Disclaimer: Don't own Trollhunters or any of it's characters.
Big thanks to Charlotte for betareading. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and favorites! I'll try and reply soon, things have been really crazy lately. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!
To Catch A Changeling (II)
Vendel was a patient troll.
He had seen many things in his very long existence. Why, he not only weathered Killahead but all three Gnome Wars, and several other countless, nameless battles in their kind's long history of warfare. Up until this point in history, Trollmarket had experienced its longest peaceful period in centuries. The discovery of the Heartstone beneath what the humans called Arcadia gave trolls from all lands and races a place to call home. Sure, there were a few gnome infestations and one or two changelings who had gotten in (and were swiftly disposed of) but by and large, their city was one of the safest amongst their people.
And then Atlas came.
At first, Vendel had tolerated the half-changeling's presence. Merlin's methods were not easily discernable at times—Unkar for example— but there must have been a reason for the mysterious wizard's choice. Sure, more than one troll had been perturbed and suspicious of the whelp's origins, but a little gulg and a belly full of Siamese kept most curious onlookers at bay.
And then Atlas revealed the Killahead bridge was being rebuilt.
Vendel knew that secret would find its way out of the whelp's mouth sooner or later. After their meeting at the morning of Atlas's match with Draal, Vendel had kept an eye out for the boy. To no surprise, he went to the bar Draal frequented. It took a little more coin and one or two of his secret barrels of Phoenix Fire, but that, too, had been hushed.
And then Atlas revealed he was a changeling to the entirety of Trollmarket.
Vendel was starting to suspect Atlas was Merlin's way of fucking with them.
The call for the elders of their community to reconvene had been made posthaste before anyone else tried to instigate it. Too many variables sat in the balance. Vendel needed to control the narrative and as long as they continued forward with his story, everything should go smoothly.
Or as smoothly as one could with the reconstruction of Killahead and changelings and Bular living above them.
The representatives began to shuffle inside. Though not a formal call for assembly, Vendel suspected nearly every troll elder would be present at the meeting. Even Blinky, who normally avoided such meetings as pretentious and pandering, sat aside their resident Trollhunter, two arms around the boy's shoulders. Though he was the only one of his race in Trollmarket (and therefore it's representative), the Conundrum could hold his own in a combat of intellect with any troll here (besides Vendel himself) . Blinky's young charge was another matter however.
Vendel approached the two cautiously. Even then, he noticed the boy's back tensing up. Ah, yes, young Atlas. He almost rolled his eyes at Blinky's fretting over Atlas like a Stalkling mother over its young.
Deya's Grace, he needed a drink. Vendel released a soft sigh. The boy was clearly stressed, if his twitching ears and darting eyes were any indication. He had pulled his cloak around him, glaring from beneath the hood like a weary animal. In a flash, Vendel reached out and pulled the cloth away. Atlas startled.
"What the hell, Vendel?" Atlas said in a low voice.
"Show your face. It will garner more sympathy if they see you as a child instead of a changeling."
Atlas looked about ready to bite his head off, but Blinky tapped the boy's right shoulder. "Vendel is right, Master Atlas. Right now, you need to be seen. It will make trolls more comfortable with your presence here."
The whelp's shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast.
Atlas crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side. "So, who are the council?"
"You're asking this now?" Vendel said.
"You didn't really give me much time to ask questions before you dragged me here from the bridge," Atlas replied.
Blinky drew closer, his voice low. "They are the different elders of our community, elected by their tribes."
"How many tribes are there?"
"Currently?" Blinky brought out all four hands, silently counting. Finally, he answered, "Over one hundred I suppose."
"A hundred old guys doesn't sound so bad."
"Larger tribes can choose more than one elder. At present, there are more than six hundred representatives."
Atlas's eyes grew large, his line of sight taking in the growing number of people entering the hall. Vendel had no doubt it would be filled to capacity and then some soon enough. "That's, uh, a lot of trolls."
"Keep your head up and your mouth closed," Vendel cautioned. "If you speak one word out of turn, I will forbid your little human friend from ever returning to Trollmarket."
Subdued, Atlas nodded, his head subconsciously leaning closer towards Blinky.
Good. Better the boy mulled over that instead of running his mouth off like last time.
Ugh, teenagers.
Vendel returned to the center, both hands grasping his staff. He hit it against the ground several times before the voices turned to whispers.
"Greeting to the council," Vendel announced in Trollspeak, his voice carrying through the large cavern. "I know many of you are concerned about the new turn of events. I am here to allay any fears or worries you, in your vast intelligence, may feel important to discuss."
Immediately, Vendel was blasted by a resounding number of voices, most of which, to his annoyance, regarded the questioning of Atlas's lineage. Did they truly not understand the gravity of the situation? Wasn't Killahead more important than some hybrid's lineage?
"Surely you do not think we would believe this mockery of our laws," said Wabgowl, the leader of the most troublesome race in Trollmarket.
Vendel resisted the urge to smack the troll upside the head. He dreaded holding council when Wagbowl and his band of zealot showed up, which was practically all of them. Though particularly rotoid and unpleasant, the troll had quite a large group of rebellious trolls at his disposal, but what do you expect from a Redcap?
Nitwits, the whole lot of them. Sometimes, he wished he had pushed the crazy troll into the sea when he had the chance. Webgowl and the rest of the Redcaps claimed to be a pacifist group of trolls who considered gnomes the sacred messengers of their god. In Vendel's honest opinion, they were more alike to a cult, all united in the same bloody hats as the creatures they worshipped. It appeared particularly ridiculous on Webgowl's head, barely hiding the bald spot he had been trying to hide for centuries.
"I do not ask that you believe, merely that you accept. I have laid my claim over the whelp," Vendel spoke, shushing the rest of the group. "Blinky, would you bring me the Book of Records, Volume Twenty-three."
"Of course, Master Vendel," Blinky said, pulling the aged book from the table beside them, just as planned.
Blinky walked to the center of the stage, opening up to the bookmarked page. He coughed, then said, "On the third day of Umbrashack, Vendel, son of Rundle, son of Kilfred, bonded to Yundella, daughter of Melindela, daughter of Orina."
"My bonding ceremony was not a lie, and neither was the child we begat," Vendel announced for the crowd. His back ached as he arched higher. He tightened his grip on the staff.
Webgowl growled, his tusks even more prominent than before. "A bonding ceremony means nothing without proof of lineage. All you've shown us is but a factual statement to uphold this grandiose story?"
"Are you accusing me, Trollhunter's leader, of lying?" Vendel said in a frosty tone.
Webgowl seemed to deflate, not ready to be called out so blatantly. The trolls around him began to look uneasy, scooting away until a large gap existed on each side of Webgowl.
"No," Webgowl said in a timid manner. "I merely find it suspicious that—"
"It may not mean much," Blinky interjected. "Pardon my interruption, but Yundella was of blue eyes, not unlike our young Trollhunter. Her horns were also similarly shaped."
Whispers of agreement broke out. Though few remembered the gentle troll, those that did recalled her as having such features. Soon enough, trolls began recalling how similar Atlas was to her, both in personality and looks.
Vendel turned his attention towards Blinky. He nodded slightly, relief filling him.
It was amazing what tweaking history did to the mind. All he had to do was plant the seeds and suddenly everyone and their gnome could remember her. Thank the void none of her family yet lived to contradict his little story. Yundella had been of green eyes and, though there was a similarity in horn shape, their color and make were vastly different. But that didn't matter. What mattered was the belief. As long as Trollmarket had reason to believe Atlas was his grandson, then they could move forward with putting their focus on retrieving and dismantling the Killahead Bridge.
"What Blinky says is true. Many trolls here are quite familiar with matrilineal lineages. It is not uncommon for trolls to take more after their mother's side then their fathers, as you well know."
Webgowl narrowed his eyes. Considering his own mother had been ugly enough to make some trolls go blind, the comment was as barbed as he intended it to be. "I suppose, that is plausible, but—"
"Then it is settled," Vendel said.
"This isn't over," Webgowl stuttered. "What proof do you have that he won't betray us to the rest of the Impures?"
"If Atlas choses to do so, then it will be my responsibility to terminate him. Any further questioning should be submitted in writing. We will reconvene to go over more pressing matters, such as the Killahead and our city's future in a fortnight. It is time we return the Trollhunter to his training. This meeting is adjourned."
While they did not per say run out of the room, they did make a brisk exit. Guards surrounded them as they left the area, providing a thick wall of bodies between them and the representatives. Just as well. The longer he stayed, the more scrutiny he would be under.
The crowds began to lessen as they climbed the stairs, curious citizens returning to their normal lives. Good. A few tried to follow, but the guards were able to turn them around. Vendel lifted his gaze upwards. Vendel's library (home, though he rarely stayed long) was not far from the meeting hall, settled atop the valley of Trollmarket through a winding staircase of crystals and petrified wood. Though small for someone of his status, Vendel found the view to be far more satisfying over any spacious home the lower districts might have to offer.
Once the guards were released from their duty, he closed the door, his eyes traveling over to his so-called grandson.
Great Gronka Morka. His grandson. Vendel shook his head. The hybrid was lucky Trollmarket laws were such as they were. Any older and Atlas would have been slaughtered. It was the only time his youth was a positive aspect. In any case, there was no going back.
"So," Atlas began, scratching his cheek with one claw. "I guess this means everything's good?"
"I fear things are far worse than they may seem, Master Atlas," Blinky admitted.
"Yeah," Atlas sighed. "It always is, isn't it?"
"Of all the idiotic things you've done thus far, what happened last night by far the worst," Vendel scolded, pushing to fingers as closely together as possible to illustrate his frustration. "You are this close to being kicked out of Trollmarket. The only reason you're still in one piece is because of me."
"I know," Atlas said, his hands folded over each other. "What's going to happen now?"
"You saw the council. What do you think?"
"They looked like they were about ready to kill me," Atlas acknowledged, not meeting his eyes.
Vendel removed the books off his chair, setting them down before resting back into the old furniture. He leaned forward, gesturing his staff at the door. "I take it you've noticed the armed guards around Trollmarket."
"It wasn't exactly subtle." Atlas said.
"Normally, a Trollhunter has a Troll Guard," Blinky explained.
"Troll guard?"
"Trollhunters were not always solitary figures. Why, many had armies of troll guards to fight for them. Old Families who for centuries had pledged their loyalty and servitude to the Trollhunter and his kin. Kanjigar was the first Trollhunter to refuse a guard." Blinky softly added, "You are the first we have had to reinstate for necessary purposes."
Atlas's nose scrunched up. "For necessary purposes?"
Vendel motioned the boy to come forward. While cautious, Atlas came a few steps away, leaning against Vendel's desk, his fingers grasping at the edges. "Trollmarket is in upheaval." Vendel took a small pause, watching the boy's face. Atlas's ears dropped low, his lower lip caught under one fang. Good. At least the boy felt accountable for his actions. "My claim on you only goes so far. Most of our society will not touch you, but the more extreme will no doubt take their frustrations out on you."
"But I didn't do anything wrong," Atlas stressed.
Blinky laid a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. Vendel scoffed. The conundrum was too soft on the boy. "You didn't," Blinky said. "but your kind have certainly left their mark on many a troll."
"Pot calling the kettle black," Atlas muttered.
"Excuse me? What does sentient pottery have anything to do with this conversation?" Vendel inquired.
"I believe it is a human saying," Blinky supplied.
Atlas's toes curled, his body taunt and defensive. "The feeling on our side is the same. Trolls have been mistreating us since the Pale—since we were chosen."
Vendel nearly fell out of his chair. "Chosen? Is that what you tell yourselves or is it what they tell you?"
Atlas glared.
"No, please, tell me. Who was it that spun such a tale? Was it your mentor?"
"If you're going to make fun of me, I'll leave," Atlas stated, the blue of his eyes casting a luminous glow.
"No, let's not come to that," Vendel relented. "Moving along, you will need to protect yourself better. Trollmarket does not take kindly to spies. You may be safe for now, but sooner or later what happened tonight will reach your superiors. It was quite possible one of your mentor's henchmen were in the crowds last night."
It was as if someone had blown out a candle; Atlas's facade broke, the cautious changeling switching to a more self-conscious teenager. "I hadn't thought about it like that. Gunmar's grunk-nuks, what if they already know? What if Bular tries to kill me in my sleep? What if he tries to ambush me on the way back? Oh fu—"
"It is rather unlikely, Master Atlas," Blinky said in a placating tone. "Why, the last time we saw a changeling in Trollmarket was over a century ago."
"What happened to them?" Atlas asked.
"They were found and killed on sight," Vendel enlightened, his tone dry. "It is why we instituted the GSA."
Atlas flinched, but continued, asking, "Okay, what is the GSA?"
"It is short for the Gyre Security Administration," Blinky said.
Atlas cocked his head to the side, looking between the two trolls. "Are they any good?"
Vendel and Blinky looked to each other, waiting for the other to speak. A few seconds of silence passed before Vendel picked the conversation back up.
"They are a very thorough group of trolls," Vendel said, inwardly cringing at his words. The last time they had caused a great upheaval over claiming one of the local children was a changeling. He could still remember the fury the association of parents inflicted upon the council. His ears began ringing at even the thought.
"That covers that end, I guess," Atlas said.
"For now," Vendel warned. "As leader of Trollmarket, my powers of protection are limited. The council will expect you to present yourself more often. You will need to prepare yourself."
"What? You were serious about all those books on the way to the council?" Atlas rubbed a hand down his face. "I thought it was punishment for revealing myself to Trollmarket."
"What you did was without a doubt the most foolish thing I have ever witnessed, and I am over a thousand years old."
"Thanks," Atlas said.
"But we cannot change the past. The damage has been done. Now, all we can do is repair what is there and hope it is enough."
Atlas stood erect, moving away from the table. He positioned himself at front of the open window, watching the city below. "And what if it isn't?"
Vendel pulled himself up with the help of his staff, bringing himself to the boy's side.
Atlas stared down at the market, not lifting his gaze. The soft glow of the Heartstone contrasted the sharp shadows in Atlas's face. Though Vendel could not see nearly as well as he did in his youth, he could easily discern the dark circles beneath the teen's eyes.
His greatest regret at Killahead was allowing the younger trolls to participate. Desperation had clouded his judgment at the time and birthed an entire generation of trolls scarred by the experience. Though no troll spoke of it outside private conversations, more than one youngling had chosen the sun over continuing to live, disappearing one day only to be found the next in a pile of rubble.
It was something he would regret unto his dying days.
Perhaps that was why he had covered for the young Trollhunter. Atlas was in a precarious state, balanced across a two-sided blade. It was up to Vendel to control that sword's edge and whether Atlas fell upon it.
"I think you know the answer to that, young Trollhunter," Vendel spoke after he mulled over his next words. "The people need to see us working together. It is imperative we demonstrate a united front. As my grandson, you will be called to do more than simply your Trollhunter duties. You must go above and beyond to gain their acceptance, or else both of us will be killed."
"I'm with you there," Atlas said. "I know I can't mess this up."
Vendel turned his body to the teen, motioning for the teen's attention. "This will not be easy. They will ask about the bridge at the next council."
Atlas's eyes turned cold. He drew his hood over his face, masking his features. "Ask all they want, I'm not telling them where it is."
"You are a strange one, Trollhunter. Why protect such a people?" He asked. "You know they will do everything in their power to release Gunmar and the rest of the Gumm-Gumms."
"Maybe, or maybe not," Atlas said. A small breeze circled through the room, I've got a plan. I'm going to free them from Gunmar."
And oh, did Vendel feel all his years at once. Youth was a fantastical sickness, full of idealism and hope. Thank Deya it was not contagious. "Oh child, that is an impossible dream. Surely you do not expect to turn all Gunmar's most loyal subjects against him."
Blinky piped in, "I would have thought so too, but look at how much Master Atlas has grown. If anyone can change them, it's him."
"It might not be everyone," Atlas admitted. "But there's got to be more than me who don't agree with the status quo, right?"
Vendel glanced over at one of the shelves. Reaching out, he pulled out one of the volumes. It was old, but it would have to do the trick.
"You are particularly optimistic about this, Trollhunter," He said as he handed Atlas the old book. "While I doubt such an endeavor will work, I think it is time you learn the true history of your people."
Atlas's mouth dropped, though he still took hold of the book. "How am I going to find the time between this and the rest of my duties?"
Vendel smirked. "That, young Trollhunter, is your problem, not mine."
First bell blared, knocking Claire out of her musings.
Her eyes scanned the area, widening when she caught Jim walking along the street to school. It was obvious to her, though maybe not for everyone else. Though the teen was relatively normal in appearance, something about him caught her curiosity. She leaned forward, her head sticking out from the backseat between her mom and dad.
"Let's stop here," Claire said.
"You sure you don't want us taking you a little closer, mija?" Her dad asked.
She shook her head, eyes still focused on Jim. "No, this is fine."
He turned closer to her. "But—"
"Let her do what she wants, Javier," Her mom spoke up before returning to her call. "I know you can't babysit that day, but who else am I going to get at such short notice?"
Claire interjected, "You know, maybe you should have had a backup plan for something like this."
"Can't you find anyone? I thought you were a reputable childcare institution. Mark my words, I will be speaking to your boss. This is ridiculous," Claire's mom said, before switching her attention to her daughter. "It looks like you will have to babysit Enrique again, Claire."
"But mom, that's when the concert is," Claire stressed. "I saved up all last summer to get a ticket. You can't just tell me to drop my plans like that."
"And this event could make or break my career," her mom argued back. She massaged her temples. "Listen, I'll pay you back for the concert tickets. You can go another time."
Claire glared, but said nothing. This was ridiculous. How could her mom drop this on her so close to the concert date? She clenched her teeth. Enrique, Enrique, Enrique. Ever since he was born, all her mom worried about was the baby and her job. Claire had become an afterthought. It stung, but she was used to it.
She needed to stay positive. Maybe she could get Darci or Mary to fill in for her. There had to be someone she knew who was free that night.
Her gaze flickered back over to Jim. She needed to hurry. He was already halfway up to the school. Claire's fingers itched for the letter in her backpack. When her dad finally pulled to a stop, she jumped out. Jogging over, she couldn't help but notice Jim's slower gait. Was he waiting up for her? Butterflies danced in her stomach. She called out, "There you are!"
Jim finally looked over his shoulder. Claire's eyes widened. There was a new bruise on the teen's face, right below his right eye. The fluttering in her stomach grounded to a halt. Jim's eyes widened at her approach.
Had it been from one of the monsters he'd talked about in his letter? Or was it a metaphor for something else. She hoped it was the former. The little girl who loved to play Harry Potter and dreamed of distant magical lands and creatures so desperately wanted them to be real. And yet, what if he only meant it symbolically? What kind of person was James Lake Junior truly?
She opened her mouth, but found she couldn't ask the question. What if he denied ever writing the letter? What if it was a prank?
No, not yet. As much as she wanted to ask, she knew she needed to tell Jim about the play first.
Jim's friend was the first to notice her, presenting two finger guns. Claire tried not to cringe. "What's up, Nuñez?"
"Hey, Colby," Claire said.
"It's Toby. Not that it matters," Toby said, leaning against his bike. "You can call me whatever you want—ah!"
She glanced back at the fallen boy, but he waved sheepishly for her to go ahead. Claire approached the steps. She watched as Jim's hands tightened around the shoulder straps of his backpack.
"You've been looking for me?" Jim said, his soft blue eyes scanning her. Though Jim wasn't conventionally attractive, his eyes were a different story. She couldn't describe the shade, but if she had to make a choice, it would be the robin eggs in the nest outside her window.
"You didn't run into Ms. Janeth yet, did you?" Claire asked.
"What? Is she mad I couldn't make rehearsal? Something came up," Jim explained, ending with a soft nervous chuckle. "Steve filled in. That's what understudies are for, right?"
Ah oh. Claire ducked her head slightly. How should she put it? Claire glanced down at the ground before lifting her eyes to the boy. "Uh, you haven't heard? Steve isn't the understudy anymore. You are." Claire walked up the steps, standing eye-level with the boy. "She's tired of you never showing up, so she made Steve Romeo."
Jim appeared shocked for a moment, before a cool mask descended over his features. Claire's heart lurched. It was like he was putting a wall up between them. She wanted to reach out and ask him about the monsters, if his life truly was filled with the creatures she read religiously about in her free time, but now wasn't the time.
"That's probably better in the long run," Jim said dryly. "I've never been much of an actor. Besides, my workload at home has gotten a lot bigger. My…grandpa gave me a new job."
"You're not a bad actor, Jim. You play Romeo well," Claire said. "Maybe your grandpa can give you a few nights of reprieve to make the play."
If he's willing. He's kinda angry at me right now," Jim said, before adding in a longing tone, "Still, I memorized my lines. I don't think Steve even remembers his first line."
Claire giggled before clearing her throat to answer, "Doesn't matter. Ms. Janeth is on a warpath for you. I'd watch out."
"Hey, don't you have algebra with her?" Toby asked.
"Fuck me, it's going to be awkward isn't it?" Jim muttered. "You think she's going to assign even more homework? I can barely understand it as it is."
Claire perked up. The gears in her mind began to turn.
"You know, I did honors algebra last year and was pretty okay at it," Claire lied. Okay? She had the highest grade in that class. She even got an award for it at the annual Academic Achievement Ceremony. But Jim didn't need to know that. "What if you came by my place for a study sesh?"
"Wow, really?" Jim said, scratching the back of his head. "Why would you do something like that? I sort of screwed up your play."
"Promoting Steve to Romeo wasn't your idea." Claire said. "And honestly, I'd rather be on stage with you, even if you are a total flake."
"It's not like I try to be," Jim remarked.
Claire brushed a stray strand behind her ear. "See you tomorrow at six?"
Jim's lips tugged upwards, presenting her a gentle smile. Claire nearly melted. Coupled with his stunning blue eyes and mysterious aura, she was surprised he didn't have a girlfriend yet.
Wait, whoa, whoa, whoa. Claire's cheeks burned. Was she seriously considering this guy for a date? The guy who kept missing rehearsals?
He was probably fighting those monsters, Claire reasoned inwardly. And besides, she could finally ask what he really meant in that letter.
"Yeah, see you at six," Jim said. He brushed past her, Toby joining him.
Claire watched him disappear into the building. Jim was a contradiction. Just when she thought she had him figured out, a new part of his personality emerged. He never talked about his family and the only friend he had was that boy Toby. Not that him and her had ever really talked much outside of the play and a few texts here and there.
But that would change. The study sesh meant she should dive deeper into the mysterious boy's head. What was Jim hiding?
Well, Claire thought, tonight I've going to find out the truth. No more lying. This time, Claire was going to uncover what he really meant in that letter. If the world truly was as magical as he made it sound, Claire wanted in.