All language subtitles for The.Storyteller s01e06_English

[Cawing]

[Storyteller]
When people told themselves
their past with stories,

explained their present
with stories,

foretold the future
with stories,

the best place by the fire
was kept for...

[Clinks]

The storyteller.

Trolls come at the bottom of
the list of people
you'd want as friends.

They are revolting, trolls.

They can't even
stand each other.

The troll in this story
had a daughter

and she left home
straight off.

In her place,
the troll found an orphan,

a young girl
to wait on him hand and foot.

But this girl
had more in store
than to do for a troll.

Oh, no. She had a destiny.

Now, Anja had no
father and mother

and the troll was the other,

so she obeyed him,
cruel though he was.

But one thing the troll
could not abide was obedience.

Of course,
if she didn't obey him,
woe betide her.

I should have said,

trolls are always
contradicting themselves.

[Storyteller]
And the troll liked
to contradict himself

with a heavy stick.

It made a horrid sound
as it flew through the air

and onto
the poor girl's back.

Blue, he contradicted on
her back, black and blue.

I'm off, without.

Inside this sack are being
20 pounds of feathers.

Strip them and pack them
before I come back.

Yes, sir.

And remember,
I'm being allergic
to feathers.

A single one upsets my nose,

a-quivering,
and a-quaking,

a-shimmying and a-shaking,
and I don't like it!

Be thank you to me
and full of grate.

[Dog]
That's impossible!

By herself. That's not fair.

I know. She plucks and cleans
and packs and packs,

but still the feathers
fill the room,

still the feathers
fight the sacks.

[Lion]
Anja.

Don't be frightened.
I've come to help you.

Where have you come from?

From your thoughts.

"Is there no one
in the wide world

"to take pity on me?",
you thought.

Well, there is.
And here I am.

Now, you're tired. Sleep.

I cannot.

The troll is
my father and mother.

Since I have no other,

I must obey him.

Trust me. Sleep.

[Storyteller]
Thus persuaded, Anja lay down
and fell into a slumber.

And when she woke,
what a sight, what a wonder.

Thank you, thank--

[door creaking]

I've recurred. Yes, sir.

You've done it!

Have you done them all?

I'm gast and flabbered.
I'm founded dumb.

Hmm.

Was that a smile?

No.

No, sir.
I don't like smiles.

Get to bed
without your supper.

[Sneezing]

Arise and wakey.

I'm having
another job for you.

[Crow cawing]

[Grunting]

So, observe this pond.

Deep, you'd say.

And you'd be right.

Depth aplenty.

Drain it. Drain it
with your spoon.

And if I be recurring
and find a drop of water,

if I so much as
get my footsie wet,

heaven help me.

[Lion]
Anja.

Oh lion, my spoon
is full of holes.

You're tired, my little,
lie down and sleep awhile.

No, I dare not.
For my lord, the troll,

will beat me
with his terrible stick.

Shh. Lie down.

[Storyteller]
And then the lion
pad-padded to the pond

and drank and drank and drank
his fill,

and long before sunset
had drunk it dry.

Well? I'm recurred.
Is the pond dry?

Yes.

Yes? Yes! It is!

How abstractly
infuriating!

Are we sure?

[Screaming]

[Laughing]

You may laugh,

but the troll's fall
cost the poor girl dear.

That night,
she could not sleep for
the colors on her back

from the contradiction stick.

All night she sobbed
from its blacks and blues.

[Storyteller]
And come the morning,

the wicked troll
has another task,
worse than before.

Impossible.

All dry, you think.

All finished.

You'd be wrong.

Now, you can
build me a palatial.

All the bits,
all the pieces,

by nightfall, miss.

[Storyteller]
Hours later,
she's moved one rock,

a few inches.

Oh, dear lion,

but now, even you
cannot help me.

I'm to build a palace
by nightfall,

full of rooms and riches.

You're tired, my little.
Why not rest a while?

I cannot. I dare not.

Shh, sleep, rest. Shh.

[Storyteller]
And sleep she does,
lying down beside him.

And as she dreams, such magic!

[Grunting]

How have you done this?

I know. I know I've not done
as you asked.

Beautiful!

Oh.

Dear, oh, dear,
the palace is here,

but Anja didn't do it.

There is being
a contradiction

and when there's
being a contradiction,

we have to speak
with our friend,
don't you think?

I don't know.
Probably.

Very probably.
Certain, in fact.

Look.

Rageous.
Absolutely rageous!

A whole palace in one day.

Aah!

This is more like it
for an important troll.

[Grunting]

[Grunting]

Good, good.
Chicken, good.

Yes, sir.

And what about Sherry?
Is there a cellar-y for wine?

Go and be seeing.

Try that door.

I can't reach.

[Screams]

Let me fetch a light.

A troll can see
perfectly clarified.

[Screaming]

Oh, lion! Quick, quick!

The troll's in
terrible trouble.

I know.

[Growling]

Poor troll.

No father nor mother

and he was my other.

Not poor, my little,
but wicked and cruel.

I made the palace.
I also made the door.

Good. I hated that troll.

He was bad
through and through.

Oh, yes.

So then what?

Then our girl
has a palace all to herself.

[Storyteller]
What a transformation!

For the first time
in her poor life,

Anja feels wonderful,
wonderful.

And when word spreads
of a lovely thing alone

in a grand palace,

[storyteller]
Well, they flock to her,
the suitors, in droves.

Prince ladida of here,
prince ladida of there.

But they're
a trifle too much la,
a little too much di,

and occasionally,
plain da.

And a year goes by
until one morning,

she stands sighing
at her window

and, oh, who's this?

He looks up,
she looks down.

He smiles. She smiles.

Little fish swim
up and down her back.

And suddenly,
each day she wants

flowers in her room,
flowers at her table,

flowers for her hair.

And gradually,
smiles turn to words

and words turn to whispers,

and whispers turn to kisses.

It's love.

She falls for the gardener?

Why not?

She was a servant
turned Princess.

Why not a gardener
turned prince?

You are my true bride.

Am I?

Then let no one else
ever kiss your cheek.

Never.

Never ever.

"Never", he says.
"Never ever."

But I'm sorry. Hurt lurks,

pain prowls, sorrow simmers.

Why? What happens?

Does the troll come back?
Oh, no!

No!

Well, yes.
In a manner of speaking.

Yes, he does.

Anja's wedding day
is beckoning.

Her beloved sets off
one morning,

the long journey
to the village.

He has appointments
with the tailor,

and the barber
and the shoemaker.

[Storyteller]
Spruced up, he's going to be.

Won't you come?

No, there is my trousseau
to sew and you mustn't see it.

But I'll count the minutes
until you are home.

[Storyteller]
And she does.
She counts the minutes.

Counts them into
the hour when
the lamps must be lit.

Counts them as
fear curdles her stomach.

Counts the minutes
as they turn into days,

as the tears begin to come,

1, 2, 3...

[Dog]
Where was he?

[Storyteller]
No one knew.

[Cawing]

And Anja could
stand it no longer.

She set out alone
in search of her sweetheart.

Until one day, she finds
herself wandering in the snow,

lost and dejected.

[Lion]
Anja?

[Storyteller]
And without a word,
the lion sets Anja on his back

and starts off
bounding through the snow,

huge strides,
impossible speeds,

over cliff and cavern,
crevasse and chasm,
cave and canyon,

helter-skelter
to a far off land.

And there, in sight of a town,

the lion sets her down.

Now, you must go. Take these.

Inside there are gifts.
Use them wisely.

Thank you, dearest lion.

[Storyteller]
And Anja walks on,

carrying the 3 gifts.

[Horses trotting]

[Snorting]

My beloved! My darling!

[Storyteller]
She cries,
and the rider looks at her,

tips his hat, smiles politely,
and continues on his way.

Wait! Please, wait!

Oh! Oh! No!

[Storyteller]
No! No! She cries,
but it can't be! It can't be!

The troll!

It can't be! He's dead.

And then she sees a pigtail,

a diamond earring,
a hint of silk at the throat.

It's not the troll.
It must be,

it can't be, but it must be.

[Both]
His daughter!

It is!
It is the troll's daughter.

Twice as ugly, twice as foul.

And she's riding off
with her beloved.

Oh, Anja's dumbfounded. How?

And what's happened
to her darling?
He's forgotten her?

She's searched
the world for him
and he's forgotten her!

He's gone off with a trollop!

But then,
her resolve strengthens.

"I am the true bride
and he my beloved!"

And off she sets,
determined.

[Storyteller]
On her way to the town,
she meets a man

who tells her about
the troll's daughter,
the trollop.

She went to visit her dad
but he'd disappeared.

She met a handsome prince
and brought him back
to her castle.

He's under
her spell.

[Man]
They're betrothed.

[Woman]
That trollop's so greedy.

Sees gold, she wants it,
silver, she snatches it.

She collects handsome men
like ornaments.

"My ornamen", she calls them.

[Storyteller]
So instructed,
Anja hurries to the town.

A scheme forming, a plan.

Hoy! That's being
lovely prettiness.

I need it.

Madam.

I'm descending.
Is there a cost involved?

I'm expecting
it's a gift for your queen.

How kind and thank you.

It's magic, your majesty.

It cannot be sold,

only exchanged.

Exchanged? For what?

Be more clarified.

A night with
your betrothed.

[Gasping]

With my new ornaman?

Rageous!

Then you must keep
what is yours
and me what is mine.

Oh, silk. Yum.

Good day,
your highness.

No, back, back!

A night with my ornaman?

And he's very sweetheart,
you know.

How generous I'm being
for such a small magic.

Yes, all right!

Yes! Yes!

[Storyteller]
The bargain is struck.

The true bride to spend
a night with her beloved.

"Alone", she thinks,
once alone, he'll know me.

My love?

My dearest?

It's me.

Your true bride.

[Storyteller]
But he wouldn't wake.

Please wake up.

[Storyteller]
Couldn't wake.Please.

And how could he?

For in the cup by his bed
was a sleeping herb.

Powerful.

Lasts all night.
Until morning.

What can our girl do?

The bargain's been kept.
The first gift wasted.

What can she do,
but try again?

[Coins clinking]

Impossibly, magically,

coin after coin
drops to the ground.

The trollop can't believe it!

Hoy! I can't believe it.

[Storyteller]
Quick, quick, the trollop
wants the deal struck.

And once again,
a night with the beloved

swapped for the
endless gold pieces.

That night the same story...

Darling.

[Storyteller]
Whispers the true bride.

Beloved.

But to no avail.

As for the prince himself,

his days are vague,
his nights dreamless.

Stop him and ask
him his thoughts,
what would they be?

"Oh", or "well."

The trollop has
rubbed away his past
with her wicked spell.

He hasn't heard his true love
singing the night through,

weeping in the morning.

"Oh", he says, and "well."

But the prisoners have.

Their eyes blinking
in the black,
their ears sharp.

Yes, they've heard
the clink of gold,

but also
the true bride's lament.

So the next day
when the prince is
walking the ramparts,

[storyteller]
They call out to him.

[Prisoner #1]
Your honour,
how can you sleep at night

with the beauty
singing by your bed?

[Prisoner #2]
"Beloved", she calls you,

and "dearest."

"Your true bride",
she cries,

"I am your true bride."

When do you hear these things?

[Prisoners]
All night. All night.

[Storyteller]
He's heard nothing.

Who is his true bride?

He's very confused, very.

And, you see,
he sleeps so deeply.

Every night,
he has his drink,
then sleeps so deeply.

Hoy! Hoy! I'm being
so impatient for a new toy.

Let me see! Let me see!

Oh!

[Sighing]

Oh! So meable!

So agreeable!

I need them!

[Storyteller]
And the deal is struck.

And that night,
Anja arrives for her vigil,

the final gift gone.

Will you never wake?

[Sobbing]

Don't cry.

What?

What?

Oh, my darling!

No! Not there.

I promised, you see.

Not on my cheek.

Me.

You promised me!

[Storyteller]
And with that she kissed him,

and the trollop's spell
over him fell away,

and his head cleared.

Such a tender kiss,
such sweetness of cheek.

My true bride.

[Storyteller]
He whispers.

My true bride.

[Storyteller]
At the very same moment,
in the vaults of the castle,

a strange thing
happens, very odd.

Argh! Come back!

My goldies!

My silknesses!

My die-dies!

Oh!

[Groans]

[Screaming]

[Storyteller]
Too late, they've gone,
they're away,

the lovers, home,
running home together.

After them!
Get them back! Hurry!

And in her rage,
the trollop closes on them,

nearer and nearer,
until she must
surely catch them.

[Storyteller]
But look!
She can't believe it.

Look who's here.

On his back they clamber
and off he speeds,
bounding the barren lands.

Huge strides,
impossible speeds,

over cliff and cavern,
crevasse and chasm,

cave and canyon,
helter-skelter...

Home!

They made it!

Oh, yes, they made it.
Thank you, lion.

And inside, lock the door,
catch up their breath. Phew!

They light a fire
and exchange their stories,

[storyteller]
And in between hugs
and all the while kisses.

The lion tosses back
his proud mane and pads away,

leaving the lovers,
but not before
a final task unseen.

What?

Ah, well,
who have we forgotten?

The trollop.
Where is she?

I don't know. Miles away.

Over cliff and cavern,
crevasse and chasm,

cave and canyon.Oh, no, no, no.

By the time the true bride
and her beloved
settle down to sleep,

[storyteller]
She's arrived at the palace.

Once inside,
she sniffs for them,

her nostrils
twitching and heaving,

planning her revenge.

"There!" her nose tells her.

And stealing up
she hears their voices,
clear and unsuspecting,

behind the door.

[Screaming]

And from that day,
our lovers lived peacefully.

Babies came to bless them
and the sun forever shone.

And they kept a statue
of the lion,

whom they both called
"the thought lion."

And they told their children
he could come alive
in an instant if he wanted to,

or if they ever needed him.

But the children found
that hard to believe.