Separated

"Hisirdoux." His master's hand landed on his shoulder. "Come. We have work to do."

"But shouldn't we...?" He cast a look back at Claire and Toby, sitting right by Jim's still form, talking to him, trying to lure his spirit back from wherever it had gone. The Trollhunter's chest still moved, upward and downward motions indicative of life... but barely.

Merlin shook his head. "There is nothing more we can do here, and something we can do elsewhere which may be of assistance. Bring your hand."

It took a second for the penny to drop. "Oh. Oh!" Douxie scrambled to grab the tray on which his former hand, and all the grisly bits which he had carved off of it in efforts to free the bracelet, rested.

"I'm coming with you." Archie took to the air, swooping and following them down the hall.

In Merlin's hand, Douxie saw as they walked, were the few, warped, pieces that remained of the Trollhunter amulet. "Do you really think this will work, Master...?"

Merlin's expression was grim. "I had hoped it would not be needed, that he would be strong enough to fight his way back himself. But, alas, I fear the injury was too grave."

"Fuzzbuckets."

Merlin's workroom, fortunately, was not too far away. The master wizard gestured as he entered the room. Candles flared to life, with the polished reflectors behind them increasing the ambient lighting of the dark room. A fire roared to life beneath the cauldron. Several books sailed from their places on the shelves and opened themselves in mid-air, waiting to be read. And a rolled-up scroll lifted itself to the table nearest the fire, unfurled, and nudged its sides and corners beneath weights, to keep it flat.

Merlin himself proceeded to the safe. Its jeweled locks glowed and spun, opening to reveal a store of precious metals as Douxie set his burden safely down on the table. Merlin began to pick and choose among the raw materials. "We'll need the Oraculum," he directed without turning as he worked. "And the focus gems-"

"Will need to be polished, yes, I remember, Master." Douxie turned to go, to fetch the unwieldy piece of equipment from Merlin's storage room.

"Hisirdoux-"

Douxie paused, halfway to the door.

"It is not that I don't trust you, you understand," Merlin said, not looking at him. "Merely that old beliefs can be hard to change."

Douxie had to smile. "I know, Master. Would it help if I said I'd only ever killed those who really deserved it?"

Now Merlin did look at him, eyebrow arched high. "Oh?"

"Tell him about Jack the Ripper," Douxie asked Archie, and went off to fetch the Oraculum.

Merlin's expression, when he returned, hauling the first part of the bulky setup, was thoughtful. And the chunks of metal were melted already in the small cauldron over the fire.

Magic, Douxie had to admit, made short work of smithcraft. Rather than pouring the red-hot metal into painstakingly made moulds, then etching each line of the runes and designwork by hand, a tedious process that should have taken hours or days, Merlin was able to cast the alloy directly in mid-air, temper it (mostly) by airstrikes, cool it with the water casket and a breeze.

"Master," said Douxie cautiously, waiting to be yelled at for his presumption, "didn't you used to tell me 'Magic isn't a permissible shortcut to hard work'?"

"That," said Merlin, "was when there was not a life on the line. Time is of the essence, Hisirdoux. Now come, forge the next piece with me."

As the process moved on and on, one piece after another being made to Merlin's exact specifications, the remaining old pieces used as templates for the new, Douxie realized his master was drawing back from the process, letting him do more and more of the work now that he was certain Douxie could do it properly.

If he was honest with himself, this was exactly how he'd so often hoped his apprenticeship would go.

And how it so seldom had.

Better late than never, thought Douxie.

"Come with me," Merlin instructed after, and led Douxie down to the throne room.

Empty of Arthur, the throne was eerie rather than terrifying. But Merlin, for once, ignored the throne and the ghost of the man who had once sat in it, choosing instead to raise the Round Table from where it was level with the floor. In the dim light of dawn, the embedded gems, each representing a seat of occult and material power, gleamed.

"The gems," Merlin said, leaning low across the table, "have the exact resonance and light transmissions we require." His gaze slid to Douxie. "Which one speaks to you?"

"This isn't working," Claire said finally, after hours of talking. Or pleading with Jim to come back. Of reminding him of all the good times. Of reminding him of their adventures... though "adventures" didn't really seem the right word for what had consisted mostly of pants-wetting terror at the time.

She loved him with her whole heart, and so did Toby, but that apparently wasn't enough to bring him back.

Zoe frowned. "You're a witch," she said abruptly.

"Yeah...?"

"What's your magic?"

"Wait," Toby interrupted. "You think Jimbo needs to be brought back by magic?"

"A soul that has been too traumatized," the little green lady, whose name Claire still hadn't caught, "and too wounded by magical means, may sometimes only be returned by them."

"Uh, no offense," Toby said, "but... who're you?"

She cocked her head to the side. "I am Nari, of the Eternal Forest."

"She's a goddess." Zoe shifted her weight to one side. "Like, an actual literal goddess."

Claire gaped. Then she shook herself. "So how do we get Jim back?"

Nari hopped down from the table and approached Jim. She held her hand over the gaping glowing-green wound in his chest. "This has driven him from this plane." Her golden eyes met Claire's. "To find him, you must seek on another."