[fic] [Tales of Arcadia] Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet 180/?
Your Future Hasn’t Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
released 6th December, 2024
Vendel turned, sighing, at the sound of screams.
It wasn't that he hadn't had enough to deal with, of course, what with the sudden influx of refugees into Dwoza, straining their already taxed resources to their limit. Nor was it sufficient that he had that strange creature who claimed to be from another star seeking alliance...
No, of course not. There had to be something else.
Trouble came not in threes, but in any multiple of numbers, and not one thing after another, either, but all stacked on top of one another like a rock slide beginning to slip.
Still, it wasn't any surprise at all when he made his way toward the screams, and found them presaged by the younger Galadrigal brother, followed by the odd blue stranger who came with that alien prince, the mouthy green female he'd brought with him, and--
--"A human," Vendel grated dryly.
The human in question - small, dark haired, clad in flowing garments - smiled brightly up at him. A female, he thought, though he was never quite sure with humans. "Hi, Vendel!" she said brightly, as though familiar with him.
He had never seen her before in his life.
Then Vendel realized it wasn't just the one human invading Dwoza, and suddenly the screams made even more sense.
He was not a fighter, but he clenched his staff in both hands, ready to do whatever he must to defend his people--
King Arthur, of the accursed house of Pendragon, dropped to both knees.
His eyes, as he looked up at Vendel, were sorrowful.
"Please," he said, "Camelot needs aid."
Galahad paced the battlements. There were few enough hale-bodied knights left; with the couple good flagons of ale in his belly to warm and sustain him, he should be good for the duty until dawn, when another would take his place.
For now, the night was quiet. The few fires that had sprung up in the wake of the disaster had been put out, and while he could still smell the burnt timber when the night breeze shifted, those who had survived were taking what rest they could. And those poor souls who had not survived... well, they would wait until morning for rites and burial.
It had been, to put it bluntly, one hell of a day.
Movement to the side caught his attention; he turned to see Merlin's boy mounting the steps to the battlements. The young sorcerer put his hands on the stones and looked out into the night, past the long bridge that connected Camelot to the mainland.
Looked toward the Wild Woods.
Raising a hand to his bracelet, the boy spun magic around it, selecting a spell like a maid picking fluff off a dandelion. Eyes glowing in the torchlight, the boy cast it, a wash of blue rippling outward from himself.
After a moment, he slumped, looking relieved.
"What find ye, boy?" asked Galahad, stumping closer.
"Nothing, Sir Galahad. Well." The boy's lips quirked. "Not nothing, precisely. A few kelpies in the ocean. Some goblins on the cliffs, probably scavenging for bird nests." His eyes narrowed. "A single troll near the edge of the woods."
Galahad's eyes also narrowed. "A troll, eh?" he asked, looking out at the Woods, his hand on his sword.
"One troll," the boy emphasized. "Keeping an eye on things, I'd guess. Just like us."
Galahad hummed, gazing at the darkness beyond Camelot. The torchlight blinded his eyes; he couldn't see far beyond where it lit the bridge. "We could take care of the beast," he mused.
The boy scoffed. "With what army? The knights are all injured or exhausted."
"You could fight," Galahad retorted. "Ha! A fine tale that'd make - the aged knight and the boy sorcerer."
The boy snorted, a smile curving his mouth. "Fair enough," he allowed. "But Merlin bid me guard the castle in his absence, not go out and attack random trolls. Besides, the troll would see us coming, and they have much better night vision than you or I."
"True," Galahad allowed, and let the matter subside. The sea breeze skirled around them. Merlin's magic torches, handily, emitted no smoke for it to blow in his eyes. "That's a handy detection spell, lad."
"Sadly, it only works if you know what you're looking at." The boy sighed and slumped, elbows on a merlon. "What am I even doing, here?" he asked.
From his tone, Galahad thought the question was rhetorical. Still, he answered. "Guarding Camelot," he told the boy, hand on his shoulder.
"Mmm." The boy - Hissyduck, wasn't that his name? or something like that... - turned, looking at the damaged town and castle. "And a bang-up job I've done of that so far." He sighed and pushed away from the stone. "Nothing's going to attack us tonight, Sir Galahad, darkness or no. The danger's all tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow."
"If you are sure, lad. Best go find some rest, then, while you can."
"You as well, Sir Galahad."
"Nay; I'll stay my post."
A smile glimmered at the boy's lips. "As you will," he said, and made his way back to the stairs, disappearing down them.
Galahad turned back to the battlements, and began to pace out the night.
It had been a very long day and night, and Douxie badly wanted to find a bed, or failing that, some sort of sheltered horizontal surface, before dawn. And at that, he knew he had far and away not had the worst of it; he left that status to those who had lost either life or limb to Morgana's attack - to them, and to their loved ones.
I'm lucky, he knew. We were forewarned, and prepared. This all could have been so much worse.
But tell that to the twelfth century goodwives who had probably wept themselves to sleep.
Guilt curdled low in his stomach. He could have done more, should have done more--
I laid more wards than I did the first time, Douxie thought. I knew where more of the bombs were.
Not enough, the laments of the living chided him. Never enough.
Though the wails of the townsfolk and castle servants held more weight on his heart than the pained cries of Camelot's knights and squires.
I should be better, thought Douxie. Less vindictive. But it was hard to forget that which his own spellwork hadn't already eliminated from his mind. A wizard's memory seldom had the blurring that the passage of time allowed to mortals. So Douxie remembered all too well blows and bruises, the nauseating pain of injury after injury that he'd been so hard-pressed to hide from Merlin until they healed, because he absolutely could not afford to be turned out.
Camelot had been his last chance. His best chance. His only chance to master the power that bubbled out of him, to do more, to be more--
And she'd taken her payment in pain and neglect.
Well, he thought, forcing grim humor, at least it prepared me for the next nine centuries.
Right now, he craved nothing more than to curl up with the comforting presence of his familiar and sleep a dozen hours. But he knew that he'd never be able to climb up all the steps of Merlin's tower, so he resigned himself to a bench somewhere, or maybe a corner on the floor in Aja's chambers, if he could make it that far.
Alas, it was not to be. Because as he rounded a corner - and drat, the slorr's stable and thus presumably the beast itself, had survived - Douxie saw two familiar figures on a bench, leaning against each other in a doze.
Steve. And Eli.
The former, at least, had dried tear tracks on his face.
He sighed. He couldn't in good conscience just leave them there.
Another task before him, before he could sleep.
"Come on, lads," Douxie said, taking each by the shoulder and shaking them gently. "I'm sure there's proper beds somewhere calling your names."
Steve came awake with a confused garble, flailing. "I'll fight you all! Huh? Oh, hey, Douxie."
Eli just meeped and fell off the back of the bench. "Oww..." he moaned, a hand at the back of his head.
"Come on," Douxie repeated, hauling him up. "Sorry to wake you, but there's got to be better beds than this bench."
"Oh, definitely." Eli put a hand on his lower back, stretching his spine. But Steve just sat on the bench, looking lost.
Douxie paused. "Steve?"
"It's all real, isn't it? All those knights got hurt or killed." Steve wore a devastated expression. "But... we're the good guys, man! The good guys aren't supposed to get hurt."
Douxie sighed. And slowly sat down next to Steve. "Steve... real life isn't like a movie."
"I know that!" Steve's hands were in his hair. "It's just... it's not fair!"
Douxie bit his bottom lip. He had a lot of feelings about fair and about the knights of Camelot, but none of those were going to be helpful right now. "Steve... have you taken a good look at Sir Lancelot?"
"Uh, yeah. He's amazing." A small dreamy expression broke through Steve's distress.
"Have you noticed," said Douxie quietly, "that his left arm is artificial?"
"What? No it's not!"
But Eli's eyes were wide. "Oh my gosh, you're right, it is!"
"What?!" demanded Steve.
"Sir Lancelot," said Douxie, "lost his arm in battle many years ago, before I ever came to Camelot. And he's not the only one here injured. Sir Bedivere, too, has lost an arm. Sir Garrett was blinded as a child, long before he became a knight. And there are others. Yet they're still valued, and very dangerous men all." If not necessarily good. At least by Douxie's standards. Though Camelot's maimed knights had generally been kinder to him than their fellows.
"But--"
"If you can survive an injury," said Douxie quietly, "you can find a way to adapt around it. Prosthetics have been around for a long time. And bad things don't only happen to bad people, Steve; the whims of fate have absolutely nothing to do with morality."
"I don't wanna die," whimpered Steve.
Douxie froze. Oh.
So that's what this is about. Steve was a knight and the knights of Camelot were too, and a good number of them had just been injured or killed....
Douxie didn't know how to address that fear. As a wizard, he was immortal, so it wasn't something he had to think about except when people were actively trying to kill him. And in those moments he was generally thinking of something else - namely, how to get away.
Except... that wasn't quite true either, was it?
He'd had enough black moments when the shit of the world overwhelmed him and he'd wanted to die....
Douxie drew a shaky breath. "No one does, Steve," he said quietly, trying to feel his way through the conversation. "But in the end we all do. Even immortals. Even gods. We all have our moments in the sun, and then a long night's rest afterward."
Eli was button-lipped, Douxie noticed. Listening intently.
"But...."
"Toby died," said Eli unexpectedly. "...Didn't he?" he asked when the both of them looked at him. "I mean, Jim said so...."
Douxie nodded. "He did. Many of our allies and friends did." Many, many friends he'd had over the centuries had died. He still mourned them. But the funny thing about grief was, it softened from a sharp knife into... something gentler. Something that allowed you to miss the person, but more to remember the good times you'd had together.
"And Jim turned back time." Steve latched onto that. "He'd do that if any of us died, right?"
Douxie didn't want to break Steve's hope, but he had to. He shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Why?" Steve stood. "Aren't the rest of us important too? Why is Toby worth more than us?!"
"Toby's not more important," Douxie said, refusing to take the bait. Except to Jim. "But his death was one straw too many. Jim had a chance to save everyone, and he took it. That's kind of a one time thing, Steve."
Steve's face crumpled. "So if I die...."
Now Douxie stood. "You didn't last time," he said. "We're going to try to make sure you don't this time. And if you get injured, we'll do our best for you, the same as Merlin did for Lancelot. But Steve, even if you do die... that's not the end."
"What?" overlapped with Eli's "It's not?"
Douxie shook his head, thinking of the afterlife's waiting room. Of the warm light coming through stained glass. Of the door that had opened to whatever came next, and how both Merlin and Morgana had seemed utterly at peace as they moved on, leaving the world to him. Leaving the last few shreds of wizardry in his bumbling, incompetent, unworthy hands.
He was wiped out, and sleep deprivation made you believe lies. Like that you weren't worthy to be a master wizard. He forced himself to refocus. "We go on. I swear it on my wizardry. Love endures. I've seen it."
"You promise?" whispered Steve.
"I would not lie," Douxie vowed. Not about this. "I promise."
Steve relaxed. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay...."
"What about ghosts?" Eli asked.
Steve tensed. "Ghosts?!"
"Well, I mean, this is a castle," Eli pointed out. "Wouldn't someplace like this be awesome for staging Hamlet? So are there ghosts?" he asked Douxie.
Regardless of Douxie's exhaustion, Eli's boundless enthusiasm for the outre made him smile. "Alas, there's no such thing," Douxie said. "Bar a few very specific circumstances, such as Kanjigar and the spirits of other past Trollhunters being bound to advise their successors."
Eli wilted. "Aww...."
"Though poltergeists are real enough," he mused; a bone tossed to the boy. "But thankfully rare. They're also definitely not the work of disgruntled souls left behind."
"Really?" Eli's eyes shone in the torchlight as Douxie began walking and the pair followed him, rather like ducklings, as he led the way back to Aja's chambers.
"Really," Douxie told Eli, as Merlin had once told him. "They're beings of their own, entirely unrelated to humans. Though they do feed on us. Specifically on the feelings of anguish and fear. Their lesser cousins tend to cause kitchen drawers to jam."
"Psychic vampires!" Eli crowed, fists clenched tight in triumph. "I knew it!"
The human king had some gall, Vendel thought, coming here, to Dwoza, to ask for aid. "After all you've done, you expect us trolls to fight this war for you?"
"No, not for me," the man protested. "With me; as equals."
Vendel snorted at the thought of Arthur Pendragon ever seeing trolls as equals.
"I vow," the king continued, "if we win this war, we shall live in peace."
Vendel had broken pebbles with more integrity than this human's vow.
But at the same time-- Hope niggled at him, as always. If the human did hold to his words, how much could change?
Well, they'd no longer be hunted and harried, huddled refugees always scavenging for resources. The thought was tantalizing, like the perfume of some rare and exotic beverage, hanging in the air.
But could he really trust the lives of his people to the word of a man who'd broken so much already?
"Gumm-Gumms," he pointed out, "are terrifying warriors. While we are but humble gravel miners. How, exactly, do you expect us to ever defeat Gunmar?" Because he had no doubt that a good part of Arthur's plan was to use his people as expendable bait. And that, Vendel could not allow.
"We will give you a secret weapon," promised the king.
Another promise. This conversation seemed to be made of nothing but them. "What weapon?" Vendel demanded. "If you had one, you would have already used it against us!"
There, the king's confidence finally faltered; his face fell. He shifted to the side, turning to look at the wizard, clad in dark armor, who had trailed him through Dwoza. "Merlin?" he asked, sounding suddenly unsure.
The wizard sniffed. "That armor," he said pointedly, "was meant for you, my king."
"We must give something," the king told the wizard. "And I have armor." He patted the shining chest plate he wore.
Merlin's lips tightened. "The armor was intended to end this war," he said. "Not to be given away as some sort of negotiating tool."
"And that is what it will do," the king said. "Can you think of a better way to end this war against Gunmar?" His lips tightened. "Against Morgana, and her masters?"
The wizard clearly didn't like it, but after a moment shook his head in agreement. "I cannot. But, Arthur--" His hand rested on the king's shoulder. "Against those who have resurrected her... I cannot protect you. Excalibur cannot protect you."
"Thus why we seek an alliance," the king replied, his hand covering the wizard's. "I have long had faith in you, old friend; have faith in me."
His words won a small smile. "Always, my king," the wizard vowed.
"This is all very touching," Vendel broke in, "but one set of armor?" He sniffed. "We are many, and you ask us all to risk our lives."
"The armor," Merlin said, his hand falling from the king's shoulder as he glared at Vendel, "will choose one among you to become a great warrior; the one best suited to the task of defending others from the forces of evil, and darkness."
The small human female tensed at the spite in that last word. The strange blue troll who stood behind her put a hand on her shoulder; she covered it with her own, relaxing as she smiled up at him.
Merlin did not miss the interaction, and fixed the two of them with a gimlet stare as he continued speaking. "And that chosen one will--"
His words were cut off, drowned under the sound of a pounding at the gate. The thick stone boomed. The tremor sent dust and pebbles raining down across the main cavern.
"What in Gorgus' name--" demanded Blinkous Galadrigal.
"Oh no," said the blue stranger, who had moved automatically to shelter the small human in the embrace of his arms.
"Wait, Jim, is this--"
A second boom. Cracks spread across the stone slab's surface. Screams broke out, Bagdwella's particularly shrill. "They've come for us!" she shrieked, though it was not clear who she meant. Dwoza had so many enemies.
One more boom, and the barrier crumbled like clay. Bounding in atop the debris came an emerald and armor nightmare. "Aaarrrgghh bring message," the Gumm-Gumm general growled. "Join Gunmar, or die."
It seemed Douxie was right about the timeline trying to heal itself, Jim thought. Because here was Aaarrrgghh, pounding his way into Dwoza again, bringing Gunmar's demands.
But if the timeline was trying to heal itself, Jim thought, it had terrible timing. Because--
"Fell beast," King Arthur growled, his eyes narrowed as he drew Excalibur.
Aaarrrgghh growled, but otherwise ignored him, his beetle-black gaze narrowing in on.... "Witch," he grated, and leapt.
Claire eeped and drew darkness around herself, vanishing just as Aaarrrgghh would have crashed into her.
"It is the end times!" Blinky wailed. "Flee, we must flee!" And matching action to word, he ran in the same direction as the screaming crowd.
"Come on." Jim snagged Deya out of the hysterical troll mass.
"You want me to go up against him?!" she demanded, gesturing at Aaarrrgghh. "No thanks!"
"It's either you and me, or we leave him to Arthur," Jim snapped. The medieval king had already swung; his blade skittered down Aaarrrgghh's vambrace, throwing sparks. "Do you really want to see more blood on the floor?"
"If it's Arthur's?" she asked. "I'm fine with that."
"And if it's stone dust?" Jim asked.
The hesitation on her face spoke volumes.
"Come on," he said, hauling the future Trollhunter into battle.
Merlin's eye was twitching as Claire reappeared next to him. He raised his staff, presumably to fire off some sort of energy blast.
"Don't," Claire told him.
"But the king is being threatened," the wizard protested, glaring.
"The king is putting himself in danger," she retorted. "You can't interfere with this."
Merlin's hand twitched. "If I had my Time Map," he said, "I could confirm your words. Unfortunately, as Hisirdoux still has it in his possession--" He raised his staff again.
With no compunction whatsoever, Claire swept shadows over the master wizard, dumping him into the shadow realm to cool his heels. Merlin had no talent with shadow magic, so he wouldn't be getting out of there on his own. "Mess up my timeline, will you?" she muttered, then turned to see what difference she could make.
"Join Skullcrusher!" the big brute demanded, shrugging off Arthur and sending him flying. "Or I crush skulls!" Which certainly did not sound like Blinkous' idea of a good time. Still, he peeped out from his hiding place, wanting, needing to know what was happening.
"We're not joining Gunmar," the blue stranger--Jim--said with a slash of his hand. "Not now, not ever!"
Deya wrinkled up her face. "Yeah, the benefits weren't so great last time," she muttered.
"Then die!" growled the brute, running and jumping at the mouthy pair. He swatted Deya into the wall like she was nothing more than an errant gnome, before turning his ire on Jim.
Blinky watched wide-eyed as the blue youth leapt and dodged, nimbly avoiding each hit. "My word," he muttered. "The boy must be a fantastic dancer!"
"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" asked a voice behind him. Blinky yelped, spinning to see the shadow witch stepping out of a swirl of inky darkness. She stepped closer to him, peering out past the barrels that barricaded their position. "Sadly, Jim's never got beyond the 'stand in one place and sway' technique."
"A pity," said Blinky.
She flashed a smile up at him. "It really is."
He hesitated. But the thing was, Blinkous had been hatched curious, so he couldn't really stop himself from inquiring. "Should you not be out there helping?"
The slim maiden arched an eyebrow at him. "Shouldn't you?"
The thing about fighting Aaarrrgghh was, he'd trained Jim. So while this version of his mentor was, hands down, a thousand times more rage filled than the one Jim knew and loved, his moves were, at least to Jim's eye, telegraphed well ahead of time. He knew how Aaarrrgghh fought, even when the motives behind the moves were different. Keeping up, keeping ahead of him was like a game by now.
(Blinky had called Jim a grasshopper once.)
Even once Deya, having gotten her hands on a mace, entered the fray, it wasn't hard.
Or at least it wasn't until Arthur, having struggled to his feet, leapt at Aaarrrgghh's unshielded back, murder in his eyes and sword in his hand.
"No!" cried Jim, freezing just long enough that Aaarrrgghh grabbed hold of one of Jim's legs and bashed him into the ground, chest first.
In a white hot blaze of pain, the shard of Gaylen's Core drove farther into the Time Stone.