Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
first released 4th November 2022
Saturday
"Okay, I can do this," Toby muttered to himself. "I got this. I'm the Trollhunter, I can do this."
Except that part of him would always think Jim was the Trollhunter. Nevermind that this time around, the amulet had called Toby's name...
No. They were both Trollhunters. They were all Trollhunters. Merlin's dipshittery about making his amulet choose and isolate one special person was not going to infect them this time around. No solo trips to the Darklands!
(Well, except for how Jim was totally planning a solo trip to the Darklands. But that was with the kairosect, so nothing could go wrong, right?)
Oh shit, Toby realized. Something is definitely going to go wrong.
Chompsky chittered at him.
"All right, all right," Toby said, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom and facing the gnome. "Here we go." He took a deep breath. "Citizens of Trollmarket!" he intoned, gazing into the mid-distance and doing his best to remember how Steve had stood, and acted, and gestured as Mercutio, because, yeah, Steve was still kind of a tool, but he'd been good on stage, flashy and impressive. "In one week, your Trollhunters will be releasing Gunmar into the town square to, uh, beat his ass, and we want you to come help us, showing everyone, uh, human, that there's good trolls as well as bad."
He looked expectantly at Chompsky.
The gnome crossed his arms and shook his head.
"Aw, come on!" Toby protested. "Speeches are hard! Even Jimbo sucks at them. You got any better ideas?"
Chompsky looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. He ran up to his dollhouse and carried his wife out. He sat Sally down on the floor, positioning her carefully to be his audience, then stepped back. He coughed into his fist, then raised his head and began to speak.
To most people, apparently, gnomespeak was unintelligible. But Toby had long since figured it out and could understand Chompsky... well, better than he understood Douxie when he got going on with magic jargon, that was for sure!
So he listened to the gnome now. After a moment, he reached up to his desk for pencil and paper, and started taking notes.
Jim leaned in and looked at his reflection in the mirror.
"Sweet sixteen again," he murmured, turning his head from side to side.
Well, at least he wasn't due to start getting the stray bits of facial hair for another year or so. And, hey, bonus! He actually knew how to shave now, so that should be a lot less frustrating and traumatizing than it had been the first time around.
He was still missing some of the muscle that two years of Trollhunting and weapons work had built up. But he was pretty much on track for where he'd been at this point the first time around.
And he had both his half-troll form and his full-troll form. Access to the former felt like a breath of relief. Being able to shift to the latter was... more conflicting. But Douxie had been right, and having that body available, should Jim need it, was a different kind of comfort. Certainty and solidarity, if nothing else.
He brushed his fingers through his hair, lifting his bangs up to reveal the circlet around his head. He could always see it, even if most other people couldn't. But at this point, it was honestly a negligible weight. He forgot about it most of the time. In fact, he'd caught himself showering with it still on more than once.
The green gem winked at him in the mirror. He sighed, letting his bangs go, hiding it once again. He couldn't help but wish that it, and Excalibur's gemstone, were blue like Douxie's magic instead of green like Merlin's...
But maybe that was Nimue's point? Jim was what Merlin had made him.
In a way, they all were.
His fingers brushed over his eyebrow, where his scar had been, across his nose, and to the opposite cheek, tracing the path of the missing marks. He didn't really remember getting them; most of the time he'd been controlled by Arthur was a haze. But he thought he remembered hitting, and being hit.
Those marks had come from Aaarrrgghh's hands.
It felt right, somehow, that of all his injuries, his only lasting visible scars had originated from battling someone he loved.
He would never go against his team again.
But-and here Jim and his reflection quirked a smile-he did kind of miss the scars. Claire had said they'd looked dashing. Douxie, then in New York City, had agreed. Krel had grumbled about the idiocy of judging one's looks by injury, but in the end had agreed that they lent Jim's appearance an aesthetically pleasing asymmetry.
Steve had just crowed that it was karmic justice for Jim knocking out his tooth.
"All right," he told himself. "Enough introspection."
He had a date with Claire to keep.
Being allowed back in his own workspace was the best thing that had happened to Krel all week.
Well, he allowed, the demise of the Birdy, and having Douxie lay a curse on Colonel Kubritz, were a most satisfying second and third place. But being up and out of his room was the best of all. And making things even better, he had the whole Mothership to himself! Aja was out on a date with the Oaf, and Varvatos had taken Luug with him to the Domzalski house.
Freedom!
And the silence to hear himself think, without anyone chattering or yelling or barking.
He might have instructed Ricky and Lucy to stay up in the house section of the Mothership while he worked. And Mother herself knew him well enough to remain quiet, though he was quite sure she was still monitoring him as his recovery was not yet at 100%.
Humming to himself, Krel put on some background music and set to on his latest project, recreating and improving the interstellar communications device that would allow them to contact Lieutenant Zadra and the Akiridion resistance.
He was not looking forward to going through Zadra's admittedly justifiable blame of Varvatos for all that had happened. She was intelligent, but also extremely stubborn; a mere explanation of time travel shenanigans, and the fact that for the three of them, that had all happened literal keltons in the past and that Vex had since redeemed himself and more than paid for his crimes...
Yeah, Krel thought, tapping at the cryonic crystal helix of the communicator with his sonic screwdriver, that is not going to work on Zadra.
The crystal reverberated at the correct frequency. Almost absently, he turned to the holoscreen that was monitoring his background music, and layered that resonating sound on top of the others. It was still a while until the Battle of the Bands, but it was never too soon to start working on his entry, right?
He was going to blow Douxie, and his band, out of the water this time!
But first...
"Mother," he said, "I need amplification on the interstellar frequencies."
"Yes, Prince Krel," she replied.
He carefully turned the subspace resonator, one micron at a time. Everything faded from his attention except the work as he tuned, and listened.
At first, all Krel could hear was the hissing patter of cosmic radiation. Then the pulsing heartbeat of the nearest star. Farther out, the low, eerie moans of black holes. The rushed crystalline singing of deep space comets. And finally, finally, the rapid-fire databursts of the closest warp field, information packets from superior civilizations being slung back and forth across the data checkpoint like the universe would fall apart if they ever stopped.
"I need to isolate those bands which originate from the Akiridion system," he said.
"Of course." Mother's icon bobbed in mid-air for a moment, brightening.
"Jim!" Claire raised her hand into the air and waved.
Jim grinned and stepped up the pace, jogging the last half-block to her. "Hey, how's it going?"
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before taking his hand, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, I'm so glad I'm out of the house today."
"Your mom getting on your nerves?"
"My mom and NotEnrique," Claire said as they walked down the sidewalk together. "I swear, either they're screaming at each other in two languages-and my mom's started picking up some Trollish, so they can both make it three, can you believe it?-or they're plotting the takeover of Arcadia in the next election cycle."
"Wow." Jim blinked. "So he's starting to fit in with your family, then?"
Claire flashed him a grin. "Yeah, it's pretty great. With someone else to carp at, my mom's almost leaving me alone now."
"Who knew NotEnrique would be good at politics?" Jim mused as they arrived at the theater.
"I guess it's not really surprising?" Claire asked. "I mean, he's a changeling, and they're all pretty good at it, right?"
The ticket-booth guy's head jerked up at that, his eyes wide.
"Shh." Jim put a finger to his lips and winked. "Our secret, right?" he told the guy. Who nodded warily. "Ask Strickler if you have any questions, okay?"
"Okay..."
"We'll take two tickets for Romancing the Stone," Jim said. "My mom said it's good," he told Claire.
"So does the internet," she replied. "You get the tickets, I'll get the popcorn?"
"Deal."
"And this here is my new special," Stuart said, handing it out carefully through the window. "It's a tostada, but instead of having the tortilla moulded into a cup-like shape, it's fried flat. I call it the 'Unidentified Frying Object.' Give it a try, Princess."
"Lively," Aja said, accepting the food with both hands.
"We'll let you know how it goes, man," Steve said, winding his free hand around Aja's waist and leading her away as she turned the UFO Special one way then the other, examining it.
"I like your planet's idea of 'dates'," Aja said as they both found seats under one of the oak trees that dotted the park. She took a bite of the crispy edge of the tostada and chewed, enjoying the way it crunched between her teeth. "Food and privacy in equal measure."
"Yeah? So what's dating like where you're from?" Steve asked, lounging beside her, head held up on one arm while he held his burrito with the other. She thought he was maybe trying to look 'cool' for her. It was sweet.
"Well, I do not know all that much about how most Akiridions go about such things," Aja admitted. "For Krel and myself, there was always going to be a certain amount of pre-arrangement involved."
"Pre-arrangement?" Steve asked.
She waved a hand, searching for the right words. "We were only introduced to other children 'of good families.' Mostly, they were okay. Some were so boring, though. And the way their parents looked at us..." She shuddered at the memory. "It was obvious that they only wanted an alliance with the royal house."
"Hey, yeah, so how does that work, anyway?" Steve shifted himself higher. "I mean, I know you and Krel and your parents all have four arms, right? And Varvatos said something about that being the mark of a royal?"
"Ah." Aja took another hearty bite, munching while she thought. "In times past, Akiridion-5 was divided into many royal houses," she explained. "Each ruled over a part of the world. Over time, however, they began to intermarry, and combine their kingdoms, until there were only two left, House Akram and House Ventis. How they hated each other!" She laughed, thinking of some of the stories of her ancestors despising and attempting to dethrone one another. "Eventually, however, my Mama and Papa met one another, and fell in love. Their union joined the two houses into one new house: House Tarron."
"Whoa." Steve was wide-eyed. "Sounds like Romeo and Juliet. Y'know, if it had a happier ending."
"Indeed." Aja nodded. "I have read that play. It does indeed bear many similarities to the history of my family."
"So, like, what if someone who wasn't from a royal house married in?" Steve asked.
"Oh, that is easy! As part of the marriage vows, the new member of the House would accept a reconfiguration of their core," Aja explained. She looked at her human-seeming hands. "You see, royal Akiridions have four arms for a reason: two for love and family. And two with which to carry the burden of responsibility for their people."
"Whoa," Steve whispered again.
"Of course, that is what Mama told us," Aja said thoughtfully. "Papa said something different. He said it was so that we could hold hands simultaneously with Seklos and Gaylen."
"Seklos and Gaylen?"
"Gaylen is the being who made Akiridion-5, and our people," Aja explained seriously. "And Seklos is the one who saw Gaylen's path of destruction, and sacrificed herself to stop him. So in a way, Papa's story is the same as Mama's: responsibility for our people." Which was faintly depressing, she realized. That forever, she would be responsible for Akiridion-5. Without even Krel to share the burden with her, for he would surely choose again to stay here on Earth, which he had come to love like a home.
Eli had tried, and risen marvelously to the burden. And she had no doubt that Steven would likewise help shore her up, when the time came. But they were neither of them Akiridion.
They would age, and die so soon, Aja thought, the taste of her food disappearing from her mouth.
She took a deep breath and shoved the unhappiness away with all four hands. There was time still to figure out a solution. Perhaps Krel could come up with something. Or Douxie.
And in the meantime, she was not the Queen of Akiridion-5. That was Mama. And, Seklos willing, she and Krel and their friends would find a way to defeat Morando without any lives being sacrificed. Mama and Papa could return home to rule, and Aja could have just a little more time to grow up, on this wondrous and strange world so alien, and yet in some ways so similar, to her own.
"You know, Casperan," Zoe said, her grip tight on him as he controlled the broomstick, "most guys, when they say they'll pick you up on the way to band practice, use a method of transportation that involves wheels."
"Come on, Zoe, you don't want ADP to be just like all the other bands out there, do you?" Douxie tossed back lightly.
"Have you ever considered a motorcycle?" she shot back at him.
"You want to be badass on two wheels, be my guest," he returned. Learning to drive had been one thing when cars all started with a crank and you'd be hard-pressed to get into an accident with another vehicle on the road. Nowadays, with vehicles faster, tougher, and almost thicker on the ground than humans, the prospect seemed much too risky. "I prefer something that's not subject to the whims of weather and hydroplaning."
"This is California-" she started to rant. He grinned, and mostly tuned out her spiel about the eternal drought. Eventually she wound down.
"Johnny had a motorcycle," she said eventually, sadly, into his back.
That caught him. "So he did," Douxie said softly. The wound was still fresh, for all that Johnny had been dead for years now.
Years they hadn't known about.
Zoe's grip tightened on his hoodie. "You're not allowed to die on me too, Casperan."
"Not planning on it, Zo'."
"Okay," said Claire, sitting down at the table, "but consider this: if we told Blinky or Aaarrrgghh the title of the movie, they would have a completely different idea of what it's about."
Jim paused, blinking, as he considered what trolls might think a movie titled "Romancing the Stone" was about.
"Okay, you have a point," he conceded, settling into his own seat. "And I do not want to think about what they'd think it was about."
"Galatea, maybe," Claire offered. "Thank you," she said to the waiter as he handed her a menu.
Jim knew his expression was blank.
"Pygmalion," she prompted him. "Sculptor who falls in love with his work?"
"Oh!" Bells rang in Jim's head. "Yeah, I can imagine the trolls thinking it was about something like that."
Better that than... something more prurient. Which he did not want to think about!
But now he couldn't get the thought out of his head. Did trolls even have porn?
Jim resisted the urge to start hitting his head against the table.
"So," he asked instead, trying to focus on his date, not on the sex lives (or lack thereof) of another species, "What looks good to you?"
"It seems so odd to be doing this in the middle of the day." Barbara's fingers combed through Waltolomew's hair. "Makes me feel like a naughty schoolgirl or something."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is student/teacher roleplay something you're interested in, then?"
She took a moment, clearly considering her answer before she replied. "Is it disappointing to say I'm really not? I mean, power imbalances aren't really my kink."
"Honestly, I'm fairly relieved," he replied, relaxing back into the cushions.
"Ooh, yeah." She blinked and pushed herself upright. "Between Bular and Gunmar and, I imagine, a good portion of your life..."
"More like all of it." His teeth unconsciously gritted, remembering literal centuries of clawing his way up into some semblance of power. "But no." He refocused his attention. "More that I'm finding the actual work of being a principal to be rather tedious."
"Not sexy at all?" She grinned.
Her smile was infectious. "Not sexy at all," he confirmed. Though the thought of her perched, legs crossed in a pencil skirt, on his desk did hold some appeal. However unlikely it was to happen.
But Barbara gave a long sigh and lowered herself down onto his chest. "Are you worried?" she asked quietly.
"Terrified," Waltolomew confessed. Which was not a weakness he'd ever thought he would admit to anyone else. "I've spent so much of my life terrified, Barbara. I know it well. But the thought of next weekend... it's a new flavor."
She hummed tonelessly. "As a doctor," she said eventually, "you have to learn the line between caring and professional detachment. Otherwise you'll spend too much of yourself and burn out within a year. Two, tops."
"Oh, I can do what I must," he reassured her.
"Not what I meant." She pushed herself up on her elbows and met his gaze. "Going into a surgery, knowing someone's life is in your hands... that's the most terrifying thing I've ever felt. It's why I'm not a surgeon. I couldn't deal with that every day."
"More terrifying than parenthood?" he asked her.
She drew a breath. Let it out. "Yes," she admitted. "Jim's always been so good, I've never really worried about him. I took all the steps I could to guard him. Covers on the outlets when he was little, swim lessons as soon as he was old enough, first aid lessons as soon as he was old enough... but by the time babies become people, and then little men, you have to start letting go. So, yes. Even when he told me he's really two years older than I thought and doing things that are a hell of a lot more dangerous than I ever believed."
"It probably helped that he came to you at that point with a built-in support structure." He reached up and brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, marveling anew at her beauty. Perhaps it was crass; he'd been birthed a troll, and she a human. But his tastes in this were distinctly cross-species.
Barbara smiled, dazzling. "That probably helped, yes," she admitted. She cocked her head to one side. "What about you, Walt? Do you feel like you've got enough of a support structure?"
"Having a support structure will not prevent sudden death at Gunmar's hands," he pointed out. "But... yes. I am far more hopeful now than I have been... ever." He felt like he finally understood some things that had long eluded him. He'd had to rework several of his history lesson plans, due to new insight into human nature. "I find myself having to revise many assumptions."
Her mouth, soft and swollen with kisses, curved into a smile. "Did you ever see Robin Hood? The Kevin Costner version."
"To my regret, yes."
"Don't be horrible." She smacked him on the shoulder. "I'm thinking of the scene where everyone's running away, and Azeem gets them to fight with Robin Hood. 'I fight against the tyrant who holds you under his boot.'"
He could understand the parallel she was trying to draw. Gunmar as the Sheriff. Jim, he supposed, as Robin of Locksley. Himself as Azeem? "Not Morgan Freeman's best role," Waltolomew murmured. "Though I admit Alan Rickman had a rare gift for chewing scenery."
Barbara laughed. "And I'll admit that I mostly watched the movie because I had the biggest crush on Christian Slater."
"Didn't everyone," he said dryly.
Her fingers traced along the shoulder she'd smacked, then across his chest. They ended above where his human, at the moment, heart beat. "You're not allowed to die," she told him, something unexpectedly serious and vulnerable in her voice. "Not the boys, not you, not anyone except that bastard who'd kill us all. Got it?"
He stared for a moment, stunned. She always seemed so in control. Yet there was something clearly vulnerable visible beneath her cracked facade.
He swallowed. Captured her hand. Kissed it. "For you, my dear," he swore, "anything."
Gil stared as Douxie's broom coasted to a stop in front of his open garage. Zoe hopped off, followed by Archie. Douxie stepped down, caught up the broom and twirled it, bringing the broom head to rest on the shoulder that didn't carry his guitar case.
"What," said their bass player, "the fuck."
Beside Gil, Marti stared also. Their bubblegum balloon popped. "What he said," Marti agreed.
Douxie exchanged a look with Zoe. Band practice was probably scrubbed, he thought regretfully. He could have used some distraction from everything magical. But this was important too. "Um," he said, trying to figure out where to start. "I'm a wizard?"
"Like Harry Potter shit, or...?"
Zoe rolled her eyes. "Like he's the apprentice of Merlin Fucking Ambrosius shit," she rebutted.
"Ex-apprentice," Douxie reminded her.
"Whatever."
Marti scoffed. "Since when?"
"Uh. The year eleven-fourteen...?" Douxie asked, trying to remember when, exactly, Merlin had taken him on.
"July of eleven-thirteen," Archie corrected him.
Gil yelped, jumping back. "What the shit?! Your cat talks?!"
Douxie sighed and hung his head. "This is why I hate telling people," he muttered. He forced a smile onto his face and looked back up, holding his hand out. "Hi. I'm Hisirdoux Casperan, formerly of Camelot. I'm 917 years old, and a wizard."
Marti looked at his hand, rolled their eyes, and turned away, walking to the drum set.
But Gil stepped closer again. "Seriously?" he asked.
Douxie nodded, letting a bit of blue plasma ghost around his fingers. "Seriously."
"Which is related," Zoe butted in, "to why you guys aren't allowed to go to the town center next Saturday night."
"Wow," said Jim, after they'd finished giving their orders and the waiter had walked away. "You must be really hungry."
Claire shrugged. "Kind of?" she said. "But..." A sigh. "You know what Douxie keeps saying, about magic use and burning up calories?"
"Uh-huh." Jim nodded.
"I figure, since we know there's a big battle coming up... I'm going to try packing on the calories this week in anticipation. That way I'll run less risk of running dry or just passing out after, the way he does sometimes."
Jim blinked. Turned the idea over in his mind. "I have no idea if that'll work," he said after a few seconds. "But I don't know that it won't, either. So it's worth a try."
Claire grinned at him.
"Split a milkshake with you, after?" he offered.
"You're on."
"Lord and Lady Tarron, can you hear me?"
Krel fumbled with and nearly dropped the communicator.
"Prince and Princess Tarron, can you hear me?"
"Zadra!" he yelped, tapping frenetically at the device. "I'm here! Can you hear me?"
"If you can hear me, there was a traitor on Akiridion-5," she continued, apparently /not/ able to hear him. "Sweet Seklos, this blasted-" Her voice dissolved into static for a moment.
"Ay yi yi," Krel muttered, face meeting palm. "Why did I not finish this device sooner?"
"If you can hear me, I know the identity of the traitor! I repeat, I know the identity of the traitor." Her voice vanished back into the static again.
"Ugh." Krel set down the device. "Dealing with all that again is going to be fun."
