Disclaimer: Don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters.
A double chapter weekend! Yey! I hope you like it. Reviews are appreciated.
Chapter 7: Twenty-Two
He's twenty-two when Angor Rot is killed.
There is no funeral, no military parade, no mourning. He is simply there one day then gone the next. It is not the humans who kill him, but a rogue changeling. No surprise. Angor Rot had many enemies in his long life. He only learns about the news when Morgana destroys the dining hall, killing half of its occupants.
Angor Rot is dead.
Strange.
Jim isn't sure how to feel about that.
On one hand, his former enemy is gone. The younger Jim would have been relieved at the fact. On the other, though they rarely communicated, a relationship had formed over the last few years. If there was anyone on the battlefield he trusted most to have his back, it was that asshole.
Some say it is Morgana who did it. That he was turning against her. Others say the human rebels are to blame. Jim does not know who did it, only that Morgana is angry that she cannot resurrect him anymore. There is nothing left.
So she pulls someone else back from the void.
He always cries when he sees Draal walk into the war-room. The troll looks tired, the once fierce look in his eyes faded. Everything about him is wrong. His skin is cracked in places, Morgana's magic bleeding through like liquid gold. It is like one of those funhouse mirrors he saw at a carnival. He is both Draal and not Draal. Jim could relate. The longer he resides in this monstrous form the more comfortable he feels.
But that does not matter right now. Draal is real, in the flesh, no longer a cold stone corpse.
Jim is nauseous. He wants to get up and hug the troll, but his guilt holds him back. He was the one who killed Draal. Draal does not deserve this.
In the end, Draal is positioned as Morgana's right hand. Unlike Anger Rot, he argues against her at first, tells her what he truly thinks. It makes Jim smiles.
And then Draal is punished.
Over and over and over again.
Morgana makes sure it is in front of everyone. Jim tries to interfere, but he is held back by Strickler. His face twists. Watching it all unfold is almost as agonizing as the pain Draal receives at her hand.
At first, Draal tries to talk with him. Their first conversation out of Morgana's hearing is one-sided, Jim largely acting as a sounding board.
"This is Bushigal. The longer she lives, the longer the others will suffer."
He nods.
"She has killed thousands, if not millions. Humans and trolls suffer under her rule. You know this."
He nods.
"Say something," Draal growls, rounding on him. "What happened, Trollhunter? Did she take your soul as well?"
"Maybe," he says, not looking at his old friend. "Who knows these days."
"You still believe your human girlfriend is in there, don't you?"
Jim doesn't respond. His eyes flicker to the corner of the room. He is unsure if the darkness there is because of the light or Morgana's magic. It is faint, but the taste of her sorcery is here, somewhere.
She is always somewhere.
"She will continue to grow in power if you do not do anything."
"Are you asking me to kill her?"
"You are the Trollhunter," Draal points out. "It is your job."
"I could never kill Claire, not even if Morgana…" He swallows, trying to force the words out. "Not even if Morgana is the only soul still left in Claire's body."
"So you will damn the rest of us for your selfishness?"
"Would you kill Kanjigar if he were possessed by Morgana?"
"Yes. Without a doubt," Draal stated, not missing a beat. "Because I know my father would have wanted it that way. He would have hated knowing the atrocities committed in his body. Committed in his name."
A cold wind brushes against Jim's skin. His markings burn in response. She is calling him. His heart begins to pound. She knows, she knows, she knows, she knows—
He steps away from Draal. The longer he stays the angrier she will be.
Draal grasps his shoulder. "You must make a choice, Trollhunter. Are you with her or against? Speak, damn you!"
"I'm the Trollhunter," he responds.
"Then do your job," Draal stresses. "Or else I will do it for you."
He waits. He says nothing of his meeting to Morgana, though he suspects she knows.
She always does.
Draal's words stay with him for several days. They haunt his mind. Draal speaks to him a few more times before giving up. Jim says nothing. He is too lost in thought.
His friend is right. He could easily kill her. Grab her neck and snap it before she let out a single word.
It would be a mercy.
Claire would have wanted it.
The bedroom is cold when he enters. The candles went out hours ago. The room is grandiose, the bed spacious and luxurious. A gold chandelier hands from the ceiling. He hears her breathing, soft and rhythmic. He wonders what she is dreaming of, or if she dreamed at all.
She turns her head. His stomach twists. It is getting harder and harder to view her as separate from Claire. Her eyes are constantly changing—brown, gold, purple, gold, brown, purple, brown, purple, gold—where Claire begins and Morgana ends are blurred and getting blurrier.
She looks so peaceful in her sleep. Even though his mind knows it is not Claire he is seeing, his heart flutters at her bare shoulders and tousled hair. The white of her once blue stripe has spread, covering half of her bangs now. She tries to cover it up with longer strands from the back, but the hair resists such a position. It amuses him how no matter how hard Morgana tries, she cannot tame the wild and thick hair of his girlfriend. Though her mind is the sorcerer's, her body still resists. Or so he likes to believe.
It is the echoes of Claire that he sees, Jim tells himself. Nothing more than a memory of the girl he fell in love with so long ago.
His hands wrap around her throat.
Too slow. Her eyes fly open. Black veins spread from her eyes. He expects her to blast him, throw him off, destroy him once and for all—it would be an easy death. He would have an excuse. He could have redeemed himself because he had tried.
But he can never predict Morgana.
She smiles lovingly.
"Has my little Trollhunter finally decided to kill me?" She whispers.
His fingers itch to squeeze the life out of her. He could do it. End her then end himself.
It would be better for everyone.
"You've killed thousands, if not more." Jim softly adds, "I should kill you."
She reaches out. He stiffens. She drags a finger across one of the sharp corners of his armor. Blood leaks from her forefinger. She brings it to her mouth and sucks it hard.
He can't breathe.
"Humanity has done far worse than I. Once this war is finished I will bring about the greatest age of peace this world has ever seen," she explains in a matter-of-fact manner.
He wants to laugh. He wants to cry. Does she truly believe that? Is she truly that insane?
Jim shakes his head. "How can you talk of peace when you are slaughtering everyone who gets in your way?"
She brushes her hands down his arms. He shivers. "War must occur for peace to rein. Once the rest of the world understands my might, they will stop throwing themselves at my army."
"Humanity will never give up defying you, Morgana. You know that."
"You would be surprised what humanity would do to save its skin. Do you think I spent my time idly waiting for someone to possess?" She brings her index up to his nose, flicking it playfully, "No, my little Trollhunter. Humans and trolls alike have tried to make deals with me, have tried to control me, have tried to break their promises. But in the end, everyone knows that in the face of death, the majority would choose the other option. Servitude is far better than nothingness, after all."
"Claire—" Jim chokes, turning his head. He tries again, his voice weaker. "Claire would never have wanted this."
"Oh, Jim," she wraps her arms around his torso. "I am Claire."
Invisible hands dance across his skin, pressing through his armor. He shudders. Her magic infuses beneath his skin, crawling down his limbs and chest. He feels foreign fingers brush against his heart. It is alien and wrong and he can't think straight.
"No, they were right," he says, shaking his head, trying to break out of her magic. She has to be using it right? He's afraid to ask. "All of them were. Claire's gone, isn't she?"
She pauses, looking up at him with brown eyes. "I never disappeared. I've always been here."
Jim wants to cry. He slams his head into the wooden bed frame. The wood cracks beneath his strength. He slams it again. "Stop it. Stop pretending to be her. You're wrong. Stop it, stop it, stop it!"
"But I am her and she is me," she says, tightening her hold. Her fingers travel up his body, grasping the base of his horns.
"Liar," Jim groans.
"Why would I lie?"
"You only want to manipulate me," he bites out. "Not anymore. I'm done."
"You were the one who came to me, my Trollhunter. If there is anyone who has been manipulative, it is you."
His fingers begin to restrict around her throat. Just one second. That's all he needed. "Stop trying to twist my words. It won't work."
"I remember when I first saw you. It was at my mother's fundraiser. I remember watching you dance with your mom. I thought it was so sweet."
His heart very nearly stops. Even though his mind knows it is Morgana, his ears hear Claire, his eyes see Claire, his nose smells Claire—he cannot get rid of her presence.
His hands loosen their hold around her neck. He places them to his ears, trying to block her words. "Don't. Don't say that. Stop it, Morgana."
She rubs herself against his armor. He smells her desire. It is as thick her magic and just as potent.
"I remember our first kiss. I remember how nervous I felt, kissing you in front of everyone. You looked so handsome laying there."
"Please, Claire," he whispers. "Enough."
His canines ache. Below his torso, he feels himself come to life.
It is disgusting. He is disgusting. He hates how much he wants her.
Her finger inch back up, sliding over his own. They barely cover a third of his hand, but there is power behind them, despite their small size. She pulls his hands away from his ears. The fall to his sides, his strength drained. She shapes her forefinger and thumb around the amulet attached to his chest. It thrums underneath her digits.
"You can't kill me, my Trollhunter," she says. "You are as a part of me as I am of you."
Her hands begin to blaze with a fiery golden light, black veins reappearing once more. He bites his tongue. His markings react, burning him from the inside out. He sees the reddish glow reflect off the sheets and her body. She smiles, the soft light giving it a demonic flare.
His claws dig into the sheets. Anything to keep his concentration. To keep himself from letting go.
It is in vain. His vision begins to blur as his mind grows dizzy. He can barely hold his head up.
He wants…he wants…
"Come to bed, my Trollhunter," Claire says, pulling him further onto the mattress. She digs her nails into the amulet. He groans but doesn't stop her.
The amulet sparks and buzzes, but it obeys her command; his armor vanishes. Whatever magic she used leaves him bare. Her leg buckles into his groin, teasing him. A soft rumbling escapes his chest.
She sets the amulet atop the bed-stand, away from his reach.
Her fingers burrow into his sides. His skin is warm, growing hotter with each second. He can feel his consciousness taking a backseat, watching the entire affair.
Like a mother, she brings his head to her breast, whispering sweet nothings.
"Such a good boy," she says. "My sweet Jim. Lovely Jim."
"I hate you," he finally says.
"Hate me or love me, both are in my favor," she responds. "If you love me, I'll always be in your heart. And if you hate me, I'll always be in your mind. You cannot escape me, my little Trollhunter."
His eyes grow wet. She licks them before kissing his mouth. He tastes ash.
"No tears, darling."
Her tongue flicks against his right tusk.
When he is ready, they devour each other. He pretends they are two lovers. No Jim. No Claire. No Morgana.
For a moment, he almost believes it.
The next morning Draal is gone.
