Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
first released 9th December 2022

Saturday

"Douxie." A paw poked him in the shoulder.

"Mmm? Arch?" He blinked his way muzzily awake.

His familiar was standing on the bed, a concerned expression on his face. "You'd better come downstairs."

Douxie looked at his clock, glaring red digital numbers that made no sense for a moment. And when they did make sense, it was as a number far, far lower than they should be for any decent time of rising. He groaned and let his head thump down onto his pillow. "It's not time to get up yet," he complained. But then he sniffed the air and paused. "Chocolate...?"

"Indeed," Archie said.

"At this hour?" Douxie unwillingly found his feet and pushed to them, heading toward the stairs. The door to Barbara's room was fast shut, probably as much for Jim's peace of mind as for the privacy that it afforded Barbara and Strickler.

Jim's door, he noticed as he passed it, was ajar.

And downstairs the kitchen lights were bright on. The counters were covered with baked goods, the oven running hot, and something bubbled in a pot atop the stove. Jim himself was wielding a wooden spoon, mixing batter in a bowl.

"Jim?" Douxie asked. "What's all this?"

"Douxie! Hi!" Jim was wide-eyed and... well, possibly hyped up on something.

Douxie exchanged a glance with Archie, suddenly understanding why the dragon had woken him. "How long have you been up? Baking," he added.

"I dunno. Hours? I mean, I promised you brownies."

Douxie took a deep breath. "Jim." He stepped forward and took the bowl from his hands, setting it down on a clear spot on the counter. "I do not need brownies more than you need a good night's sleep."

Jim met his eyes, then glanced away. "I can't- I can't sleep. So I might as well be doing something, right?"

Douxie sighed. "Don't play this game with me, Jim. I'm older than you. Significantly. Take it from me, evading the issue never works. What's wrong?"

Jim's mouth worked silently for a minute. Finally he looked back at Douxie. "I don't know," he said, frustration and a tinge of whine in his voice. "I just can't..." His voice ran out.

Douxie breathed in and out. He draped his arm around Jim's shoulders. "Come on. Bunk in with me."

"It's stupid," Jim complained. "Going back to the Darklands shouldn't be affecting me like this-"

"Why on Earth would going back to the scene of one of your greatest personal traumas affect you?" Douxie asked the ceiling airily. "After all, it's not like you endured physical and psychological torture there."

"Shut up." Jim shoved at his shoulder.

"Come on." Douxie pulled. "Bed."

"No, I have to watch the stove-"

A flick of Douxie's fingers turned the burner off. "Timer's for the oven?" he asked.

"Yeah-"

"I'll take care of it," Archie said, transforming into a Douxie-double. "And then I will be joining the two of you."

"You do yourself no favors by keeping things like this to yourself, you know," Douxie told his brother and king, guiding him to the stairs.

"I know. But it's just hard, talking about it." A sniff, and Jim rubbing at his eyes.

"I know," Douxie softly agreed. "I know, Jim."


Claire woke slowly, in silence. For once, she'd turned her alarm off and let herself sleep in, knowing that today was going to be a long day... and tonight, an even longer night. But turning off her alarm did no good, she discovered, as she woke up at the same time anyway, driven by habit.

The house really was quiet, though, she thought as she dressed and made her way downstairs. Normally she'd expect Papá to be singing while he made breakfast. Or Mamá to be cooing at Enrique, feeding him baby mush. Or, more recently, having an argument back and forth with NotEnrique as he stole the sections of the newspaper she wanted to read. (If the fighting got too bad, NotEnrique tended to end the argument by eating the paper, which really didn't help. But if it remained semi-cordial, they'd end up trading financials for political reports. Claire wondered just how much of his foster family the changeling was modeling himself after, and if he even realized he was doing it.)

But today... silence.

She poked her head into the dining room, and the kitchen. Both were empty.

She found her family in the living room, gathered around votive candles. NotEnrique was watching the flames with fascination as they reflected in his eyes. Mamá had a rosary, her grandmother's, in her hands and was rubbing its beads between her fingers, a steady litany falling from her lips as she, too, watched the candles burn. Papá had his head bowed and his hands pressed together, but he was the only one who noticed Claire at the doorway. He inclined his head, inviting her to join them.

Claire crossed the room and knelt beside her brother. Mamá's voice never faltered, though she acknowledged Claire's presence with a tilt of her head.

Claire ran fingers over the stone of her amethyst ring. She didn't know what she believed any longer. After all, Nimue and Nari and the rest of the Arcane Order were gods. But they weren't the same kind of thing as God, were they? They were... smaller. Nature gods, maybe, she thought, as opposed to the Creator of the universe.

Claire swallowed, suddenly aware of her own insignificance. She felt like a speck in the face of someone like Bellroc, who had taken their entire team and swatted them away as if they were nothing.

And compared to Bellroc? God was so impossibly vast a concept that Claire realized she couldn't even comprehend a mind that moved on that scale.

She had once (and only once) tried to talk about this with Douxie. Wizard-to-wizard. But she'd come out of that conversation holding no more clarity than she'd gone into it with. Because Douxie was either agnostic or polytheistic, depending on how you counted it, and if someone who'd been knocking around the world for nine hundred years didn't have any clarity about what really existed out there, running the cosmos, how could Claire even begin to decide for herself?

She breathed in and out, listening to her mother's quiet entreaties, watching the flickering flames of the votives.

It hurt, not knowing what to believe.

She closed her eyes, and added her own silent prayers that Jim would get Enrique safely home, and that no one she loved would get hurt tonight.


Douxie woke and found himself being used as a pillow by a sleeping divine king. His arm had no sensation in it; his hand and fingers were dead.

"Arch," he whispered to the familiar perched at the foot of his bed, "help?"

Archie raised Douxie's phone and took a picture.

Douxie glared.

Archie smirked.

Douxie huffed and let his head fall deeper into the pillow as he contemplated the ceiling and useless, unhelpful familiars who liked nothing better than to get a laugh in at his expense-

His musings were interrupted by the thump of a cat's form onto the bed, and the feeling of footsteps walking up his stomach, one paw at a time being sure to press down its full ten ton weight onto his middle, until at last his familiar stood over him, looking down with large gold eyes magnified by his glasses.

Archie smirked again, a snide little expression, and leaned his head into Jim's, purring loud enough to put a jet engine to shame.

Jim shifted, just enough that Douxie could pull his arm free.

He scrambled to sit upright while Jim rolled back into the now empty spot on his pillow.

Archie's smirk got even more pointed as he abandoned Jim and curled up in Douxie's lap. "Thanks," Douxie breathed, massaging his wrist with his other hand. The numbness was already wearing off, a million tiny fireworks going off as nerves woke back up. "Ugh."

"It's well past time for you both to be up," Archie said. His tone gentled as he looked at Jim. "You managed well enough before I came up?"

"Yeah." Douxie let his gaze rest on Jim. "Poor kid doesn't really have anyone older to confide in, you know? He's either the leader, or the best friend or lover, or son. And he doesn't want to let anyone down."

"Hmm." Archie also considered Jim. "I suppose you'll have to teach him that it's all right to be weak as well as strong, before those he loves."

"Vulnerability is hard," Douxie pointed out.

Archie headbutted against his chest. "Learning new expressions of trust is always terrifying," he said softly.

"It is indeed." Douxie draped both arms around Archie and hugged. "Love you, Arch."

"And I you, Douxie."


Downstairs, he found Barbara and Strickler at the dining table with cups of tea. The latter was in yesterday's clothing, though Douxie would not know that if he didn't know it. Both were sneaking periodic glances at the loaded kitchen counters.

"Douxie," Barbara said as soon as she saw him, "do you know anything about this?" Her gesture encompassed the kitchen.

"Alas, I do." He joined them at the table. Archie jumped up onto his own chair. "Jim was having a bit of a problem getting to sleep last night, so he decided to bake."

"He was having a stress reaction to the thought of returning to the Darklands," Archie betrayed, in a remarkably brisk manner.

Douxie winced. "Yeah, what he said." He gestured at the cat, who was now washing a paw over one ear.

Barbara's eyes were wide. "A stress reaction?"

But Strickler's expression was illuminated, understanding. "It's... not the easiest place to live," he said. "Especially not for someone who didn't grow up there."

"Especially not when Gunmar's got it in for you." Douxie sighed. "Jim's being very brave about having to go back to a place where he was tortured. But even so, there's limits to what he can take without needing a bit of time to crack into a puddle. So apparently he stress-bakes."

Some time later, when they were all finishing up toast and eggs, Jim stumbled downstairs with a stunning case of bedhead. He headed blearily to his usual seat and collapsed onto the table, head buried in his arms.

"You didn't have to get up yet, you know," Douxie told him. Even he had a bit of a lie-in. In light of the evening's coming events and the need for the both of them to prepare, he and Jamie had discussed things with Mister Del Toro, and so, (unusually), the bookstore was closed today.

Jim made an incomprehensible noise then raised his head up to complain, "Your bedroom's too bright."

Douxie snickered.

"Anyway," Jim continued, "I need to go try out the Fetch and figure out where, exactly, the bridge will be spitting me out into the Darklands. I have stuff to do."

"Jim," said his mother, "is all this baking for anyone specific, or can I take a plate of cookies in to work with me for the staff?"

"Oh. Um." Jim looked at the kitchen. "The brownies are earmarked. Take in whatever you want."

"Great." She got up and rifled through a cabinet, pulling out a plastic container and starting to put what looked like chocolate chip cookies in it. As she worked, Barbara took a bite of one.

She stopped, her eyes going wide. Then she hastily spit the cookie bit out into her hand.

"Barbara?" Strickler asked.

She was clearly trying to scrape the taste of the cookie off her tongue with her teeth. "Um, Jim, were you trying a new recipe...?"

"Uh... I don't remember?" Jim asked.

Strickler stood and took the cookie from Barbara's hand, taking a small nibble himself. The expression he made was glorious to behold. "This is... actually," he said thoughtfully, "this tastes rather like troll food." As quickly as he had said that, he shifted form and was green-skinned. He took another bite, and there was no mistaking how his eyes blew wide and pleasure overwrote his expression. "My word," he said softly.

"What?" Jim demanded, standing and going to grab a cookie for himself. "Yech," he said at first bite. A moment later, armor-clad and blue-skinned, he tried again. "Holy shit, that's good," he said, staring at the cookie he had made.

"Jim!"

"Sorry, Mom."

Douxie exchanged a look with Archie, and burst out laughing.

"Douxie!" Jim glared at him. "It's not funny!"

"Oh yes it is!" he cackled gleefully. "You stress bake troll food! All those cookbooks Blinky's been loaning you...!"

"This is all inedible," Jim groused, looking at the covered counters. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

Archie sniffed and shrugged. "Take it down to Trollmarket. Spread some goodwill."


Toby didn't know how he got shanghai'd into helping Jim and Douxie haul literal tubs of troll goodies down to Trollmarket, but he had to admit, spending time down there being thanked by the denizens was nice for a change. Even Bagdwella, after her first taste of what was apparently trollish fudge, seemed to glow with happiness.

"Y'know," Toby said, thinking aloud, "there's something going on here that I might very well name bribery, Jimbo."

Douxie snickered, but did not disagree.

"I know," Jim said tiredly. The dude had bags under his eyes almost as bad as Douxie's. "But trust me, Toby, I just really want all this stuff out of my kitchen. Wait, no, not that one-" He caught Toby pulling another box out of the tote. "I'm taking that one to Nomura after we finish here."

"See previous comment on bribery," Douxie murmured.

Jim glared.

"You should've seen how much Strickler took with him when he left this morning," Douxie told Toby. "I will swear our green friend has as much of a sweet tooth as I do."

"How did warding the hospital go, anyway?" Jim asked him.

Douxie shrugged. "It went? The hospital should be a Gumm-Gumm free zone, at least."

"And the attempt at an anti-goblin ward... well, at the least, it didn't explode anything," added Archie.

Toby's eyes widened. "Explode?"

Douxie winced. "Experimental magic can be... somewhat combustible. Which is why I don't tend to mess with it except in direst need."


Nomura unlatched the glass case and carefully lifted out the artifact within. At this time of day, even on a weekend, the Arcadia Oaks Museum was lightly occupied; the only occupants of this hall, other than herself and the Trollhunters' coterie, were an elderly couple, the man clinging to the woman's sturdy arm as they made their way up Killahead Bridge.

She eyed them, then looked away. Let them climb it while they still had the chance. She had no idea what condition the bridge would be left in, after tonight.

"Don't drop this," she instructed, handing the Fetch to Jim. "If the crystals get smashed, it's useless."

"Got it."

"We'll have it back in twenty minutes," Claire promised. "We just need to peek through where the bridge will be, to figure out where in the Darklands it is."

"Twenty minutes," Nomura repeated. "Or I come after your hides."


"Okay, so, here." Claire gestured at the street right in front of the museum. A few cars were parked by the side of the road. Jim stepped between them, as close as he could get to street center without risking getting hit by a car. He took a deep breath, then another.

"Here goes," he said, sounding nervous, and pulled the circle of the Fetch down over his head.

He looked no less strange with his head in another dimension than Toby ever had.

Slowly, he turned around in a circle as Claire kept watch. His fingers, she noticed with concern, were so tightly grasped on the frame of the Fetch that his knuckles were turning white.

After a long moment, Jim raised the Fetch back up over his head and held it out in front of himself, frowning as he looked at it.

"Jim?" Claire touched his arm.

He swallowed and looked at her. "He's got an army."

Claire nodded. "We kind of expected that, though."

"I saw... I saw Dictatious," he said. "Off in the distance."

"Well, Blinky told us he and Aaarrrgghh are going to deal with his brother," she reminded him. Jim's fingers were trembling. She touched his arm. "Jim, what's wrong?"

He gave an aborted laugh. "I just- I really don't want to go back there," he said. His eyes met hers. "But I need to get Enrique, and I'm the only one who knows the way."

"Are you going to be close enough?" she asked. "Because if you're not, we table the whole thing for a day or two."

He swallowed and nodded. "I think I can get there and back. Probably. If Aja's hoverboard goes through the portal okay."

"And if it doesn't," Claire tried to assure him, "you abort the mission and we try again another day, all right?" She wanted to make it clear to him that was a valid option. Her mother could disapprove all she liked, but Ophelia Nuñez could not get Enrique back without Jim, so she'd just have to deal.

"Yeah," Jim said, and if she didn't know him so well, she'd think he was okay. He smiled, and she could tell he was trying hard to be okay, for her sake and others'. "Yeah, I know."


"So, uh, Coach?" Steve asked.

His stepdad-to-be looked up from an intent perusal of the Sports section. "Yeah?"

"You know," Steve said, sitting down at the table, "I was thinking maybe you could take Mom out tonight? A nice, um, romantic evening or something? Kind of a surprise?"

"Oh?" Coach put the paper down and seemed to think about it. "You think Laraine would like that?"

"Yeah!" Steve nodded enthusiastically. "But, um. Not anywhere near the town square, okay?"

It took a moment, but then Coach narrowed his eyes. "Why not the town square?"

Steve swallowed. "There's... there's kind of going to be a big battle there tonight, and I don't want you or Mom to get accidentally hurt," he said in a rush. "So can you just please, please promise me you guys won't go there tonight?"

Jim was a king, and Jim had told him he was a knight, and that a knight's job was to keep people from getting hurt. So Steve was getting a head start on that.

Coach's eyes widened, then he nodded. "All right," he said. A meaty hand came to rest on Steve's shoulder. "But you gotta promise me you're not gonna get hurt either, okay?"

"Okay!" Steve practically felt swamped by the wave of relief that flooded through him.

"Your mother'd kill me, and I just... I just don't want you hurt, okay?" Coach seemed anxious about that.

"I promise, Coach. No one gets hurt tonight."


"Mom," Eli said, "don't you have your book club in a couple hours?"

"I do."

Eli sighed. Wine night and gossiping with her girlfriends it was. "And you're meeting at, um, Phyllis' house this week?"

"Yes. Do you need me to give you dinner money, honey?"

"No. I'm meeting up with some friends at Jim Lake's house, and he's making dinner." He didn't /like/ lying to his mom, but it was better than the alternative.

"Is that Steven boy going to be there?"

Eli winced. "Probably...?" Why his mom had latched onto Steve as the source of her wrecked car, he still wasn't sure. But letting her blame him was (probably) better than if she thought Eli had been the one driving.

His mom gave a narrow glare and a sniff. "If he is, you keep well away from him, Elijah."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Okay. Be sure you get home before curfew."

"Yes, Mom."


"I must say, that is never less than impressive."

Douxie crooked a smile at Stuart. "You want impressive magic, you should see Merlin or Morgana battling it out sometimes."

"Or not," Archie put in from Douxie's shoulder.

"If you say so. Still." Stuart touched fingers to where the sigil had landed and faded into invisibility on his truck. "It's rather stirring, seeing real magic at work. Especially since I can't do it myself."

"You've really never seen magic being worked anywhere other than on Earth?" Douxie asked, his interest piqued. He'd have thought that surely, somewhere among the thousands of civilizations Krel had told him were active in the galaxy, someone would be openly using magic.

(Nebulous thoughts about Earth being the center of the universe, and the heartstone under Arcadia being the last of the primordial heartstones, chased shivers down his spine. This place, this planet, his people, couldn't be that unique, could they? Because the nail that stuck up always, always, in his experience, got hammered down.)

Stuart shrugged. "Oh, you hear rumors, idle gossip. But never anything concrete, you understand. So if there are any wizards out there in space, my friend, they're as secretive and underground as you yourself are." His hand on Douxie's shoulder was friendly.

"I'm not sure if that's more terrifying or relieving," Douxie told him honestly.

"Go for relief," Stuart advised. "You'll sleep better at night. Now, have you finished putting those magic protection spells of yours on all the other trucks too?"

"I have," Douxie told him.

"Then allow me to introduce you-and you as well, Archibald-to my newest special!"


Of course the klebbing Mothership had to land on a planet in one of the most out-of-the-way remote backwoods systems in the galaxy.

...It was, Zadra grudgingly thought, a good way of keeping all but the most determined from following the royal family.

Still, she cast an intense eye upon the small base on the planet's moon. "Bounty hunter scum," she growled. It was tempting, to land and take all of them out, preemptively protecting her royals... but no. "Priorities," she told herself, reorienting. Her stolen Striker flew past the moon, cloaked to the maximum, and hopefully ignored by the bounty hunters' sensors, as well as whatever primitive detection systems this planet had in place.

The coordinates Prince Krel had given her were on the far side of the world now, just shading into night. Zadra let momentum coast her vessel into the planet's gravity well, and locked on to the cluster of lights that heralded some sort of rudimentary settlement. "I shall be there soon, my royals," she promised, fingers tightening on the ship's controls.

She began her descent into the atmosphere.


The room full of books was still and quiet, the master wizard to whom it belonged being elsewhere at the moment.

Nari crept in, her goal being the sunlit windows. So colorful! One the sun, one the moon, and one a star.

Merlin likely ascribed another meaning to the three figures. But Nari had her own. Bellroc was the sun, so hot, so intemperate! And Skrael the cold, distant moon, always reflecting the sun's light. Sometimes they crossed in their celestial dance, creating eclipses, marvelous things to behold!

As for herself...

Tiny green fingers traced some of the glass shapes that made the star.

Like the stars, she was distant and hard to see compared to the glory and fury of her siblings. But she was constant, a light when all others had gone out.

Or so she told herself.

Because around those far distant stars, she knew, there were other worlds, with living, growing things on them. So in a way she was there too.

Be a star, she told herself, and let mankind use you to sail their world.

Her musings were interrupted by a buzzing sound.

She raised her head, wondering if an insect had followed her into the master wizard's workshop.

On the nearest of the tables, something vibrated.

Nari leapt up onto the table, curious.

It was a small ivory box, inlaid with gold characters, the likes of which she had not seen for many millennia. And it was clearly reacting to something. Its sound grew louder, the vibrations stronger until it threatened to dance itself off the workbench.

She picked it up and opened it.

Two iridescent lenses unfolded, projecting a spinning globe that flashed bright red in distress.

Nari's eyes widened. "Merlin!" she cried, scrambling from the bench and running for the door, the time map held firmly in her grasp.

The master wizard was needed now.