Chapter Text
I was owed my honor during the war on Killahead Bridge.
The honor you unjustly stole from me, Aarghaumont.
The night you led the raid against Dwoza, Lord Gunmar summoned me to a hearing. He sat on his throne of bone and black stone, staring down at me as if I were just another Gumm-Gumm soldier at his disposal. To be thrown at anyone who dares to oppose our cause. He asked me why I believed he had chosen you for the raid, instead of me, his second general.
I should have known he was baiting me.
Ever since we became his pupils, he had nurtured a bitter rivalry between us, feeding it like a fire he could warm his hands by. What better way to grow stronger then through rivalry. When you begun to show prowess as his first general, that was all my worth. A dummy for you to train with. I was only ever second general by title alone.
But you never took the bait.
You never fell into his traps.
I, on the other hand, was jealous of you — openly, shamefully jealous.
You were too young to remember your life before Lord Gunmar molded us into soldiers for the Gumm-Gumm army. But I remembered.
I remembered the moment my father carved me from stone, breathing life into me with hands worn from a simple life, not war.
I remembered a gentler time, a time of peace, the smell of the forge and the sound of laughter. Everything he took from me.
Lord Gunmar called it weakness.
He claimed softness had tainted my stone heart.
Not you, though. No — you were his perfect weapon. His first general. Untouched by sentiment or the memories of sorrow.
I wish you had been there to see the look on Lord Gunmar's face when news reached us that you had been captured during the raid. If I had been braver, maybe I would have laughed at the irony. His prize general caught in Dwoza prison, while I still stood free. Maybe I would have even spat at his feet.
But even Prince Bular, the dark heir, did not dare approach the arena that night.
Lord Gunmar spent the hours after the news beating his forces, smashing them black and blue in a frenzy of rage, unable to comprehend how you — his highest warrior — could fall so far, unless Merlin himself had somehow intervened.
I couldn’t comprehend it either.
From that night on, your name was never uttered again.
You became a ghost, a forbidden memory.
And I remained his second general — second, always second.
Sometimes I wondered, if you escaped, would you come back?
Part of me hoped you would. Part of me prayed you would not.
Because I knew what awaited you.
Lord Gunmar could never forgive failure.
He would have crushed you to dust with his own hands the moment he saw you.
But I see it clearly now: you never intended to return.
Lord Gunmar blamed me for your disappearance, Aarghaumont.
After all, while I had no hand in your capture, I was the one you called brother.
He said it was me who made you soft, me who corrupted you with foolish memories of gentler times.
For years after, every night was spent in the arena under his cruel hand, chipping away at me, reshaping me until my stone was cracked and battered, unrecognizable from the troll you once knew.
Did you ever think of me, Aarghaumont?
Did you ever feel guilt for leaving me behind under his forces?
The day of the battle at Killahead Bridge was supposed to be my redemption.
My chance to reclaim the honor you stole when you made me care for you like family.
I thought you had perished long ago — crumbled to stone under daylight, a common punishment for prisoner troll.
But when I saw you striding alongside Deya, the Trollhunter, and her army, our enemy, I felt a fury greater than even Gunmar’s.
You had not died.
You had chosen to betray us. Me.
I vowed then and there that I would kill you.
As the battle raged, I tore through the enemy ranks, ignoring the chaos around me, seeking only you.
When at last we met, you refused to look into my eyes.
I charged you, forcing you to see me — the family you abandoned.
Every blow we exchanged dragged me back to the countless nights in Gunmar’s arena.
You were always stronger than me. You could have crushed me then, could have crushed me now.
But you never fought to win. You always left yourself open, holding back, as if mercy could save you.
It enraged me beyond reason.
The fight would always end with me storming out of the arena before a victor could be decided.
Few times, Lord Gunmar and Prince Bular would watch on, but even under their scrutiny, the fight would end in a draw.
Even now, even here, you would not strike me down.
But I would not make the same mistake. I would not show mercy.
I threw you to the ground. The sun was sinking fast, but not fast enough.
Seizing your arms, I dragged your limp form toward the few last beams of light, knowing it would turn you to stone.
And still — still you would not fight back.
For a moment, I hesitated. The same hesitation I hated myself for, the same weakness you planted in me long ago. That same weakness Lord Gunmar accused me of planting in you.
I threw you against a boulder.
"FIGHT ME!" I roared, slamming my fists into the earth until it split dirt.
But you sat there, silent, broken. It was pathetic.
"STAND TO FACE ME."
I looked into your eyes, but they did not meet my own, but instead, lingered on the scars that littered my body — the scars left by Gunmar’s endless punishments.
You knew then. You knew what he had done to me.
What you had left me to endure alone.
And then you spoke, in a voice filled with sorrow:
"I'm sorry I left. Brother."
My rage turned to ice, then flared hotter than ever before.
How dare you?
What right did you have to apologize?
I stormed forward and slammed my fists into your skull, cracking it against the rock.
You did not resist.
You slipped into unconsciousness, but you were not dead. Only the sun could claim you now.
Another draw.
Just like always.
I would not stay to finish it.
I could hear Gunmar's fury across the battlefield.
He was losing.
Good. I also don't forgive failure.
I tore off my dark armor, letting it fall uselessly to the ground, and stalked away into the night.
Not as the second general of the Gumm-Gumm army or your brother, but as me, Bjorn.