Chapter Text
Daffodil Ann Maria had lived in the Mountain Troll village for most of her life. Her great-great-grandfather and his brothers had helped build the village from the ‘ground’ up. Her family had been a prominent family ever since, from members being part of the council, along with their trade business Daffodil had never had to worry about anything.
When she was a younger girl, almost thirteen, her father had packed her and her eldest brother up to show her the trade routes that spanned the mountains. From the Yodelers that lived along the top most part of the mountains to whom they traded chocolates and the more remote medical herbs with, to the Field trolls that lived on grassy plains to whom they traded for grains and meats, to the Rock trolls across the volcanic mountains to whom they traded music and logs with. It had been an eye opening experience for her. To see all these new trolls all a bit different then the last. The Yodelers who didn’t have any tails, to the Field trolls who had cattle like lowerhalfs and stern faces, to the Rock trolls…
It was on their trip into Rock troll territory that she met him. He was only a year or two older than her, with dashing gray fur and a shock of yellow hair. She could almost call it love at first sight. She spent that week there flirting and going to parties, dancing around each other. When it had come time for her to leave he had brought her a flower made from volcanic rock, his hands and fingers bandaged. She still had that flower, sitting in her room.
She went every trip afterwards, ignoring the teasing from her siblings, until after her nineteenth hatchday he asked for her hand in marriage. Oh, it had been a beautiful ceremony. All her siblings and cousins come to see her off into her next adventure. It had broken her heart when she realized she couldn't stay in the city. They had realized the hot rocky climate was not agreeing with her, and was the reason she had lost the first three eggs. She had cried for so long, beyond devastated.
But her beloved Rock Troll had taken her into his arms and renounced his claim to the throne, leaving his younger brother Thrash in charge. She had never meant for him to renounce his throne, to leave his home. But Thistle had just smiled, that soft smile and led her into her home mountain.
They had five children. Wonderful beautiful trollings. Cliff and Oak, her two boys, Holly, Marigold, and Denise, her beautiful daughters, had been a light in her life for so long. Tragedy had to strike, she had wonderful years with all her children, with her husband and family. They had never thought anything was going to happen. Oak had gone on with the trading party, going so far south it would be months before their return. Months before Thistle had come back, hair dull and eyes colorless, looking at his wife with tearful gaze.
Their baby was gone. Oak was gone.
She had wailed so loud, her voice caring out over the city, as she fell into herself, a grief like no other racking her body.
Daffodil Ann Maria was not as young as she used to be. She had lost her husband some ten years ago and her youngest child some thirty. She was nearing her seventy second hatchday when she got a surprise she never thought she would get.
Her little Parsley, one of her many granddaughters, had been out in the market buying her fish for that night's dinner when she walked in with a ghost of the past. Oh he looked just like Oak, all broad square features and a baby face to match. His colors were a little odd, brighter then she had seen, all greens and blues of the mountain though. His tail was long with fur the same green of his hair traveling down the top and flaring out at the tip, like a feather duster. But even with new features she knew he was family.
He had been so confused. Looking around the room in shock at the features he shared with them. She had sobbed, curling his head into her chest and cried. Her Oaky had lived, hadn’t died a child. He had grown and loved and gave her a grandbaby, even if he wasn’t here with them now. It was more than she had ever thought he had gotten.
The revelation that Oak had been alive had rocked the family to it’s core. Left a bittersweet melancholy on all of her children, knowing he was gone now but had been alive just four years ago. Her children became rather protective of little John Dory (and oh, her baby had kept the family tradition, though Cliff had laughed that he had named his son after a fish of all things). He was all grown, twenty years old but still, they couldn’t help but be protective. Daffodil thought it might be why he had gone into the mountains, overwhelmed at the coddling and the way they had jumped to hear more of Oak and teach him everything about their noble family history.
Daffodil Ann Maria was old and knew her children were keeping the severity of what was happening away from her. She didn’t mind she was old and well past her prime, much rather keep their home moving and all the little children looked after. She was content and could relax because her John Dory was home, safely away from whatever got her children and grandchildren up in arms.
Her beautiful miracle of a grandbaby, the kind troll he was, helped her knead the dough (Though all wrong, but she had learned to hold her tongue knowing John Dory would get this look of defiance in his eyes whenever she questioned the Pop troll way.)
“Hi Nonna.” He greeted, a smile playing on his lips like it did any time he came home. He moved through the kitchen a little more nervously then she would have liked, unlike the rest who knew their way around her kitchen. He stepped up to the sink and began washing his hands diligently, “I’ll help.”
“Oh! My baby raised such a good boy.” She cooed, already throwing flour onto the other side of the table and giving him another loaf of bread. A burst of pride at her Oaky and her grandbaby bubbling up. He bobbed his head, color dancing across his cheeks as he pressed his palms into the dough.
She tried not to slip back, like she is so prone to do in her old age. Remembering the giggling of her children gathered around the table throwing flour at each other when she turned away. Instead she tried to focus on the sounds around her, the house full with life in a way she hadn’t thought possible after they lost Oak. the running of trollings and the siblings squabbling making her smile into her bread, waiting for John Dory to speak.
He was a well spoken troll but seemed so nervous, also thinking out his words to them before speaking. Holly and Denise thought it was adorable, seeing their baby brother’s face on their nephew and how nervous and shy he could get.
“Do you know what gots everyone in a tuff?” He asked after a few moments, glancing up at her before his eyes locked on the table.
Daffodil shrugged, “You know that radio your cousin Theo brought back from his stint with the Funk trolls? Apparently there is some sickness spreading. Your aunts and uncles will be voting on stopping trade while all this gets settled.”
He froze, eyes widening in surprise, palm pressed down and flattening the dough as he leaned forward.
“Is it that serious?”
She hummed, “I suppose so if they want to stop trade. It is the family business after all.”
“You don’t seem upset.
“I have lived a long time, John Dory,” she told him, picking up the bread and moving it onto the tray, gently scoring it. “This, like most everything, will blow over with some time and our family is a hardy one.”
They ate good that night, her, her children, and some of her older grandchildren gathered at the large dining table while the others took out folding tables, sat crisscrossed at the coffee tables and generally spread out across the house. She didn’t know how to describe the feeling of having her whole family there. A warmth that sang in her soul. A feeling of contentment. The only thing that would make it better was if Thistle and Oaky were here.
Daffodil woke up that night to the front door closing. She almost rolled over, convinced she must have just heard the bathroom door or someone returning to their room. But something nagged her, a sort of dreadful feeling that made her heart race and anxiety begin to settle. Sighing she threw her legs out of bed and got up, knowing she wouldn’t sleep until she checked on all of the children. Counting off in her head as she went room to room, half wondering if it hadn’t been one of her grandchildren or daughter from next door that might have forgotten something.
Walking through the house she settled herself with the thought one of her daughters or her grandchild left something in her home. A little weird to come so late but nothing out of the ordinary. Entering the kitchen she settled on getting herself some water, leaning against the counter and taking in the dimly lit room. But the anxiety didn’t diminish. Something felt wrong. All the beds appeared to be slept in so it wasn't a problem here… Daffodil was just about to walk out and check at her daughters house, maybe something was wrong there, she caught sight of the table. Some wood shavings were curled up as if someone carved on it, making her heart beat and her face flush, had someone broken in and vandalized their family heirloom? Rushing forward to the spot with the shavings her eyes rolled over the tree trying to figure out where it was damaged. Holly and Marigold's lines were fine and so was Cliffs, she was just beginning to trace Oaky’s when she caught it.
Her jaw dropped in shock.
It wasn’t as nicely done as the rest, which made sense, she thought. Cliff and his sons had just started to teach John Dory how to carve wood, so it would make sense the vines carved by him were shaky and rough. She thought back to everything she knew about her grandson. They had assumed when he paused telling stories it was because he had lost those friends, not because they were brothers. His ease in which he took care of his younger cousins and second cousins suddenly made more sense.
She remembered asking him, if Oaky had never told him about his family, why he would come to the Neverglades.
“Dad always told us stories of the mountains, grand adventures and I don't know if he made it seem like a magical place.”
Us. Told us. How could she be so stupid.
She pulled the closest chair out and fell into it. Her eyes tracing over the names on the table.
John Dory 2000- Spruce 2001- Clay -2003- Floyd- 2005- Branch- 2017-
Oak had more children. She had more grandchildren. Suddenly she knew if she went back into the room John Dory had been sharing with his four cousins, she would find pillows under his covers, not a blue troll.
Standing up as swiftly as her old bones would allow she nearly ran into her son’s room.
“Cliff, get up,” she barked, “We need to send out a search party.”
He kept to the same route he took from the Troll Tree to the Neverglades, knowing it was pure dumb luck he hadn’t stumbled onto any other trolls in his first journey. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find other trolls or not. It was a toss up. He knew it was probably better he didn't, safer and less likely to spread this virus.
With that thought in mind he decided to go through the waste lands. The Mountain trolls had a whole history of the place, nestled just beyond the mountains on flat lands. A species of gray giants used to live there before they moved north to the forest. Honestly, with the way they were described, to John it sounded like the waste lands used to house the Bergens during the construction of their kingdom. That thought left him on edge. Remorse that not all the gray giants had left and some still made the area home, left him wondering if he took the right path.
Being reminded of the Bergens also left a bitter taste in his mouth. Here he had been living a relatively safe life with family and no big predators while his younger siblings were stuck being used as livestock.
He shook that thought away. Or tried to. Guilt ate at him. Gnawing at his stomach and making him relatively nauseous.
The waste land was just that, a wasteland. It was dark here, like the sun couldn’t break through the clouds and left everything cast in darkness. Trees were twisted and dead dotting along the landscape and it wasn’t until his feet hit the ground did he realize there was no dirt, just ash. Eyeing what he now suspected used to be a lush forest with new eyes, something really bad happened here.
Eventually he found what the giant species used as road, hard stone that made his feet ache. But if he was right and the forest had once been home to the Bergens then the road should lead him to the Bergen Kingdom and thus the troll tree. So he followed it, even as the hard stone made his feet ache. It was as it got even darker with the setting of the sun that John caught sight of lights, illuminating in the distance. He could make out something, something large that towered in the flat background. He walked closer trying to ignore the screaming in his head.
A giant building modeled after the Bergens was one of the tall buildings, another just behind it of a clown. A splash of color against a gray and black background. The lights were on but there were no vehicles or critters around, just lights and the faint sound of music playing. A blinking sign reading Mini-Golf, Hole n’ Fun glared back at him in the night.
He swallowed his fear though. Even with the dead forest looming around him. He had to keep moving forward. He had to find his brothers.