisfaction.

The Goblins weren't good at much, but they made a whiskey that could singe your nose hairs at ten paces. It was just the thing for a cold, blustery winter night such as this. His bones were aching a bit more than usual and the extra warmth, artificial though it may be, would be welcome. He settled back into his cozy chair with the warm mug and a heavy blanket wrapped around his bowed legs. In the flickering light of his lantern he listened to the wind howl over and around his small cocoon.

Sarah and Jareth (the latter with some prodding, Hoggle was sure) had frequently offered him a comfortable place at the castle to live out the rest of his days as Didymus had done some years back, but he found that he preferred his solitary post at the gatehouse after all these years.

After Sarah's successful run through the Labyrinth, Jareth had never suggested that Hoggle return to his exile, but return he had, and taken right back up his old position tending to his garden and ridding his trees of those infernal fairies. He had earned his punishment in taking up arms against his king and he found over time that he was satisfied with his lot. Besides, what with all the goblins and the five royal nuisances parading around the castle at all hours and making more noise than the goblin army with full artillery complements, not to mention Sir Didymus' ceaseless reminiscing, he'd take the quiet over the conveniences any day. He didn't much cotton to the type of pampering that Jareth required any ways. No, the simple pleasures were what made a Hoggle happy.

A log in the fire popped. Hoggle started blearily and realized he had been nodding off in his chair. He was oddly cold though the fire still crackled cheerfully only a few feet away.

Getting unsteadily to his feet he crossed the room and knelt beside his small bed. He reached blindly into the far corner and poked around until he found what he was looking for.

The old military trunk was one of the few things he had brought with him to his new life after being banished to the gates of the Labyrinth. There wasn't much in it other than a few bits and bobbles, but if memory served there was also another heavy blanket that Hoggle thought might not come amiss on this inhospitable night.

He pulled it out with some effort and little regard for the dust and cobwebs which might normally have found their way into such an infrequently accessed spot.

Sarah herself had seen to a full cleaning of his room – top to bottom and side to side – only a week ago. The oldest girl, Ana, had accompanied her mother and together they cheerily dusted, scrubbed, swept and generally gotten on his very last nerve. He had to admit the place sparkled as never before thanks to their ministrations, but that didn't mean he wanted them in here girly-ing the place up all the time.

Hoggle brushed a hand across the old leather, so recently polished to a warm reddish glow. For a moment he hesitated over the latch, here there be memories after all, but then chided himself for his lapse into sentimentality. It was just a simple box containing no more than a few trinkets and a blanket. He opened the trunk.

Lying on top were the only two things that remained of his regrettable military career – his goblin dagger and short sword. His twisted hands reached out and brushed over the polished metal with something approaching reverence, though tinged with regret. He had wielded these once in anger and defiance. More than one goblin had been felled at their points and the echo of those deaths seemed to hang in the air, dancing almost visibly in the flicker of the candlelight.

Pushing the ghosts of his memory aside along with the weapons, Hoggle pulled out the heavy blanket that lined the bottom of the chest and returned to his chair. He had just settled in and wrapped the second blanket around his legs when he heard the susurrus of something light fall to the floor near his feet.

Grumbling at the intrusion, but too curious to let it lie, he struggled into a sitting position and reached for the tiny, inconsequential looking bundle that lay on the rough hewn flooring. Peering nearsightedly at the brittle item, it took a moment for him to make out what it was – dozens of tiny white flowers bound together into a posy and tied with a narrow strip of discolored blue cloth. Puzzled, Hoggle touched a gentle finger to one of the dried blossoms, bushy eyebrows drawn in consideration.

It seemed as though he should remember…something.

The tiny white petals crumbled to powder under his touch. He quickly drew his hand back, lest the whole thing should disintegrate to nothing. Bringing the spray of flowers carefully to his nose, he breathed in their faded, dry scent. His eyes drifted shut in memory.

Open fields covered in the white, heart shaped flowers blew in the warm wind, conjured in perfect detail by his minds eye. The prairies near his village had been covered in them. In the spring, they blanketed the western fields that ran between the village and the river; a blanket of pure white snow, dazzling in the springtime sun.

'Hearts desire' they were called. Their dainty white petals for purity, the leaves of green for constancy and the heart-shaped blossoms a symbol of truest love.

Hoggle's hands shook as the chime of laughter echoed across the white fields of his mind. The sun was warm on his face, the breeze playing havoc with his long hair as it blew in his eyes. He normally wore it pulled back into a neat queue, but someone had pulled out his ribbon, someone who was dancing away from him, running through the fields, laughing, trailing his ribbon high in the air – someone…

He opened his eyes. He was breathing heavily, his pulse pounding. Even as he resisted, it came to him, a long suppressed memory that would be held back no longer. Against his will he spoke into the empty room, his voice ragged.

"Beatha."

Sparkling green eyes and a mischievous smile mocked him across the years from beneath a comely bonnet, a gift from him to her that bespoke of their understanding more than any words could have done.

"When you return, Hoggle. As soon as you return."

A stolen kiss, made all the sweeter for being a forbidden indulgence. A posy of Heart's Desire, tied together with the dark blue ribbon she had stolen from his hair, tucked safely into the breast of his uniform. A promise of their very own happily ever after – as soon as he returned.

The first tears in more than a hundred years streaked unchecked down Hoggle's worn cheeks.

He had left her, left Beatha, his own heart's desire, to fight on the wrong side of an unjust war for an unjust cause. She had stood at the head of the village, beautiful and proud, as the cocky new soldier-boys had ridden out of town to seek their doom. Never once had she questioned his choice or admonished him. Her loving lips had promised forever and seen him on his way, confident in his return. He had never seen her again.

For more than a century he had pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind, but it was a night for memories and Beatha wanted to be remembered.

Hoggle stared sightlessly into the fire, his heart full and his breath coming in short gasping sobs.

He could have gone to her at long last. When his debt was paid, Jareth would not have held him. But it had been so long…too long. Too many years and too much bitterness had come to pass. He told himself she had wed another, that she had been happy without him, that her life had been rich and full of laughter. He had forced himself to never think of her, to forget her that his own heart might someday heal.

"You silly Hoggle. Did you honestly think I could ever love anyone other than you?" Her sweet face swam before his rheumy eyes, a playful smile gracing her lips.

"Beatha?"

Her laughter enveloped him. "Well of course! Who else?"

"I…I shouldn't have gone…I ought to never've left…"

Her expression shifted to tender concern. "Dearest Hoggle, did you think I was angry with you?" She shook her head, copper hair sparking in the firelight. "I have loved you since the day we met, sweet Hoggle. Being apart never changed that for a moment." She held out a hand. "We can be together now if you like. We can be together forever, just like we planned."

Shaking violently with age and emotion, Hoggle reached out a crabbed and twisted hand, lined and calloused with too many years. It crossed the space between them slowly, reaching for the soft perfection of her dainty fingers, but it was a young man's hand that clasped hers finally, and strong.

She gave another tinkling laugh as she pulled him to his feet. "There now!"

He stood straight and whole, the pain of age and injury receding as strength suffused his being. He turned to his heart's desire with clear and wondering eyes then took her at once into his arms, reveling in a sensation long forgotten.

She kissed him heartily. "Come on then!" She cried, once again offering him her hand. "There is so much to do!"

With a smile lighting his face and his soul, Hoggle took her hand and allowed her to lead him away.

Outside, the wind slowly died. In the quiet of a small cottage on the outskirts of the Labyrinth, Hoggle's lifeless eyes reflected the dying light of the fire and a small posy of Heart's Desire fell unregarded to the floor.

A/N: This was written AGES AGO in response to the 'Such a Pity' challenge in the Labyfic LiveJournal community.