“I’m sorry to see you so ailing, mother, but I’m sure I don’t know what to do about it.”
“If I but had some apples from the orchard that belongs to the Troll’s brothers, I’d be well enough,” said the woman, “and if you were but the good son you pretend to be, I know you’d fetch them for me.”
“I’ll fetch you the apples soon enough,” replied her son. “No trouble about that. Though to tell you the truth, I doubt whether they’ll cure you.”
The lad made no more ado about it, but off he set for the orchard, and the eleven lions followed close at his heels.
When he came to where the apple trees were, he climbed up into the one that bore the finest fruit, and ate and ate until he could eat no more. Then he came down and stretched himself out on the soft grass and fell into a deep sleep.
The eleven lions gathered about him and guarded him while he slept.
Now not long after this, the Troll’s two brothers came out into the orchard for a stroll, and there, the first thing they saw, was the lad lying under the finest of the apple trees fast asleep, with the apples lying all about him and one in his hand.
At that sight they flew into a fine rage, and they turned themselves into fierce man-eating steeds, and rushed at him to destroy him.
But before they had a chance even so much as to touch him, the eleven lions rose up and rushed at the two steeds and fought them, and tore them into small pieces and scattered them around like dung.
At the end of three days and three nights, the lad awoke and looked about him, and there were the lions still guarding him, but the ground was all dug up as though a battle had been fought there, and there were deep hoof marks, and pieces of the steeds were scattered all about the orchard. The lad looked and wondered, and he could not think what had been happening, but he was not a bit afraid, and he thought as long as he was there, he might as well go and have a look at the castle.