Chapter 2

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-XXX-

The details of what followed would be unsurprising to all those who knew the pair – Sarah Williams, without a doubt, was not to settle for uprooting herself for the Underground. The King was neither accustomed nor pleased by refusals of any nature. This displeasure was only furthered by the liberal string of curses Sarah flung at him following the curt explanation as to why she must reside in the Underground.

And that was how she landed herself in the oubliette. From the broken dreamscape the Goblin King vanquished his old opponent to a dark and hidden place, where she sat now.

At the very least, he'd been thoughtful enough to transfigure her nightgown into something a little more appropriate – a tea-length gown of the same blue silk, complete with petticoats and proper three-quarter length sleeves, trimmed with creamy white lace. While it was entirely inappropriate for the situation and location, the dress was significantly warmer and covered a greater percentage of her skin.

"Oh, Sarah," she sighs. "How do you get yourself into these situations? First the Labyrinth, then white water rafting in Colorado two summers ago, next babysitting the Winkleson twins…and the Labyrinth again. Smooth, Williams."

"Smooth indeed!" a shrill voice huffs. And in the darkness, Sarah jumps. She hits her head, and hisses in pain. Tenderly, she touches her pounding skull, the point of impact still smarting.

The sound of a match being struck fills the oubliette, and soon a yellowy light fills the darkness. Holding a candle on a pewter holder, wearing a looks of wariness, stands the stout Hoggle. Sarah gasps, launching herself at the little man.

"Oh, Hoggle," she says, half-tearing up. "H-how did you find me?! What are you doing here?"

"M'not here to get you out, if that's what you think," he answers gruffly. "Can't have that – not wit the way Jareth is keepin' an eye on ya. But I thought I'd come by for support. S'not so bad in here."

With the faint golden light of his candle, she can get a better grasp of her surroundings. Stone, entirely stone. But, unlike before, this place has been tooled – it is no cave. There are seams, and the walls are smooth. Sculpted torches – unlit – line the walls. And there are rather ornate carvings along the ceiling. Sarah blinks. This place is rather styled for a dark dungeon.

Without thinking, Sarah grabs the candle from a protesting Hoggle, holding the beam up toward the ceiling, banishing the shadows so that she might make out the images. What had looked like a continuous pattern of vines and leaves transformed, melting into more defined form and shapes. A deer stands out, bounding through a glen. Following the deer is the sleek and mighty form of a lion, jaws open, teeth bared. Sarah examines the reliefs, standing on tiptoe lifting the candle light. Below her, Hoggle grumbles.

Abruptly, the figures move. The lion tosses its head angrily as the deer leaps forward, bounding into the line of trees. The stone seems to shiver. Sarah lurches back, nearly knocking Hoggle backwards in her attempt to get away.

"Oy! Watch it!" the dwarf barks. "Can't be knocking people over – " and he commenced with more grumbling.

Sarah let him at it for several minutes before cutting him short to ask, "If you're not here to get me out, how shall you help me?"

"Eh?" The dwarf pauses. Sarah waits, though with little patience. She doesn't have time for patience – or wants to think she doesn't. Though, perhaps the truth is she's got all the time in the world.

"Well. Not much I can do," Hoggle admits. "But I can…I can give you this."

And from his leather pouch comes forth a small marble. It's clear and flawless, and almost weightless in Sarah's palm. A transparent as a crisp summer sky. She eyes it, rolling the orb between her fingers. "This looks…"she begins, drifting off.

Wary, the dwarf watches her musings. There is a faraway look in the girl's gaze. Shifting uneasily, Hoggle looks down to his feet.

"Curious," she says softly. "It resembles a…but it's only a marble...and surely…." Clarity surfaces, and she blinks. "Oh. But how is this supposed to help me, Hoggle?"

"Eh? I don't…I don't exactly know. He said –"

A wisk of wind swept through the room just then, twisting the tiny dwarf about. Nearly a small tornado, it made Sarah's hair fly wildly around her face, obscuring her view. It also served in blowing out the candle as it departed, nearly as an afterthought. In the whirwind, Sarah drops it, and the pewter clatters to the floor of the oubliette. Then, suddenly, it stops.

"Hoggle?" Sarah cries into the darkness that had swallowed her up again. "Hoggle?"

But there is no reply. She scrambles to tuck the marble into her pocket, then stoops to the floor for the candle. Once her fingers brush the metal, Sarah realizes, regretfully, that she doesn't at the moment possess any matches. Lighting the thing would be near impossible, unless there was some flint or something littering the cave floor. "But that is highly unlikely." She sighs to herself, then scoops up her skirts to bunch them beneath her, making a makeshift pillow to sit upon. With nothing else to do, she goes to her pocket, feeling for the marble. Her hands touch a curious thing first – something that is not round and smooth, but rather….rectangular. And almost papery.

Frowning, she takes it out and turns it in her hand. One of the slim sides gives out. Something falls to her lap. And Sarah realizes that they're matches. Quickly, she plucks one from the box and strikes it against the side. A small golden flame sputters to life.

Once she's lit the candle and settled against the cave wall, Sarah has a few moments to take out the marble and think properly. The light cast through the small orb in an almost fractured way. As though it's a cut diamond. She strokes the smooth surface with one finger. "If it weren't for the size," she muses wryly. "It would really resemble his crystals…."

Nearly an hour passes – or perhaps longer, perhaps shorter, it is difficult to determine the passage of time – as Sarah Williams examines the marble. Eventually, she develops difficulty keeping her eyes open. Slowly, she fell into a light – and relatively uncomfortable – sleep.

-XXXX-

I've noticed a pattern of passing out in my stories. My heroines do an awful lot of it...and not in a weak, fainting way, just in a "Oh-no-I've-been-magicked" sort of way, or from sheer tired-ness.

Hm.

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