Title: Seasonal Work Version: 1.0, posted 2/27/06 (originally posted to LiveJournal 10/30/05) Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine. (See full disclaimer on previous page.)
Summary: Hoggle knows that being caretaker of the labyrinth
requires a certain . . . flexibility.
Seasonal Work
by Mistral Amara
Hoggle looked at the calendar as he waited for his morning kettle to
boil. October the fifteenth. He closed his eyes and thought longingly
of trees turning gold and red and orange, cider presses running at
capacity, men and women scurrying to make preparations for harvest
festivals. A proper gardener would be raking leaves and deadheading
flowers at this time of year.
He, of course, was far from being
a proper gardener. He'd given up any chance of normalcy when he'd
agreed to be the caretaker of the labyrinth--so long ago now, he
couldn't even remember what foolish argument had driven him to leave
his home and family, nor what desperation had made him accept Jareth's
offer of employment. Far too long ago for regrets. No, he was content
enough. If there was anything he missed, it was the orderly march of
seasons.
The kettle's whistle broke his train of thought. He
poured his tea and buttered his toast and set them on the table, then
drew back the kitchen curtains and sat down to break his fast and plan
his day.
He dipped his spoon in the jam pot and considered the
view. Blue sky, sun warm but not hot, green grass, and a patchwork of
brilliant flowers. Late spring, then. Hoggle shook his head. Working
for someone who could change the seasons at a whim was more than a
little unnerving. Still, he'd wanted to be a gardener, and a gardener
he was. If that made him a misfit among other dwarves, it was no more
than he was willing to sacrifice. Who needs friends when you have work
that you love?
And he did love his work, even if the seasons
were all jumbled together like prizes in a grab-bag. Late spring. What
had he done the last time it was late spring? Oh, right--trimmed the
hedge maze and fertilized the bloodthorns. Which meant it was probably
time for a bit of pest control.
He swallowed the last of his
toast and tea and put the dishes into the sink. Then he rummaged in his
tool cabinet until he found his spray gun. He sniffed the nozzle.
Fairy-B-Gone. Right, then, he'd start by spraying the fairies.
He opened the door and strode, smiling, out into the bright spring
morning.
-End-
A/N 1: Written for the fanfic100
challenge. Labyrinth: general movie, prompt #062: spring.