Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
first released 9th September 2021

"I can't believe you brought a knife to my table," Barbara said, glaring at Strickler.

"Mom," said Jim, "we all have knives."

"It's true." Douxie briefly held up his favorite blade, an iron dagger that he'd bought five hundred years before because it hefted well in his hand and took spells with ease. He vanished it as Jim summoned Excalibur then let the enchanted sword disappear again. Archie flexed a paw, displaying claws that, while still as razor-sharp as a cat's, were significantly longer and stronger. "Besides, I suspect that fully disarming Mister Strickler would be rather like one of those comedy sequences where the walking armory keeps finding just one more improbable weapon somewhere." Strickler glared. Douxie just shrugged. "Your people are not known for trusting others, and I can't blame you."

"What do you want?" asked the changeling.

"For now," Jim said, carrying the lazy susan to the table, laden with dishes, "for us to eat the rest of dinner. I didn't cook all this just for it to get cold."

It felt almost like a farce as they all served themselves and began to eat. The next several minutes were quiet, and very tense, until Archie at last sighed and looked up from his chicken (extra spicy), and over at Strickler. "The thing I don't understand," he said, "is why you continue working toward the goal of freeing Gunmar. You're an intelligent man; surely you've considered what will actually happen afterwards?"

"Of course I have," Strickler replied, looking back at the dragon. "But a man cannot stop the tide. All I can do is position myself to best survive what comes after he again walks the Earth."

"So you're not even trying to fight," Jim said.

Strickler shrugged. "I have slowed his return as best I can without risking discovery. I would of course prefer for things to stay as they are. Life like this is, if not perfect, then certainly preferable. But not all of my brethren feel the same."

"They're short-sighted enough not to realize that they're also on the menu?" Douxie asked. He swore softly. "Who's in charge of picking your recruits? Because they're surely choosing the dimmest ones possible."

"We're not all that bad," Strickler defended. "Most of us would prefer the status quo to remain. There are always fanatics within any organization, however, and Bular himself is a powerful argument for the change."

"We're talking about the end of life on Earth, and there are people pushing for it?" Barbara demanded. "Is there some Kool-Aid for them to drink, too?"

Strickler's mouth twitched in what might be a smile.

"I think the problem is," Jim said, "that we're dealing with a group of people who have been brought up to respect only their own lives, and no one else's. Which makes everyone else seem disposable."

"'Are people not dispensable, after all'?" Douxie murmured. He looked at Strickler. "Your Lady once said that about me. Granted," he allowed as he worried some rice with his chopsticks, "she was trying to kill me at the time."

"It is not an uncommon sentiment among the Janus Order," Strickler admitted. "I have often wondered how much of our beliefs and actions are fueled by her words, and how much by our... unique circumstances."

"Walt, you can't seriously enjoy working for people who think like that," Barbara protested.

"I... have little choice," he replied, spreading his hands.

Douxie looked at Jim; Jim looked back.

"What if," Jim said, "we could give you that choice? You and everyone else you think would prefer not to have the world end?"

Strickler set down his utensils. "What do you propose, Young Atlas?"

"First fact," Jim said, "you're never getting that stone back. Second fact, Bular's not going to let you survive that failure. Or am I wrong?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Strickler was silent for a moment, as if calculating. He shook his head. "I fear you're right. Even what leverage I possess will not slow his wrath."

Jim nodded. "Third fact: we have a vested interest in keeping you, and every other member of the Janus Order we can, alive."

"Why?" asked Strickler.

"Because Gunmar's not even the greatest threat in the pipeline," Hisirdoux replied. "We need allies."

Strickler cocked an eyebrow. "I cannot imagine your troll allies would take kindly to you making this offer. Nonetheless, I'll ask. What threat would possibly require you to ally yourselves with 'impures'?"

"Ever heard of the Arcane Order?" asked Jim, swirling his chopsticks in air like this was any average dinner conversation of no consequence.

Strickler blinked. "Three primordial demigods," he said. "One of fire, one of ice, one of growth and decay. Myths."

"Not myths," Douxie countered. "Actual living beings. Bellroc, Keeper of the Flame, Skrael of the North Wind, and Nari of the Eternal Forest."

Astonishment was writ large across Strickler's face. "You've met them?"

Douxie smiled. It was not, he suspected, a nice smile. "I've fought them," he said. "Do you want to know how the absolute worst-case scenario goes?"

"Enlighten me," the history teacher invited.

"Bular wins, and he lets his father out of the Darklands," Douxie started. "Then Gunmar frees Morgana, and they set off the Eternal Night. No one stops them. There goes humanity, all non-Gumm-Gumm trolls, and pretty much everything else living on the surface of the planet."

"So much," Archie remarked, "for music, history, art... and pleasurable company." He cast a not insignificant look at Barbara.

"But even if Bular fails and the Eternal Night never comes to pass, sometime after that, the Arcane Order will get their shot in." Douxie smiled grimly. "They're well-hidden, but at some point they will find the Genesis Seals, and when they do, there goes the planet anyway. The Arcane Order will raise the Titans and remake the world. The surface of the Earth will freeze under mile-thick ice and be flooded by a tsunami of lava. Even Morgana, Gunmar, and his lackeys couldn't survive that. Everything, and I do mean everything, will be gone." His eyes were hard on Strickler's. "Such a pity. It's a nice planet. Or was."

"It's your choice, Mister Strickler," Jim said quietly, the good knight to Douxie's bad. "Either you can be part of causing that, or part of preventing it."

You could have heard a pin drop onto carpet.

Strickler swallowed. "And what would you have me do to help prevent it?"

"It seems to me the first step has to be taking care of this Bular," Barbara put in.

"That would take some of the pressure off of freeing Gunmar from the Darklands," Strickler allowed.

"Okay. So we set a trap," Jim proposed. "When and where can we find Bular?"


Waltolomew was escorted to the door by Jim. Not by Barbara, he noted. He didn't know whether or not the revelation of his work with the Janus Order had permanently destroyed his chances with her. Probably.

"You've given me much to think about, Young Atlas," he murmured.

"Just returning the favor," said Jim. "Oh, wait." He vanished into the kitchen and returned with a set of Tupperware containers.

"Leftovers?"

"Actually, no. Something I made special for you." Jim went down the stack, tapping each of the four plastic boxes in turn. "Klor-na-tek. This one translates as Lady's Tears, no idea why. This is Gur-mal. And this is Soon-ya-bah."

"Troll food?" Waltolomew asked, astounded.

"Yeah, well, I figured you don't get much chance to connect with the other side of your heritage, you know?" Jim stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked so genuinely nice that it seemed almost impossible he was as dangerous an opponent as he had revealed himself to be.

"Trolls eat trash," Waltolomew said.

"No, they eat food that specifically appeals to their biological needs, the same as humans do," Jim replied. "What's that quote from Brillat-Savarin...?"

"'Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are'," Waltolomew responded. "Popularized as 'you are what you eat'."

"My friends aren't garbage, and neither is what they eat," Jim replied. "I was actually thinking of 'Food is all those substances which, submitted to the action of the stomach, can be assimilated or changed into life by digestion, and can thus repair the losses which the human body suffers through the act of living.' Cooking transforms raw ingredients, no matter what they are, into food," Jim said earnestly, and given his undeniable culinary talent, Waltolomew couldn't argue with him. "That's as true for trolls as it is for humans. So, bon appétit, and please feel free to give me feedback on the food."

Waltolomew was rendered, for a moment, speechless. Finally, he gathered himself enough to say, "You know, I would rather like to try another round of chess with you, Young Atlas."

The boy smiled. "Believe me, it would be my pleasure."

And the odd thing was... Waltolomew did believe him.


Barbara sat down on the sofa, arms crossed, and sighed. Then she took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. A cup of tea appeared before her. She looked up at her son and smiled. "Thanks, Jim."

"Sorry this is happening," he apologized, and sat down next to her. Douxie took a seat opposite, and Archie sprawled across the back of the chair behind him.

"I thought it all went rather well," the cat-shaped dragon remarked.

"Walt's not human, is he?" she asked.

"Well..." said Jim.

Douxie rocked his hand back and forth in a yes-and-no motion. "Not wholly human," he said. "But then neither are some other people around here."

"He's part of an organization that's trying to destroy the human race," she said.

"He did imply that he'd been throwing spanners in the works as best he could," Archie offered.

"And then there's Zelda!" Barbara huffed. "How am I supposed to face her in class, knowing what she's doing?"

"Mom." Jim took her hand. "I know they seem really bad right now, but I promise you, they're not. In that other future, they're some of the best allies we have."

"They died to stop the world ending," Douxie said softly. "Not exactly the actions of the irredeemably wicked."

She sighed. "So you're both telling me I should still give him a chance?"

"One chance," Jim said. "I mean, how many chances have you given me when I've screwed up?"

She hugged him in tight by her side, so glad for this bright, caring boy of hers. She must have done something right with him, even if he was hip-deep in a world she could barely imagine. "You never screwed up nearly as much as you think you did, kiddo."

"Technically, Mister Strickler hasn't screwed up yet either," Douxie said.

"Well," she said, "he did bring a knife to my table." She cast a look at the dagger still laying on the dining table. Then she looked at Douxie. "For that matter, should I ask how many you're carrying?"

"Only three," he replied, smiling. "But I assure you the TSA would never find them."

Barbara had to laugh. "All right," she said. "I won't ask about the knives. And I'll give Walt one chance. But he's on thin ice, and I'll make sure he knows that."


Jim itched to do something. To go and fight. To take care of Bular again.

But he couldn't.

He turned his amulet over and over in his hands, mind spinning, refusing to rest.

Douxie knocked on his doorframe. "Trouble sleeping?" he asked.

"Trouble winding down, at least," Jim admitted.

"Well, I could hit you with a sleep spell, but as Archie likes to remind me, too many of those are probably responsible for that hole in my memories around the end of Camelot." Douxie crossed the room and sat on the foot of Jim's bed. "So, want to try talking it out instead?"

"I just feel like I should... do something," said Jim restlessly. "I shouldn't just be sitting here and waiting."

"But?"

"But there's literally nothing I can do right now." Jim huffed out a sigh. "And there's probably nothing I should be doing anyway. Toby needs to be the one to take out Bular."

"About that." Douxie drummed his fingers against the mattress. "How are you going to set that up? Right now Strickler knows our plans, roughly. But how are you going to make sure the Trollhunter and his allies are there? And," he added, "how are we going to get Nomura clear?"

Jim grinned. "Nomura's the easy part," he said. "I'm going to stop by the museum tomorrow after school, with a ticket for the play. And some troll home cooking."

"Just don't get overconfident," Douxie warned him. "Cultural food and fine art won't be enough to sway everyone."

"She works in a museum," Jim emphasized. "And I know she likes the opera. I'm hitting two of her weak spots."

"Are there any more you can hit?"

Jim thought about it. "She and Draal used to have a thing?" he offered.

Douxie hissed through his teeth. "I just wish we could get changelings accepted by Trollmarket," he said. "That would go a long way to cutting through the alienation, and swaying them."

Jim shook his head. "I mean, we can work on it. But there's just not enough time."

"Two nights." Douxie looked pensive. "All right, you work on Nomura, I'll see about getting everyone in place. I can play the wizard card, maybe."

"The wizard card?"

Douxie grinned, sly. "Just because I don't have foresight doesn't mean wizards aren't known for it."


Author's Note: We saw Douxie's knife in exactly one episode of Wizards (History in the Making) and then never again, so I decided to bring it back. ^_^ For anyone who doesn't understand Barbara's remark about Kool-Aid, look up the Jonestown Massacre... if you have a strong stomach. Though what was used there was actually Flavor Aid, it's remembered in popular culture as Kool-Aid (thus the phrase "drinking the Kool-Aid"). Archie's remark about "pleasurable company" is lifted from the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, though here used in a far less prurient sense. As to Jim cooking troll food and quoting from Brillat-Savarin... thinking about it, the mis-quote "you are what you eat" has probably engendered some major psychological issues in changelings, who are already alienated from both their parent cultures. While Jim is not the smartest character in the series (possibly Claire), nor the most knowledgeable (probably Blinky), nor the most cunning (definitely Merlin), he is the one who takes care of people the most. So it seems in character for him to see this problem that no one else does, and try to address it through a means he's good at: cooking. Food is love, after all.