Chapter 72

Both of Cinnamon's parents worked on the tunnels that would hopefully, one day, lead to Troll freedom from the Bergens so he would often spend his days with his Grandmother and, sometimes, he would join her in visiting other older Trolls for tea. That was how Cinnamon met Rosiepuff and her grandson, Branch, for the first time.

The tiny Trolling was a rather beautiful shade of blue with a tiny purple nose and blue-ish, purple hair to match but Cinnamon couldn't see his eyes because he was sleeping.

"Can I hold him?" Cinnamon peered into Branch's bassinet rather than join all the Grandmas at the tea table.

"Let Branch sleep sweetheart," Cinnamon's Grandmother, Paprika, patted the seat next to her, "He's a little young for you to play with."

Not wanting to leave the bassinet, Cinnamon pouted, "Can I stay over here? I promise not to wake him."

"Alright but that means we're going to eat all the scones and jellies ourselves," Paprika tried to tempt him.

Though the scones Rosiepuff made looked delicious, Cinnamon held firm. He stayed by the bassinet and got a peek of sleepy blue eyes looking up at him right before they had to go.

On their next visit, Rosiepuff had Branch again, and he was awake and wouldn't be ignored. He yammered his baby nonsense until he was held, which Cinnamon was happy to comply to.

"Do you think Mom and Dad will give me a little brother?" Cinnamon asked, watching Branch have a ball playing with his hair.

"Maybe," Paprika nodded.

"You might get a little sister though," Rosiepuff warned with a smile.

"A little sister wouldn't be horrible," Cinnamon relented, then smiled at Branch, "But I think I'd prefer a brother."

Smiling back, Branch giggled as his tiny fist smacked Cinnamon in the nose.

"Ow," Cinnamon rubbed his nose and grumbled, "Maybe a sister would be gentler?"

After Trollstice, Rosiepuff had Branch all the time because both of Branch's parents were gone. Branch, though not old enough to understand, knew that his parents were gone and cried for them for days, his beautiful blue fading into gray.

When Paprika would go over with care packages, Cinnamon would go with her to try and comfort the little gray Trolling. Usually he sat on the floor while holding him and singing until Branch fell into a restless sleep.

The day Branch got his colors back was both wonderful and horrible. For it meant Branch was happy again but also that Branch no longer remembered his parents to miss them.

Branch was walking an talking a bit the day Cinnamon lost his parents to the tunnels and he came to live with his Grandmother full time, just like Branch. Cinnamon was glad that he was old enough that he would remember his parents but sometimes the empty ache in his heart made him wish that he could forget, if only for a few minutes.

Most days Paprika visited Rosiepuff, Cinnamon was at school or visits had to be cancelled due to the threat of the Bergen Chef lurking around the tree outside of Trollstice. It had been ages since Cinnamon saw Branch when they got the news Rosiepuff had been taken.

As much as Cinnamon wanted to go to this Miss Frizz's and see if he could comfort his old friend, it was too dangerous to venture far from the pod. There was also word that the tunnels were nearing completion and they would escape the moment they got the all clear.

It had been very rare for Trolls to die of old age while in Bergan captivity. Part of Cinnamon was happy that his Grandma Paprika survived long enough to have a few weeks in cage-free sunshine before she passed but mostly he hated that she was gone.

That's when Cinnamon went to live with his Aunt Dandelion, who was already raising six of his cousins along her three own children. It wasn't bad sharing a room with the two toddlers but it didn't take long to forget what quiet used to sound like and he missed Paprika's stories instead of all the crying, yelling and shouting that went on around in this pod.

A few months in at the new Troll Tree was when Cinnamon finally saw Branch again. He was much older than the baby he used to sing to but Cinnamon had heard the adults talking about the gray Trolling that lost his grandmother and Cinnamon still recognized Branch's blue eyes.

When Cinnamon ran over, Branch was with a couple of older Trollings, who Cinnamon assumed were part of his foster family, "Branch?"

The gray Trolling looked up to acknowledge him but didn't say a word.

"You probably don't remember me but your grandma," Cinnamon never had the chance to finish when he was suddenly shoved to the ground and looking up at Branch, who was glaring at him at the same time he looked like he was fighting back tears.

"Stay away from me," Branch shouted and ran off, chases by a majority of his foster siblings.

The one who stayed was dark green and very tall, probably part giant Troll. He was actually in Cinnamon's class but had to sit in the back due to his height.

"Branch won't talk about his grandma," stated Brocade, offering Cinnamon a hand up.

"I noticed," Cinnamon accepted the help up but was confused when Brocade didn't let go of his hand.

Brocade stared at Cinnamon for a long time, the look intense and making Cinnamon uncomfortable when he finally spoke again, "You're in my class."

Nodding, Cinnamon couldn't shake the bad feeling that something was wrong and tried to take his hand back, "That's right, um, could you let go now?"

"You kind of sound like Creek," Brocade said absently.

"Who is," Cinnamon stopped his question with a shout, pulling more at hi hand when Brocade began to squeeze it, "Stop it, you're hurting me!"

Watching Cinnamon struggle a moment, Brocade let go and simply said, "See you tomorrow," before leaving.

When he went back to his Aunt's pod, Cinnamon told her about it but she simply said young giant Trolls often had problems controlling their strength and told him to be more careful next time they played together. The explanation sounded reasonable so Cinnamon dismissed it as easily as she did.

But at school Brocade tipped over Cinnamon's desk while Cinnamon was sitting in it. Another day Brocade slammed Cinnamon into the wall. Another day Brocade yanked on Cinnamon's hair hard enough to make him fall backwards. Each day something happened and each day it only seemed to get worse.

The teacher scolded Brocade to be more careful with his strength whenever she saw it happen but Brocade only got more careful not to be seen. Those Cinnamon thought were his friends ran whenever they saw Brocade coming and soon started to avoid him all together. And Cinnamon's Aunt dismissed each incident as easily as she did the first.

Brocade started to hunt Cinnamon down after school and drag him off to hit him with sticks. No one ever seemed to hear him shout for help and even when Brocade started to draw blood, Cinnamon's Aunt still told him to be more careful.

After that Cinnamon stopped asking for help. He cleaned up his cuts himself and wore long sleeve shirts so Trolls would stop asking how he got hurt. It was easier not having to explain and get the same dismissals again and again.

As Cinnamon grew older, he kept more to himself, enjoying the company of books more than his fellow Trolls. No one even noticed when he stopped wearing a hug time bracelet since his shirts covered his wrists for years.

Sometimes Cinnamon wondered why he wasn't gray. He couldn't remember the last time he felt anything, let alone happiness. Though a mystery, at least his colors staying intact gave him one less thing to worry about.

Something akin to hope grew in Cinnamon as graduation approached. Without school forcing them together, it would be easier to avoid Brocade. He might be able to avoid him entirely and perhaps have a tiny sliver of a normal life without Brocade looming over him.

At their graduation party, Cinnamon didn't fight when Brocade grabbed him to pull him off somewhere. He had stopped fighting a long time ago.

Instead of grabbing something to hit Cinnamon with, Brocade looked at Cinnamon in a way he hadn't before. The look was almost contemplative.

"You're not as pretty as Creek," commented Brocade, cupping Cinnamon's cheek, "But you'll do."

'Do for what,' Cinnamon asked silently but kept his thoughts to himself. Still, he couldn't help but jump hen Brocade started to pull at his shirt.

This was different. Different was never good though. What could Brocade possibly want with Cinnamon's shirt?

Hands too big for the buttons, Brocade took hold of the shirt and ripped it open, sending the buttons flying and scattering all around them. His massive hands came up to grip Cinnamon's hip to pull him closer.

As Brocade leaned in, Cinnamon felt a blind panic build up and lash out in a way that it never had before. Without thought, his hair balled up and hit Brocade in the face, hard. The moment Brocade's grip loosened, he ran and he ran fast.

He didn't remember picking a direction but Cinnamon found himself in his room at his aunt's house soon enough but he still couldn't breathe. This entire body still screaming to run even if he didn't know where to go. He sat on the ground against the wall, curling up to try and contain it but the painful buzzing only seemed to grow.

"Cinnamon?" Daffodil came into the room, looking around for him, "Your party ended early. How was," he stopped when she spotted him, and rushed over to kneel beside him, "Cinnamon, what happened?"

"Brocade," the word escaped Cinnamon before he could stop it. The buzzing changed, turning into tears he couldn't hold back anymore.

Seeing her usually stoic cousin like this, seeing the scars normally hidden behind his hanging open shirt, Daffodil wanted to cry too, "Brocade hurt you?'

"Not this time," said Cinnamon, "But he was going to something. I don't understand what he was trying to do but I'm afraid." A sob escaped him and he curled up more, "I don't know what to do."

"I'll tell you what you're going to do," Daffodil took hold of Cinnamon's hands, holding them tightly, "You are not going to go gray."

Confused, Cinnamon looked up and saw the color was draining from the hands Daffodil was holding. Really, it was a long time coming.

"And I am never letting Brocade near you again," Daffodil promised.

"He's over twice your size," Cinnamon sniffled.

"I don't care," Daffodil moved closer and hugged her cousin tightly. "He's not getting anywhere near you again if I have anything to say about it."

Though Cinnamon couldn't fathom how Daffodil could keep that promise, he hugged her back and cried the tears he refused to shed for nearly a decade. He only noticed the gray fading to allow his colors to stay in place much later when he went to bed.

True to her word, Daffodil stuck to Cinnamon like glue. She helped him build his own pod and followed him wherever he needed to go. Any time Brocade so much looked like he would walk in their direction, Daffodil would attempt to murder him with a glare and Brocade would change direction.

Eventually Cinnamon stopped seeing Brocade entirely and Daffodil eased back a little. Without Brocade hanging around, Cinnamon felt lighter. He prepared for his apprenticeship with the Apothecary, surprised to find Branch there as well on the first day.

Though Cinnamon saw Branch sporadically throughout the years, it was never up close. Branch, a teenager now, was still gray and rather openly grumpy looking.

"What?" Branch snapped when Cinnamon stared at him.

"Nothing," Cinnamon rubbed his arm awkwardly, "Do you remember me?"

Branch looked Cinnamon over and frowned, "Should I?"

"No, I suppose not," said Cinnamon, figuring it was not worth bringing up the past. He smiled a little, "Aren't you a little young to be an apprentice?"

"I'm not anyone's apprentice," Branch shook his head, "I just want to know how to make medicines and how to store it in my bunker."

"Oh, and how if that going?" asked Cinnamon, only knowing rumors of this bunker Branch had run away to make as a child.

Frowning more, Branch eyed Cinnamon cautiously, unsure of what to make of the question, "It's going fine."

"That's good," Cinnamon smiled a little more genuinely, glad not to get a snappish answer this time and that Branch was doing as well as he could be, given the circumstances.

True to his word, Branch learned what he wanted to know and went on his way. Cinnamon was surprised when Branch started to bring him herbs to sell or trade, becoming his main provider when he opened his apothecary. He liked those visits, trying to bring out the smiles he remembered from their childhood and making multiple offers of going into business together but Branch stubbornly held onto his grumpiness and lone wolf act.

One day, Cinnamon was heading home and heard the most beautiful voice, a little outside of the village. He was unable to help but follow the voice to see who it was.

Off on his own was a younger purple Troll, somewhere between Cinnamon and Branch in age. If Cinnamon had to guess, he'd say about seventeen, and along with a beautiful voice, he was an amazing dancer.

The young Troll seemed to be just enjoying himself by himself, so curiosity satisfied, Cinnamon was going to leave him be until he heard another voice join the young Troll's. He turned back and could see another Troll, not much older than Cinnamon, trying to entice the younger one into a duet. This would be fine if it wasn't a blatant attempt at courting.

Clearly not interested the young Troll tried to back away and decline but another, already adult Troll, came in to try their hand.

Annoyed, Cinnamon decided he would remind them that this was inappropriate with the best way Trolls understood anything; via song, "Na, na, na, na, na, na,
Na, na, na, na, na

Na, na, na, na, na, na,
Na, na, na, na, na

Friday night and the lights are low
Looking out for the place to go
Where they play the right music, getting in the swing
He didn't come in to look for a king

This is the story of how we met,
His picture was on the back of a pack of cigarettes,
He is the Dancing King, young and sweet," he glared at the onlookers, "only seventeen
A reminder that you'll never forget
Never forget."

The two suitors looked at each other and decided it was a good time to go.

Cinnamon couldn't help but smile, "Oh where did the party go?" Shaking his head, a bit, he turned his attention to the young Troll. "Sorry to jump in but their advances seemed unwanted."

"To say the least," the young Troll smiled, "Though it was worth the annoyance to meet someone with the same accent with me."

"Likewise, I don't hear it much outside of my cousin and her family," commented Cinnamon, "You deal with suitors often?"

"Fairly often," said the young Troll but something just seemed sad about it.

"But not from the one you want?" asked Cinnamon.

The smile of the young Troll turned melancholy, "Am I that obvious?"

"I've just had a lot of time to observe Trolls," assured Cinnamon, regretting saddening the young Troll. He offered his hand, "I'm Cinnamon."

Reaching out, the young Troll shook his hand back, smiling politely, "I'm Creek, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Freezing, Cinnamon stared at Creek, recalling Brocade saying that Creek had the same accent as Cinnamon but was prettier. This Creek definitely fit the bill but he seemed too young to be the target of whatever Brocade wanted with him. Still, he had to be sure, "This may sound odd but do you know a Brocade?"

Creek nodded, "We grew up together, for the most part, at Miss Frizz's."

Dread filled Cinnamon, feeling that this had to the Creek, Brocade always referred to.

"Are you a friend of his?" asked Creek.

"Of course, we are," Brocade's voice froze the air behind Cinnamon, his body feeling like ice when the partial giant Troll's hand landed on his shoulder, "We were schoolmates."

Pulling away from Brocade's grip, Cinnamon turned to face Brocade and backed up, forcing Creek to back away as well. His arms shook as he raised his arms in a feeble attempt to shield Creek from the beast, "Go home Creek."

Though Cinnamon didn't see it, he could feel Creek's confusion behind him. He could tell from Brocade's face that Creek looked to him for answers.

"Go home beautiful, I need to talk to my friend," Brocade nodded, making Cinnamon feel sick.

"Alright," Creek hesitated but left, heading back into the village.

Though Creek was no longer behind him, Cinnamon couldn't lower his shaking arm, "You stay away from him."

"That's my line," Brocade all but growled, suddenly grabbing Cinnamon and lifting him up, "Creek is mine."

"You can't own someone," Cinnamon struggled in Brocades hold and also to force the words out through his fear, "I won't let you hurt him."

Brocade laughed, "Like you can stop me."

Suddenly Cinnamon was crashing towards the ground with great force.

When Cinnamon woke up he was in the hospital, his leg broken and everything hurting. The nurses said that Branch found him outside the village, looking like he had been attacked by a wild animal.

"Yeah, an animal," Cinnamon agreed and asked for some paper to write a message. It was obvious he couldn't stop Brocade physically and no one besides Daffodil ever believed him when it came to Brocade. He didn't know what Brocade wanted with Creek but he knew it couldn't be good and he had to stop it.

So, Cinnamon wrote a letter to Miss Frizz, explaining that Brocade was a danger and Creek would not be safe around him. He sent the letter unsigned, hoping it would be enough.

Shortly after Cinnamon was healed and back at the apothecary, Branch came to see him.

"So, what attacked you?" asked Branch, instead of opening with the herbs he brought like he usually did.

"An animal," Cinnamon only half lied, "You know, I never had the chance to thank-"

Daffodil's scream cut Cinnamon off, "Cinnamon, lock your door! Lock your door, now!"

Before either Branch or Cinnamon could move, Brocade busted in, breathing hard and sweating.

Eyes going wide, Cinnamon back away, aware that Brocade was yelling someone but unable to hear it. He still couldn't hear when he was lifted up and slammed into the wall. Very vaguely he was aware of Branch trying to get Brocade off of him but he couldn't take his eyes off of Brocade.

Brocade was giving off all the signs of a heart attack but his blown-out pupils, the slight discoloration of his lips.

Brocade had been poisoned.

Cinnamon was stabbed and dropped shortly before Brocade fell over, dead.

Dead from poisoning.

Branch was talking to him but Cinnamon couldn't hear him. He felt tears flowing down his face and laughter bubbling out of him in the strangest sense of relief and euphoria.

Brocade was dead because someone poisoned him.

Whoever did it, was Cinnamon's hero and he would worship the ground they walked on if he ever found out who it was.