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Nominis Expers
Hoggle hadn’t always been a dwarf. He’d been many years in that form, but it wasn’t his original one. Time passed, and his old memories didn’t fade.
They haunted him.
He always tried to busy himself with menial tasks to distract his mind. It helped somewhat, but didn’t do the job completely. Hoggle was not dumb – he’d been quite bright once in fact. He was able to link thoughts quickly and thus one stray thought often led to another, more of then than not leading towards one of his past.
In the evenings, it was the worst. Sitting in his cottage, sitting on a broken chair, they would come. He’d often have a drink of whatever the goblins were currently imbibing. Then the memories would flood and there was nothing Hoggle could do about it.
He’d been a lucky child. His parents, though young when they had had him, loved each other and him very much. They weren’t terribly wealthy, but they weren’t poor either. They had enough to live by on comfortably and that was more than they could ask for.
He had studied hard, intent on keeping high grades. He didn’t make many friends due to his quiet nature – something that normally came off as being grumpy or irritable. Those who did get to know him (and those were few and far between) knew that he in fact was thoughtful and loved to read, as well as garden.
So he lived his life calmly and peacefully until he was sixteen – then his mother became pregnant with twins. Not just any twins but twin girls.
There was a combination of things that led to his break down a year or so after the revelation of the pregnancy. One was that he had always been the baby, the only child and he felt like his spot was taken. Two, he was nearly old enough to be his sister’s father, not their brother. And lastly – he was among things very, very, selfish.
When Hoggle’s drink would be emptied, he’d stand up and stretch his stubbly arms high above his head. They didn’t go far, but the joints in his shoulders and elbows cracked pleasantly. His knees would still feel sore – for his body aged though his mind unfortunately didn’t.
He’d begin to pace the length of his cottage. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, pause. Turn around. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, pause. Turn around. One, two, three, four…
Five weeks after his sisters had been born, redheaded girls who took up his parent’s attention completely; he had been given a book. He wasn’t sure who it was from, but one day he woke up to find it on his pillow.
It was one of those books that smelled like a book. Musty pages, dust, and the spice of magic. It fit in his hands well too – the red book with the firm, worn cover. Gold letters were engraved into it, spelling ‘THE LABYRINTH’.
The cries of his sisters and the calls for assistance from his parents made him put the book down – but he tucked it under his pillow to read once he got a chance.
It wasn’t uncommon to hear cries outside his cottage. But Hoggle was used to that, and would continue to pace. He’d watch the rusted clock on the mantle of his cooking niche, and watch the minutes and seconds trod by.
His mother had begged him – begged him – to baby-sit his sisters. He had tried to protest, first with reason and logic – then with fierce argument, and then finally yelling the top of his lungs that he hated what they had done to wreck his life, and that he hated his sisters with every fiber of his being.
He stormed up the stairs, ignoring his father’s frustrated growls, and he locked the door, pushing a chair under it. He then collapsed on his bed, and like a girl (he found himself acting like a girl quite a bit lately, horrid things) wailed at the unfairness of it all.
His hand (led by fate?) landed on the pillow, and the unforgettable feel of a hidden treasure trove reminded him. Wiping his tanned hand under his eyes, sniffling a bit still, he pulled the book out staring at it for a moment before opening it.
The world around him was forgotten – his parents at a loss to do as their son was forgiving to cooperate – the babies who had no idea what was going on, and couldn’t fend for themselves – the teachers at school distressed at his behavior. Everything was forgotten as he absorbed the world before him, and was read.
There were no books in his cottage. Hoggle regretted that. Slightly. Books may have led his mind away from the memories – but then again, with how things triggered one another, it may have made things worse.
But as he paced the uneven dusty floor (for the floor remained filthy no matter how many times it was scrubbed), he thought he may have liked a book. Any book really except that one. The evenings led to the memories and that was all he had. Hoggle wouldn’t call it boredom that plagued him – but perhaps a book could have distracted him.
Or perhaps he could have taken joy in burning it in the fire that was there on cold winter nights.
He became obsessed with the book. It was a wondrous story – one he could relate to so amazingly. It was the story of a prince who was forgotten by his parents when the two new princesses were born. He was forced to take care of them, instead of a nurse being hired, as it was supposed to be fitting for him as a ‘future ruler’ but that was ludicrous. If he was to train to be a suitable king he should have been taking lessons or surveying the kingdom! Not reduced to the role of a servant.
The book was amazing in that it turned to fantasy a few chapters in. The prince held the love of a strange unknown being – the Goblin King.
Here he nearly put down the book, but found himself reading on. He was drawn to the tale of the boy who had caught the King’s affections and given certain powers. He’d never considered himself to enjoy reading about such affair yet he did enjoy them. Perhaps a bit too much.
When he wasn’t reading the book, he was acting it out. The basement of the house was cool and dark, like a cave. There he’d stage his reenactments, searching his way through the Labyrinth’s twists and turns, dodging the advances of the goblin army, resisting the advances of the mysterious King.
But his playing could not help him escape from reality completely. All too soon he would have to climb back up the dark hard stairs and be brought back to the real world of a now impatient mother, irritable father, and wailing sisters. He couldn’t escape them forever, no matter how hard he tried.
And one evening it grew too much – he had been suckered into babysitting and nothing he would do would keep the girls quiet. He sang, he recited, he pleaded, and he ignored.
And so when he reached his wits end he did what a stroke of inspiration suggested – call on the Goblin King.
“Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be! Take these sisters of mine, far away from me!”
Sometimes, when it was winter, or an especially cold night, the door to the cottage would slam open. The hinges were rather rusty and old, and there would be a groan, the whistle of the wind and a bang! as it hit the wall behind. Hoggle would then jump, turning to the door (no matter how many times this happened) and looked in fear if he was there.
He never was. Jareth never came to Hoggle’s cottage, but he couldn’t shake the fear off, the memory of the chill running down his spine as the wind came and tugged at his vest and discolored hair.
Once Hoggle had slowed his racing heart, he’d stumble on his knobby legs to the door. Using all of his strength, he’d manage to slam it shut and stick in the latch.
He never stopped to wonder why the wind never blew the door open afterwards.
He was rather disappointed that nothing happened once he said the words. He had truly believed in the Goblin King and the book in that one moment, instead of just using it as an escape.
“Damn,” he muttered. “It’s not fair.” The wind rustled the trees outside. He yelled, making his sisters cry louder. “That’s right! It’s not fair! If it was they’d be gone! I’d be free of them. The goblins would have come and taken them away right now.” He hissed. “I wish that they would.”
A crack of lightning flashed, and thunder crashed. The electricity was gone but even he could see something else was missing – his sisters.
He dashed over to the cribs, pulling back the blankets, ignoring the cackles he was suddenly hearing as his heart thumped to his throat. The window was rapped at. He could barely see for the confusion – window was thrown open and he raised his hands (to ward off himself or the home?).
But he couldn’t help but look, past his tanned hands and ahead to the person in the window’s light.
It was the Goblin King.
The drink would make him a bit woozy at times. Hoggle would often make a cup of tea.
He’d grab a kettle and with the pump in the corner of the room (a convenient novelty that had once had him thinking of possibilities), he’d fill it. Then he’d totter over to his cooking niche and with a pinch of a certain powder that never ran out (he had pondered on it too) he dropped it and the flames began.
Though he’d played at the love between men, in his games in the basement, he was shocked to the reaction he had to the King. He was handsomer than any man – for he wasn’t a man, he couldn’t be – and there was something else there too, a glint in his eyes that foretold something hard and terrible, but yet allured at the same time.
At last he was able to choke out, “You’re him aren’t you? You’re the Goblin King.”
“Jareth,” The King said, a strange grin upon his face. “You can call me Jareth.” And the Goblin King said his name with an accent divine.
As he waited for the tea to boil, he often would pick at his nails. They were growing nasty – old man’s nails. Yellow and cracked at the edges, and dirt lining the sides. On any man they would have been considered infected
But the thing was, was that this body was rather young for a dwarf and in good health. Though born old (as they saying went), Hoggle’s body was in fact young and he had many, many years left to live.
Immediately they fell into the game, similar but not the same. They exchanged witty banter (did Jareth grin at him? Really?) and he was soon challenged to save his sisters (whom he hadn’t really meant to wish away) from the Labyrinth.
What surprised him in the game (for it must have been a game), was the lack of decorum the King had. One moment teasing, saying, “Do you really think you’ll make it that far?” And then another cruel saying he had only thirteen hours to make it to the center. And then again with lips just behind his ear startling him so that he froze in a stiff position.
But he knew he only had so much time – and he began to make his way to the gates of the Labyrinth. It was larger than what he had imagined and yet – too easy at first. Those doors that opened just because he asked? His thoughts were that the whole thing would be a piece of cake – until his first peek into the Labyrinth revealed a set of never-ending corridors.
The doorway shut ominously behind him.
The whistle of the kettle would jostle Hoggle from his thoughts. The steam pouring from the spout warmed the tiny room that was half of the cottage. Hoggle slowly (for what was the point anyhow, in hurrying), would then get up and just as slowly make grab the handle of the kettle.
He then would march himself over to a wood plank spread across an empty barrel (it used to hold Elvish Ale long ago). A chipped mug rested there, with a small tray full of spices to flavor his tea on top. Hoggle would then raise the kettle and pour.
He walked. He ran. He even crawled at one point – but time slipped by, and he was stuck in the corridors for too long. Much too long. The walls rose up on either side of him, blinding his view and trapping him. No matter how far he moved, there still were no openings, no gaps, no turns.
What kind of Labyrinth was it to have no twists and turns? Why had things seemed so much easier in the book.
If he wasn’t already so deluded, he may have truly believed that Jareth was laughing at him. But he knew that wasn’t likely. How could he hear him from so far away? He must be going mad – already the walls seemed to be spinning about, confusing him…
He then reached out a hand to steady himself, and fell through, falling face first. He looked up to find himself in a set of corridors.
He looked back again – he seemed to have fallen through a solid wall. But who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? He had sisters to save.
With renewed vigor, he forced his way to the center of the Labyrinth.
Hoggle always found the tea too hot to drink right away. Instead he left it on the plank. It had many heat marks from him doing this, and he’d often slide it away to look at the marks made. They reminded him a bit of scars, and that would lead him to musing of something or another, memories of lines in books he had once read long ago and away from the worse memories for a while.
But the tea’s steam would reach his nostrils, and then he’d be unable to resist the sweet scent (for he filled it with sugar) anymore.
The oubliette he had fallen into was dark and cool. Goosebumps raised on his skin, and he shivered. How had he failed so quickly? Was he to be stuck here forever?
A low chuckle echoed through the chamber. He jumped and turned to see Jareth there.
“What did I do wrong?”
The King did not answer at first but instead moved forward with a grace that rivaled a dancer’s. Unintentionally, he stepped back.
“Does it matter?” said Jareth in quiet voice. “You’ve failed haven’t you – you ended up in an oubliette instead of the path to the castle.” The blond head dipped to just the side of his ear – they were up against a wall, how did they reach there? “Give up.”
His breath on his ear made his twitch, arms on either side above his head trapped him and he didn’t know if he wanted to move or stay. Why hadn’t this been mentioned in the book? Why was it…
Again Jareth dipped his head down to that space where his skin was so sensitive, and he spoke, saying his name and entreating him to give up with his silly games already. Come on…
The tea helped remove part of the drunken haze from his mind. It grounded him, made things easier to focus. Hoggle’s mind would wander less over the past, and instead of more mundane, modern things. Which gardens should he prune in the morning? Should he go and experiment with his fairy potion?
But it also made focus on other things – things that he wouldn’t have noticed before, but still would slip away with the remaining liquor in his veins, confusing and trapping, and blinding, and…
Through dangers truly untold (for his book hadn’t adequately described them well at all) and hardships truly unnumbered (after the herd of chimaeras he lost track of how many times he nearly died), he made it to the gates of the Goblin City. The cries of his sisters were louder than ever, and he hastened his pace towards the castle.
The gates slid open at his touch, and he stepped into the city. The doors clanked shut behind him, and a shiver went down his back unintentionally. A completely different one than what he had experienced in the oubliette.
The city was deserted - there was no sign of any life. He was instantly wary and moved swiftly and quietly after. He jumped from shadow to shadow spinning madly, trying to keep an eye on all areas at all times.
But the creatures of shadows were quicker, more nimble, and faster than him – it wasn’t long before he was running, madly towards the gates, wide in the open as cackles shrieked behind him.
Hoggle had a very good sense of time – an odd thing for what and who he was. But his sense of time was very good, and he accepted that. It was a useful thing for where he was – but annoying at times as well.
His internal clock would often let him know quite persuasively that he was up for much too long and he was to go to his bed and rest his wispy head.
But Hoggle never wanted to go to bed (it was one of the things that made him feel young) – though his eyelids drooped, and his muscles ached he didn’t want to go to bed.
The worst of the memories would come then.
Finally, he made through the Labyrinth, past the goblins, and through the castle that seemed a maze itself. He found himself at last in a room of stairs in every which way. If he had the time he would have remembered where he had seen it before. Instead he focused on his sister’s wails.
But he hadn’t expected Jareth. No, he hadn’t expected Jareth singing to him, accusing him, and even pleading. He tried to ignore it – he really did – but he failed. Instead of searching for his sisters, he searched for Jareth. The voice so endearing led him through the stairs – up and down, left and right. He was hypnotized by it and would have forgotten his sisters if it weren’t for their cries that shouted up right below him as he hit a landing.
He saw the redheaded girls down below him, eyes wide and arms reaching towards him. He couldn’t believe it – how could he have forgotten? How could he let this happen?
A glance towards the fantastic man couldn’t be held back. But he pushed himself onward and jumped downwards. And then he was falling, falling, falling…
Falling asleep scared Hoggle. The fact that His Majesty controlled all dreams was one thing – the other part was that his dreams were so vivid, so wonderful, so terrible. He couldn’t resist them anymore than a Fiery could resist a game. He tried – that was what his routine for going to bed was for – but he never could. There was such a temptation perhaps tonight instead of the nights before he would hear what he wanted to.
So at last he’d give in, not changing his dirty clothes (he didn’t mind the filth honestly) and collapsing on the bed.
He’d fall asleep in moments.
He landed unsteadily in a room that wasn’t a room at all. It seemed like a place outside of place and time. It was cold and he wished he had a jacket.
The King suddenly appeared, ducking around a pillar. He was dressed white nearly the color of his skin. His pants were horrifically tight and the boy-man opposite him had to gulp. He recovered though and said the first of the words.
“Give me the children.” His voice only wavered a bit.
The King just crept towards him and then said his name endearingly, yet his words afterwards were slightly harsh. “Beware – I have been generous until now, but I can be cruel.”
He did not doubt it. Not at all, but he knew he had to continue for his sisters.
Still his voice was rough as he said, “Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered I have fought my way here to the Castle Beyond the…”
He never finished the line for Jareth lifted his gloved hand in front, stopping him. Again he said his name, once, twice, thrice. “Come, come, we don’t have to do this. There’s so many other things we could do.” The pale one’s grin revealed what he meant by that. Again he gulped.
Jareth continued, “You could just be done now – I’d offer you your dreams.” The King looked intently at him. “You could have everything you ever wanted.” He stepped towards him, a crystal in his hand.
He was confused and shocked by this turn of events. He took a stumbling step back. “What about my sisters? Would they…get to go home?”
The King only gave a lazy grin in response. Jareth continued to predatorily move towards him. Again the crystal was offered.
“Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave.”
His mind went awhirl. What did he mean saying that? Did he mean it? Really? Could this be happening him? Was Jareth saying he…loved him?
Again he gulped. He looked towards the King. There was that strange glint to his eyes again. The crystal was still outstretched, nearly touching his own chest.
He couldn’t think properly – everything was so fast, everything was happening to quickly and confusedly for him to understand, how could he make a decision like this?
Jareth’s hand wavered for a moment, and then said his name in an almost strained voice.
It was enough, he decided, mind still blurred. He took a breath and with a joyful look towards Jareth, he reached for the crystal.
There was laughing in his dreams. Mocking horrible laughter from all sides. Laughter at what had happened how he had fallen for the tricks so easily (as they always said).
Hoggle tossed and turned, enduring for the hope yet again of remembering what plagued him so.
He was changed the moment his fingers brushed the crystal’s smooth edge. After the horrific transformation, he looked up at the King who was still laughing at him.
“Why?” he choked out, his voice no longer his own. “What-what…?”
Jareth laughed even more hardly, if such a thing was possible. “Did you really think that someone as myself would actually fall for a miserable little snot like yourself?” He sneered.
He didn’t answer. He had thought that.
The King chuckled. “All you wishers are so easily manipulated. Hardly worth the effort for the children…”
“My sisters! They’re home, right?”
“Of course they are,” Jareth returned. He threw a crystal towards him. He reflexively caught it. He peered in and saw two redheaded goblins amongst others.
His jaw dropped. “That-that…”
“What?” asked Jareth, that same glint – (it must be his cruelty not affection, he knew) – in his eyes. “They are in their home. Their new home.” He leaned his head towards the dwarf-formerly-human. His mouth was close to his ear, and the dwarf’s breathing became erratic. “Never say I’m not fair.”
He didn’t say his name. Instead Jareth leaned back, leaving the dwarf unsettled. Then he said his name, “It’s rather human – not suiting at all is it? I suppose you don’t need it any more do you?” The question was clearly rhetoric as the crystal in the dwarf’s hands began to glow.
It was then that the name vanished from his mind completely. No matter how much he struggled to place it, to find it, he couldn’t.
He was nothing. Just a dwarf now.
He looked up at his King, and the fear he hadn’t truly had for him before grew till it nearly overwhelmed his attraction. Nearly.
“Hoggle,” said Jareth thoughtfully. “Quite suitable, isn’t it?”
The dwarf couldn’t really say that – already the name was solidifying. It felt wrong, very wrong – but closer to whatever his name was than what the King said next.
“Hogskin, go on with the rest of the goblins. I’m sure they’ll show you what to do.”
Already a protest was at his cracked lips, His name was Hoggle. Almost. Nearly. Not quite. Not really…
But he was soon pulled away by the giggling goblins, and couldn’t see nor speak to the man who’d started this whole mess.
Restlessly, he tossed and turned. He knew he almost had it this time. He knew it. Those dreams – it was in there somewhere, the key to freedom away from this madness was there, he knew it, it had to be…
It wasn’t until many, many weeks later that Hoggle did see Jareth again. Hoggle had been set to work in the gardens by the gate. A mockery of course of what had been.
The King appeared suddenly, leaning against the wall of the Labyrinth as the dwarf pulled at weeds. Hoggle jumped, falling backwards and onto his bottom.
“You!”
“Me,” he returned, and then added drawling. “Enjoying yourself?”
Hoggle ignored him, grabbing at the sticky pest that infected the garden there.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jareth shaking his shining head. “Hoggin, Hoggin, Hoggin, whatever happened to that spunk you used to have? Wherever did it go?”
“It’s Hoggle,” said the dwarf, no longer able to ignore him. “You should know that.”
Again, the King shook his head, “No, no, - it’s something else entirely, isn’t it?”
Hoggle’s mouth dropped open, but the other continued, “Such a pity you don’t know what it is.” A slight smirk – that same evil glint. “Why, I bet that if you did know it you wouldn’t be here right now.”
The dwarf halted in his pulling, and froze at the words. Did he truly mean…? Was he actually saying that? Or was this another trick?
Before he could even make his mouth function normally, Jareth moved away from the wall, and practically glided towards Hoggle. The dwarf again, fell back, staring up at the King high above him.
“Truly, Hoggle,” Jareth said. “You had potential. And you’ve let yourself become this. You disappoint me.”
The King left then, walking away and vanishing in a poof of glitter. Hoggle was left behind to his garden that continued to be infested….
He continued to search his horrible dreams and memories, tossing and turning, facing his fears – facing his desires – through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, based on a hint that only might be true…
To find the name that didn’t exist and to be brave against the one who started this all.
Finis?