Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
released 17th January, 2025
Through some strange alchemy, otherwise known as both his master and his little brother fucking around with time, Douxie had lived this day three times. Possibly technically four, depending on how one counted things going differently for his younger self this time. And granted, the first go-around Douxie didn't remember, courtesy of his own repeated sleep spells. But the second he did. And this third was... well, not quite shaping up to be an exact duplicate of that second one, but certainly an echo. He was involving his own younger self a lot more than he had the first time, and Merlin was accepting that with barely more than a raised scraggy eyebrow to indicate his surprise.
This was possibly, he rather thought, going to be the best iteration of this day yet.
"Now," said Merlin, gesturing at the array of ores spread across the octagonal table on the lower level of his workroom. "Tell me which of these are best used for a master wizard's staff, and why."
Douxie had to bite back a grin, remembering how, once upon a time only a week and a bit ago, he'd given Merlin this same test prior to making the Staff of Avalon.
Not that Merlin would ever know that.
Douxie gestured his younger self closer. Looking nervous, the boy obeyed. "What's this one?" Douxie asked, touching a cool block of metal nearly the color of pewter.
"Ah, that's, that's Fae-iron," his younger self said, voice just barely not cracking in the middle of his words. "It's strong, but useless against wraiths, werewolves, and gnomes."
"It does, however, make a marvelous container for magic, being inherently resistant to it," Douxie added his knowledge to the pot. Fae-iron had, in fact, been a good part of the Chronosphere. Probably still was, in Zong-Shi's hands. Huh. We might need to reunite the two aspects of the Time Stone, once we get home. Well, that's for after we deal with the double Excaliburs. Douxie moved the ingot to one side, to what would be a "keep" pile. His eyes met Merlin's. "Excellent for a staff."
Merlin nodded. "Continue," he bid levelly.
Claire was good at shadow magic. She was, in fact, very good at shadow magic. Maybe not Morgana's equal - but then, Morgana was also a master wizard, and Claire wasn't. Claire didn't have her staff.
~~Morgana's staff.~~
Her mouth thinned as Steve fussed over the new holster on his back where Toothache rested when he didn't need the axe. Sir Lancelot, as grim-mouthed as Claire herself, checked once more his knightly... everything. Claire didn't know half the things he was checking over in his armor and weapons, and didn't need or want to. Eli, at least, was more sensibly keeping an eye on Arthur and the rest of the knights.
She was here for transport and to make sure the two blonds didn't either get themselves killed or set off a premature battle. Eli might get himself killed, but at least Claire trusted him not to cause a fracas.
"Hey, Claire-y bear!" caroled Toby. "Come on, let's turn that frown upside down!"
She turned her glare on him.
Toby recoiled.
"Wow, bad mood much?" he muttered.
Claire rolled her eyes at him and jerked her head in the direction of the dragon throne, where King Arthur was explaining yet again to his knights that they were to fight beside the trolls, not against them.
"For now," one of this knights muttered. She saw others nod.
Arthur, to give him credit, narrowed his eyes at the speaker. "We no longer have the numbers to defeat Gunmar," he said pointedly. "Our comrades are slain, our walls weakened... we must make a stand here and now to defeat that tyrant, and in order to do so, we must have allies."
The knight hunched his shoulders. Looked away.
"I do not ask you to like them," Arthur said. "I do not ask you to trust them. It may be that there is too much bad blood between us to ever heal that rift... but how will we know unless we try?"
Steve whooped, punching the air. "And together, we're going to kick some bad guy butt!" he said.
That won a faint smile from Arthur, and a nod. "Sir Lancelot and Squires Steven and Elijah go ahead of us, to help train the trolls of Dwoza, that they are ready for the battle ahead. As for us, my men, we must secure Camelot before we head to the bridge, and ensure that those we leave behind can defend themselves in our absence."
"They're still jerks," Toby muttered, barely loud enough to be heard by her and Jim. "We're so screwed, aren't we?"
Jim, human at the moment, shrugged. "We managed last time...?" he offered.
"Cheer up, young knights!" boomed Lancelot, coming up to them. "Camelot has never once fallen before the might of an opposing army, and she shall not do so now."
Claire bit back the urge to tell him that it wasn't Camelot that would fall. The castle itself would be fine, sailing in the clouds according to Merlin's plan. "Not worried about dying?" she asked instead.
"I'm worried about dying," Eli said.
"Ha!" A grin split the knight's face. "A knight does not fear death; he dances with it. And when it comes, he faces it bravely, knowing that God has claimed his soul."
Jim's hand landed on Toby's shoulder. Squeezed.
Toby swallowed. "Yeah," he said, husky. "A true knight doesn't fear death."
"He embraces it," said Jim quietly. "He makes it worth it."
Claire shot them both a worried look. Toby had died. So had Jim - arguably twice, depending on how you counted it.
Jim shook his head. Toby managed a smile.
"I still don't want to die," whimpered Steve.
"No one does," she told him. "Ready for Dwoza?"
He fist-pumped, his mood turning on a dime. "Yeah! Me and Toothache will kick those losers into line!" He patted the hilt of his axe.
"Well spoken, Squire Steven." Lancelot gave her a half-bow. "We are at your ready, my lady."
She raised an eyebrow at Jim and Toby.
Jim nodded, shifting into his half-troll form. Toby's helmet materialized over his head, hiding his human features. "Ready when you are," said Jim.
"All right. Once more unto the breach, dear friends," she quoted, and pulled open the space that led between here... and Dwoza.
Morgana stood in the light of the sun, feeling the weight of magic, of the very pivot points of time, bearing down on her. She raised her enchanted hand to the sun, which glimmered through it, showing veins of gold, as though impurities in the stone had been mended with that precious metal.
She, too, had been impure but was now mended. Golden magic pulsed in her veins, stronger than ever before, as did purpose, burning away all the insincerities of her mortal life, all the insecurities and lack of committing to her true cause.
In a way, she almost owed Arthur. She might even thank him for killing her, as her resurrection had brought her back more powerful than before, with greater clarity of thought and of purpose.
She didn't imagine he'd take that well. He had always been a weak, romantic boy from the day Merlin and Sir Ector had first brought him to Camelot.
The thought curved her lips in a smile.
Gunmar interrupted her peace and solitude.
"Arthur has sorcerers of his own," he growled, stalking forward but not daring to step out into the sunlight. "They won't be tricked by your impure changelings again."
She rather thought they would be, once she'd created more of them. The darling creatures were wholly human as humans, and wholly troll as trolls. Not even Merlin, with his vaunted magical sight, would be able to distinguish them. Morgana had made sure of that.
But creating an army of changelings would take time, and Gunmar lacked patience. He required a sop, Morgana thought. Some new magical toy to pacify him, to distract him.
She had not missed the fact that General Aaarrrgghh had not returned. Which... boded ill. Either their enemies had captured him, or killed him. Neither was ideal. And the general, for all that he had been wise to distrust her, was not the type to be delayed or defeated easily.
Morgana gestured, and took Gunmar's blade from him. Seemingly weightless, it floated to her. A bauble. A toy for a tyrant, she thought, looking deep into the blade's magical matrix and deftly working spells into it, casting them so deep into the corroded metal that they could never be removed. "With your Decimaar blade," she assured him coolly, "all shall submit to your will." She cast the sword back to him. He grabbed it from the air and swung a few times, checking, no doubt, to see that she hadn't altered its heft.
Fool. If she was going to cast any enchantment upon it which would have been injurious to Gunmar himself, he would have already fallen prey to it. Nonetheless... "Do it," Morgana urged. Test your blade, and how it enslaves even your own people.
She would probably have to arrange for his removal at some point. Likely whenever he thought to try to use the blade on her. As if she was fool enough to allow her own spells to ensnare her! But she would wait for that day. For the day he betrayed her. For now, Morgana still needed Gunmar.
Needed him to repay Arthur's favor, and kill her brother.
Gunmar drew forth a few seed stones. Where he had gotten them from, Morgana did not know. But she was reminded strongly of the myth Merlin had once told her, of a hero named Cadmus who had sown dragon's teeth in the ground, and of the unstoppable warriors who had risen from them.
It had clearly been a tale; real dragons' teeth had no such effects. But the magic stones Gunmar now cast onto the ground, charged with the power of his weapon, acted much the same as the teeth in the story. They buried themselves and then rebirthed themselves, rising from the dirt and stone as one of the Gumm-Gumm army's seemingly endless homunculi.
"Bring the witch to me," ordered Gunmar.
The poor newborn thing obeyed, any mind or will of its own stolen away by the spell Morgana had put on Gunmar's blade. She watched, not without pity, as it lumbered forward, stepping into the deadly sunlight, turning to stone, never ceasing in its quest to obey its master's orders, until it fell, shattering entirely. It death at her feet.
It had never had a chance.
Her own creations, she was suddenly determined, would have chances. And choices. And if they fought for her cause, it would be because they believed as she did. Not because they were forced to.
But trained by a lifetime in court, she let none of that show on her face. "Go," she bade Gunmar. "Build your army. Soon, the Wild Wood will run red."
He grinned. "Our enemies will tremble."
She didn't need them to tremble. She needed them to die.
Ignoring Gunmar, Morgana turned back to face the sun.
Dwoza was much as they had left it: full of harried trolls unimpressed with Vendel having promised their strength of arms. Most of them not having strength of arms other than their natural brute strength. But Varvatos had clearly impressed them, and they were loyal enough to Vendel to devote a day to military training under Steve the unknown human and Lancelot the Camelot knight.
After all, Jim's keen half-troll ears caught Vendel promising, unless Merlin delivered the promised armor and champion, there was no true need for the Dwoza trolls to keep up their half of the bargain.
It may have been placation, but it was enough; the troll trudged off to join the others lining up to experience Steve's enthusiasm and Lancelot's more tempered tone.
"Okay!" Steve yelled. "First thing you boulder butts gotta learn is the secret handshake. Pepperjack!"
"Ready, Steve!"
"Creep! Slayerz!"
"Hey." Claire hopped up on a boulder so she was eye-to-eye with Jim. "Penny for your thoughts?"
He shook his head; the thoughts in question were all a muddle. "Just... thinking about leading."
"Oh?"
He nodded toward Vendel. "Everyone follows Vendel because he's a good leader. I mean, he's kept everyone safe for, what, four hundred years at this point?"
"And he's less cranky right now than he is at home," Toby agreed, wobbling slightly as he balanced on his own rock, somewhat higher than Claire's.
"But Arthur's people follow him too, and I'm not sure he's a good leader. He's all 'war, war, war' instead of 'peace and prosperity.' So do they just follow him because he's his dad's kid and Merlin stuck him on the throne?"
Claire bit her bottom lip for a minute before replying. "I mean, when we had Civics class with him freshman year, Strickler said that the right to rule derives from the consent of the governed, right? So if everyone follows Arthur because they believe in the divine right of kings or whatever, then, yeah."
"In retrospect, knowing what we now know about the Janus Order makes everything in that class a wee bit creepier," Toby said thoughtfully. His arms circled. "Whoa!"
Jim caught him before he overbalanced. "Think we need to get Draal to add this rock to the Forge?" he asked, grinning.
"Couldn't hurt," Toby agreed. "Think we can carry it home?"
"According to Douxie, probably not," Jim informed him.
Toby's gaze shifted beyond Jim. He turned to follow Toby's line of sight. "Jim, what do we do about Deya?" Toby asked. She was, with Bagdwella and a handful of others, clearly watching the chaos of the training lessons, rather than participating in them. As Jim watched, Bagdwella disdainfully shoved Deya, then scooted farther away from her.
"I mean," said Jim, "she did okay the first time."
"Yeah," said Toby, "but she could do better this time, if we helped her. None of this figuring stuff out by your lonesome crap."
"Be careful about changing the timeline too much, Toby," said Claire. "I know you like her, and I do too, but she's gotta become Deya the Deliverer on her own. We're not going to be around to help her."
"But we're here now," said Toby.
That... was true. And Deya was one of Jim's people. His to help and protect.
He thought about the golden strands he'd as much as seen emanating from Arthur in his throne room. The web of divine kingship that connected the king to each of his subjects.
~~Jim didn't have subjects; he had friends.~~
He wet his lips, trying to find words.
Toby fixed him with a gaze. "It's not Trollhunter," his best friend said quietly, "it's Trollhunters."
Jim's words died, because Toby was right. That was what Jim had said, what Jim had done, what Jim had made them all.
He couldn't make Deya go things alone, not when she was one of them. Not when she was one of his.
"Tonight," he promised Toby. "After she gets the amulet." When she tries to reject it. "We'll talk to her then."
"Which one speaks to you?" asked Merlin, indicating all the great gems inlaid on the map of the Round Table.
Douxie knew automatically which one was the focal stone of his staff. Knew, as he hadn't the first time, that Merlin was asking him to choose the stone for that purpose. Over the last few days, any time he'd been in this room, that gem had caught his attention because of what it would be, the promise that he was so close to achieving mastery and getting his staff back-
But I'm not the same person I was then, am I?
It had been nearly two years in Douxie's life since he'd chosen that stone the first time. And while two years should seem laughably short compared to the nine hundred and seventeen that preceded it... they had been very eventful years.
"A wizard does not make mistakes; he makes unexpected possibilities."
Would, as with the Trollhunter amulets, a different stone give him different options? Different abilities? Different /possibilities/?
"What kind of hero would I be, if I sacrificed everyone else?"
Jim's words had shaped and changed him, though they hadn't even been directed at him. Was the same gemstone even appropriate, since he'd changed so much? His outside would look the same until the day he died, but Douxie's interior landscape had grown dramatically in such a short time.
"We are the children of the stars, and we shine brightest when we rise."
Douxie took a breath and closed his eyes. He sent out his magic and his hand, hovering, testing.
"...A wizard's staff is everything to them..."
The gems sparkled to his magical senses. Glimmered. Each protected from here a magical node in the land where leylines crossed. They kept things stable in a way few would appreciate.
And Merlin was giving him one of them.
He thought of Merlin's emerald. Taliesin's opal.
One by one, gems faded from Douxie's mind. They were beautiful. Powerful, in a way that spoke of magical gem cutting.
But they were diamonds and rubies and amethysts the size of a man's head, and they none of them resonated with him.
Douxie opened his eyes again, unsurprised to find his hand hovering once again above the sapphire. His sapphire. It seemed no matter how he'd changed, something in him was intrinsic after all.
"This one," he said huskily.
Merlin nodded, and budged him aside to chip the gem out. It left a great hole in the map, one that had persisted into modern Camelot because Douxie had never had time to track down an appropriate replacement gem, and no one else knew it was necessary.
Well.
Wales was technically not Douxie's highest concern in the future, the way it had been Merlin's here and now. Homeland, yes, but saving the whole world had been a bit more important, so he thought the lapse was acceptable.
(The Merlin of the future, Douxie thought, surely had not deemed the lapse acceptable. But he would deal with that iteration of his master or not-master, as the case might be, once he returned home.)
Merlin handed the gem to him. It wasn't the biggest in the Table, nor the most valuable. But its clarity as the sunlight streamed through it was beautiful.
~~Jim was the sun, and had shown Douxie his purpose.~~
"Come," said Merlin. "Your younger self should have the Oraculum ready."
"Wait, Master-"
Merlin turned back to him.
Douxie's words disappeared. Instead, he reached into his hoodie pocket and drew out the Time Map, handing it to Merlin.
Merlin's eyebrows raised. "I had thought you would still need this."
Douxie shook his head. "Micromanaging does no one any good. At some point, you just have to take a leap of faith."
Merlin's expression bounced, surprised. "Finally learned that, have you?" he asked, with just a bit of a smile.
Douxie nodded. He didn't quite feel sick to his stomach, letting go of the map, but there were definitely butterflies roaming in his innards.
But he had to trust time, and Jim, and, just now, Merlin.
"Well," said Merlin. "Let us go make that amulet. And a staff."
Douxie followed where Merlin led.
"Ugh, this sucks!" proclaimed Mary, flopping dramatically onto Aja's four-postered curtained bed. She rolled over onto her back. "I am so bored!"
"You should try the exercising," said Aja. Mary turned her head to look at her through the open doorway. Out in the suite's main room, Aja and Darci were currently being led by Zadra in some sort of slow-motion martial arts form. It looked like Tai Chi or something. Alien Tai Chi.
Akiridion Tai Chi, Mary corrected her thoughts.
"Or you could read like Krel," Darci suggested, flowing from one stance through a half-pivot into another so she was facing away from Mary. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned. "Any book that interesting has to be good."
"It is my book, and I am reading it before I have to return it to Dictatious!" Krel's voice came from the other bedroom. "Also, I am not sure that (a) Mary can read it, being that it is written in Trollish, or (b) that she is interested in geomantic theorems."
"Ugh, no." Mary slumped down on the bed again. "I am so bored," she repeated plaintively, aware that she was whining but not able to stop herself. Her fingers rubbed at her amber pendant. Static electricity sparked between her fingers. She shook it off.
"The battle," Zadra said coolly, "will be tomorrow. Today is for preparations. You should take this time to ready yourself."
Mary snorted. "By doing what? Either I can call down lightning or I can't. There's not really an in between. And I bet the knights would get twitchy about me practicing."
Darci laugh-snorted. "Oh, would they ever," she agreed.
"We get through the battle, kick Gunmar's butt through the Killahead Bridge, and then we go home," said Aja.
"Home," Mary and Darci sighed as one.
"Your home," Zadra reminded them.
"General Morando will be there," Aja reminded her.
Zadra was silent. But Mary could see her hand clench into a fist as she moved. "I will remove the traitor's spine with my own hands," Zadra said eventually.
Aja grinned. "Now you are sounding like Varvatos!"
"Going to miss Lancelot?" Darci asked Mary.
She snorted. "Mister won't even give a girl a kiss? No."
Aja and Zadra exchanged a glance.
"I do not even like romance, and I can tell that you are bitter," Krel called from the other room.
"Yeah, well." Mary crossed her arms and rolled away, facing the head of the bed.
After a moment, a weight shifted the mattress. "Mary," said Darci softly. "You know he's going to die tomorrow, right?"
"What?!" Mary rolled back, sitting up.
Darci nodded, quiet and solemn. "I put it together from things Claire said. King Arthur's gonna die tomorrow - and so will a lot of his knights. Including Sir Lancelot."
Mary stared at her. "No." She shook her head. "No, that's not how it's supposed to work. I go home and find boyfriends, and he stays here and has a long life and regrets not kissing me or something. That's how it's supposed to work!" Her voice rose on the last word. "He's not supposed to die!"
Darci shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mare."
She stared uncomprehendingly at Darci. Golden Sir Lancelot, with his perfect hair and gentlemanly behavior. With a laugh that lifted everyone up, and warmth like a fire. He couldn't just die! "I could... I could stop it from happening," she started, her mind beginning to think of ways.
Darci snorted. "Mare, he dies taking on Bular. Gunmar's son. The dude that took out Trollhunter after Trollhunter. I don't think you can nail the guy."
"Nothing can survive a lightning strike!"
"One, I hear he's pretty good at dodging, and, two, yes people can. And have. Besides..." Darci's eyes met Mary's then looked away. "Remember all that stuff about the timeline trying to heal itself?" she asked quietly. "I don't think Lancelot's meant to survive."
Mary stared in horror.
Zadra snorted and straightened from her pose. "To die in glory is no small thing for a warrior."
"Dead is dead!" Mary snapped.
"True." Zadra eyed her. "But there are far worse deaths than giving one's utmost, and falling in service of one's purpose - the defence of his royal, and his people."
"But-"
"Mary." Aja was on her other side, taking Mary's hand between her own. "You are not a warrior. And you do not need to be. We do not wish you to be, unless that is your calling! But for those of us who are... it is no bad thing to die in service of one's principles."
Tears were filling Mary's eyes. She shook her head, still trying to deny it.
"There is this," said Krel, leaning against the door frame. Mary looked up at him. "We have data that death is not the end. And that the bonds between people influence what your people call 'fate'."
Mary blinked, not understanding what he meant.
Krel sighed and looked at the ceiling. "According to Douxie's knowledge of how this whole 'space-time-love' thing works, if you really have a connection to him, you will meet Sir Lacks-a-lot again sometime. Maybe in this life, maybe in another."
"I don't want him to die," Mary whispered.
"You cannot prevent it," said Zadra. "Not without breaking this history of yours." Her hand came to rest on Mary's shoulder. "What you can do," she said quietly, "is to send him nobly off to his death. Not with tears and weak wiles, but with pride. Pride in knowing who he is, what he does, and that he will remain true to himself until the end."
"There are worse ways to die," said Aja softly. She met her brother's gaze. Both their mouths thinned, until they looked away from one another.
Mary sniffed. Blinked a lot. Rubbed at her eyes. "I don't know if I can," she said, looking down. "But I'll try."
Cool fingers caught under her chin, raising her gaze. Zadra smiled at her. "There are many types of courage," she said. "Hold fast to yours."
Author's Note: Claire quotes from Henry V, by Shakespeare.