Chapter Text
A lot can change in a couple of years, at least for Branch it had.
Too think only eight seasons ago, he was living alone in an empty bunker. Trapped in a world of routine and grayness. Now, as he looked around the grand training arena stretched out before him, with the large field, target range and armory nestled in the walls, that were carved into the old wood of a redwood stump, his life couldn’t be more different.
The first large change happened when Keith wandered into his life. Just a chance meeting in the village market one winter, and suddenly Branch had a trolling following him everywhere. While not exactly welcome at first, he was glad for the kid’s persistence now. Who knows how Keith would’ve turned out if Branch wasn’t close enough to take him in after his father’s death in the mineshafts. Honestly, they both would’ve been worse off if, Branch hadn’t let Keith in. Their little family of two might be a patch-work quilt of chaos on their best days, but it was real and it was safe. Branch couldn’t live without it, besides if Keith didn’t come along Branch wouldn’t have his current job.
If someone were to tell the dulled troll two years ago that he would don a suit of armor and become the village hero…he would’ve seriously questioned that person’s mental state. Likely assumed they were a drunk on syrup or something. Funny how fate, tends to laugh at any plans one makes.
The Forest Guardian thing wasn’t supposed to be anymore then a fun birthday present for Keith. Branch would put on the costume and bring his little brother’s hero to life for a few hours. That was supposed to be it. Yes, he had made the suit functional, but that was only to add to the realism of the costume (Branch didn’t do craft projects halfway, and Keith would’ve noticed if something was inaccurate), not that it was actually going to be put to use to protect the village.
Some might thank the wolf for what happened next (Branch didn’t), but after stopping the rabid predator from destroying the village, everyone got it in their head that the masked troll was some great hero. Branch being forced to play along, thankfully, under a false identity. He probably would’ve gone mad if everyone had known it was really him before.
Then the Bergens came back. Yeah, Branch didn’t really want to reminisce on that little plot line. Sure, it worked out in the end, with peace established between the two kingdoms, and Trollistice officially being outlawed. No troll would ever need to fear being eaten ever again.
But it wasn’t without a cost.
Branch was tracing the scar on his face before he could stop himself, the rough almost plastic feeling, puckering tissue under his calloused fingertips burning on contact. He was happy for the peace, pleased with the alliance, but even he couldn’t be spared from the Chef taking a piece of him.
In hindsight, losing his eye was small change when she could’ve taken his life, but it didn’t stop the suffering. Mirrors have been less friendly to Branch since the incident. The scar trailed from his forehead, splitting his left brow and cutting out his eye, before carving down the rest of his body in a large arch. The purple tinted ghost of a wound stopping just above his left ankle. It wasn’t a pretty sight, Branch was no strangers to scars, but this one was so large…Sometimes while looking at his reflection Branch couldn’t help but wonder how in Madonna’s name he was still alive.
The bite of the chef’s knife should’ve killed him and sometimes in his recovery he almost wished it did. Branch was not the biggest fan of painkillers believe it or not. Low level pills and teas that made the daily headache vanish he was fine with, but anything stronger than that made him wary. Those meds dulled his other senses along with his pain, cutting off his connection to the real world. Which after years of battling fevers, nightmares, and accidentally poisoning himself to the point of hallucinations, wasn’t exactly comforting. So, Branch chose to grin and bear the pain best he could once he wasn’t at risk at hurting himself on accident.
Though, honestly it wasn’t the pain that was the worst of his recovery. It was the uncertainty. Sure, Branch might have been the Forest Guardian, Hero of the Village, but at the end of the day, underneath the mask, he was still the grey outcaste. Some part of him was still waiting for the usual rejection, now that everyone knew who he actually was. In his silent panic, he even worried over his custody of Keith. With his wound, Branch could barely care for himself much less a trolling. He already wasn’t like by Peppy or the Foster System.
However, everyone’s real reaction had Branch wondering if he was still trapped in a coma. The moment he was spending a few hours awake at a time, he could finally take notice of the alarming amount of gift baskets and flowers that had accumulated in the corner of his hospital room. It took a lot longer than it probably should’ve for Branch to accept that he actually did something people were grateful for. Overwhelmed was the best word to describe his state of mind. When word spread that he had woken up, and the good old Troll grateful train really started to run with steam.
Ironically, Poppy was the one to come to his aid, and got the villagers to back off. Branch honestly expected her to be leading the crowd of cheering trolls and throwing a big loud crazy party for his efforts, but she didn’t. She kept people out of his hospital room the moment she saw the visits and ‘thank you’s were beginning to weigh on him too much. She took care of Keith, when he was laid up and couldn’t move, and that was all before he was released.
Once Branch was allowed home, Poppy stepped up to the plate even more, and she wasn’t alone. It seemed like the entirety of the Snack Pack, was involved as well. When or how they were convinced to help, Branch wasn’t sure, but there was a sense of relief in returning to a cleaned and partially restocked bunker and large set of hands to help out. Biggie, and DJ were in charge of babysitting, making sure Keith always had someone to help him when Branch couldn’t. Guy and Poppy played nurse-maid to him much to Branch’s embarrassment, but he was wheelchair bound for several weeks after being allowed home, so there wasn’t much he could do. Smidge was handling all of the bunker chores and trap-upkeep and was surprisingly good at it. The Twins and Fuzzbert even rebuilt his armor for him.
And Cooper…for all of his clumsiness, he was scarily good in the kitchen.
While Branch was incredibly grateful, he couldn’t help but feel guilty at how much they had to do. Nearly getting cut in half and then lying a coma for a month was not something that was simply walked away from. Even after his wound had scarred over, Branch still had to relearn how to walk. Not to mention everything else he needed to be able to do in order to keep the village safe. It was an exhausting, frustrating, few months.
(That wasn’t even tackling the whole, “I’m blue again” thing. Branch was almost certain his colors had been gone for good, and boy it took him a long time to accept he wasn’t a lost cause. Especially since they seemed to shift in hue on a daily basis. Highs and lows, like it was his whole life. Just more evident now.)
When he was finally able to attend council meetings again, it was a little surprising that the members began to listen to him more. No longer was the Forest Guardian just a new source of entertainment for the village. Rather, they recognized what Branch really was, a force of protection and security. All the work he had put into the little village defenses he was able to establish had been viewed in plain by the members while he was in a coma. Smidge and Poppy had found all his notes about predators and disasters and how to combat them, and brought them to the council. Once real numbers were put on the table, and consequences from ignoring him were lived through, they started listening to his suggestions with open ears.
Though, it was Poppy and King Peppy who stepped forward and proposed starting an official new royal guard. It was clear that the village was pushing luck for far too long, and even with Branch’s help it was still too much for one person. Especially, if they wanted to continue to expand. So, talk of an actual defense force was becoming a serious topic of discussion, with Branch being asked if he would lead the troops.
While Branch was definitely in favor of the “Forest Guard” as Keith and others had been calling it, he wanted to make sure that Trolls knew what exactly this type of thing would require. If Branch was going to lead this project, he was doing it right. It was not going be fun or a party, he’d hoped trolls would enjoy their time in the ranks, but it was not going to be a source of joy. It was going to be military force, something to protect the village, and not from mere sadness. From actual threats.
The construction of the training arena and guard quarters started a week later. An old hollowed out redwood stump was quickly converted for their needed purposes. It was a bit out of the way of the village, but close enough that trainees could return once the sun set at the end of a long day. The next month it was ready for its first batch of recruits to train. Over thirty trolls came that first day, half of them didn’t come to the second. Protecting the village wasn’t all fancy suits and weapons. The work was gritty, constant, and at times, boring. Branch made this clear, and told anyone having doubts about joining to not bother coming back.
A total of twelve trolls made it through the training and were knighted by Poppy at her coronation. Branch wasn’t surprised to find Smidge among them, the tiny troll was tough as nails and took to the work of a guard like minnows to a river. She had taken care of most of his chores for the time he was out after all. When Branch was named Captain of Forest Guard, it was her that he named his first Lieutenant.
Milton Moss was an odd standout too, while he didn’t exactly complete his combat training, his critter knowledge was even more extensive than Branch’s. So, while not a knight himself, the captain still allowed Milton to be brought on as a consultant and to help teach the critter courses at Redwood Arena. Something that Smidge was oddly pleased about.
(Keith, and several of his classmates, tried to join up as well, but was quickly stopped by a new rule added to the enlistment requirements that all applicants needed to be of age and have a completed education. Nice try Kid.)
By the time that Spring was coming to an end and summer heatwaves rolled in, The Forest Guard was in full swing with a new defense line set up around the village territory, regular patrol schedules, and a new class of recruits being broken in by Smidge and Branch. In short, the village was the safest it had been in a long time.
Crazy how things changed in merely a year’s time.
“Branch!” A cheerful voice called out from the edge of the Arena’s wall, coming from the large archway entrance.
A single blue eye darted to the speaker. Branch smiled at Poppy as she approached with a skip in her step. Her bright hue practically glowing the afternoon sunlight that filtered in from the thick clouding canopy above. The new queen’s crown fitting perfectly on her brow like it was always meant to be there.
“Greeting’s Your Majesty,” Branch spoke, as he finished setting up the targets, “How are you on this lovely day?”
Poppy smirked picking up on his teasing tone, “Quite well, Sir Knight. I do hope you haven’t forgotten about our early eve rendezvous?”
Branch snorted, shaking his head in subtle disbelief that they were able to share such easy banter with each other. Not even a year ago there was a moment where he thought it would be impossible that Poppy could talk to him not like someone she needed to help. Someone who needed to be cheered up.
Yet, here he was one warm afternoon giving her a lesson in archery of all things. It was rather surprising when Poppy asked him to teach her, but he couldn’t really say no. It would be good for her to learn a skill beyond craft-work. Though, he did have to pull the plug on her using a very poorly made glitter bow to learn. No, she was going to have to use a trainee bow, but could decorate her own later when she knew how to shoot.
“Didn’t forget. Now if I may remind you about our most important lesson rule?” Branch asked, handing her a quiver and training bow.
Poppy winced, “Don’t shoot or draw when someone is close to the targets,” she recited, in a tired tone, “I thought I said I was sorry for hitting you.”
“You did,” Branch replied, “And I’ve forgiven you, but I’m used to beginners hitting me. Keith made the same mistake. Other trolls might not be so okay about getting shot.”
Poppy sighed taking the offered equipment, “Yeah I get it, you still don’t need to remind me every-time.”
“Your majesty I’m afraid it is customary to remind you until you can shoot straight consistently.”
Poppy frowned, but the lesson continued on. All in all, the queen wasn’t doing too bad for a beginner. Sure, Branch still needed to correct her stance every few attempts, and her draw was in no way consistent. Still, she was strong and her hands were steady.
She drew three, and missed three.
When Poppy pulled a fourth shot, Branch stepped forward gently adjusting her stance. Blue finger tips raised her dipping elbow up from where it was holding back the drawn string, making it line up with her other arm, forming a straight line with her upper limbs. Then he shifted her release hand just behind the arrow, making sure her wrist was straight. Before Branch could pull away, he caught her bright pink eyes staring at him. The closeness of their proximity now blaringly obvious to Branch, making something warm fizz in his stomach. He cleared his throat and backed away, nodding at her to shoot.
Poppy smiled at him and finished lining up her shot. The string and arrow were released gently. The shot shaking the bow as it flew and the queen didn’t fight it like Branch taught. Whistling through the air, the arrow flew wide, but unlike the rest of its brethren its journey was brought to an abrupt halt, clipping the closest target’s edge.
The pink troll’s body spasmed in a joyful surprised gasp, Poppy looked to Branch with an enchanting smile. Branch couldn’t help but smile, not only at her excitement, but at the sight of a budding archer in front of him.
Though, with how that thought made his heart race, Branch probably should visit Dr. Plimsy soon.
If there was one perk of the Bergen-Troll alliance that Branch enjoyed the most (other then the no-eating part), was the access to proper metal-work. Yes, Troll village had done okay when it came to making cooking pots or other necessary pieces, but they weren’t able to mass produce anything. Their mines weren’t extensive enough to tap into any large pockets of iron, or other metals. So, supplies were limited and rationed. The fact Branch had managed to get enough to actually complete the Bunker was a lot of luck on his side.
Bergens didn’t have that sort of problem, not only were their mining grounds older and more extensive, but due to their sheer size they were able to haul in larger amounts of raw ores and melt them down. So, one of the main trades established between the kingdoms was the Bergen metals for rare spices and fruits that the trolls could grow in the forest. This was actually a really good deal in the long run, the weapons and traps that the village defense overhaul needed that extra metal. Big time.
However, beyond the new supplies, Branch hadn’t thought the new alliance would affect him personally. The sword strapped to his back however spoke of an entirely different truth. Receiving such a gift was honestly one of the highs of his recovery. King Gristle was very apologetic for everything that happened, and one of his ways of saying sorry was to “replace” the sword that was lost in Chef’s hand. Said sword was actually one of Bridget’s sewing needles, but the Bergen king wouldn’t hear it and still insisted on gifting the village hero a sword in thanks.
Branch wasn’t going to argue with Gristle, especially once the sword was in his hands. The weapon was freaking beautiful. Metal well-tempered, strong and sharp, despite the size it was force to be. Clearly made by a master. Much better than anything Branch could’ve made with his limited knowledge.
(Limited knowledge that was slowly growing, since Branch and a number of craftsmen asked for lessons from the Bergen blacksmiths.)
However, it wasn’t just the beauty of the blade, or the fact that he now had a proper weapon that made Branch love his new sword.
The school bell blared a high note, and within minutes a sea of Trollings burst forth from the front door. Thousands of tiny footsteps echoing in a rumbling clatter met Branch and the other parents surrounding him in the pickup crowd. The afternoon air was warm and sun glinted off the rainbow sea of children as they flooded from the school pod.
And at least five trollings that weren’t his were running towards him.
The kids loved seeing a troll with a weapon…maybe not the safest thing, but Branch was flattered. Not like he’d let them get hurt.
They were all tiny first years so they were climbing up his armor almost instantly. Small bell-like giggles and cackles escaping from them as they made a futile attempt try and take the grown troll down. Branch indulging their play by tipping dramatically one way or the other. Somehow a rumor went around the school that if you took the sword from the guardian, you became him. Everyone but the first years knew it was a joke.
“Alright, alright, nice try guys,” Branch spoke after a minute or two, “Where are your parents?”
The first years groaned in disappointment, but thankfully let go when their parents came to pluck them off of Branch. Nodding in thanks, as they lead their children away.
Something came hard and fast into the back of his legs and with a startles grunt, Branch turned to find his younger brother’s warped gaze looking up at him with a very small smile. Someone had a good day it seemed.
“Hey Grub,” Branch hugged the kid, “Ready to go home?”
Keith nodded, and Branch didn’t have to ask how the mossy trolling’s day went for Keith to start talking. The entire walk back to the bunker, the trolling chatted about his day. How they were doing story dissections in language class and actual dissections in science class. How everyone seemed weirded out by the latter, but Keith was fine with it since half the time Branch came home covered in animal parts, and the teachers looked horrified for some reason when Keith explained this.
“What did you do all day?” Keith asked, jumping down from a twist root that ran along the path to the bunker.
“Oh, you know the usual,” Branch said, “Morning patrol and trap check, then I had lesson with the rookies.”
“Crushed their souls and dreams?”
“Maybe, I’ve rooted out most of the squeamish ones in this batch already.”
“What about after?”
“After? Well, Milton told me about the mounts he’s been training…”
Keith rolled his eyes, “No! It’s Tuesday! You train Queen Poppy on Tuesdays. How did that go?”
Branch shrugged, “Fine I guess you could say, she’s getting better. Still needs to work on her consistency, but-”
Keith groaned, “You are so disappointing on so many levels.”
Branch opened the bunker door, letting the trolling in before he jumped down himself, “Whoa hey, what’s with the attitude?”
Keith leveled a flat look, “I’m so tired.”
“Well, then take a nap,” Branch said, “You can’t take it out on other people if-”
“Not that type of tired!” Keith exclaimed, putting his back pack in its cubby, “I’m tired of you not admitting you want to kiss her.”
Branch dropped his sword, having just reaching up to place it on his new weapon rack when his brother dropped the blunt declaration. His frame froze and fingers twitched, the sword slipping from their hold and clattering to the moss carpet floor. Breathy huffy laughs forced themselves out of Branch’s throat as he reached down to pick up the blade and place it where it belonged.
“Very funny, grub,” Branch quickly said, “But, uh, it’s not like that.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not,” Branch said firmly, “Poppy and I’s relationship is strictly professional, friendship at best. She’s my queen I’m the captain of her guard. That’s it.”
“You wouldn’t stop looking at her at my birthday party last week,” the trolling spoke flatly.
“Everyone was staring at her, she looked stunning in that sun-dress.”
“What type of embroidery did the dress have?”
“Mittenzettas in rose gold, her favorite. Why does that matter?” Branch raised his intact brow.
“No one else remembers that, I guarantee it.”
“So, I’m detail oriented, doesn’t-”
“What color was the lemonade at the buffet?”
“Uh…pink?”
“No, yellow.”
Branch crossed his arms and shook his head, “Doesn’t mean anything.”
Keith leveled a very flat, yet oddly disappointed stare. The trolling walked silently into to the dining room, past the table and over to the lowest kitchen drawer. It opened with a creak and inside was the collection of party invitations that Poppy had given Branch over the years. The trolling pointed at the letters.
“Keeping letters is not that weird,” Branch started.
“I never keep every single invitation I get; especially the ones I’ve ever gotten from one person,” Keith stated.
“Still-”
“Branch you’ve laminated some of these.”
“Just so they don’t get damaged.”
“Big brother. If someone else was doing this, what would you think they thought about the other person?” Keith tilted his head.
Branch opened his mouth and then paused. No sound escaping as pieces clicked together into a shape that made his heart race.
Did he want to kiss Poppy? The thought brought heat to his face and denial to his tongue, but oddly enough there was some want to it. Why was there want to it?! No, no, no he was tired, his brain was spitting nonsense.
He couldn’t like Poppy in that way, could he? Sure, she was utterly gorgeous, with her hot pink hair, blinding smile and eyes that made azaleas in full bloom jealous, but that was just in a friendly way…right? He didn’t like her, no. Not that she didn’t deserve to be liked that way. No, Poppy deserved the most perfect life partner, get her royal happily ever after. Especially after her last crush was currently rotting in a jail cell like the Madonna damned jerk deserved, but Branch wasn’t the right guys for her, was he?
They had gotten closer with the Forest Guard project and all, talking, joking and teasing each other daily. Branch always felt his stomach twist and his lips turn upwards when ever she came close, or laughed at something he said, but those were friend feelings right. Did he want to kiss her? His mind didn’t object the possibility when he thought about it. Actually, the more he thought about it the deeper it dug into his head. The smell of her perfume, the plumpness of her lips, her eyes….
Oh, Madonna…
“I’m screwed,” Branch eventually said.
“Only if you want to be,” Keith left the kitchen.