3Fetid Feasts and Frightened Feets
Oh, this was simply miserable. Blinkous never imagined that such a capable troll as himself would ever become lost. Or this hungry. Oh sure, there were plenty of small creatures to feast upon and no shortage of shadows to hide in, but there were no people in this unforgiving land – which meant no scrap metal, no old cloth, no old shoes to snack on...and most importantly, no socks.
Not that he'd ever admit to liking them. He had more dignity than that.
No...he was miles and miles away from his home with absolutely no idea how or where he went wrong. He knew he should've cross-referenced the old map before setting off on his quest – but how was he supposed to know it'd be so inaccurate? Hmph.
A sudden crack in the forest startled the poor troll, and he glanced over his shoulder, trembling slightly.
There were very strange noises emanating from this entire place – from the mountain peaks, the bizarre towers of pale stone topped with the softest of fir trees, even….dare he admit he ventured this far….the sea. The blue troll sighed to himself. If he hadn't gotten spooked the minute he ventured out of the tunnels, he would've left this place the second he'd realized it was an island. But Something very large, four legged, two-headed, and absolutely terrifying had launched at him, and cardinal directions completely escaped his mind. Now he was reduced to scarfing down surface rocks and vermin while he searched for the cave entrance that had led him here.
Another keening howl echoed through the moonlit landscape, and Blinkous shuddered once more. He wanted out of this vile, horrible place. He wanted to go home, soak in the warmth of the Heartstone and eat an entire bucket of-
Blinkous's nose twitched as much as it were able. Did his nostrils deceive him? Oh that mellifluous odor! That heavenly stench! That fetid perfume!
Socks.
Suddenly unconcerned with the bone-chilling noises, Blinkous fairly floated along the funk's trail. This was not merely the smell of socks, but the most gourmet of gourmet hosiery – rich with fungus, dripping in fermented sweat, and positively marinated in the worst things of toenails. No troll even as refined as himself could resist such an enticing snack, especially not after going weeks without any comforts of home.
The smell was so intoxicating Blinkous barely paid attention to his surroundings, and found himself tiptoeing into a rather crammed village set on the ledges of a seaside cliff of sorts. He paused, curiosity overpowering the aroma momentarily, noting the strange architecture. Wooden shingles resembling scales clad the domed houses, which rather looked like halves of ships stuck vertically into the ground. The entire place seemed to be rather messy and a great deal more...rugged than the villages near his home. An odd number of the buildings appeared to be scorched.
The craving for comfort food sprung Blinkous from his momentary musing, and he followed the scent to what appeared to be a blacksmith's shop. It led him up the stairs into a very small living space. One room housed a cooking station. The other housed a bed and a rough dresser, from which emanated the heavenly fragrance.
A very tiny voice in the back of Blinkous' mind whispered he could very easily be caught, that this was not good idea and he was risking exposure over a trifling snack, but he was too entranced to listen to good sense. He yanked the drawer open, virtually drooling from the smell. A sudden wave of emotion rolled over him as he laid eyes on the delicacy. Laid to one side was a whole pile of noxious socks. A pile of unworn ones sat in the other end.
Blinkous stuffed as many of the filthy foot-gloves as he could into his pockets. A moment of good-sense finally impressed upon him, and he ran out of the dwelling to find a place to feast. He darted under a platform, too anxious to find a safer location, and indulged.
Such relief! Blinkous sat back with a satisfied sigh. If nothing else, the entire journey was worth these socks. Scary noises and gassy-headed monsters and all. He had found the highest level of troll cuisine, he simply had to find his way back home to tell everyone and bring them here.
Passing back through the village at a more sedate pace, Blinkous noticed plenty of stinky smells wafting about – stinks that would normally be enticing for anyone – but none had the same quality redolence as the blacksmith's. He would be frequenting that establishment for nourishment as often as he would be able.
And so passed Blinkous' search for the cave entrance – braving the ravines and dark places by day, and returning to the village at night for sustenance. Often, the thought of gourmet stockings kept him going during the grueling hikes and perilous journeys into the island's geography. This went on for weeks, long enough that Blinkous bothered to steal a book to begin cataloging his expeditions.
Thus it was that he got very comfortable sneaking into this stranger's home to eat their belongings. Thus he also became careless. The whole thing was really a slice of heaven – he'd never run into one human the entire time, merely heard them and ducked behind buildings – and the subject of his snacking? Never home. Blinky knew the person really did live here, the socks would restock themselves, and the forge often still glowed of cooling embers. But for whatever convenient reason they were absolutely never home when he was hungry.
Just like tonight. The moon was dark, the forge was cooling, and the person would be off somewhere else doing who-knows-what. The village vibrated with snoring. Blinky tiptoed into the bedroom and slid the drawer open. It made its signature squeak, and he grinned in anticipation.
Then a startled snort came from the bed.
Blinkous whipped his head around at the sound in absolute horror. What he saw did not abate it. An absolutely humongous man with a two-foot long braided mustache, horned helmet, gigantic chin, and a rock for a tooth stared at him slack-jawed. Blinkous, according to his namesake, blinked, and promptly ran screaming for his life from the home.
He ran so fast and so far, unthinking, that he ended up at the cave's entrance that started the whole thing. He never returned.
The following day...
"I'm tellin' ya' Stoick," Gobber insisted, toasting his mug-prosthetic. "Trolls exist! They steal yer' socks! But only the left ones...what's with tha'?"
~Fin
I wrote this in one go – my first crossover piece. I finally decided to watch Trollhunters on Netflix after having it paraded in my face for months, and I couldn't not write something after I noticed the show used a Berkian ship in one of the episodes. Plus, trolls and socks and well, obvious connections.
I know it's a bit odd that Blinky would never have run into a dragon face-to-face (or even stumble into Berk – I figured with magic tunnels Camelot ought not be too far), but if his time there was between raids, and given that Vikings live on the island, maybe there wouldn't be many dragons on Berk? As for Gobber, he could be spending time in the Great Hall after a day's work. The whole thing's a bit far-fetched but I couldn't picture another troll getting into this predicament.
Does Gobber's forge actually have an upstairs? I could never figure out the place's layout.
Reviews/constructive criticism would be appreciated.