[fic] [Tales of Arcadia] Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet 159/?
Your Future Hasn’t Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
released 10th November, 2023
Gawain narrowed his eyes at the group of foreigners as they entered the training grounds. "A most motley assembly," he muttered to Gareth.
Who merely shrugged. "A knight may come from the least likely place," he reminded Gawain needlessly. As if anyone ever forgot Gareth's time in the kitchens. Or Sir Garrett's rising from the stables to knighthood, for that matter.
Gawain snorted. "I see a weakling," he said, indicating the dark-haired boy. "A fat one. A woman. Only the blond youth seems a likely candidate."
Gareth shrugged again. "The one boy can build muscle with time. The other reminds me of Sir Galahad--"
Gawain choked on a laugh because damn if Gareth wasn't right about that.
Gareth chose to ignore him. "--and as to the maiden, might I remind you that you lost your last two matches against Sir Kayley?"
Gawain soured. "You need not."
Gareth clapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, my friend. They may be better suited than you fear."
"If not, you owe me a drink," Gawain groused as they went over to the group, to find them armor for the training yard. "And none of Galahad's vile onion brew, either!"
"Eww, this reeks!" Steve complained, holding a chestplate out before himself.
Darci barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes.
"It does smell kind of like the locker room," Eli agreed, wrinkling his nose at his own armor. The knights had needed to scrounge to find anything small enough to fit him. As it was, his set looked the most slapdash.
"And I thought nothing smelled as bad as the locker room," Toby agreed. He looked at Darci. "You're not saying anything?"
This time she did roll her eyes. "TP, I wear the school's mascot costume," she said, pulling her own breastplate down over her head. Her hair poofed out as soon as it cleared the shoulder straps. "This funk? Is nothing compared to the Mole."
Eli gaped. "Wait, you're the Mole...?"
"I am," Darci told them. "So put on your armor and button up your complaints, boys, or once we get home, I'll give you a whiff of the real BO inside that thing."
She took the helmet Toby handed her. He got to wear his magic armor, the cheater. She bet Daylight or Eclipse never smelled inside. "My hair," she decided, eyeing the seams inside that were going to pinch and pull, "is going to be a mess after this."
"If I might." One of the knights who'd been helping to outfit them offered her a white handkerchief. "Sir Morien covers his hair before donning a helm."
She stared at the implication. "Wait, do you mean to tell me--"
"There were Black knights in King Arthur's court?!" Toby demanded before she could get there.
The other knight sniffed. "There are always black knights, marauding and challenging," he said. "But if you ask if among our comrades at the Round Table there are those who come from the Afric lands... aye, there are a few."
"Whoa," whispered Steve, wide-eyed.
Douxie pushed open the door to Merlin's workroom, expecting to hear Morgana haranguing their mutual master, only to find-- silence. Merlin was bent over the table before the stained glass windows, intently studying the pieces of what would become the Trollhunter amulet, seeking yet again whatever flaw in design it was that made every material he'd attempted to use unsuitable.
Well, that's different, Douxie thought, quietly setting his armload of precious metals on the great study table on the lower level. He caught sight of the Time Map right where he expected it, on Merlin's bookshelves. He edged surreptitiously closer. He didn't have the advantage of Morgana distracting Merlin this time, but--
"Hisirdoux," Merlin said, never looking up from the amulet pieces, "shouldn't you be milking the slorr?"
"Yes, I was just about to get right to that," Douxie babbled, playing the part of the inept, flustered apprentice.
But then.
No, he thought, and made himself stop.
I know how this song and dance goes.
Merlin's going to find out I'm from the future eventually, and the fact that I tried to hide it from him is going to make him think that I'm just the same as I ever was. That I'm small. A thief. A liar. And he was both of those things, but....
Douxie was suddenly so tired of the way Merlin looked at him. The way Merlin had always looked at him, bar a few moments in a future that, Taliesin willing, wouldn't happen.
The way Merlin might always look at him, if things didn't change.
"Master," he said, meaning Father, "may I borrow the Time Map?"
Merlin looked up from the amulet. "The Time Map," he began, "is not a mere toy or trinket for you to play with, Hisirdoux--"
"I know," Douxie cut him off. "And that's not why I'm asking."
Merlin's eyes narrowed. He straightened. "You seem different, Hisirdoux. What has come upon you?"
Nine centuries and too many ends of the world, Douxie thought without humor. Archie was watching him from the great study table. He wondered if the version of himself that he'd become seemed as strange to his familiar as it doubtless did to his master. "I would ask you, Master," Douxie said softly, "to consider why I might ask to borrow the Time Map." He reached up, tugged at his blue bangs. Met Merlin's eyes. "And when I might be from."
It took a second for his words to sink in, but when they did, Merlin's eyes widened.
"Time travel?!" Merlin was demanding as Morgana pushed open the door, Claire and Mary trailing in her wake. "Of all the foolish, reckless things you've ever done, Hisirdoux...!"
"Well, what's this, then?" Morgana asked silkily, striding inside, even as Douxie glanced at Claire and Mary, then looked back at the fuming senior mage.
And how weird was it, Claire thought, that all five of them in the room were wizards? It should have felt normal by now to be associating with other wizards, but... other than at the museum, when they'd been moving Killahead Bridge around? She'd never been in the same room with so other many wizards at once.
Even if two of them were definitely not her favorite people.
"Wow, drama," Mary murmured to her.
"Drama sooner than expected," Claire murmured back. This was... maybe worrisome? Especially if Mogana knew about the time travel. She hadn't, last time. Would it make a difference?
Merlin's rant had gone on unabated. "I knew you were an ignoramus, but traveling through time? Time~!"
"Hey, it wasn't his fault!" Mary pushed to the fore.
Merlin stared at her. So did Morgana.
Claire gritted her teeth. Great timing, Mare. "It really wasn't," she said, stepping forward herself. Standing shoulder-by-shoulder with her bestie.
Morgana's eyes widened. "Do you mean to tell me that all three of you...?"
"Are from the future, yes." Douxie came to stand behind Claire and Mary, putting a hand on either of their shoulders. It felt reassuring, which was good because Claire really wasn't sure they'd done the right thing at all, outing themselves as time travelers to Morgana Le Fay. "There was an accident, and a shard of almost pure magic hit a Time Stone. All of us within a certain radius were blasted back to... well. Here."
Morgana's mouth was open wide. Flabbergasted was a new look on her. "Are you intimating, little Douxie, that that entire party my brother just greeted are from the future?"
Douxie's eyes met hers steadily. "Not just intimating, Lady Morgana. I'll say it outright. Yes."
"Including the troll?"
"That's my boyfriend," Claire snapped. "And yes."
Now Morgana was staring at her. "Astounding."
Merlin, however, was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "Do you have any idea what you've done, and just how wrong it can go, Hisirdoux?"
Douxie let go of her and Mary. "I do, Master. I know I resemble the Hisirdoux who's your apprentice, but... trust me, I've had to learn a lot of harsh lessons. I know exactly how wrong things might go."
"Those must have been harsh lessons indeed," Archie muttered.
"Hush, Arch," Douxie told his familiar. He looked back at Merlin. "Thus why I'm asking to borrow the Time Map."
Merlin glared at him for a long moment, then turned to go back to the table at the upper level, dismissing them all with a sharp, curt wave. "Take it. Try not to botch up things any further than you already have. Morgana, I require your thoughts."
"Thank you, Master," Douxie said, sweeping a bow.
"You and I, handmaidens, shall have much to talk about," Morgana said, going where summoned.
"And for heavens' sake, Hisirdoux, send your younger self to me!" Merlin snapped as Douxie picked up the Time Map off a shelf. "I need my assistant."
Douxie winced. "Yes, Master," he said, and made a hasty retreat.
Mary's expression and gesture made a clear question to Claire: Should we follow him?
Claire shook her head no and gestured at Morgana. Who was leaning over the table with Merlin, studying something. We need to stay with her.
Sighing, Mary crossed her arms and looked around the room. It no doubt looked boring to her, with old books, obscure maps, and magical bits of detritus everywhere. And Mary hadn't spent time in concentrated studies of Trollish and what Claire had once deemed "Wizardese."
But Claire had, and so to her, it was like being in a candy store. If - and here she glanced at Merlin - she could get away with browsing without being yelled at.
Grinning, she set to.
Gaylen was dead.
Gaylen was dead.
Gaylen was dead, and Seklos was dead, and nothing in the whole wide universe could change that.
The shouting of her Royals, and of her commanding officer, was no more than insects buzzing in Zadra's ears in comparison to the core-deep wreckage within her.
Or, worse, it was aqua regia poured on a wound. Acidic. Painful. Destructive.
Finally they ran out of words. Or, more precisely, Commander Vex stopped the tirades of the King- and Queen-in-Waiting.
"At this juncture," the Commander said, "I believe that nothing more can be productively said to Lieutenant Zadra. She must come to terms with her actions first."
Prince Krel snorted. "By 'actions' do you mean injuring Jim, stranding us all in the past, or disobeying her orders?"
"Enough." Princess Aja laid her hand on her brother's arm. "What has been done, cannot be undone. Only the actions yet before us still matter."
Krel rolled his eyes. "Forgive and forget?" he asked her.
"Forgive," she corrected him, "and understand with compassion. But forget?" Her eyes, an unnerving blue-gray in human form, seemed to pierce through Zadra. "No. I will not forget. Any more than I have forgotten Varvatos' actions."
It could have been an accusation, but Vex did not take it as such. Instead, he nodded. "It is wise to know the weak spots of those under your command."
The princess nodded solemnly in agreement. "Now. While we are here, I wish to see the training of these knights of Camelot."
The prince scoffed. "I, for one, do not!"
"Krel."
He rolled his eyes. "Their weapons are primitive, their leader someone who has tried, or at least will try, to murder our friends multiple times, and we all know the reason you want to see their training is just so you can drool over the Oaf."
A light blue stained the princess' cheeks. She did not deny the accusation.
Prince Krel sighed. "Fine. Go watch the training. Take Zadra with you. Maybe the possibility of bloodshed will bring her back to her senses."
"And what will you be doing?" Varvatos demanded.
The prince shrugged. "Exploring this un-wrecked castle, I guess?"
The way the other two knights leaned against the wooden fences, smirking, was not at all reassuring, Darci thought.
"Anyone else's neck hairs prickling up?" Toby asked, following her gaze.
"Oh I don't like this." Eli fidgeted, closing the slatted visor of his helmet to protect his glasses. "I don't like this at all...."
Which was when, in a thunder of hoofbeats, Sir Lancelot burst into the yard, followed by half a dozen other mounted knights.
Steve shrieked and was promptly knocked on his butt by Lancelot's swing.
"Don't panic, don't panic!" Toby yelped, promptly putting his back to Darci, who in turn yanked Eli in with them, making a triangle of outward facing defense as Steve struggled back to his feet. The horses were huge and loud, way too close for comfort. Blades flashed in the riders' hands as they circled. Toby fended off one sword; another strike hit Darci's helm.
"I thought the first rule was to always be afraid!" Eli shouted.
"Fear keeps you alive," Toby said grimly, eyes flickering back and forth, watching the riders that ringed them. Assessing. "But the important thing is not to let it make you freeze."
Suddenly Toby broke out in a grin. His helmet appeared on his head, and he adjusted his stance.
Darci's gaze flickered from him to the riders hedging them all in even as she fended off more hits and Steve shrieked again. She looked, but she didn't see whatever Toby clearly saw.
With a jump, he dropped into the ball-roll he'd learned from Draal, breaking through the ring of cantering horses, scattering them and their riders like they were bowling pins and he'd just made a strike.
On the far side of the broken ring, Toby landed light on his feet, spinning, Daylight in his hand. Half of the knights had been knocked ass over teakettle; only Lancelot remained astride.
Darci grinned, sword in hand, and darted forward, engaging with one of the knights who had landed on their feet.
Yelping, Eli did the same.
Steve screamed an incoherent word salad, followed by "Come at me, scrub lord!"
Lancelot just laughed and performed an acrobatic dismount. "A worthy insult! Let us see if your combat is as good as your boasting!"
Well, thought Darci, dodging under a swipe from her own opponent and stabbing back in defense, at least Steve's making a friend.
"I really hate learning on the job!" yelped Eli, followed by the clong! sound of his mace hitting metal.
"Ah, come on, these guys are nowhere near as bad as Gunmar," Toby pointed out. How he and the boys had the breath to banter while fighting, Darci didn't know. Maybe they were all just idiots with too much testosterone. A trickle of sweat ran down her forehead, making her blink furiously.
And she'd thought the Mole outfit had poor ventilation!
"Hold!" Lancelot called, raising his hand. Around them, the various knights drew back. "Did you say Gunmar?" he asked, approaching Toby.
Who looked confused. "Uh, yeah?"
"We totally kicked his butt!" Steve cheered, draping himself on Lancelot's shoulder.
A pleased grin spread across the blond knight's face. "Well, my brothers and sisters of the shield," he declared, "it seems we have found ourselves worthy brethren to join our cause!"
A roar went up, swords thrust high into the sky.
"Tonight, let us drink together to a bright future, and routing that monster in the woods!"
Beyond Lancelot, Darci saw Sir Gawain, still leaning on the fence, shake his head, and pass money to Sir Gareth.
"But first," and here Lancelot grinned, "let us put our new comrades through their paces, that we might know what they are truly made of."
Darci swallowed as swords were leveled again at her.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
"Is it just me, or is every third drip slower?" Jim asked, only half joking.
"Nah, it's every fourth drip," Callista bantered back to him.
Sitting in the dungeon cell for endless hours, Jim had begun to appreciate how mind-numbingly bored Morgana must have become, very fast, in her imprisonment.
No wonder she'd started meddling with Changelings and Angor Rot and who knew what else.
I'd go crazy too, Jim thought, and wasn't that a weird sentiment, to be sympathizing with a woman who was a psychotic bitch?
Everyone else swore she'd changed at the end, softened. Been an ally.
But I don't remember that, Jim thought bitterly. I don't remember any of that.
All he remembered was the Morgana who had taken over Claire's body. The one who had allied with Gunmar. The one who had brought the Eternal Night.
The one on the wrong side of Killahead.
The one who had swept into Arthur's throne room just a few hours ago, defying a king in Jim's defense.
People are complicated, he thought, sighing.
"Pebble for your thoughts, Skinny?" Callista offered.
"People are complicated," Jim obediently told her. He wasn't expecting her to actually throw a pebble at him. "Ow! Hey," he complained as it bounced off his forehead and into the murky depths of his cell.
"Should've been paying attention," she told him.
"You know what? Fair enough." He settled back against the wall.
"So. People are complicated?" she asked.
Jim shrugged. "They just are. Even the ones I really want to see take a long walk off a short pier."
Callista laughed. "I've got a few names on that list."
"Bet some of them overlap with mine."
She laughed again. "I'm not taking that bet."
Douxie, Jim thought, would use the dripping water as a metronome. He'd be making up some song right now, refining it by running through it a hundred times, probably driving everyone in the dungeon nuts.
He'd probably get pebbles thrown at him too, Jim thought with a smile.
Instead, somewhere above Jim's head, right now, he was... what? Stealing the Time Map? Making plans? Keeping Steve out of trouble?
That last one was probably too much to ask for.
If only there was something I could be doing.
Not even half a week ago, they'd been in the fifth century, rescuing trolls and Merlin. Now they were in the twelfth (again), trying to rescue their entire timeline. It was enough to give you whiplash. Or jet lag.
One week, Jim thought. Just give me one week with nothing going on.
He had to chuckle as he realized that nothing going on... was exactly what he had, at the moment.
Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, waiting for the jailbreak to come.
Only to be distracted by something humming in the back of his mind.
Jim's eyes opened again as he tried to parse out what it was.
They shot wide when he realized what he was sensing.
Holy shit! He stared down at the floor of his cell, digging his fingers into the dirt.
"There's a Heartstone down there."
Callista rolled her eyes. "Yeah, no crap, Cadfael. How else do you think they get away with feeding us bupkis?"
Douxie and I talked about this. Was it important? Jim couldn't remember. I've got to tell Douxie, Jim thought. He'll want to know.
The Heart of Avalon... was a Heartstone.
"Varvatos does not see," he said, shadowing his King-in-Waiting, "what exactly you expect to learn from studying this structure."
Prince Krel hummed, examining the stone wall before them. "Well, before I was not able to put the castle entirely back together. There were missing pieces, parts we could not find or that had been too badly fragmented in the fall."
Varvatos nodded. The destruction and reconstruction of Castle Camelot had happened while he was on Akiridion-5, serving their people and Queen Aja. But the King-in-Waiting had sent frequent subspace missives to his sister, keeping her informed of his activities on Earth. The young Queen had been kind enough to share many of them with Varvatos.
"In particular," Krel continued, "I was unable to repair the sanitation system. Thus the portable restrooms located in most wings."
"Ah." Varvatos achieved enlightenment. "So you are curious about the original workings of the castle's sanitation." Hoomans were very inefficient with their bodily byproducts, which were remarkably messy, and smelled almost as bad as a Durian. He could understand Prince Krel's point about not wanting to interact with those waste products, or to even have to be reminded of their existence.
"Yes." Prince Krel leaned the side of his head against the stone, ear pressed up against the rock as he rapped his knuckles on it, listening. "Hmm. I need more information."
"There is no guarantee," Varvatos pointed out, leaning on his cane, "that you will be called upon to reconstruct the castle this time as well."
"True. But." Krel shrugged. "I wish to be ready, just in case. There were many improvements that I simply did not have the time or materials to make."
"Prince Karl," a voice said.
Krel's shoulders rose. He buried his head in his hands. Varvatos could see his jaw working, grinding. "My name is Krel," the prince snapped, head coming up, dark eyes bright with anger. "Four letters! K-R-E-L! Why is that so difficult for everyone on this planet to remember?!"
Arthur Pendragon looked taken aback. "My... apologies, Prince... Krel," he said awkwardly, enunciating the prince's name with care.
Krel huffed through his teeth. "It is not the first time. It will probably not be the last."
"Clearly." The Earth king's gaze sized up Krel. The Pendragon king was taller, and broader, and probably stronger. The hilt of a familiar sword gleamed over his shoulder.
Varvatos knew little of this king, save that all his comrades from the future held the Pendragon king in disdain. Still, they were stuck in an unfamiliar time, and within the realm of this king's power.
Discretion, Varvatos concluded, would be wise.
"Walk with me, Prince Krel," the king invited.
Krel's brows drew together, but after a moment, he nodded. Varvatos followed at a reasonable distance.
"What do you think of Camelot?" the Pendragon asked, waving a hand to indicate the castle.
"I think it is technologically primitive but structurally very impressive, given the limitations of local material," Prince Krel replied.
His answer clearly took the king aback. "Technologically... primitive...?"
"My people are descended from those you call 'Atlanteans'," he said. "What we deem as advanced is very different."
Arthur's blue eyes widened. "Atlanteans?" he breathed.
"Ah, you have heard of them."
Arthur nodded. "Merlin told me tales. He said they were destroyed, long ago."
Krel snorted. "Merlin does not know everything. As someone will someday say, the reports of our deaths were greatly exaggerated. Atlantis was not destroyed. It was merely relocated by a local wizard."
"Astounding." The Pendragon seemed to be turning things over in his mind. "Is that why your sister bears an enchanted weapon? Are such things common among your people?"
"Her serrator?" Krel shrugged again. "Some have them, some do not." He pulled his own out of his pocket and activated it in the shape of a sword. "I, for instance, do."
"May I?" Arthur gestured at the serrator.
Prince Krel deactivated it and handed it over. The hooman king took the hard light weapon. He clearly tried, and failed, to activate it.
"There is a knack to it," Krel said, taking his weapon back and stowing it without offering to teach the king that knack. "Anyway, you have Excalibur." His gaze lingered on the sword that Varvatos felt rightfully belonged to Jim Lake Jr.
Varvatos held his tongue. Politics was the game of Royals. Prince Krel would ask his opinion later.
Arthur's expression set. He gestured to a set of stairs, ones that led to the battlements. Krel nodded, and followed the king up them. As did Varvatos, cursing his creaky hooman knees.
The view from the top, Varvatos admitted, was worth the climb. Arthur seemed to think so too, for he spent several minutes looking out at it before he turned back to prince Krel. "Have you heard of Charlemagne?"
Krel's brow wrinkled. "Archie's dad?"
"Who is-- no." Arthur's hand slashed through the air. "The king and emperor Charlemagne."
Krel shook his head.
Arthur breathed out and rested a hand on the battlements. "He was a great and wise leader, many centuries ago. He united many warring factions under his banner. As I have tried to do here." His gesture indicated Camelot, and presumably the lands beyond.
Krel nodded, clearly waiting to see where the Pendragon king was going with this.
"His name has become a byword for a great leader. A king." Arthur's blue eyes met Krel's. "'Karl,' in the Germanic, means just that: a king."
"Ah." Krel took that. Digested it. "So, calling me by that name...."
"Was not an insult," Arthur agreed levelly. "I would speak with you, king to prince." His gaze moved across his holdings again before returning to Krel. His expression was calculating. "Tell me, Prince Krel. What are your thoughts about an alliance between our peoples?"
Author's Note: My apologies for missing a few weeks of posting. My entire family fell sick. Most of us (including me) are still sick! But hopefully I can get back on schedule now.
In this chapter, a Sir Garrett and Sir Kayley are mentioned. They are, in fact, references to The Quest for Camelot animated movie! I was worried momentarily about having Garrett and Gareth, on who he was based, in the same story, but there are in fact rather a lot of knights in Arthurian mythos whose names start with "Ga-". And it's not like no one IRL ever shares a name with someone else. And, yes, there are also canonically "Moorish" (read: Black) knights in Arthurian mythos. As opposed to black knights, who are also there! Jim asking if every third drip is slower is a reference to the Cars movie. And I really wanted to have Callista say "No shit, Sherlock," but given that Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be invented for another 700-some-odd years, I went sideways to reference the Brother Cadfael mysteries instead, which are about a Welsh monk and are set in... the twelfth century. Heh. It's nice when something comes together.