Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
first released 4th November 2021

The best friends were already sparring by the time Hisirdoux made it down to the arena. He took a moment to lean against the wall and observe them. Toby was sporting a new circular shield, the same silver as the rest of his armor. It could only be assumed that it was the result of adding the Killstone's heart into his amulet. He and Jim were gleefully testing the shield's deflection ability and impact absorption via having Jim whack it over and over with Excalibur. Given the way both of them were grinning, Douxie assumed the shield was meeting their standards.

And it was funny, he thought, walking over to where the growing pile of miscellaneous weapons was stashed, that it really was so easy for them to work out their worries and stress via physical exertion. There wasn't a trace of stress left in either of the teenagers as they ducked and rolled and ran and tried good-naturedly to kill one another, while Blinky stood watching, calling out critiques here and again.

Two of the nicest boys ever produced by Arcadia Oaks... and they liked fighting. Liked practicing it. Liked getting, and being, good at it.

Another divide between himself and them, he thought, picking out his usual practice staff. Even nine centuries separated from Camelot, he still didn't like fighting. Too many bad experiences of being forced to spar with the squires when Merlin had needed him out from underfoot for an hour or three had formed his dislike of combat; the years since then had solidified it. There was very, very seldom a reason to fight that made him happy the way it seemed to Jim and Toby. He was good at it, a result of having to fight rather a lot over what had been a fairly long life, but it was never something that settled and centered him. It never cleared his mind.

Different strokes for different folks, Hisirdoux thought, and moved to an unused corner to start going through his forms.

(Bedivere, he had liked. The one-armed knight had been kinder than Lancelot and smarter than Galahad. He'd taken a young wizard's apprentice to the side and actually shown him what everyone else had already learned. It didn't lessen the number of painful blows he'd gotten, but at least he'd finally known what he was supposed to be doing.)

Sooner than he expected, the oak staff started to weigh on him. Hisirdoux kept his breathing even, going through his self-made kata again, feeling the ache in his arms and shoulders and back slowly build. It was only pain, he told himself; he'd definitely had worse. But the fact that he'd barely gotten this far...

It meant Jim was right, he realized, keeping the thought from his face. A few days of poor eating and worse sleep were already starting to tell on him. And they still had Gunmar ahead of them, and whatever the confrontation with Morgana would end up being. And Arthur, and the Arcane Order yet to fight...

I can't afford weakness, he thought, staff whirling as if to guard. ...Time to man up, and take care of myself.

Which meant things like eating whole meals even when they felt like they'd choke him from the heaviness of his heart, and forcing himself to sleep at a reasonable hour even when he needed to find answers.

The thought made him want to cringe, but sadly that was part of being grown up. You had to take care of yourself, because no one else would force you to.

...Well, maybe Archie. But his familiar had almost never forced Hisirdoux to do anything. At least not since he'd grown sufficiently tall that the dragon had deemed him mature enough to handle himself. Archie was keen on lessons teaching themselves.

Douxie breathed out, and forced himself to focus, and ran through the kata one more time.


"Not that it is not always a pleasure, Usurna," Vendel said mildly, drawing drinks for both of them and topping Usurna's with a dusting of the powdered limestone she preferred, "but I am curious as to what has prompted your unsolicited visit."

She accepted the beverage, surveyed it briefly, then took a sip as Vendel seated himself. "I have heard concerning rumors," Usurna said, apparently deeming the drink acceptable.

"Rumors?" he asked mildly, though he could guess at what might have piqued her interest.

"I have heard tell that Merlin's Amulet has chosen a new bearer," she said.

"Yes, Kanjigar's death was a sad blow to all of us, his son most especially," Vendel agreed, deliberately mistaking her point. "You will be pleased to hear, I assume, that his successor has avenged him and that Bular the Butcher will no longer trouble our people." He still had Bular's head, stashed away on a high shelf, eyes turned toward the wall. He had absolutely no idea what to do with the accursed thing; an honorable death ceremony was such an inappropriate idea as to be laughable. The thought of just chucking it into The Deep currently held appeal; let Bular become someone else's nightmare.

"Vendel." Usurna set down her cup. "I have heard that the amulet has chosen a human."

"Yes, we were a bit surprised as well. But Tobias has learned quickly, and in some ways, I would almost suspect his species to be a cosmic jest, he fits in so well among us."

"And," Usurna added, "rumors have come to my ear of a second Trollhunter, bearing another amulet."

Vendel's eyes widened, only partial artifice on his part; how had that information come to Usurna's ear? Not even most of Trollmarket knew that James was anything other than Tobias' bosom friend. "And?" he inquired carefully.

"Such an occurrence must be reported to, and investigated by the Tribunal!" she insisted.

Careful with his motion and his manners, Vendel shrugged. "How so?" he asked. "Have either of them done something actionable?"

"They have stolen from Gatto!" Usurna pronounced.

Vendel turned his hands so they were palm-up, open. "From my understanding, they treated with him honestly. It was only when he went back on his given word and attempted to devour them that they took the object he had promised them." He raised an eyeridge. "If anyone is to be investigated in this scenario, Usurna, I do believe it should be Gatto. Or have we trolls forsworn our oath of never eating fellow sentients?"

She glared, fuming. "I wish to meet both your Trollhunters and determine the truth for myself."

"And as you can see, neither of them are present," said Vendel mildly. "They do have purposes of their station, and tasks to fulfill other than meeting the whims of politicians."

Usurna slammed a hand down on his table and stood. "I will not be leaving until I have met them and determined their fitness for their stations myself!" And so saying, she stalked from the room.

"Their fitness is not for you to choose," Vendel reminded her, calling after her. "They are chosen by the amulet alone, and unlike the Krubera, it is not yours to command, Usurna."

A moment after she was gone, he murmured, "You may come out now, Draal."

The blue troll ghosted out of the alcove he had hidden in. "I do not trust her."

Vendel sighed. "Nor do I. My thanks for your presence."

"I do not think you should be alone with her," Draal said softly.

Vendel accepted this judgment with a nod. "I believe that we should speak with our Trollhunters and formulate a strategy for dealing with that woman."

"Already ahead of you." Draal pulled the delicate black rectangle the humans called a "fo-en" out of a pouch. "Toby was successfully smuggled to the surface earlier. Blinky and Aaarrrgghh are with him. Let us call them, and devise our approach."


The electric guitar, his pride and joy, gleamed softly as he plugged it into the mini-amp. Click. And his headphones went into the amp's other port. Click. Douxie sat on the bed, shoving backwards a bit until his back was against the wall. String by string, he turned the tuning knobs and listened, eyes half-lidded, until his baby was in proper tune again, singing like a diva.

He let his fingers wander for a few minutes, warming up. It had been a couple days since he'd played, since he'd had the heart for it. He still didn't, not entirely, but... self-care, he'd promised himself. And if anything could ease the heart-sickness that letting go of some dreams had left him... well, it would be music.

Music or magic, but he knew of no spell to ease bruised hope.

After a moment, he realized what song his fingers were playing, and had to huff a laugh at his subconscious choosing for him. Not his usual genre these days, but one he'd been enamored with a few decades ago.

Giving in, Douxie let himself fall into the song, barely breathing the lyrics. Let go, he told himself. Like it says, everything is dust in the wind. His dreams and hopes no less than his relationship to his master.

From Dust in the Wind, he segued into Don't Fear The Reaper. He'd heard the two songs back-to-back once, and had been enamored with how they played against one another.

Down, down, down, let the darkness swallow you whole until there's no way left to go but up...

And the first step upward was Send Me An Angel: "Hear this voice from deep inside," he breathed, "it's the call of your heart / close your eyes and you will find / the passage out of the dark..."

And from there it was up again, with Learning to Fly. "There's no sensation to compare with this / suspended animation / a state of bliss," he half-sang, accounting for all the missing instruments with memory and imagination. And then came Dream On, with history and weight, just singing his heart out-

Except he startled, his fingers flying from the instrument's strings with a discordant jangle as he suddenly realized Jim was standing in the doorway, staring.

Fuzzbuckets, Douxie thought, pulling his headphones off. "Sorry, forgot about the noise. I'll do a silencing spell-"

"I did not know you could sing like that," Jim interrupted, still staring. Like all of a sudden Hisirdoux Casperan, 917-year-old wizard, had become something he couldn't comprehend.

"I'm in a band," Douxie pointed out, looking away. "We win city competitions and everything."

"Yeah, but that's... how are you not like a star making millions and touring?" Jim asked.

"I'm passable," Douxie allowed. "After nine hundred years' practice."

"Are you sure you're not part siren or something?" demanded Jim.

Hisirdoux snorted. "So you have been reading A Brief Recapitulation."

Jim rolled his eyes and leaned forward, tacitly asking permission to come into Douxie's room, which was granted with a wave. "I'm not going to not read it just because I'm mad about how you got it." He sat down beside Douxie on the bed.

"Good. And, no, as far as I know I'm entirely human. I might grant Freddie Mercury or David Bowie siren heritage, though." Hisirdoux held up fingers to stop him even as Jim opened his mouth. "And don't you dare ask 'Who?'"

Jim shut his mouth.

Douxie considered him for a minute, then unplugged his headphones and turned the volume on the amp down just a bit. And began to play, something that felt, at the moment, like it was just for Jim. "The world is closing in / and did you ever think / that we could be so close / like brothers?" His fingers ran across the strings of his guitar, music pouring forth like water as he sang. "The future's in the air / I can feel it everywhere / blowing with the wind of change..."

Jim was quiet after the song finished. Douxie didn't break the silence, shifting just to set his guitar down on his other side.

When Jim finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "Do you really need a king to follow?"

Hisirdoux let out a sigh. "It's not oxygen," he said. "So. No."

"There's a lot more things you need than just oxygen, Doux."

"I know. But there's a whole lot less you need to live than you think, Jim."

"Do we need to get into the difference between surviving and thriving?"

Douxie had to grin. "Consider me a cactus. I'm very low maintenance."

"Douxie..."

"You want to pity someone, pity poor Archie," he said, trying to redirect the conversation from things he didn't want to talk about again. "He's not musical at all and he's been stuck with me for centuries, listening to me trying to improve my caterwauling."

"Douxie." Jim was firm, would not be sidetracked. "Just... why?"

He had to sigh, trying to explain this again. "You've never wanted someone you could put absolute faith in?"

Jim shrugged. "Well, I understand it. That's why people go to church, right?"

"Someone real, Jim. Someone you can touch. Not a deity that's done precious little for thousands of years."

Jim blinked.

"I never loved Arthur," Hisirdoux said lowly, "but even I could see how he was charismatic. How, with Excalibur, he was positively magnetic. People wanted to follow him. They believed in him. And, I suppose, I wanted someone I could believe in, too." He quirked a smile. "Just, ideally, someone who didn't want me dead for daring to be born."

"That's a lot to put on me," Jim said, equally quiet.

"Is it?" asked Hisirdoux. "How is it different from the way you let Claire or Toby believe in you?"

"They'd totally call me out if they thought I was screwing up."

"And you think I wouldn't?"

Jim was silent. Then, "It's just different, that's all."

Douxie snorted. "Jim, I'm different. I'm always going to be different. When was the last time you met another nine-hundred-and-seventeen years old wizard-in-training with a dragon for a familiar and best friend? I'm an outlier, and always will be. Expecting me to be, act, or think like just about anyone else is a fool's game."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, except you fit perfectly into our merry little band of world-saving maniacs, so I'm not buying that."

Douxie granted the point with a nod.

"The thing is... what you said about absolute faith?" Jim asked. "I'm not that person, Douxie. I screw up. I screw up so much. I can't even count how many times I've messed things up."

"Jim." Douxie put his hand on the other boy's shoulder. "You're talking to your predecessor in the business of being a screw-up. I've been making messes and trying to fix them longer than you can imagine. The important point is not the failing. The important point is getting up, doing your best to fix things, and trying again. It's the never giving up, and never giving in, that matters. As long as you learn from a mistake..."

Jim's mouth pressed into a line. "My mistakes get people killed."

"Welcome to the club," Hisirdoux told him flatly. "We don't honor the dead by lying down with them. We honor them by learning, and trying harder to save the next person."

"I turned back time to save one person."

"Did you?" Douxie asked. "Did you really? If Toby had been the only person you lost, any of us lost, from the day the amulet chose you, would you still have made that same choice?"

Jim was silent. Finally, "I don't know," he said.

Hisirdoux breathed something that might have been a laugh. "Do you want to know what divine kingship is? What it really is?"

Jim's eyes met his. "Tell me."

"Faith," said Douxie. "Not having it-keeping it. For all those who follow you. Arthur may have been a genocidal maniac, but he did care, more than anything, for the people he considered his. And if I can see that good in him, how much more of it do you think I can see in you, Jim?" He touched two fingers to Jim's sternum. "In here. In your heart of hearts. You are made of steel, and you burn brighter than any star. For all that you doubt yourself, for all that you stumble and fall, the one thing you will never give up on is us. And through us, the world. That's why I could call you my king, if you allowed it. And that's why I'll follow you, unto death and beyond."


Author's Note: Douxie's playlist: Dust in the Wind, by Kansas; Don't Fear the Reaper, by Blue Oyster Cult; Send Me An Angel, by the Scorpions; Learning to Fly, by Pink Floyd; Dream On, by Aerosmith; Wind of Change, by the Scorpions. His line that kingship is about keeping faith with one's people is inspired by the book The Hallowed Hunt, by Lois McMaster Bujold.