A Hilda Netflix fan fiction where Alfur, Hilda’s
Author:unloginuser Time:2024/11/21 Read: 4924A Hilda Netflix fan fiction where Alfur, Hilda’s tiny elf friend, gets bad luck for not signing a paperwork chain, where if you don’t sign it, you get 12 years bad luck. Hilda, the adventurous young girl with blue hair, yellow scarf and big red rain boots, thinks it would be good for him to sign it, but he doesn’t listen. bad unlucky things happen to Alfur. He gets hurt and inconvenienced in many ways. Getting chased, getting dirty, getting attacked, getting electrocuted,Getting squashed, Getting humiliated and getting stepped on by Hilda, getting stuck flat underneath her boot. Hilda is unaware of the stuff happening to him. She wont help until Alfur admits that he’s cursed.
The crisp autumn air swirled fallen leaves around Hilda’s red boots as she and Alfur strolled through Trolberg’s bustling market. A brightly coloured banner caught Hilda’s eye: “Sign the Luck Chain! Avoid Twelve Years of Misfortune!” Beneath it, a jovial-looking troll meticulously added names to a long, parchment scroll.
“Alfur, darling, you should sign,” Hilda chirped, tugging gently at his miniature tunic. “Just to be safe.”
Alfur, ever the independent spirit, scoffed. “Nonsense, Hilda! I don’t believe in such superstitious nonsense.” He adjusted his tiny spectacles, his usually bright eyes narrowed with stubbornness. Hilda shrugged and moved on, distracted by a tempting display of roasted nuts.
That’s when Alfur’s bad luck began.
First, a rogue flock of startled ravens dive-bombed him, sending him tumbling into a muddy puddle. He emerged sputtering, covered in grime, just as a grumpy troll with a cart full of cabbages nearly flattened him.
Next, a mischievous squirrel, emboldened by something only a cursed elf could attract, snatched his spectacles, sending him scrambling after them only to be chased by a swarm of unusually aggressive bees. He narrowly escaped their wrath by leaping onto a passing pile of discarded potatoes.
Things escalated quickly. A stray spark from a malfunctioning lamppost zapped him, leaving him briefly paralyzed. Later, he was accidentally squashed under a hefty sack of flour, emerging as a floury, miserable miniature snowman. The humiliation was almost unbearable.
His misfortunes continued. While hiding under a crate to avoid a particularly aggressive dog, he found himself directly under Hilda’s heavy boot. The immense weight pressed him flat, leaving him momentarily breathless and thoroughly squashed. Hilda, blissfully unaware, simply commented, “Goodness, that crate is unusually heavy!”
Alfur’s tiny heart sank. He’d tried to explain his string of disasters to Hilda, but she’d waved him off, attributing his misfortunes to “clumsiness” and “bad timing.” He’d tried to explain about the chain, but she thought he was being dramatic.
Finally, near tears and coated in a mixture of mud, flour and assorted market debris, he found himself trapped beneath a overturned cart, his tiny legs struggling against the heavy wooden slats. This time, Hilda noticed.
“Alfur! What happened to you?” she exclaimed, kneeling down. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of her bedraggled friend.
Alfur, defeated and miserable, blurted out, “The Luck Chain! I didn’t sign it! I’m cursed!”
Hilda’s expression shifted from concern to understanding. She grabbed his tiny hand, her own surprisingly gentle. “Right then,” she declared, pulling him from under the cart. “Let’s go sign that chain. And then, we’ll get you a bath and some of those roasted nuts.”
As Alfur, slightly damp but considerably less miserable, signed his name on the Luck Chain, he realised that sometimes, even a stubborn elf needs a little help from his best friend, even if that help involves acknowledging a bit of trollish superstition. He also realised that twelve years of bad luck was a very long time, and that perhaps, next time, he’d listen to Hilda a little more readily.
