-O-

Picturebook Romance

A Trolls fanfic

By Dreamsinger

Chapter Ten

The Bad Old Days

As I strolled along with my sweetheart's warm little hand in mine, I heard the twins stridently announcing a new fashion line, something involving beads, and the nearby trolls' enraptured ooos and ahhhs as a crowd gathered nearby.

Poppy gave me one of her cheery smiles and asked, "So how did your chat with the Whizbangs go?"

"It…went well, actually." I paused for a moment to mull the encounter over. "I hadn't realized how much I've missed them. And it seems like they missed me, too. Felt kinda nice."

"I'm really happy for you, Branch." She squeezed my hand gently and added, "I never knew you were so good with trollings, either."

"Well, I wasn't always a recluse, you know. I had a life before the bunker."

"So why not renew more of your ties, now that you've decided to rejoin society?"

I shook my head, waving my free hand dismissively in the air. "Nah, it's too late. It's been ten years; they've all moved on. It would probably just stir up a lot of old bad feelings. Besides…"

"What bad feelings?"

"It doesn't matter."

"But wouldn't you like to-"

I stopped and turned to face her. "Listen, Poppy, thanks for the concern, but I don't want to look back. I've finally put it all behind me, made a fresh start."

"But, Branch-"

"Poppy, please. It's fine," I said gently, reaching out to cup her face with my other hand. "I'm fine. I am so, so happy now, Sunshine. I have our friends…and I have you." I stroked her cheek tenderly, softening my gaze and giving her a loving smile so she would know I truly meant everything I was saying. "And that's all I've ever wanted."

Concerned rose-colored eyes studied me and I saw a worry-line between her eyes that I'd never noticed before. Then the breeze swept a few strands of her brilliant hair across her cheek near her eye and I smoothed them away. Her hand came up to cover mine and her face relaxed into a smile that eased away the line as she finally accepted my response. "Look at you… You really are getting the hang of the whole 'being happy' thing, aren't you?"

I gave her my most charming smile, wiggling my eyebrows playfully. "Hey, better late than never, right?"

Poppy chuckled. "Well, practice makes perfect. And trust me, I'm gonna make sure that you get lots of practice."

I grinned. "Trust you, eh?" As we began walking again, I couldn't help but see the irony in her choice of words to the troll who'd once been the most troublesome trolling in Troll Village.

-O-

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

When I was a very young trolling I lost both my parents on the same terrible Trollstice. And then not a month later when a hunting bergen female got Grandma, not long after she'd told me that she would always be there for me, I felt like the biggest fool of all to have believed her.

Although I was not yet five years old, I decided then that it was useless to rely on other trolls for anything. Can't trust anybody. They meant well, but they just didn't have the power to keep their own promises.

Still, they kept trying. "Don't you get it?" I'd demanded coldly of one bewildered foster-father. "It won't be 'all right'. It's never gonna be all right. King Peppy's plan to escape prob'ly won't even work, an' we'll all just keep gettin' gobbled up 'til there's nobody left!"

The poor troll had burst into tears, and so had the rest of his family. Soon after, I was asked to go and stay with another family. This became a common pattern over the next few years. I didn't want to cause problems, but I just couldn't understand how easily the other trolls seemed able to put our horrible past behind them and move on, as if there were no threats left. Sure, we escaped, but the bergens were still out there, and I knew they would be looking for us.

There were lots of other dangers; predators, illness from lack of shelter and poisonous plants and animals, starvation. It took time to establish farms that could grow enough food to feed the one hundred and twelve trolls who'd escaped, and in the meantime we lived hand-to-mouth with whatever we could find in the local forest and lake. I often went to bed hungry, when I had a bed at all.

There were several other trollings who'd lost parents. All of them were soon happily settled into new homes with their relatives in what would become Troll Village, but not me. I had lost my entire family. I became a sort of general ward of the village, because no matter who I lived with I was never happy, and I stirred up a lot of unhappiness for the trolls who shared their homes with me.

At first the king had put me with families that had other trollings, thinking that I'd be less lonely, but that backfired. Trollings had less patience with my behavior, which could range from fretful and demanding to irritated and sarcastic many times over the course of a day, and they weren't as tactful about letting me know it.

"Oh, Branch. Why can't you just be happy?" many of them had asked with varying degrees of concern and frustration. "I know things used to be bad, but they're not now, so why not at least try to be happy?"

"'Cause things only look good right now, but they're not," I'd say impatiently. "We have to be alert. The bergens are coming to get us, I know it."

"I don't want them to come here!" one of them would yell in alarm. Sometimes someone would start to wail, or cover their ears to keep from hearing any more.

"Wake up!" I'd yell, infuriated at their blatant avoidance.

"No! I don't want to hear anymore! Mommy! Daddy!"

"Sure, call for them," I'd say scornfully. "They can't help."

"Then what do you want us to do?" one of the older trollings would sometimes ask. "Is there anything we can do?"

Somehow I never expected that question and my belligerent shield would fall away, leaving me feeling naked and shaking and helpless once again. "I – I don't know. Just something!"

"Well, when you think of something, let me know," he or she would say kindly. "Until then, why don't you try to have some fun with us for a while?"

Tears would sting my eyes. My constant anxiety would never let me truly relax, and I just couldn't bring myself to trust the judgement of those trolls who could. Sometimes I was able to push down my fears enough to join in their games, but other times it would all be too much and I'd run off, crying, which would deeply upset the other trollings.

I didn't want reassurances; I wanted help. I wanted action! Anything's better than just sittin' here waitin' for them to come get us!

I think the mistake was putting me with the happiest families, hoping it would rub off on me, but I guess it's easier to spread doom and gloom. Sometimes an adult would come upon a whole group of weeping trollings, initially looking at me with bewilderment, and as time passed, with exhaustion.

Eventually, when I was about eight, they tried placing me with couples without trollings, hoping that if I had their undivided attention that they could get through to me. In some ways it was better, with no little trollings whose games I had to put up with or avoid, but in others, it was worse. The first few couples they tried were young and confident and looking forward to building a new life in our growing village. Even moreso than the other families, they wanted me to put the past behind me and move forward.

By this time I was tired of being moved around like the ball at a buzzyball tournament, so I did my best to be cooperative. "All right, I'll be happy. Once we're safe." That seemed like a reasonable compromise to me.

No matter how kind they were, they never seemed to understand.

"But, Branchie, we are safe. We have a chance to start fresh here. Can't you try to leave the bad things in the past?"

I would try to explain. "I…I try to be happy, I really do, but I just don't feel safe."

Like good trolls, my foster parents would try to respect my feelings and accommodate my needs. "Well, what do you want us to do to make you feel safer?"

But as always, the question would frustrate and upset me. "I don't know!" I would say scornfully."I'm just a little trolling – you're the adults! You're supposed to protect me!"

"Protect you from what? I'm sorry, Branchie, but no one's seen a single sign of the bergens in almost three years. And we are careful. King Peppy has mandated that no one is to use fireworks or really loud music or do anything that might draw their attention. Isn't that enough?"

"Nah, that just means it'll take 'em longer to find us. But they will. Someday. And when they do, we've gotta be ready."

"Um, okay… How?"

I would growl and roll my eyes. "What is wrong with you? I just said I don't know. Are you stupid?"

They and any other troll in hearing range would gasp. Insulting other trolls was a huge no-no. It usually only happened by accident, even among very young trolls, and there was always lots of hugging and apologizing on both sides afterward. I was the only troll in the village who deliberately said unkind things meant to hurt.

Usually, at this point my foster-parents would back off. Sometimes they would try to talk me into apologizing, some just began to cry and a few would try to discipline me with the most negative action most trolls could contemplate. "Branchie, please go to your room and think about what you've done, and come find us when you're ready to say you're sorry."

Isolation from other trolls was considered an awful thing. In fact, shunning the company of a troll was exceptionally effective in stopping the few quarrels that did occur. But I had discovered that even though my anxiety was worse when I was by myself, being alone was also oddly peaceful, especially if I read or worked on some kind of project that prevented me from thinking much.

When I could concentrate, that was. My peaceful feeling didn't usually last long when it was really just a thin bandage over the guilt that gnawed at me like a bergen's teeth after I said something mean. Deep down I knew no one deserved to hear the harsh things I often said to try to convince them of the danger out there, or failing that, to get them to leave me alone. It was the bergens' fault, not theirs.

As trying at those times were, they were the relatively stable times in my life. Times when I was able to go to school and do my work and feel relatively tolerant of my classmates' happy antics. I also liked to help in the gardens and gather firewood at the edge of the forest while watching for predators and bergens. Just normal stuff.

The bad times were often triggered by dates, like September 17th – Trollstice – or the anniversaries of my parents' and Grandma's deaths. Even birthdays would bring back disturbing feelings - any birthdays - mine, my original family's, or those of other trolls.

Other times the trigger was due to someone scraping at the raw edges of a wound that never seemed to heal. My whole family was gone. No amount of wishing or screaming or crying would ever bring them back to me! And it was my fault! If I hadn't been singing out in the open, I'd still have Grandma at least. The rush of love I'd felt for her that day, the love that had made me want to serenade the one who loved me more than anything in the world had led to her death!

Stupid love! It made me relax, even though I knew there could be bergens lurking, ready to grab and bite and chew and… and…

Sometimes I got myself so worked up that I threw up. My foster parents would put me to bed and sit beside me while I cried, but when they tried to hug me I twisted and thrashed as if the touch of their hands burned me. "No! Don't touch me! Don't love me! It hurts too much!"

Caring for others and having them care for you gives a sense of comfort and security that has nothing to do with physical safety. I wanted that comfort. I craved that comfort so badly at times I felt I would lose my grip on myself and fly to pieces, but I also feared it. No matter how much I wanted to, I could never bring myself to take the hand that offered it, for I knew it to be false comfort, and I no longer trusted it. Besides, whenever I did manage to let myself relax a little, my guilt would punish me for it later.

I knew it hurt others when I shut them out, but that only made me feel even more guilty, which meant more meltdowns, and more guilt, in a never-ending cycle. The only way I could cope was to lock away as much of it as I could, as deeply as I could, but sooner or later someone would begin asking the questions I really, really didn't want to answer.

"It's almost like you don't want to be happy. Is there something bothering you?"

I would clam up, avoiding their gaze and clenching my fists at my sides, feeling the scab over the wound deep inside me begin to tear away. Sometimes they took the hint, but other times, they kept prodding me until I couldn't bear it any more.

"You know, you never talk about your family, but I'm sure they loved you. Wouldn't they want you to be happy?"

A terrified female scream would echo in my head and the last shred of control over myself would shatter. I'd burst into tears, or smash something. If they tried to hug me I'd scream and struggle until I broke away, running and running until I collapsed. Curled into the tight black cocoon of my hair, sweating and shaking and weeping bitter tears, chaotic thoughts roared through my head.

Why am I like this? I hate it! I don't wanna hurt people, but I can't help it! Don't they understand, I do wanna be happy! But I don't dare… I wish… Oh, Mama…why did you have to leave me? Daddy, help me! Grandma? Grandma, you'd understand. Tell them they're the wrong ones, not me! There is too danger! We gotta watch out, right? We can't ever let our guard down. Don't they see, that's what the bergens want? The minute we relax – that's when they'll get us! We're not safe here – we're not safe anywhere!

Over time that mantra solidified into my core belief: Safety First. It gave me a purpose; something I could focus on when my anxiety ran high, a reason I could fall back on whenever someone wanted me to 'be happy'.

"Happiness is not as important as safety!" I would retort, brushing aside any nosy questions.

That usually stopped any further protests. At the time, I'd believed it was because they knew I was right and didn't want to admit it, but now I think it was because they couldn't find the words to explain what they instinctively felt: that a life without happiness wasn't worth living. That they'd face danger when it came, but wouldn't live their lives so focused on safety that they forgot to live. That to enjoy life to the fullest, you had to take risks now and then.

Just as I had, to protect the person who mattered most to me. For Poppy, I would risk anything. But I didn't understand that then.

-O-

What I had subconsciously wanted as a trolling was to learn how to fight, but I'd had no words to describe what I felt was missing. In a society that strongly discouraged all forms of strife by emphasizing harmony and fellow-feeling, even the concept of deliberate violence against another was almost inconceivable. Learning to physically protect myself and others might have helped to alleviate my anxiety and make me feel more secure, but I had had no one to teach me. As an adult I had taught myself, by observing forest predators and adapting sports and dance moves.

Thinking about the bad old days was a little unsettling. Suddenly I realized I wanted some comfort food, and I knew just where to get it. "You know what; forget the candy apples. Poppy, do you mind if we go hit that chocolate stand?"

Poppy's eyes lit up. "Ooo, chocolate. Good choice."

As we made our way to the chocolate stand, my mind wandered back to the past.

-O-

Unlike the other trollings, I spent much of my childhood alone. Sometimes by choice, sometimes because I could tell I wasn't wanted. Not that anyone would ever say that, but I had eyes. I could see the looks of relief on their faces when I said I had something else to do and turned to leave.

I know you're glad to see me go. Well, fine! I didn't want to play with you anyway. It's a waste of time. We oughta be doing something useful, something to keep us safe…

When I said that to the other trollings in my grade, they reminded me that the grown-ups had promised that we were safe here and that the bergens would never find us. I would scoff, "And you believe their promises?"

"Well, we practice running and hiding when we play Bergen Attack," someone would say appeasingly. "Isn't that enough?"

"It's a good start, but it's not enough. Running and hiding wasn't enough to keep them from eating us before, was it?"

As much as that upset them, they knew and I knew that I was right. That truth was what had inspired me to create a 'game' called Bergen Attack, where the trollings had to use their hair to disguise themselves. Or they would swing from trees and things, shrieking and squealing as they tried to escape the trolling who was playing the part of the bergen. Usually, that was me. Sometimes – okay, most of the time - I got carried away and would act so fearsome I would genuinely terrify the other trollings, most of whom could remember actually running from real bergens, and the game would sometimes end in tears.

The last time I ever played Bergen Attack was also the end of the last tenuous link I'd had with my age-mates. The day Princess Poppy, then six years old to my almost-ten, asked to play Bergen Attack with us. All of her friends were busy with other things, and she happened to see us swing by her pod window and impulsively decided to join us.

Since she was a grade below me in school I didn't really know her; most of her friends were those from her own grade, ages 4-6, plus a couple in my own grade, like Biggie, who had become part of her circle of friends before they'd advanced to my grade.

I had once lived with Biggie's family for a short time, but with their gentle natures and my confrontational personality it hadn't taken long to upset the lot of them and I'd been asked to move on. I'd ended up at the twins' pod, but that had been an even shorter stay, as I couldn't handle getting caught up in their constant bickering and that time I'd been the one asking to move.

After four years, the other trollings in my grade had become used to how I'd changed from the somewhat timid trolling I used to be before I'd lost my grandma. They knew how touchy I could be, how far they could tease me, and what triggers were likely to set me off, but no one thought to tell little Poppy.

Playing the part of the evil bergen, I chased the other trollings for quite a while, pounding after them on the ground as they swooped and flipped through the air. I couldn't use my hair to travel, since the bergens' strange hair didn't move on its own, but one of the rules of the game was that I could use it as a giant arm and hand to reach far above my head.

In turn, they couldn't use their hair to move too high into the trees, out of my reach, since the point of the game was to train for the day we inevitably got captured. I had made sure to carefully explain how the game worked to the princess, and she'd promised to follow all the rules.

First we practiced camouflaging ourselves with our hair to look like part of the landscape. It took some time for the princess to figure it out, and she wasn't perfect at it, but for a first-timer she wasn't bad. When I called a halt to take a break, the others gathered around the princess and praised her lavishly.

"You were wonderful!"

"I didn't even know you were there!"

"You're so smart!"

The princess swayed from side to side in pleasure, her hands on her cheeks. "Thank you!" Then she turned to me with a hopeful, expectant expression. "Did I do okay?"

I gave her an honest answer. "Well, if I was a bergen, you'd be eaten by now. I saw you almost every time."

The other trolls groaned and Poppy's face fell.

"Braanch!" someone whispered. Several of them gave me significant looks, and after a puzzled moment I caught on to their social cues and added, "Oh. Uh, but you did fool me a couple of times. That's pretty good for a newbie." I hesitated, then added some words of encouragement like they were always teaching us to do in school. "I'm sure you'll get better if you keep trying."

Poppy's face brightened and she pranced around me. "I will! I'll practice real hard. Let's play some more!"

I nodded approvingly. "You're a hard worker; I like that. Good girl."

The pink trolling threw her hands into the air. "Yay! Branch praised me!"

As she dashed off again, I couldn't help but smile a little.

Next we practiced running and escaping skills. As usual, I played the part of the big scary bergen. Keeping up with hair-hurtling quarry with a troll's short legs was a difficult task, but I never let up, using the same grim determination that drove my own inner demons.

When a flash of pink flew by I set my sights on the little princess, relentlessly pursuing her until I managed to trap her with her back to a giant nettle bush; something she couldn't grab onto, not even with her hair, unless she wanted to wind up picking stinging nettles out of her hair the rest of the day.

"Now I've got you, my tasty little troll," I said in a raspy, growly voice, baring my teeth menacingly. "You can't escape me, ah-hah-hah!"

As a newcomer, I expected her to freeze in terror, but instead she piped up, "Wow, you're really good at this!"

I blinked, still panting heavily after the chase she'd led me on. "Good at what?"

She beamed at me. "You're so good at being a bergen you could almost be one yourself!"

White-hot lightning blasted from my head to my toes, igniting the adrenaline already in my system into a ball of flame. "What?" I shrieked. "Don't you say that; don't you ever compare me to them!"

Slap!

I heard the other trollings gasp. My hand stung. I watched the little princess cover her cheek as tears filled her eyes, and my rage flipped instantly to icy cold horror.

Shakily, I stammered, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean it!"

I couldn't bear to see their shocked faces staring at me. I took off, running as hard as I could, but I couldn't run hard enough to leave my shame behind. What had I done? I'd hit her! Hit a helpless little trolling! What kind of troll was I? She was right. I am like them. I'm a monster. A terrible monster!

I stayed out all day, wandering aimlessly at the edges of troll territory and hiding whenever I saw another troll. They were looking for me, calling my name, but I couldn't bring myself to respond. I was too miserable and sick with shame to face anyone.

She wasn't trying to insult me, I realized bleakly. She probably doesn't even know what they're like; she was just trying to praise me like I did her. And I turned around and hit her! I'm the worst troll who ever lived.

When I finally returned well after dark, hungry and cold, my foster parents told me King Peppy wanted to see me in the morning. My stomach roiled with nausea and I could barely swallow a few bites of the food they gave me. I spent most of the night agitatedly pacing in my alcove, wishing I were anywhere but here.

Grandma, that bergen should have taken me, not you. I hit Poppy. I hurt everyone around me. What if they all shun me from now on? Maybe they should. Maybe I shouldn't be here. What if King Peppy tells me I have to leave the village? Where will I go? Who will take care of me?

I sat on my bed and put my face in my hands, noticing the sting on one cheek from a scratch I'd gotten earlier when I was hiding in the trees. I guess I'll have to live in the forest, like the monster I am. I deserve it. And I'll just have to take care of myself. I should anyway. The only person I can rely on is me.

I packed my backpack with my most important possessions, knowing I wouldn't be back, and sat for long hours in the dark, awaiting my fate.

Author's Note:

Since we know from the movie that Branch had presumably never told anyone the exact circumstances of how his grandma died, even though trolls are generally very open about their feelings, I decided that Branch probably assumed that no other trolls feel the kind of guilt he experiences as he is growing up. Naturally he would assume 'no one could possibly understand or forgive me', or that opening up and talking about it would be the release he needed to begin the healing process. Which it did, as we see a rather dramatic personality change take place in our favorite aquamarine troll almost immediately afterward.

I base my characters' ages on the fact that we know for sure that Poppy is over twenty years old, and Branch is presumably several years older. Also, someone at Dreamworks posted a Zodiac chart on Tumblr with Dreamworks characters on it, which may or may not be official, but it has Poppy as a Virgo (August 23 – September 22) whose main trait is Service, and Branch as a Capricorn (December 22 – January 19) and his main trait is Achievement.

So I chose August 25th for Poppy and January 15th for Branch, since a January-garnet birthstone is associated with loyalty and protection, which is so Branch! and an August-peridot birthstone for Poppy is associated with confidence, healing (both physically and mentally) and protection from nightmares. I liked the idea that Poppy is Branch's personal teddy bear, haha!

So that means since Trollstice is September 17th in the movie, adult Poppy had probably just turned 22. Branch would have been 25 ¾. I decided that baby Poppy had just turned 2 and that Branch was about 5 ¾ years old when they escaped the bergens. That would make Branch 3 ¾ years older than Poppy. So in my fic, which is set about 6 months after the events in the movie, Poppy is 22 ½ and Branch is 26 ¼.