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The Trollhunter is a strange sight, when Angor Rot chances upon him.
He’d been tracking this strange Champion of Merlin down at leisure; with the ring in his own possession, there isn't much of a press to hunt Trollhunters down. He can savor this.
…. But there are strange whispers about this Trollhunter. “Merlin’s Mistake” they call him, spitting on his name like they would the name of an enemy, rather than their protector.
The troll’s spite of their Trollhunter makes Angor Rot uneasy. What could this “Tellad-Urr” possibly have done to incite the wrath of his people?
Now, staring at the Hunter at a distance over the crest of this hill, Angor Rot feels rage curl in his gut.
The silvery glow of the amulet’s armor is tarnished and dull in the moonlight, reflecting the state of its user.
Tellad-Urr limps across the grassy slope, pain telegraphed in every move. The scent of blood and the cloying tinge of rot clings to the Hunter like a sickening shroud. His face alone bares more scars than Angor Rot had seen on most Trollhunter’s entire bodies. Despite his injuries, and the pain he must surely be in, Tellad-Urr forges on. His steps are stiff and wobbly, his tail constantly moving to correct his balance. Alas, a tail can only do so much, and when the Trollhunter finally trips, he goes down hard.
The knee that seems to be giving the Hunter the most trouble hits the ground with the full force of his weight behind it; drawing a sharp, strangled sound of pain from him. In a lethargic flash of light, the armor dissipates and retreats back into the amulet. The amulet thumps to the grassy ground as Tellad-Urr curls over it, the last shred of his will gone in the wake of his pain. Dressed as he is in only a simple kilt, Angor Rot has an unobstructed view of the multitude of scars in various stages of healing that cover the Trollhunter’s body. Tellad-Urr remains on the ground for a moment longer before slowly getting back to his feet. Turf falls in clumps from his hands as he unclenches his fists to snatch the amulet from the ground.
The Hunter's face is twisted into an ugly, hateful snarl as he regards the piece of magic metal in his hands. After a moment of angered breathing; he winds his arm back and hurls the amulet at a nearby rock with a frustrated scream. The amulet lets out a ringing sound as it ricochets off the rock and sails in a beautiful, delicate arc to land soundly at Angor Rot’s feet.
The Trollhunter doesn’t turn to see where his badge of duty has landed. Unsettled and sick, Angor Rot plucks the Amulet from the ground. Merlin’s magic flashes unhappily from the Amulet’s depths, displeased at being handled by Morgana’s dog.
”But you have made this Hunter your dog, haven’t you?” Angor Rot thinks, turning the device over in his claws.
After a moment of thought, Angor Rot pockets the Amulet and starts walking down the grassy knoll towards the seething Hunter.
Tellad-Urr himself has taken a seat on the same rock he'd bashed the Amulet on a moment prior. His knee is obviously still giving him trouble. As Angor draws closer, he can see the Hunter is fiddling with a handmade leather brace.
The state of the Hunter is just so depressing. Angor Rot had done battle against many Trollhunters prior, and they'd all -beyond a shadow of a doubt- been much more well-cared-for than this.
The Hunter, absorbed in his task, has not looked up despite how close Angor has come. He stinks of exhaustion, beneath the rot and infection, so Angor can't exactly blame him.
"Tellad-Urr."
Angor Rot's painfully neutral address has the Hunter's attention immediately upon him. In that instant, Tellad-Urr seems to go through a myriad of emotions. Shock, confusion, angry embarrassment, resignation, confusion again….
Recognition.
"...Angor Rot." The Trollhunter responds, voice heavy and thick. "Morgana's Hand. Come to add another tally to your list?"
Angor's eyes narrow, both at being addressed as "Morgana's Hand" and at the insinuation that he would stoop to ending Tellad-Urr in this state.
"No, Merlin's Creation, I am not here to kill you." Angor feels a bit of satisfaction when the Trollhunter flinches at being addressed in a similar manner, but it's short lived. "Though I did notice your...display of dissatisfaction a moment ago. It seems I'm not the only one left drained and unwilling under the thumb of a human sorcerer."
Tellad-Urr eyes him appraisingly. Angor Rot can see a glimpse of the formidable Trollhunter this sad shell once was in that look. As the Hunter relaxes, a glint of tired curiosity overtaking his posture, Angor Rot wonders if the old troll had seen a similar glimpse of the hero he once was in his own hollow shell of a body.
"I suppose that is accurate enough." The Hunter admits. "Though you must forgive me for my skepticism. I was under the impression that you'd bargained willingly with the Lady Pale."
Angor Rot snorts derisively. "While it's true enough that I approached Her willingly, nothing that came after was my choice. She tricked me. I was given the power to protect my village that I'd bartered for, but with my soul in Her hand, She forbade me from putting it to use. I destroyed Trollhunters on Her orders, not my own will."
Tellad-Urr frowns, but his posture has softened further at the explanation. "...I suppose in that regard, we are birds of a feather." He sighs, breaking eye contact to continue adjusting his leg brace in an unhurried manner. "When the Amulet chose me, I thought it a high honor. I would possess the power and tools to protect my people from any foe. But as time wore on, as Orglak and his forces overturned village after village as his General tossed me aside like I was nothing, I began to realize...the futility of it all.
At that admission, Tellad-Urr cradles his face in one hand, exhaustion and shame permeating his posture.
"Off the battlefield was somehow worse." He admits quietly. "The others treat me like a pariah. A tool to satisfy their own requests and secure their own safety at no cost to them. It is," he takes a breath, tightening the laces on his brace for the final time, "draining."
Angor feels something akin to pity curl in his gut. Two beaten dogs crushed under the weight of their master's hands. What a pair they make.
Tellad-Urr's bitter laugh draws Angor Rot from his musing. "I should not be telling you this. Forgive an old, tired fool for burdening you with his woes." At that, the Hunter stands, and freezes when Angor places a hand firmly against his shoulder.
"Your story is not a burden to me, Tellad-Urr." Angor Rot says softly. "You are right to say there are similarities between us. Two proud warriors brought low by human magic." When Tellad-Urr's eyes rise to meet his, Angor continues, "After hearing your plight, I cannot help but wonder if there is a way we might make our situations...mutually beneficial."
"Mutually beneficial?" Tellad-Urr echoes, obviously skeptical. “How so?”
“It’s simple.” Angor Rot says mildly, removing his hand from the Hunter’s shoulder to pull a small box from his belt. “Currently, I am in possession of the Inferna Copula.” He opens the box one-handed, revealing the ring set in enchanted silk. “The Pale Lady could not be bothered to oversee me personally these last few years, and so delegated my control to one of Her Changelings. It was easy enough to remove it from the beast’s possession. However,” He frowns, obviously put off, “it is enchanted against me. I cannot wear the Inferna Copula.” At that, Angor snaps the box closed. “Hence the case. It burns even at my touch.”
Now it is Tellad-Urr’s time to look upon Angor Rot in pity. To be so close to freedom only to be rebuffed at the last second. “And you would...have me take it?” He says tentatively. “...Why? Why not hold it under your own power? Or simply hide it away?”
Angor Rot gives a gentle shake of his head at Tellad-Urr’s suggestions. “Everyone knows of me and my curse. To carry the Inferna Copula with me guarantees someone will eventually steal it from me. And if I were to hide it, it would eventually be found.” He says solemnly. “As for entrusting it to you, I mean for it to be an...exchange.”
“An exchange?” Tellad-Urr repeats slowly, turning the words over in his head until understanding lights his eyes. “...You would have me give you the Amulet in exchange.”
“Yes.” Angor confirms. “You would take the Inferna Copula and keep it from those who would use it to direct me to do harm; while I would take the Amulet and place it inside the same nullifying case my ring currently resides in. Therefore keeping it from pursuing you with your ‘destiny’.”
Now Tellad-Urr seems interested, or at least willing, but his expression crumples into embarrassment as he remembers something. “...As lovely as that sounds, I’m afraid I may have...misplaced the Amulet.” He confesses.
“If by ‘misplaced’ you mean ‘tossed about like a pyroblixt ball’, I’m aware. And you needn’t worry.” Angor Rot says blasely, drawing the Amulet from its place in his belt as well. “You have an incredible arm.”
The stone of Tellad-Urr’s face heats at Angor’s commentary as he takes the Amulet back automatically. Once he realizes what he’s done, he blanches slightly even as the Amulet chimes cheerily at him.
“Well?” Angor Rot says again, drawing Tellad-Urr’s attention back to the open box containing the Inferna Copula, “Do we have an arrangement?”
Tellad-Urr hesitates for a moment, looking between the Amulet and Angor Rot’s molten eyes. There is no apprehension in the other’s gaze, the Trollhunter will either accept the offer or he will not.
With a drawn out sigh, Tellad-Urr swiftly plucks the Inferna Copula from it’s bed of silk and replaces it with the Amulet of Daylight. Angor Rot snaps the lid closed on it before the cursed thing can pull a disappearing act, and Tellad-Urr finds himself holding his breath.
There is nothing. Angor Rot pockets the charmed box with an air of finality. “Wear the ring if you must.” He says, jerking Tellad-Urr out of his head. “But do not direct me for petty reasons. Please.”
“I would never.” Tellad-Urr blinks. “I know what it is to be expected to fill the every whim of others, I will not put you through the same. I’ll buy a cord. Or fashion one myself.”
Angor Rot wrinkles his nose at that. “Save your coin for yourself, Tellad-Urr. You would not suffer from proper medical attention. You smell of rot.” He says matter-of-fact. “Take this if you require a cord.”
The box-braided leather of the cord Angor produces is thick and sturdy. Tellad-Urr takes it and threads the Inferna Copula on it without comment; struck silent by Angor’s observation. He really should seek out a healer.
With the Inferna Copula securely around Tellad-Urr’s neck, the two conspirators give each other one last, long look.
“The sun will rise soon.” Tellad-Urr observes. “We’d best be on our separate ways.”
Angor Rot turns his head slightly to observe the lightened horizon. “So it seems.” He murmurs, and returns his attention to Tellad-Urr. “Do you desire to cross paths again? Or should I endeavor to avoid you?”
Tellad-Urr blinks, caught off-guard by the question. “I...don’t see why we would not cross paths again. If I am completely honest,” He clears his throat, shifting his weight slightly, “I enjoyed this conversation. You are...ah, you would make an interesting companion. I would not object to us meeting again at some point.”
Angor Rot nods at Tellad-Urr’s consent. “Very well. May our paths cross in fairer light then, Tellad-Urr.”
Tellad-Urr’s lips twitch into a ghost of a smile. “Likewise, Angor Rot. May the odds be in your favor.”
With that, the two part ways, Tellad-Urr limping slightly to the treeline while Angor Rot disappears with the assistance of the Skathe-Hrün.
It would be years until either set eyes upon the other again.