Trolls

By Elendiari

    Pippin stared up at the massive stone trolls in amazed silence. It was stunning to him to realize that Bilbo had not been making his journey up, that it had not been just a book, but an actual event. All his life, Pippin had pretended that there were really such things as trolls and elves, and now he had seen both with his own eyes. It was amazing.

    “Terrifying, aren’t they?” Pippin looked up to see Strider standing over him. “We are lucky that Gandalf managed to turn them to stone, else, we wouldn’t be camping here tonight.”

     “They’re so big,” Pippin admitted. “I don’t like how it makes me feel. Like I should run back to the Shire, or something. I won’t, though,” he added hastily, seeing Strider look down at him. “Not until this is all over.”

        Strider nodded, and they went back to the group by the campfire. That night, Pippin curled up between Merry and Frodo and hoped that he’d never have to come face to face with a real, living troll.

*****

     Pippin held his sword and watched in growing horror as the huge greenish arm of the cave troll thrust it’s way into the Chamber of Mazarbul, followed by a huge, flat toe. Boromir’s mighty sword had no affect on the arm, and Pippin felt his stomach turn over. If Boromir’s sword couldn’t hurt the troll, than whose could?

     With a sudden cry, Frodo leapt forward, and Pippin saw him stab the troll in the foot. The foot jerked back with a hideous cry from the beast outside, and Pippin could suddenly breath again.

    Frodo dropped Sting and watched as the troll’s black blood dripped smoking to the floor. Pippin frowned, wondering if all trolls had hot blood.

      “One for the Shire!” cried Aragorn. “The hobbit’s bite is deep! You have a good blade, Frodo son of Drogo.”

    Will I have a good blade when the time comes? The thought randomly entered Pippin’s mind, and he frowned. Time for what? Surely once they were out of Moria, they would leave the trolls behind them. Wouldn’t they?

*****

   “I’ll never see the Shire again,” Pippin thought as he stood with the guards of the White Tower and watched the armies of Mordor pour through the Black Gate. There were trolls with them, but these trolls were massive, far bigger than the trolls back in the Trollshaw hills, or the cave troll in Moria. These rivaled the White Tower itself in size, and they bore down on the Captains of the West with no mercy. One, a huge, ugly troll-chief, hit Beregond, and Pippin saw him tumble down, senseless. Without thinking, he stabbed the troll as hard as he could, and gasped as thick hot blood came pouring out upon him.

     I have my answer to both sword and blood, Pippin thought as he fell beneath the troll. I wish I didn’t.

*****

     “Where is it?! We must run!”

     Pippin sat bolt upright, terrified by his own memories. From the chair beside his cot, Legolas reached out and squeezed the hobbit’s hand. “It is gone, Pippin, the soldiers burned it. There are no more trolls, little one, just sleep.”

     Pippin lay back down and closed his eyes obediently, and listened as Legolas sang to him in Elvish. If Legolas said that the trolls were all gone, than it must be true, for Legolas never lied. As he sank closer to sleep, he thought to himself, “What a tale we’ve been in! Wait till Bilbo hears about it.”

The End.