I do not own TrollHunters. Credit goes to Tunafishprincess for being an amazing beta reader. Trollish speech is italicized.
Strickler led him back through the sewers to the Order, surfacing outside of the travel agency. Jim's head hung low the whole time, heavy with the burden of failure, though his eyes would drift to the turns and twists not taken, counting them as emergency exits if he was to escape the Order before it was too late. But he was too tired to run anymore. He didn't remember getting in the shower. He didn't remember dressing. He didn't remember which way he went to the office where he sat across from Strickler. The mug was warm in his hands, though the hot chocolate was weak and watery. His body felt like it radiated warmth, finally having dry clothes on again. The last few days felt like a dream now, like a world far away, and this was reality. Strickler in front of him, quietly observing. The black stone tiles. The cold metal chair. The white led lighting softened by the curvature of the beams that outlined the almond shape of the halls were cold compared to the older overhead lamps in this room. The new atmosphere helped him to dissociate from the nightmare, though the sensation of it was still fresh.
"What's on your mind," Strickler probed softly.
Involuntarily Jim's eyes watered in response as he tried to make his voice obey him. "I couldn't…" he gulped. His throat was dry and wet at the same time. "I couldn't save her-" he barely whispered the last word. He put his shaking mug on the table beside them, pressed his warmed palms to his face to contain the tears that cascaded, and rested his weight on his elbows he propped on his knees. He barely noticed a hand on his shoulder or box of tissues held in front of him.
"You carry the world on your shoulders, young Atlas. You can't save everyone." Jim wept bitterly, the nightmare fresh again. He choked on the fluids in his throat trying to reclaim his voice. He yanked tissues from the box to wipe his nose and eyes. Sufficient anger built up and he released it in a blubbering rant.
"What was he thinking summoning a Stalkling? Isn't he centuries old? He should know better! It's- it's careless and- and stupid-"
Strickler couldn't help but chuckle softy, setting the box back on the table. "Indeed. And you?" Jim finally glanced up, wiping an eye to see past the glare of his tears. His neck strained with the added weight of his horns. Merely existing felt exhausting. "Even at your youthful age, you should know better than to take on a stalkling."
"I had to-"
Strickler leaned back and crossed a leg over the other, hands steepled, smirking knowingly. "Bular is invested in establishing his father's reign. Gunmar has been exiled for centuries. The Trollhunter discovered our work and almost ruined the labors of many years and many changelings. Bular made a decision out of desperation. As did you."
"But it's different," Jim defied. How could Strickler be making comparisons between him and a man eating monster?
"Is it? I know you have feelings for Claire. You may not have a father that you're close to, but you do understand what it means to act out of love. How blinding it is."
"He risked exposing the Order," he accused.
"And you didn't?" Jim hung his head again in shame. He was reckless. Her parents almost discovered them because of his carelessness. Claire undoubtedly saw him. Strickler hummed to himself softly. "You're going to be a great leader." He looked back up at Strickler quizzically, ice blue eyes rimmed in red and pupils slitted like a serpent. "Your actions, though reckless, were well founded. You're absolutely right that it was foolish to summon a stalkling. You had the courage to take it on, and the hardiness to survive. And the goblins tell me how you've been tending to them. I think it may be time for a promotion."
Jim was bewildered. "I snuck out of the Order. I messed up. A lot. What do you mean, promotion?"
Strickler's smile was warm and knowing. "You think I didn't know where you were at all times? It was a test. I have made all the secrets of the Order accessible to you. If I intended to keep you in the dark, you would not be in possession of the Looking Glass inside these walls. I knew you had potential, but I had to know what your inclinations would be with the knowledge available to you."
"What knowledge? We're building a bridge to free Gunmar and we need the Trollhunter to do it. That's all I know."
"That's merely a facet of our intentions. You know about how the Order functions, how we spread our roots and the connections we have, our means of communication. It was literally left on the table for you." Jim remembered documents left in plain sight in the offices where the changelings were working. It did seem too easy to spy in a spy headquarter.
"Why?"
"You have the makings of a leader in you, Jim. I want you to lead the changelings someday."
"Me?! I'm-" he struggled to prioritize all the reasons why that was not a good idea. "They're not going to trust a bastard half breed. I can't even shape shift. My only experience is goblins. I'm only fifteen-"
"Sixteen."
He halted. He completely forgot about his birthday. What day was it? It didn't matter, it passed without incident or flashbacks. "Not even a century old," he quoted Coach.
"I will train you. You'll start off as an apprentice, and under my wing you will be protected, and the changelings will learn to see what I see in you and respect you." His gaze dipped with his next words. "Were something to happen to me, I desire to know that the Order is in good hands, of someone who looks out for the well-being of all the members, and not for the individuals own gain. I would have no such fear if that individual were to be you." At the last sentence his eyes met Jim's again, something deep lurking in the meaning of his gaze.
"What do you mean if something happens to you?" Jim felt concern beyond his own safety this time, something deep that may have been triggered by the incident with Claire.
Strickler scoffed dismissively. Casually he responded. "We're in a war, Atlas. Casualties are inevitable. You did hear about Groe, didn't you? And that Nomura was compromised?" Nonchalantly he sighed. "It's only a matter of time. Speaking of timing, I believe tonight would be opportune for you to meet our allies."
"Bular?" Jim was worried. Approximately two bites, and the security guard was unrecognizable. He paled from the memory.
"As well as Gunmar, if all goes according to plan."
"I don't know if I'm ready for that."
"It is for your safety that you are introduced to them early, or they will never respect you."
"I get it. I'm familiar with the consequences."
Strickler frowned, but quickly replaced his reaction with one of assurance, reaching for Jim's hand. "I'm proud of the changeling you've become. You have a big night ahead of you. Get some rest."
Recognizing he'd been dismissed, he gathered his tissues and disposed of them under the desk. He grabbed a handful more to stuff in his pockets and his mug of chocolate water. The door opened automatically with a hiss and he stepped out, but leaned back in for a last word.
"Which way is it to my room?"
He felt heavy as he collapsed back onto his bed fully clothed, kicking off only his shoes. In a moment he curled his legs to his chest and the tears flowed again. He let her down. All that time he spent lurking in the shadows, heart in his throat at the sound of every nearby footstep or flap of a wing, and he couldn't save her.
He should have told her. Even if he didn't tell her who he was, he could have told her a flying troll creature was stalking her and to never be alone. He could have told her even before then- what harm would there have been in telling her about the existence of trolls and changelings? It didn't matter, she wouldn't have believed him.
At least, not until it was too late.
But she could have had a chance. He could have given her that chance. How rotten it was to be full of secrets that could save lives.
He reached into his satchel for the Glass and tried to end the dissociative episode, grounding himself with the smooth, cool touch. It didn't work this time, his vision distorted by fresh tears, energy and focus sapped. He lay back down holding the heavy object on his chest. He'd seen her face in it countless times in the last day, and he struggled to convince himself that it would be the last. Sleep found him mourning in his dreams, forever chasing the light, forever restrained by the shadows.
There was a soft rapping at the door, a small click as it opened. "Jim," a voice called softly. He didn't come to until his bed sank. "It's time. We're running late." Slowly and with great effort he sat up. Strickler awaited him, suit cleaned from the morning's muddy embrace.
"Right, the meeting." He rubbed his eyes and grabbed a used tissue from beside his pillow to wipe his nose. "I'm alright," he assured, and Strickler rose to wait just outside the door. Jim donned his cloak and satchel but ignored the mask. He was an apprentice now, the changelings were going to have to learn to recognize and become accustomed to him. He kept his hood down while in the headquarters.
The air was crisp, but the smell of rain had faded, the asphalt dried. The clouds on the horizon looked crisp in the weak moonlight. Jim considered that there was something comfortably familiar about riding with his old teacher in the night. He was too emotionally drained to remember to hate Strickler, and his opinion of him might have been influenced by Strickler's nurturing demeanor, reminding Jim of back when he attended school.
Strickler broke the peace with some professional information shared in a conversational tone. "We have a new member, but he won't be able to join us tonight. I'll introduce you two soon."
"Is it Party monster?"
"How did you come to know him by that name?"
"The goblins told me about him."
"That makes more sense." They pulled up to the front of the museum. It occurred to Jim that he would prefer the painfully awkward conversation with his mentor about his moral alignment here in the car over meeting a man eater face to face in the already ominous museum. Knowing he was doomed to have to enter that structure anyway, he resolved to not appear like a coward as he did it. Just like with the goblins, he tried not to be afraid.
•••
When the door to the museum closed behind them Jim dropped the hood. There was an air of anticipation. He recalled the terrifying gaze shrunken to fit in the Looking Glass the first day he used it. Now he was meeting Bular face to face, and as an apprentice to Strickler.
Bular the Vicious was intimidating in the flesh- er, stone. Stone flesh. Jim saw his profile first, his attention caught first by the glow in Bular's eyes, the fissures in his face and horns from battle, the jaw bone that made the handle of his stone swords sheathed behind his head. His size. The sound of gravel as he breathed. Bular turned at the approach of Strickler. "We've been waiting." His eyes then snapped to Jim, who willed himself not to flinch. With threatening inflections he challenged, "What is this?"
"The half breed," Nomura quickly supplied, her own tone condescending.
"My apprentice," Strickler corrected.
Jim stepped forward and bowed, pleading with his body in his mind not to shake. "It's a pleasure to behold your might, your excellence."
Bular snorted. "Rise. Save the praise for my father. The true ruler."
Until then, a man Jim didn't recognize had regarded him with suspicion, but was suddenly revitalized. "Then let's party!" Giddy, the man with matching suit and fedora rest a suitcase on the faded tile and clicked it open. "The Eyestone!" The large triangle levitated in smoky blue magic and drifted to where the keystone of the bridge should be. The glowing vapors fused it to the structure and dissipated. "The last piece," he narrated, "It is complete!"
They waited. The new man with glasses giggled. Nomura humphed proudly. Fragwa made some sort of noise to express enthusiasm. Bular growled.
"It's not working."
"Bular, patience," the man cooed.
Jim glanced around. The little bit of color visible on the banners seemed to be leached from the fabrics before his eyes, along with any light left in the room. He heard cases in the exhibits nearby shatter. He wondered for Nomura's sake if any pottery was compromised. The room began to light up once more from the shards of magical light that manifested under the bridge, overlapping in a pattern like fractures in glass, the brightest point expanding in an explosion that forced an otherworldly wind at the small party. Everyone ducked their heads at the sudden rush and gasped when they witnessed the silhouette of a dark troll, broad horns extending beyond the frame of the portal. "Son," it called out.
"Father!" In that moment Jim found himself feeling a pang of jealousy toward Bular, and immediately dismissed it. This was someone else's dream, not his own.
"His voice is so scary," the new man praised.
"Father, your release from exile will soon be at hand-"
Strickler muscled his way in front to address Gunmar. Jim recognized the power move to shift focus back to the commitment of the changelings, to not be forgotten in this moment of victory, to ensure their safety in reward for their loyalty. "Your dark excellence, I am humbly in your service." Bular growled. Jim hoped Strickler didn't underestimate the very real threat that stood adjacent to them. "Killahead bridge is nearly complete and you will soon be free."
"This pleases me Stricklander. You have done well."
Strickler began again when Bular forced him aside. "Father, we know the whereabouts of the amulet and this impure has ordered me not to retrieve it-"
"Your excellence, killing the Trollhunter at this time would bring too much scrutiny upon us."
"And he has forbidden me to take the amulet," he continued to tattle.
"Lord Gunmar, until the bridge is complete it is ill-advised to-"
"Enough!" The ethereal voice bellowed throughout the museum. The new guy visibly shivered with glee. "You make my exile all the more intolerable for your bickering. Stricklander is correct. Nothing is more important than preventing our plan from being discovered by our enemies. But from now on, my son will be giving the orders. I will speak with my son alone. Now!" The creature visibly forced a fist against the surface of the portal, causing it to cackle with energy as the magic conducted was disrupted.
"As you wish, your greatness." Strickler did a slight bow and turned to depart, nodding at Jim to follow. Fragwa blew a raspberry behind them, and Nomura and new guy smirked after them.
•••
"Who was the new guy?" Jim waited until they were in the car to probe.
"Otto Scaarbach. Next in charge in the Order. Well," he smiled at Jim before he started driving, "after you now."
"Is that why he looked at me like that. I'm toast."
"Nonsense. But it would be in your best interest for us to ensure you're better equipped. Now I will share with you something you are to never disclose to anyone." Jim nodded gravely. "Scaarbach is a polymorph. Do not trust anyone with anything, even myself. Do you understand?"
Jim's eyes bulged. "A real polymorph? Him? How can anyone know anything if everything's a secret?! How can I know if you're you? We could use a code word or something, right?"
Strickler exhaled irritably. Jim could tell he was unnerved about the meeting still. "You can pick something. He's worked with me too long, but he barely knows you."
Jim frowned and considered. "Petro lignum."
"Petrified wood? I'm sure he won't guess that. Good one." Jim's mind wandered to the stone in his satchel. He missed Toby, and recalled the code words they used to come up with. They were never in Latin, but he thought Strickler would appreciate it.
Strickler was visibly tense the rest of the ride, making Jim wonder if what he witnessed was equivalent to a demotion. They had to get back into the trolls good graces for the safety of the changelings.
•••
"Rule number one: there is honor among assassins."
"There is honor among assassins," Jim repeated. It winded him to answer to a lecture in the middle of combat. He swung his metal baton to deflect Strickler's own. Strickler's voice growled in his troll form's throat. "Rule number two: rule number one is a lie."
"What?! Oof!" He took a direct hit to the gut. Was he about to faint or was his vision going black from rage?
"There is no such thing as honor." Jim barely ducked the next swing, but the familiar rage recalibrated his coordination. His reflexes began to improve again. "Rule number three: everyone and everything is a tool to get what you want."
Jim grunted as he ducked and dodged. "Everyone. And everything. Is a tool to get what I want," he huffed. His own voice grew deeper and rumbled.
"And what do you want, Atlas?"
"I want you to die." He charged at his query, the glowing eyes the cross hairs on his target.
He swung the metal baton, his target barely dodged and swat the weapon aside. Jim used the momentum to swing the other end of the weapon. His opponent laughed. This was still just training to his mentor. That made him angrier.
"Embrace that anger. Release it." He obeyed. The rapid cacophony of the pipes beating together accelerated in rhythm with his heart.
The music stopped with a clatter. Jim was thrown onto his hands and knees. The empowering darkness subsided, and he became a weak child. A failure. It took some time for the more familiar part of himself to process what just took place. He genuinely intended to kill his history teacher- turned- mentor. The pain from losing his friendship with Toby, not being there to protect his mother, failing to protect Claire, manifested into a monster in himself. Or awakened it. He wasn't sure which was a greater loss- that he didn't recognize nor could he control himself, or that he was too weak to exact his revenge.
He finally caught his breath, and noticed the stare from his mentor boring into him. "You took everything from me. Everything that made me me, you took that from me."
"You are what you are." His instructor's small words enraged him again, but he was too exhausted to act on it except with his voice.
"What is left of me?! What am I, Strickler? I'm not human. I'm not changeling. How can you say that this is where I belong?"
Strickler held out a hand. Reluctantly Jim took it. He didn't understand why Strickler looked at him that way, like there was something he thought he recognized. "The Pale Lady has plans for you."
Screw your Pale Lady, he thought. There was something funny about the thought, but he didn't dare repeat it out loud.