Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
first released 21st October 2021

Trollmarket was... riveting.

Nomura had been all around the world in the course of her studies and duties, and while there were other places, human places, that were similar in some ways to Heartstone Trollmarket, none felt quite like this.

None felt so much like home.

With the giant heartstone's light warming everything, trolls bustled about, doing their business, engaging in leisure activities, tending their children and laughing with their friends.

It was something she might have had, if not for Gunmar's machinations.

No one gave her a second look. Like with humans, changelings were invisible among trollkind. It was only the trolls' notorious clannishness and insularity that had prevented the Janus Order from inserting spies among them. She wondered how on Earth they, so predictably wary of outsiders, had reacted to having a human Trollhunter.

"Well?" asked Draal softly, by her side.

She gave him an acid look. "Showing me something I can't have?" she asked. "How kind of you."

"You could have it," he replied. "If you wanted to."

She sniffed, knowing his words for a lie. "You cannot make me what I'm not."

"No," he said, leading her onward, "but I can make you welcome." And he led her into a crevice formed by the heartstone, into...

"Vendel," she growled, knowing the Elder of Heartstone Trollmarket by reported description.

"Ahh, Draal," said the pale old troll. "And you must be the changeling of whom he spoke. Nomura, was it?"

She flashed a glare at her former lover, then looked back at the Elder. "It is," she said, tense and examining him.

He didn't look accusatory or angry. He didn't look like this was a trap.

She mistrusted him anyway.

"Please, sit," Vendel said, gesturing to the stools around the low, round worktable in the center of his space. "I will get some refreshment for while we talk."

Wary, Nomura followed Draal, choosing the seat that gave her the clearest shot at the exit. He gave her an amused look, as if saying he knew exactly why she had chosen it, before sitting himself.

Vendel returned to the table bearing three mugs, all drawn from the same source. He set them in the middle of the table, gesturing for Nomura to choose whichever she liked as he sat himself.

He would expect her to take the one closest. Instead, deliberately, she chose the one nearest Draal. The drink, all three mugs the same, would not be poisoned. The cups might be.

Draal rolled his eyes and took another of the mugs, while Vendel cocked his head to one side and looked thoughtful. "You have little reason to trust us."

"I have no reason to trust you," she corrected.

He hummed noncommittally. "Many of those in Trollmarket would have it the other way: that we have no reason to trust you," he said. "But Draal has spoken well of you, of your honesty and your actions against Bular and Gunmar. For which they would surely kill you."

"They would kill me anyway," she bluntly said. "Any changeling who thinks their rule would be better for us? Pah," she spat. "They're fools."

"And you are not?" he asked rhetorically. "Others have spoken for you, as well. The Trollhunter, and his companions."

"How kind of them."

Vendel hummed again, and took a drink from his mug. "I will not say that many here will not distrust and fear you, should they find out your nature. But sufficient argument has been made to me that we have too long been severed from our changeling kin, and that it has only done both our kinds a disservice."

Where was this going? She had no idea. "So...?" Nomura baited.

"The proposition I have is this: you will be given a horngazel, and free roam of Trollmarket. You may not incite a panic, but as you feel comfortable, you may tell people of your nature."

She barked a laugh. "You want me to be your cultural contact guinea pig."

"You will have the full support of myself, the Trollhunter and his team, and Vendel," said Draal, drawing her attention. "If anyone has a problem with you, they can bring it to me." His fist hit softly into his other palm.

"I can deal with my own problems," she told him.

"Even so. Backup never hurts."

Nomura did give him a nod for that, then returned her attention to the elder. "So what's in it for me?"

"Belonging. Community. A chance to close the rift between troll and changeling," he said.

Her flat gaze let him know that was not enough for risking her life among what could easily turn into a lynch mob.

Vendel sighed. "That is all I can offer," he said, reaching into a pocket on his apron. He drew something out, reached across the table, giving it to her. "Whether you take the offer or not, accept at least this token of our thanks."

Nomura stared at the gleaming shard of heartstone he was offering her. All around them, the walls glowed soft gold-orange, warming. But for some reason, it was this tiny fragment that called to her. Singing.

She took the stone from his hand, examined it. Tucked it away where no one could take it from her. "I'll think about it," said Nomura, and finally drank.

Ignoring Draal's knowing smile.


After dinner, after Claire and NotEnrique had gone home, after Merlin had gone back across the street to watch murder mysteries on the "play in a box" with Nancy Domzalski, Douxie helped Jim do the washing up, trying to figure out what he was going to say. Archie, perched on top of the refrigerator, where warm air blew up from behind the appliance, watched, and was no help at all.

Jim finally sighed while passing him a pot to dry. "Whatever's on your mind, just spit it out, Douxie."

"Just trying to figure out how to start," Douxie told him mildly, working the drying towel efficiently. After a minute, he said, "All right, I think I've got it."

"Right. Wizard lecture number three thousand, two hundred, and sixty-one," said Jim, teasing in his voice.

"I'm not that bad, am I?"

"You're definitely better than Merlin," Jim told him.

"Thanks. I think. Anyhow," said Douxie. "You know how I don't swear?"

"Yeah. 'Fuzzbuckets' is like the weirdest curse word ever," said Jim, "and you're the only person I've ever heard say it."

Hisirdoux had to grin. "Yeah. It drives my bandmates spare that I absolutely refuse to to do lead vocals on some of the songs. They think I'm a prude, and harass me about it every so often until Zoe gets them off my case. She doesn't have any problems with swearing."

Jim side-eyed him. "Not that hearing about the other parts of your life isn't fascinating, but... there's a point to this, right?"

"There is," Hisirdoux told him. "And it's very relevant to you. So bear with me while I get to it."

"Okay."

"So. The reason I don't curse is because I'm a wizard. If I told someone to go get effed, what do you think might happen?"

Jim's eyes widened. "It might actually happen?"

Douxie nodded. "Exactly. So, minding my words. And you," he said, turning to fully face Jim, "need to start minding yours."

"What?"

"Jim. What happened down in the arena?"

"I told you all dinner was ready."

Douxie had to shake his head. "Fuzzbuckets. You really don't even know what you did, do you? Jim," he said, "you didn't tell us, you commanded us. You pulled on our loyalty."

"What?" Jim had stopped all motion, soapy platter in his hands, and was staring wide-eyed at Douxie.

Who sighed. He took the dish from Jim's hands, set it back in the sink, and handed Jim the towel to dry his hands. "Come on. Your room." Where he knew Jim had stashed A Brief Recapitulation of Wizard Lore.

Jim dried his hands and followed Douxie up the stairs, Archibald trailing after. A flick of Douxie's hand closed Jim's curtains; another drew the book out from where it stood with others on the bookshelf.

Douxie flipped to the index and found all the entries for Excalibur. There weren't a whole lot; only thirty years or so had passed between it being made and it being sealed away in Arthur's tomb.

(The next edition of Recapitulation, he suspected, would have rather a lot more to say on the subject.)

Finding the entry he wanted, about the sword's known powers, Douxie located that page, and handed the book to Jim. "Read," he said.

Taking the book, Jim sat on his bed and obeyed, while Douxie took the desk chair and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

Jim's fingers clenched on the page, and the color drained from his cheeks.

"You've wielded magic swords and armor for a few years now, Jim," Douxie said softly, very careful to keep any hint of recrimination out of his voice. "You're used to Daylight, which is far more limited in power and scope than Excalibur, a blade forged by an actual goddess. So not knowing what it could do is completely excusable. And this is my fault, for not giving you assigned reading. But," he said, nodding at the book, "I got you that for a reason. I know you're swamped with homework already some nights. But this is important. I wouldn't add more on you if it wasn't."

"Doux-"

"You need to know what you can do," Hisirdoux told him gently, "and you need to know how to do it. But equally important is knowing how not to do it. You can make all of us who look to you, follow you. Even off a cliff. So you need to be on guard against what you might do. Like with me and cursing."

Jim swallowed.

Douxie sighed, and shifted over to sit beside Jim. "Look," he said, "I'm not here to traumatize you. I'm here to help you. With everything I can. But I also can't let you play at being like Harry Potter and skimping on your homework. We both have a lot of power, and, to use the cliché, 'with great power comes great responsibility.' You need to actually learn about the fires you're playing with, before an inferno happens."

"I wasn't avoiding it," Jim murmured, eyes downcast. "I just..."

"You've had other things on your plate, I know," Douxie commiserated. "For tonight, though, I'm giving you an assignment: read all the entries about Excalibur."

"I was going to go spar with Toby, since he's got his warhammer back."

"Afraid he'll have to push that to another day." Douxie waited a minute, then, when Jim still wouldn't look up at him, had a realization. "Jim," he asked carefully, "what trigger is this pressing for you? What are you seeing in your head?"

Jim swallowed. "Gunmar," he whispered. "With the Decimaar Blade. He controlled Draal. He just... he made me fight my friend over and over, and I couldn't kill him. I couldn't! But I couldn't let him kill me either-"

Hisirdoux drew a breath in, then took the book out of Jim's hands, shutting it and putting it aside. He nodded at Archie, who left the room understanding perfectly that Douxie needed him to intercept Toby and let him know that spar was not happening tonight.

It's Jim's turn to purge the pain.


"You're not Gunmar," Douxie said softly. "Do you think he ever hesitated to control another? Do you think he ever cried about it?"

"I'm not-" Jim swiped reflexively at his cheeks, then looked at his hand, surprised. It was wet. He was crying.

"What else?" Douxie asked him, not giving Jim time to get himself under control.

"Arthur," Jim said, hating the man. Hating even his name. One day of redemption did not outweigh a lifetime of genocide and an afterlife of sadism.

Douxie nodded. "Fair."

"I don't remember him controlling me. But... I kind of do?" Jim looked up, searching for confirmation. "I keep waking up in the middle of the night, and I think I've been having bad dreams about it. Because I don't remember doing those things, so maybe I'm making them up, but maybe I'm not?"

"What happens in the dreams?" Douxie invited, voice soft.

"Fighting. Just... so much fighting. Steve. Aaarrrgghh." Jim swallowed. "You. Pinning you and Archie down, I remember that one. Not sure what happened next."

Douxie swallowed. "I do," he whispered, confirming Jim's fears. Nausea surged up.

"Claire." Jim rocked, arms wrapped around himself, trying to keep the nightmare in. "I had her by the neck. I was going to snap it." He could still feel his fingers around her, how fragile she'd been. One more second, and he might have killed the best thing in his life-

"Fuzzbuckets." Douxie closed his eyes. "Wasn't there for that, but, yeah, I'm pretty sure those are all memories."

"How could I do that?" Jim whispered. "How can I ever trust myself?"

"Not to do that again, or not to control others like that?" Douxie asked.

"Either!"

"Jim, you're not him," Douxie said, quietly but with emphasis. "Arthur was... well, I don't know what he was like as a child. I can't imagine growing up as Uther Pendragon's bastard was easy. But Arthur let himself grow callous, and hard." He gave a small smile. "I've yet to see a single callus on your soul, James Lake, Junior. You're not the kind of person who can see, who can experience, horrors like that and just shrug them off. Even when you don't properly remember them, they haunt you, don't they? If you'd earned a Trollhunter's moniker, I'd lay odds it would be 'Jim the Gentle'."

Jim huffed half a laugh. "'Jim the Baby-Handed' is all I got."

Douxie waved that off. "You've got years and years left to upgrade. My point is, Gunmar and Arthur were both warlords, blood and bone, sinew and stone. You," he said, fingers tapping over Jim's sternum, "are absolutely not. You're the polar opposite. You're a caretaker, a guardian. Not someone's who's convinced that they're right and that any who gainsay you should lose their heads. You will never be like Gunmar or Arthur."

"I could be," Jim whispered.

"But you're not. Come on," Douxie said, wrapping his arms around Jim and pulling him in. "Tell me."

"I don't want this power," Jim whispered into Douxie's hoodie, eyes burning.

"I know. And I'm sorry," Douxie murmured back. "But you have it, so you need to know how to use it."

And it was one more layer of responsibility, on top of the others. On top of so many others.

There was a saying about straws on a camel's back-

Jim broke, and cried.

"You can trust us, Jim," Douxie murmured. "I know Strickler calls you Atlas, but you're not. He had to bear the weight of the world alone, and you don't have to. Let us bear it with you. We're stronger together, so much stronger. That's why you made us a team." His voice was hypnotic, soothing. Even as hot tears continued to spill, Jim could feel something unknotting within himself, loosening. "We're your team. We've got each other's backs, got your back. You don't have to do this alone. We'll save the world together this time. Just let us help you."

And he'd had so much responsibility for so long. Ever since the day his dad had left, leaving Jim responsible for lightening the weight on his mother, for being a good boy and not adding stress to an already bad situation. He was responsible for taking care of himself, of her. And then came the responsibility of trollhunting and protecting Trollmarket. Of leadership. Of saving the world, again and again. It just kept piling on and on.

"And you've done a remarkable job of it all," said Douxie softly. Jim hadn't even known he'd been talking aloud.

"It's not fair," he whispered, fingers fisting in the soft material of Douxie's hoodie. "Why me?"

The wizard sighed, warm and solid. "Nothing is fair," he said. "It just is. Life never proceeds according to one's desert. Did Toby deserve to lose his parents? And what did Claire do to deserve her parents' neglect and high standards? Or Aja and Krel - they're in the process of losing everything right now, and we can't even warn them. None of it's fair, is it?"

Jim sniffed in a breath. "Steve's dad walked out on them, too," he reported. "And Eli's mom... god, I'm glad I'm not him."

That earned him a silent chuckle. "So life sucks," Douxie said. "But we find each other, and hold on tight, and find our way to make it through, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jim agreed.

"Merlin told me once," said Douxie, "and I wonder if this was part of his foresight or not, that struggle is the flame which forges one's soul into steel."

"I think he meant 'suffering'," Jim shot back.

"Nah, plenty of people suffer, Jim. And lots of them just roll over and let life flatten them. You and me, the others... we're the ones that fight back, and make weapons of ourselves. And we get knocked back, we get knocked down, sometimes off very high places," Douxie said, experience in his voice, "but we will not stop until the world is saved, and bettered. One way or another. Right?"

"Right," said Jim, with one final sniff, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, and straightening. "Thanks, Doux."

"No thanks necessary," said the wizard, not letting go just yet. Hazel-central-heterochromia (whatever that was) eyes met Jim's. "Are you actually good, or do you need to have another crying jag?"

Jim laughed, feeling self-conscious. "So much for 'boys don't cry,' right?"

Douxie half-shrugged. "The proud oak is uprooted by the storm, while the resilient willow bends but does not break. Which one survives?" He smiled, warm and sly and supportive all in one. "Strength is good, but stoicism is lethal. There's absolutely no shame in crying."

"I think I'm good," Jim said. He took a breath. "And I should probably start reading."

"You do that," Douxie said with a smile. "And I'll finish the washing up."


Author's Note: In which Jim, who has watched his friend be controlled by Gunmar, then been himself controlled by Arthur, hits the final point of that arc: discovering that he himself is capable of controlling others, and has in fact done so, however inadvertently. Have some trauma, it's free! Also, another Harry Potter reference. It always ticked me off that Harry and Ron skimped on their schoolwork and Hermione had to know things for them. And "with great power comes great responsibility" is, of course, from Spider-Man.