[fic] [Tales of Arcadia] Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet 177/?
Your Future Hasn’t Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
released 4th October, 2024
The entrance to Dwoza appeared suddenly, as they rounded a bend. Not quite out of nowhere - Jim had been smelling an increase in trolls for some time, and by her twitchiness, he suspected Deya had too. Not Toby, though, and probably not Krel. Jim glanced at Varvatos and realized for the first time that the Akiridion had no nose. Twice the usual number of eyes, which like Blinky's set of six probably helped immensely in low light situations, but no nose.
Does Varvatos even have a sense of smell? Jim wondered. Aja and Krel definitely did, in Akiridion form... but then they had noses.
"Welp, looks like this is it," said Callista/Deya, looking ahead. A great stone door stood in their path, guarded by a pair of trolls Jim didn't know. Each had a spear and a bored expression. Her gaze slid over to Toby. "Don't know how you think you're gonna get in, though."
Toby held up a finger. "One moment, if you please." His eyes drifted shut and his finger drifted to his amulet. He breathed in, slow and steady.
A pewter helmet, with goat horns curling on either side, appeared on his head, gleaming with ruby accents.
Callista/Deya snorted. "Nice try, kid, but I can still see your face--"
The face plate snapped shut, concealing all sign of humanity. Within its recesses, Toby's eyes opened again, green as emeralds. "How about now?" he asked with a hint of challenge.
Her jaw snapped shut. "I guess that'll do," she said, and stalked off toward the guards.
Jim grinned. "Nice work," he told his best friend.
"Yeah, but do I smell right?" Toby asked. His voice was barely distorted by the helm.
Jim inhaled deeply, trying to sort out scents. For all that they had a weaker sense of taste, trolls definitely had sharper senses of smell than humans. "You need a bath," he told Toby, though to trollish senses, unwashed wasn't unpleasant the way it was to humans.
Toby shoved him. "Pot, kettle," he shot back.
Jim grinned. "You're fine, Tobes." The fact that they all needed showers was actually working in their favor here. Beyond the metal and magic of the armor, dust and dirt did a decent job of covering up the more human notes of Toby's scent.
"I still don't get how you think we're going to get in," Toby said as they trudged after Callista. "You said last time you were here, they were doing their best to throw you back out, remember?"
"Ah, that is where I come in." Krel, glowing blue, fell into place on Toby's other side.
Toby looked sidelong at him. "Oh...?"
Krel grinned. "In the parlance of one of your movies, I am on a diplomatic mission from Alderaan."
Toby snorted. Jim snickered.
Krel's grin widened. "I do need to talk with Vendel about Mama and Papa's future visit. So hopefully pulling the royalty card will be enough to grant us entrance."
"Then, too, there is the fact that the trolls are unlikely to have seen anything like the king-in-waiting or Varvatos before," said Varvatos, bringing up the rear.
"Yeah, but that might mean they're less likely to let us all in," pointed out Jim.
"And, failing all points of diplomatic entrance," Varvatos continued blithely, "Varvatos can simply punch his way through the entrance!" A broad smile of anticipation was on his face.
Jim, Toby, and Krel all exchanged glances. "Let's hold that option in reserve," said Jim.
And then they were there, at the entrance.
"Why," groused Aja, "is it so 'inappropriate' for my clothing to look the same each day? I wore the same garments each day to the educational penitentiary for months and no one said anything!"
"Huh. I just figured you had a signature style," said Mary. "Like Claire and her Mama Skull t-shirts."
"Oh, like you wear such wild and varied clothes," Darci told Mary. She cast a pose. "Let me see - navy shirt number one, number two, or number three today?"
Navy magic snapped at Mary's fingertips, making Darci yelp then laugh. After a moment, Mary joined in, giggling.
"This is conspicuous consumption at its finest," Douxie told Aja, circling her, a thumb held thoughtfully to his lips. "Here and now, cloth is expensive and is used as a show of power. The richer and more varied your clothing, the more obviously powerful and wealthy you are. Even a traveling princess is expected to arrive with a vast wardrobe. Hmm." His thumb tapped twice then fell away. "Allow me?"
Aja gestured at her outfit, which he had already altered for her the previous day. "Go right ahead."
"Today is about display," said Douxie, kneeling at her feet, blue magic wreathing his hands. "Even more so than that banquet yesterday. You'll be sat by Arthur's side--"
"Ugh, again," Aja complained. "I am not going to marry him, and if he does not know that by now, he should!"
Douxie ignored her complaint as her skirts grew and shifted under the control of his magic. The red of her dress bled out, replaced by Akiridion cyan. "Hopefully he does. Regardless, it's a show of alliance." Heterochromic eyes glanced up at her. "You do that too on the galactic scale, I assume?"
"We do," she assured him. Her white sleeves, which had been tight-fitted, grew an outer layer that dripped almost to the floor. "This is going to be very restrictive," Aja observed.
"I think you'll find it less so than you expect." A final wave of Douxie's hand scattered the decoration Aja had come to learn was called embroidery all over the hems and cuffs of the garment. He stood. "Give it a try," he invited.
Aja did, falling into practice lunges and parries. The material of the garments, she found, was lighter than she expected. It flowed well.
"Whoa," said Darci. "You look like a wuxia film, Aja!"
"What is a woo-sha?"
"Martial arts," said Mary.
Aja felt her eyes light up. "You have films about fighting? Lively! I must see some."
"Okay," said Claire, coming back into the room. Her hands settled on her hips. "It looks nice," she told Douxie, "but does it have pockets?"
He grinned. "Would I ever make a garment without them?" he asked in reply. "After all, milady Aja does need somewhere to inconspicuously stash her serrator."
Aja blinked, then patted at her hips. She found a slit and shoved her hand within. Sure enough, her serrator was there. "You know," she said thoughtfully, wiggling her fingers around, "I could almost fit Luug in here." The pockets on the jeans that Mother had created for her transduction had been too small to hold even half a serrator. They had been extremely inconvenient, and annoying.
Douxie's grin turned slightly savage. "Historical pockets," he said, "are entirely superior."
You do not know who you are. Despite his best attempts to banish them, Nimue's words echoed in Douxie's mind. You will find out. This is not a kindness.
What... what did the goddess know about him that Douxie didn't know about himself?
He knew what he was. A jumped-up peasant boy, the worst apprentice Merlin had ever had, the clumsiest, biggest screw-up to ever grace Camelot's halls, and yet for all that, the best chance the Guardians of Arcadia had of surviving this medieval pit of vipers (although he admitted that was being unfair to snakes) and getting back to their own time to fight off General Morando, the Arcane Order, and gods only knew what other threats that might pop up that Douxie had foolishly not considered yet.
Who you are.
Who you are.
He shoved it all aside, all of Nimue's insinuations and their ramifications, and as he'd done for centuries, buried himself in work. Aja wasn't the only one who required a varied wardrobe, after all. Claire and Mary's gowns also needed to be transformed into something befitting their stations as the putative handmaidens to a visiting princess. Even Darci and Zadra's outfits got prettied up, armored though they were. Then it was on to the boys, and if Douxie was starting to feel a bit drained by the time he finished with their clothes... well, Steve's squeal and preening was worth it, as was the way Eli looked three inches taller and much more mature.
"Whoa," said Mary, her eyes wide. "You really do work magic."
Smirking, Douxie sketched a bow in her direction.
It doesn't matter who I am, he thought in the direction of Nimue's words. What matters is who I am and what I can do.
Claire bit her bottom lip as Douxie, looking worn down to her experienced eye, grinned at Mary. What Nimue said must have really rattled him, because he was spending magic on their party like power was cheap. And this when he knew there was an assassination attempt coming at the tournament, so he really should have been keeping an eye on his reserves.
But instead he was throwing himself full force into prettying everyone up for the feast. While Claire fully admitted she would have loved to wear this dress to the Spring Fling, Camelot, with its horrid politics, wasn't worth Douxie wasting his magic.
Though maybe he felt differently.
Still.... Magic is emotion, she thought. She knew that things had gone on for Douxie and Jim in the last week that they hadn't told anyone about. Because their recounting of their adventures in the sixth century definitely hadn't involved any mention of Douxie making anyone a staff, but earlier Jim had said Douxie had burnt himself out making a staff before they'd come back from 501CE. Which certainly, in hindsight, sounded like slip of the tongue.
Claire hadn't thought about it at the time, but now, watching Douxie, she was doing some mental math and not liking the numbers she was coming up with.
It definitely wasn't Morgana's staff that Douxie had made. She wasn't old enough to have been alive then. And the only other wizard that Claire knew who had a staff was....
Merlin.
Which painted a compelling argument for both what Jim and Douxie weren't talking about, and why they weren't telling anyone about it.
It also gave rise to an argument that Douxie was on less of an emotional even keel than she'd assumed or than he'd let himself show. Because being the one to make his own teacher's staff, when in modern times Merlin was the one who had tried to seal him away, was... not a pretty picture.
Douxie was solid. When it came down to the wire, he could always be counted on to do what needed to be done. As long as the problem wasn't his. If it was Jim in trouble, or Claire, or the whole world, Douxie would move mountains and never think twice about it.
But there was something in him that couldn't extend himself the same grace.
Frowning, Claire caught Steve by the elbow. "Steve. I need a favor."
"Huh? Oh, what?"
She nodded toward Douxie. "Make sure he eats." Last time at the feast Steve had been the one to find those disgusting eyeball pies that Douxie absolutely loved. Putting him in charge of feeding the wizard seemed like the best idea. Claire couldn't fix whatever emotional roller coaster Douxie was going through, but she knew that having a full belly of food helped cushion the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, whether you were a mortal or a master wizard.
"Sure," said Steve cluelessly.
"I mean it, Steve." Claire tugged at his elbow and gave him her best glare. "He's using a lot of magic, and we've got a lot of stuff still lined up before us."
"Oh!" Illumination lit up the blond's face. "I get it. He's thinking like it's a sprint, when it's a marathon." Steve gave a decisive nod. "Yeah, Coach wouldn't be too happy about that. Don't worry." He patted Claire's hand. "I'll manage Mister Magic Man. You can count on me!"
Claire sighed, her shoulders drooping with relief as Steve marched off, grabbing Eli and Douxie by their shoulders and declaring that the three of them should go off and explore the food options of this old-time RenFaire. She could hear Douxie protesting that this wasn't a RenFaire, those were a lot more fun, as Steve manhandled him out the door.
Aja was watching Claire, an almost suspicious look on her face. "What was that about?"
"Douxie's wearing himself down looking after us," Claire explained. "But who's looking after him?"
"That's Archie's job--" said Darci before cutting herself off. "Oh."
"It's Archie's job," Mary agreed, nodding, "but the Archie of now is pretty busy keeping on top of the Douxie of now."
"Exactly," said Claire, with feeling. "So it's up to us."
"Girl squad power!" squealed Mary, extending her hand out. With grins, Claire and Mary repeated the phrase and laid theirs on top of hers.
After a second, Aja shrugged. "Girl squad power," she said, clearly not getting as much of what the trio of them meant by it. But that was okay; she was newer, they had time to work on her.
"C'mon, Zadra!" Mary cheered. "You too!"
The Akiridion warrior rolled her eyes but placed her hand on top of the stack. "'Girl Squadron Power'," she said, clearly as a repetition.
"Yes!" Mary hissed, clenching her other fist in triumph. "Douxie protection task, team go!"
"I suddenly regret," Darci said sotto voce to Claire, "watching all those sentai shows with her."
"Do you really think anything could have stopped Mary?" asked Claire.
Darci shook her head, a smile on her face. "Not a chance."
The thing about Dwoza... heck, the thing about trolls in general, or at least those ones Vendel led, was that they weren't fighters. The Quagawumps were different, fierce short warriors all. Gatto's trolls were... well, they were slaves, so far as Jim had seen. And food sources for the giant mountain troll, which made him all kinds of queasy to think about. There were also the changelings, who were related to trolls even if they were their own distinct people. And Jim's general impression of them was that they were cunning, fond of sharp things, and above all else, survivalists.
So, really, maybe it was just Vendel's people who were... well, like humans. Because most humans, like most trolls, didn't carry around weapons, let alone know how to use them. Jim hadn't, until the amulet spoke his name! All of which meant that the Trollhunter was a specialist, highly trained to a specific purpose. Lauded among his people for his devotion and sacrifice... because none of the rest of them could, or would, do it.
His mouth tightened as he looked at the back of Deya's head. I'm sorry, Jim thought. This job is going to get you killed.
Because as he looked at Dwoza's guards, at how they gripped their weapons, he knew he could disarm them and have them be rubble in seconds. They weren't warriors. They weren't knights. They were people picked from the streets, or their jobs, to man the entrance and try to repel intruders. Or, failing that, at least to raise the alarm and buy precious seconds. Volunteers, not soldiers.
And if Jim knew he could disarm and kill them so easily, what chance did they, or any of the other inhabitants of Dwoza, have in the face of Gunmar?
"Hoo boy," muttered Toby from behind his face plate. "You sure these guys are up to the job?"
Jim shook his head grimly. "Not yet," he said, his gaze flashing to Deya again. Jim could persuade people to do things because he was a king. Deya had done it all on her own, without that divine power backing her up.
Unbidden, his mouth twitched in a smile. She's amazing.
"Halt!" commanded one of the guards, grasping his spear with both hands and poking it their way. "No outsiders allowed in!"
"Hey, point that thing somewhere else!" Deya snapped, pushing the spearhead aside. "We have business in Dwoza."
"With Dwoza," Krel clarified, pushing to the front.
The guards' eyes widened at his glowing crystalline appearance, but to their credit, they both shook their heads. "Nuh-uh," said one, and "No way," said the other.
Beside Jim, Toby sighed. "I didn't want to have to do this," he said, "but you've forced my hand, guys." And out of nowhere, he pulled out... a plastic bag?
Jim blinked.
It was definitely a gallon Ziploc, sealed, filled with....
Jim's eyes widened. Oh no. He recognized those contents.
Toby cracked the seal, and a most delicious odor wafted out through the air. Jim couldn't keep himself from licking his lips. Neither could Deya, or the guards.
The smell was rich, filled with notes of umami and saltiness and--
I am NOT finding sweaty gym socks tasty! Jim thought desperately, trying to hold on to his principles. I'm not!
One of the guards gave a moan of longing, swaying closer as Toby pulled out the reeking, offending garment and waved it back and forth.
"When did you put that in there?" Jim asked.
Toby gave him a sarcastic look. At least, Jim thought it was sarcastic. It was harder to tell when all he could see of Toby was his eyes. "Says the guy who carries brownies around in his subspace pocket."
Jim blinked.
"I figured, if one of us covers snacks for the humans and wizards, the other should carry around snacks for the trolls. Tell me this, Jimbo," his best friend solemnly questioned. "Was I wrong?"
Jim blinked again. "Toby," he said slowly, "you are a genius."
As with the sarcasm, it was difficult to tell, but Jim thought Toby's face was lighting up with a grin. "So!" his bestie said brightly, turning back to the guard trolls. "How about we call this a gate fee, and you guys let us in to see Vendel? Because we are clearly not Gumm-Gumms, and we're not with Camelot either."
Toby was a master of haggling with trolls; it was not too much longer that the five of them were permitted access to Dwoza. Which was not nearly as impressive as Trollmarket, Krel thought, looking around. "Where did you get the socks?" he asked Toby. "They smell like the high school's locker room." The fact that he was in Akiridion form at the moment happily made that smell less offensive to him. When he was in human form, the locker room's odor gave Durians a run for their money.
He could hear the grin in Toby's voice. "Got 'em from the basketball team after practice," he reported. "Most of 'em were happy to get rid of used socks." He fished one out of the bag and waved it at Jim. "Yummy, yummy, Jimmy!" he sing-songed. "Want one?"
Jim's pupils were blown wide, but the way he held himself suggested imminent violence. "Toby," he said in a low voice, "if you make me eat Steve's gym socks, I will...." He paused, clearly searching for a suitable threat. "I will never make you cheesecake again," he finally hissed.
Toby paused. "Not even the one with candied jalapeños?"
"Never," Jim swore.
Toby sighed and lowered his head in defeat. "Hey, Deya, you want some?" he asked, offering the apparent treat to her instead.
"Gimme." She snatched the sock from his hand and made it disappear while Toby resealed his bag and made it disappear.
"This enclave seems much smaller than Trollmarket," Krel observed.
"And much more crowded," agreed Varvatos, shifting out of the way of a pair of young trolls as they raced around him, one holding an object aloft, the other screaming "It's mine--give it back!"
Siblings. Krel knew the feeling well, particularly that of the one whose property had been stolen.
Varvatos tested the floor, stomping thoughtfully on it. "Varvatos would have expected fine miners such as trolls to have expanded downward."
"Until yesterday," a sour voice broke in, "space was not a problem."
Krel straightened, eyes widening as a clearly much younger version of Vendel made his way through the crowd. He did not look happy to see them. "And now our guards have admitted more hangers-on," the Elder groused. "As though our resources were not already strained to their breaking limit."
"Well, we are not here to stay," Krel was happy to be able to tell him. "Not most of us, anyway," honesty compelled him to add.
Vendel's eyes, blue rather than milky, narrowed. "Not most of you?" he asked, tone peevish.
"I am here to deliver a message. Or a promise, really," Krel said, trying to divert Vendel's attention. Because Deya would be staying here, eventually, when the rest of them returned to their rightful place in time. But he didn't need Vendel focusing on that right now.
"A message? From whom?"
"Not from Gunmar," Toby promised, boldly stepping up. "And definitely not from Camelot either. Hoo boy. No."
"And you are?" demanded Vendel.
"No one of great importance," Toby shot back. "I'm here to be muscle. Not that my grandpa hasn't already got that covered," he said, gesturing to Varvatos, who looked pleased to be claimed as family by the Trollhunter.
Vendel paused, looking Varvatos up and down before turning back to Krel. "You are not trolls, are you?" he asked.
Krel shook his head. "We are not. We come from a world called Akiridion-5, a long long way from here."
Vendel took that in. Processed it. "And what is this message you bear?"
Krel took a deep inhalation of the cave's air. Not because he needed it, but because trolls and humans did need to breathe, and thus subconsciously expected it of other species too, and he could use the few seconds of time the action bought to lay out a cohesive argument. He hoped. "Long ago," he began, "our people too were of Earth. We came from a place called Atlantis."
Vendel's eyes widened.
"Steve, no - no!" Douxie objected. "I'm stuffed. I couldn't eat another bite."
"You know what tells me that's a fib?" Steve asked. "A little birdie. Oh, and this!" He triumphantly brandished meat between them. "One turkey leg, just like at any proper RenFaire!"
Douxie looked at him flat. "Steve. The Columbian Exchange hasn't happened yet."
"The whozza whatsit?"
"The Columbian Exchange!" Eli piped up, clearly excited to know something and share his knowledge. Douxie smothered a smile - Eli was going to make a fine wizard someday, with that attitude. "Mister Strickler mentioned it, so I looked it up. After Columbus came to the Americas, all kinds of crops went back and forth between there and Europe. Stuff no one had ever seen before!"
"Wait, I thought Columbus was a time traveler," said Steve, expression confused.
"That was a movie, Steve," said Douxie, taking his hand gently and guiding the drumstick back toward Steve's own mouth. "And, unless I miss my guess, that's a goose leg."
"Huh." Steve took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "Tastes like chicken," he finally concluded. "Like, dark meat chicken."
Douxie bit back a sigh and the urge to tell him no it didn't--... because what was the use?
Medieval food didn't taste like modern food, especially not to his tongue, but not everyone had the same senses to the same degrees. Witness the fact that while Jim wasn't quite tone-deaf, Douxie wouldn't trust his brother and king to tune a guitar even if no one's life was at stake. "I've got to go set wards," he said instead. "You two keep an eye on things here."
"You got it, Mister Magic Man!" Steve tossed off a salute with the goose leg. "Come on, Pepperjack. And keep your eyes peeled wide."
"For what?" Eli asked peevishly. "Neither of us would know what's out of place even if it jumped out at us and yelled 'boo'!"
Eli wasn't wrong, either, Douxie thought as he walked, spinning runes on his vambrace until he found the correct combination. The two of them - all of the time travelers, really - lacked the social context to determine what were unusual behaviors for the here and now.
Not that he, Douxie admitted, had been any quicker than Steve and Claire at finding Morgana's would-be assassin the first time around.
He cast shield spells recklessly as he walked and thought. There was no guarantee, of course, that the changeling saboteur would make his attempt at this tournament. Nor even any guarantee that time was treading in the same paths again! Though Douxie rather thought it would. Time was attempting to heal itself of the disruption their presence had caused. Morgana and Arthur had had their big fight that turned the siblings into enemies. Morgana had vanished, and he hoped the Arcane Order had still found and resurrected her. If they had, somehow Morgana would create the changelings, which would be a great deal easier to do now than once she was imprisoned - not that she knew that.
No changelings means no Strickler, or Nomura, or NotEnrique, Douxie thought gloomily, casting protection spell after protection spell around the castle, trying to preserve at least parts of it for its eventual skyward launch.
He wasn't strong enough to keep things whole entirely, but at least he could save some things from total wreckage.
That was a lesson he'd had to learn the hard way.
And it was a strange thing, he found, to be praying that the chaos which had happened once would happen again.
But if it didn't... they were all screwed.
Mouth set in a grim line, his feet tireless, their beat against the cobblestones like a mantra, Douxie walked, and Douxie spellcast.
Author's Note: I meant to start writing and posting again in September, but then I got Covid. Followed by one of my children getting Covid. Followed by Birthday Week. (All four of us have our birthdays in a three-week span. I did not know it was possible to get sick of chocolate cake.) Followed by the same child getting sick again, fortunately not with Covid that time. All of which also coincided with me deep-diving into a new hobby. So here I am, a month late and somewhat frayed at the edges! That said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I will press on and hopefully be able to find my groove again and have another for you next week. Oh, Krel references Star Wars IV and Toby's line about being no one of great importance is obviously drawn from The Princess Bride.