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Gregor sat, eyes on the dancing flame in the hearth, the snow on his shoulders turning into water in the warmth of the cabin as the flames crackled and danced. He shifted and pulled the furs tighter against himself. For a moment, he regretted ordering his squire to return home when they crossed the borderlands into the wilds.
Better than present company, he supposed.
Then again, his squire’s potential and promise would go to waste if he were torn apart by the denizens of the wilds. The only service Gregor would be in need of, he grimly thought, was for his squire to ensure a proper burial if he fell. Continuing alone was folly, but it would fall on his head.
And then he met the Troll.
Out the corner of his eye, Gregor saw the Troll shifted shift, muttering a bit. It appeared to be moving a bit gingerly—wounds that would’ve felled a man didn’t fell this thing, but it must’ve hurt like Hell given all the screaming. The taste of his own blood on his tongue and the ache up and down his body didn’t do much to dampen the petty satisfaction Gregor had seeing the beast in pain.
“You’ve fought my kind before?” The Troll asked, studying the wounds he’d received. It was the first thing he’d said since their battle had ended.
“Aye.” Gregor said. He’d slain all manner of monsters that ran amok in his liege’s lands. Trolls were a rarity, and could be vicious. They could also be, even more rarely, quite reasonable. To Gregor’s chagrin. “And you’ve fought knights before, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” The troll said, grinning a bit as it ran a big paw through greasy, matted hair. “When they’ve come to slay me for glory.”
“This wasn’t about glory.” Gregor sad with a scowl. It was a matter of duty—the beautiful maiden Bethany had been carried off, a fortnight before her wedding to the crown prince, by a creature that waylaid her carriage. Taller than a man, strong as an ox. Her retinue had not managed to stop it.
The prince, a spoiled child, demanded that she be tracked down, his father had ordered it so, and the lords told their Knights. Honor to he who slayed the beast and returned Bethany. Gregor was all too eager to slay the beast, honor and glory be damned. He wanted its blood.
As far as he knew, Gregor was the only one who came this far. He’d seen other knights, all good men, brave and skilled, having run afoul of the wilds. This was no place for men. He had buried the knight’s he’d found in snow—no shovel, no time to drag them back for proper funerary rights. Just piled-up snow and the uncovered corpses of beasts that came at him. His sword was stained black by the blood of rampaging beasts by the time he met the Troll.
It was in that moment, staring down the creature that took Bethany, that he realized he had gone insane.
He had lived this long, served his masters victoriously for years, because he was pragmatic. He would do his duty, but not take stupid or suicidal risks for the sake of glory. But now, as he thought about it, thinking of how he had almost led his squire on a doomed march into the Wilds, he realized he was blood crazed as a berseker.
Outwardly calmer, yes.
But just as blood crazed. He had every intention of cutting a swath straight through this accursed forest or die trying, and he’d made quite the attempt at it.
The two had fought and bled and made an earnest go of killing one another, less than fifteen minutes ago. Which left their current state, huddled in the Troll’s roughshod but cozy cabin, more than somewhat awkward.
“You are Sir Gregor?” The Troll finally asked. As if the beast hadn’t heard the name being shouted and seen the way it made him freeze.
“Aye.”
“And you really came all this way, despite the odds. You really are as stubborn as she said you would be.” The Troll said with a laugh, and Gregor couldn’t help but laugh, too before stifling it when the pain in his ribs flared. “I suppose I should apologize for that.”
“And I should apologize for almost cleaving you in two.” Gregor said, with a grimace. The thing had already scabbed over, but it was obviously trying to not move while simultaneously trying to shift to be more comfortable with the deep wounds it had accrued.
“You both should apologize for acting like children.” Bethany said. He and the troll both turned, both of them wincing as they did.
They both should apologize. Neither felt like actually going through with it. He supposed that was the best his sister was going to get.
“Do human children hack each other apart with swords?” The Troll asked. Gregor took a moment before he realized it was sarcasm. The fact he wasn’t deigning to answer the Troll anyways saved him some embarrassment.
“Seriously, there is no reason for you two to fight, and…” She began, when both of them cut her off.
“He was trying to kill me.” The Troll complained, motioning towards his numerous stab wounds.
“He abducted you!” Gregor said. Seeing the dubious look on his sister’s face, he amended “At least that’s what your carriage driver said.”
After a long pause, the troll shrugged and said “To be fair… I do suppose we made it look that way to an outside observer. You did suggest making it look ‘convincing’ that you were kidnapped, rather than fled.”
“You see?” Gregor said, gesturing at the Troll. “Even the Troll admits I was justified trying to kill him!”
“No I didn’t.” The Troll grumbled. “I just said her plan to get out of the marriage was overly theatrical.”
He was stubborn, she was theatrical. Their mother was a Saint for allowing them to reach adulthood.
“Well, I couldn’t just turn down the proposal.” Bethany said. The King was a fair man, but was blind to his son’s excesses. Her spurning him would have ended poorly for their House.
“Was the plan to kill me and drag her back to the altar?” The Troll asked, after a long pause.
“I’ll be blunt.” Sir Gregor said. “A troll attacked my sister’s carriage, carrying her off into the woods. I expected to hunt you down, kill you, and then bury whatever I could find of my sister.”
“I told you, I should’ve left a letter.” Bethany said. Then, looking at Gregor and apparently finding something smug in his face, added “Albeit who knows if he’d bother to read it.”
“And what if he turned it over to your fiancé?” The troll replied, gesturing at Gregor dismissively.
“He wouldn’t do that.” She said, confidently. Then her face faltered a bit, and she turned to Gregor. “Would you?”
“I came here to kill the monster who killed my sister.” Gregor said, rolling his eyes. “Prince Adam can rot for all I care.”
Gregor did not like the prince. A spoiled brat who hid behind his father’s men in battles, only approaching the front to abuse those who could not respond. Ever the pragmatist, Gregor kept his mouth shut around the Prince. He was aware that plenty of the King’s lords were concerned about succession, and he supposed that when the time came, someone enterprising would suggest a better alternative. Obviously the spoiled brat couldn’t be the true heir to their beloved liege, correct?
Someone smarter would come up with a plan that needed Gregor’s sword and might. Until then he’d wait.
He had smiled falsely and said nothing when he learned that his sister had caught that whelp’s eye. That smile faded at their keep. Her sister knew his opinion of the man, and brief encounters with him and convinced her that Gregor’s opinion was not an uncharitable description. He had no suggestions, and encouraged her to think ‘outside of the box’. She was far better at coming to unorthodox solutions than he.
And she had plenty of ideas. Ideas for someone else—preferably a noblewoman she couldn’t stand—to catch the prince’s eye. Possibly joining a nunnery—no, she couldn’t continue her studies there. Perhaps she could fake her own death?
Apparently that last thought was the one she settled on, with this… thing.
“How did you two meet, anyways?” Gregor asked. “It was the wizard, wasn’t it?”
“Constantin is a sorcerer.” The Troll corrected.
“A socreror introduced you to the Troll?”
“My friend Constantin put me in correspondence with Mathias, yes.” Bethany said, looking him dead in the eye. “Years ago. We wrote each other for years.”
“Wait… you’re Mathias?” Gregor said, turning to the troll. While she was a bit of a shut-in, Bethany avidly corresponded far and wide, with all sorts. He had always figured it was a way to avoid catching the eye of anyone too dumb to read her prose.
Mathias was apparently quite the charmer, and Bethany was over the moon for him. She never said as much, but he could tell by the way she talked about his letters that yes, Mattias was very important to her.
Gregor had even urged her to invite him over to their keep, introduce her brother to her new friend. She had just blushed and made excuses. Which, given tonight’s events, made a lot more sense. He sat, leaning back and looking at a crudely hand-crafted shelf with dozens of books piled up. A desk with a quill and a stack of papers—presumably some of the Troll’s correspondence.
“Yes, that’s my name.” The Troll said, glaring at Gregor. “What, did you think my name was something like…”
At that moment, the troll let out an unintelligible growl.
“Maybe.” Gregor shrugged. Turning back to his sister he asked “Did you know he was a Troll?”
“Why yes. Constantin did let slip he was not human, and after a few letters Mathias let slip enough details about himself for me to be reasonably sure…”
“’Don’t take this the wrong way, as I do enjoy our correspondence, and I mean this in the utmost respect and not an insult. Are you a troll?’” The Troll said, affecting a falsetto. Gregor couldn’t help but laugh as his sister’s brow furrowed in annoyance, right up until he started coughing.
“Serves you right.” Bethany said, annoyed. “But yes, Mathias and I have been corresponding for years, fully aware of who we are.”
Gregor shrugged. “Understood.”
Gregor took a deep breath and slumped his shoulders. Bethany really should’ve explained the situation to him beforehand. “Troll.”
He let out a long pause, staring at the fire, and then amended “Mathias.”
“Yes?”
“Despite my initial misgivings, caused entirely by a lack of communication…” He said, turning to stare at Bethany, who had picked up a turning point had been reached in the conversation and was beaming despite the barb. “…based on what I know of your reputation from my Sister, Lady Bethany, and her wise and erudite friend Constantin…”
“Drunk and half-mad, but a fun sort…” Mathias interrupted.
“Aye, that. You are a good man, and I sincerely apologize for my attempt on your life.” Gregor said. “I need no such apology from you, as you were merely defending yourself from a blood-mad trespasser on your territory.”
“Thank you, Gregor.” Bethany said, leaning in and patting him on his armored shoulder.
“Understood. I accept your apology, Sir Gregor. Am I to assume that I have your blessing to…” The Troll began.
Gregor laughed as Bethany yelled “What?!” and Mathias flinched.
“As you have been so recently made aware, my sister does not need my ‘blessing’ to do what she desires.” Gregor said, finding good humor in this. “However, I have no objections to your cohabitation, or union or whatever you two wish to seek.”
“Oh, we’re going to be married soon. Constantin’s ordained.” Bethany said. “Oh, I really suppose I should’ve written you an invite.”
“It’s okay.” Gregor said, eyes shut, rubbing his temples. “You were faking your death.”
Mathias, wisely shifted his conversation to how nice Gregor’s sword was—was it an heirloom crafted Anton Lykos, famed royal blacksmith? Yes it was—very good sword. Mathias agreed, he’d been stabbed a lot, and you could just tell the Lykos Swords by their quality. That tree that the Troll had wielded like a club, was it just a random tree he found in the forest—why yes it was. The Troll had excellent taste in hardwood—once Gregor had fought a minotaur who picked a rotten log that just crumbled when it hit something.
Then the door burst open, and a mismatched assortment of burlap and furs entered in haste, covering a madly-raving figure “Mathias, Bethany! I have dire news! The king sent knights! Bethany’s idiot brother is among them! He’s rather tough and…”
“Hello, Wizard.” Gregor said, glaring at Constantin.
“Oh… uh, Hail, Sir Gregor! I am a sorcerer, by the way.”
“As you can see, wizard, we’ve already talked things over.” Gregor said. He sighed. “Since I’m here, do you want to conduct the wedding now, or is there a date scheduled or…”
“Oh, the marriage! That can wait, I just came to warn Mathias and possibly ask a favor…” Constantin bumbled. “… you see, I have heard tales of the Skeleton King rising in the North, and…”
“Say no more.” Mathias said. “Darling, we’ll be gone a few days. Keep the doors locked and remember…”
“When the elk with the human face asks to be let in, just ignore it.” Bethany finished his sentence. Gregor got up, walking over to his sword.
“I’ll go with.” Gregor said. “I’ve come this far, so I better have some result. Stopping the evil Lich God from rising… again… is as good a reason for not completing my quest.”
While the wizard and Troll exited, Mathias humoring the raving Constantin far more gently and respectfully than Gregor could ever have managed, Bethany stopped him.
“Listen, I apologize.” She said, sincere. “I know I should’ve trusted you more with my plans, but I…”
He pulled her in to a hug. “Bethany, trust me, it’s fine. You’re safe—in the middle of this shack in the haunted forest…”
“Protected by magic.” She said, gesturing at what Gregor had taken as terrible decorations. “And they’re from a witch friend, not Constantin.”
“You’re safe and sound… and happy.” Gregor said. “You will be missed at home, but you’re better off here than with the Prince. Don’t worry about me, and don’t worry about Mathias—I will not allow any harm to come to my future brother-in-law.”
“And Constantin?”
“I will not let any harm come to my brother-in-law” Gregor repeated, and then turned and dashed out the door to the rest of the party.