Sigurd

After Claire had finished making the stew, the troll locked her back up in the cage. He sat in his corner, chuckling as he slurped from the cauldron with loud gulps.

Claire had a bowl of stew in her hand and a bag of chips. The rest of the food she hadn't used had been stored somewhere out of sight. She also had a knife, a couple of wires, and a carrot. She had salt, and she had already picked the lock to the cage. Now all she had to do was wait. The troll could go to sleep soon, or leave her as he had to steal the food stuff. 

It wasn't the best stew she'd made in the world, but it was important to keep her strength. The troll seemed to trust her not to escape now, at least for awhile, and he hadn't noticed when she snuck her tools. Perhaps everything would be alright. Claire's dad was an expert on security partially because he used to be a thief, and he'd taught his daughter quite a few tricks.

She'd seen Supernatural; maybe trolls weren't ghosts, but she might be able to throw it in his eyes. And if what he said about plants was true, than the carrot might be the best weapon she had. An incredibly puny, somewhat bendy orange weapon. 

"Tell me a story, my pretty thing," Haf'gifr demanded. 

"I'm not the best at telling stories. You'd have to ask my friend Hod for one of those." 

"WHAT!" The creature screamed and started dancing around, hugging itself. It threw a chair against the wall. "The pretty knows Hod?" Soon it was crying to itself, shivering in a corner. 

"That's right, Hod." Claire remembered the little figurine she'd given him on his birthday. What was the phrase at the bottom of the statuette? "Hod of Battles." 

"Hod is DEAD! He and the cursed Aesir have fallen!" Haf'gifr was suddenly at the cage, rank breath filling the air, snarling. "Dead for slaying his brother. Dead." he reached into the cage, forgetting the door and Claire shrank back. "Say it!" 

"Okay! It's not the same guy. We just call him that, as a nickname." 

"Yes. A notname. Hod." The troll breathed heavily. "What does the not-Hod tell you stories of?" 

"He told the story of," Claire's mind went blank. Somehow she thought the story of Grendel and Beowulf wouldn't go over well. She knew other stories, but nothing came to mind. She started carefully. "He... told me a story. Actually, David mentioned something once, and then Hod," She swallowed, "Not-Hod told me later, after I asked him. Once there was a mighty... troll... and he slayed a dragon." 

"That never happen," Haf'gifr snorted, long goobers flying out of his nose and sliming his tusks. "Dragons even bigger than giants. Claws that pierce the earth. Poison. Bigger than giants. Nothing slay a dragon." 

"But this troll did. And he feasted on the dragon's heart." Claire said. 

"How did it taste?" Haf'gifr asked eagerly. 

"Like chicken?" Claire waited, but the troll seemed eager to listen. "And when he ate the dragon's heart, he could speak to animals-" 

"Bah!" 

"He turned into a dragon. The end." Claire watched the creature nervously. He seemed to have subsided. 

"The Claire-pretty tells okay story," the troll said as he wandered away. Claire heard the splash that announced the troll leaving the cave. Within 20 seconds, she'd jimmied open her lock and was exploring the caves.