[fic] [Tales of Arcadia] Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet 178/?
Your Future Hasn’t Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
released 18th October, 2024
Watching Krel talk to Vendel was like a masterclass in diplomacy, Jim thought. He knew he couldn't have done half as well, and he was a king!
...Krel was a king too, Jim realized suddenly, in a way he hadn't before. Not just a prince. Not just Aja's little brother. King-in-waiting Krel Tarron of the house of Tarron. Krel had probably been trained for this kind of thing since the moment he started talking.
Oh look, impostor syndrome, Jim thought somewhat nonsensically as it set in how much better at being a king Krel was than him. Krel, who was a literal genius at every field that made up the STEM acronym. Krel, who could and was talking Vendel into hearing them out. Krel, who was smarter than Jim in every possible way....
Because I'm not him, Jim thought, shoving the surge of unworthiness away. Krel didn't want to be a king. He chose to stay on Earth rather than be king of Akiridion-5! And I....
...I do want this. To be a king. To keep his people safe. To keep his planet safe.
Krel was a great friend. Funny, sarcastic, talented, a brother in arms. He was, in many fields, the smartest person Jim was ever going to meet. But he didn't have the deep down grit and fire that Jim and Aja both did, to carve a line in stone, place himself between his people and the darkness, and take down anyone or anything that crossed that line. Instead, Krel was....
Oh. Jim blinked and looked at Krel with new eyes.
Krel was a wizard with a quick mind and a silver tongue when he cared to use it.
If Aja was Jim's analogue on Akiridion-5... Krel was Douxie's.
Did that... did that mean that Krel was supposed to go back to their world whenever Aja became queen this time around? To support her the way Douxie did Jim?
The way Merlin had Arthur?
Jim swallowed and set his jaw. Later. That was something to think about later, after they'd managed to coerce the Battle of Killahead into going the way it should.
Krel came to what seemed like the end of his sales pitch for why it would be mutually beneficial for trolls and Akiridions/Atlanteans to be able to rely on one another to handle and hide highly dangerous remnants of stolen godhood, to choose a completely random example. Jim resisted the urge to clap, and also to sign Krel up for the debate team at school. He would have been sold on the alliance.
Vendel was less enthusiastic. "No," he said, narrowing his eyes. He gestured around them, at the crowd that had mostly dispersed and gone about their business, the foreigners less novel once the prospect of politics had been added to the mix. "We have no resources to be able to handle any such requests from outsiders."
"No such resources now--" Krel began.
"And no reason to ally ourselves with... strangers," Vendel ran over Krel's words, looking askance as he looked Krel up and down. "You say you are descended from Atlanteans. All very well and good, but where is your proof?"
"Do you doubt the words of the King-in-Waiting?" demanded Varvatos, grinding one fist into the other.
"Whoa whoa whoa whoa!" Toby stepped between Varvatos and Vendel, waving hands, trying to defuse the situation. "No one needs to threaten anyone here! We're just trying to talk things out."
"Varvatos prefers to talk with his fists!"
Jim swallowed. They could not make enemies of Dwoza, or of Vendel. Not if they wanted the future to go smoothly. "What if we gave you something?" he asked, trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between what they wanted and what they needed. "Like a good faith offering?"
"Give us something?" asked Vendel. "Such as what?"
"Yeah, Skinnylegs." Deya crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one side. "I don't think your pal's got enough socks in that bag of his to buy off all Dwoza."
"Uh." Jim's mind spun, coming up with nothing. What did Dwoza need, that they could provide?
Wait - Vendel had been peeved about the sudden influx of refugees, and how that was straining Dwoza's resources.
"Krel," Jim said slowly, coming up with what was either a brilliant idea or something that would sink like a rock. "You remember what you and Douxie did under Camelot?"
"It's kind of hard to forget," Krel said.
"Do you think you could do something like that to a smaller heartstone?" Jim asked. "You know, to strengthen it?"
Krel blinked. "I... do not know." He turned to Toby. "Do you have more information about heartstones?"
"Uhhh." Toby thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Sorry, dude." He knocked at the side of his head. "I gave you all I got in here. We'd need Gems and Geodes volume 23 for more details."
"What was that?" a familiar voice cried. A six-eyed figure pushed through the crowd. "Did I hear someone in need of my books?"
"Dictatious," Jim and Toby said as one.
"Why, yes!" The green troll looked surprised, then pleased. "Dare I assume my reputation has preceded me?"
"Oh, has it ever," Toby muttered. Jim elbowed him.
"Wait, this is Dictatious?" asked Krel. "Blinky's brother?"
"You know my brother?" asked Dictatious even as Jim and Toby both nodded and answered Krel with "Yeah." and "Yup."
"Hmm." One of Krel's hands rested beneath his chin as he considered Dictatious. "I can see the resemblance. In any case, do you have the volume in question?"
Dictatious puffed up, preened. "Why, indeed I am fortunate enough to have the entire collection of Gems and Geodes in my possession! Dare I hope that you, stranger, are a fellow, nay indeed, a brother in the search for knowledge?"
"You could say that," said Krel.
"So." Jim addressed Vendel. "If we can find a way to strengthen the heartstone here, will you be at least willing to hear us out?"
Vendel sniffed. "'If'," he said pointedly. "Then we will talk." And he turned his back to them and stalked off.
"Some things never change," Toby muttered. Then he turned back to Krel and Dictatious. "So! To the library?"
"To the library!" Dictatious cheered.
"I'm outta here," said Deya, turning to go.
Jim grabbed her arm. "Come on," he said, towing her.
"Uh, Jim? I don't know how to read."
"Then no time like the present to learn," he said doggedly.
Sighing, Deya let herself be towed.
Claire winced as one knight's sword failed to slip off the other's pauldron and instead dug in at the shoulder.
Next to her, Darci gritted her teeth, hissing in sympathy. "Please tell me they're wearing chainmail under that."
"I think so?" offered Claire. She didn't have chainmail under her armor, never had - but now it was magical, and had an undersuit like Jim's that was, if not completely impenetrable, at least highly resistant to being cut. "Even if he does, though, that's still going to leave a heck of a bruise."
"I am so glad I am only at squire level," said Darci. "No one's expecting me to participate in this tourney."
"I am so glad I am not going to participate in this tourney," Claire muttered. Because she wasn't. Last time had gone badly enough - she could still taste her overconfidence, the way she'd been so sure the Knight of Skulls was Morgana's planted assassin. Not to mention, of course, how well her sorcery had gone over with Arthur and his knights.
She risked a glance over at that king, who sat in his throne, Aja by his side. The king looked troubled. Aja, on the other hand, was very obviously enjoying the tournament, her eyes fast on the fighters, her fists clenched. "Yes!" she hissed between her teeth as one struck a hit on the other. "Oh, very good."
"I vote we show her wrestling matches when we get home," Mary said sotto voce.
"Oh no. No way," argued Darci.
Claire tuned them out, scanning the crowd. The last time, Morgana's assassin had been the Knight of Skulls' squire - but Douxie had pointed out that could be different this time. That it was possible Morgana hadn't even sent an assassin. Though he'd looked nervous as he said that, so he obviously wasn't sure either.
History was like sand shifting under their feet.
The thing was, though, if anyone wanted to take a shot at Arthur, this was the ideal time to try. He wasn't holed up in his castle or surrounded by knights. And much as Claire wanted him to just die already, she knew this wasn't the right time. He needed to survive to fight Gunmar at Killahead.
And Morgana was sending an assassin. She wanted to kill her baby brother. Claire couldn't keep her mind from skipping back to that fact.
On one hand, it felt fair; Arthur had killed Morgana first.
On the other hand... baby brother.
What would it be like if Enrique grew up to be Arthur? Claire automatically discounted NotEnrique; her adopted brother was a pain in the rear, but the two of them already argued like sparring cats and still had one another's backs; they were solid. But if Enrique grew up to be like Arthur... hating magic. Maybe because it took something from him. Maybe because he didn't have it. Maybe both....
Was it so impossible for people to talk to each other, to find another way?
Arthur, she thought, looking at him, his golden hair shining in the sun, must have been a baby once. A smiling toddler. An adorable child, gaps in his teeth. Morgana must have loved him, and he must have loved her.
Douxie, she knew, blamed Arthur's descent into hating magic on Guinevere's death. And he was probably right; after all, he was the one who had spent years in this court, observing.
She swallowed. What if something took Jim from me?
Something had, once upon a time, if only for a few moments. Or, no - twice. She'd thought him dead when Usurna had had her way and he'd been sentenced to the Deep. Each time, Claire had grieved. It had felt like her heart was torn out of her chest and all she breathed was pain.
If Arthur felt like that, or more... no wonder his mourning had turned to anger. No wonder he wanted to burn the world that no longer contained his love.
I will never be like that, Claire vowed to herself. Not like him, not like Morgana. I don't care who I lose. I will never become like them.
She jerked her head up at the sound of applause.
Out in the arena, Archie had just burned a gnome to a crisp. Claire grimaced, thinking of Chompsky.
"Not bad for a winged pest," Arthur said, smiling and clapping.
"Barbaric," someone muttered. Aja. Who wasn't smiling and clapping.
"It is not our way," Zadra counseled, leaning low over Aja's shoulder.
"To make sentient beings murder one another for entertainment--" Aja growled. "At least skeltegs are mere animals. That--" The look she cast at the arena was full of scorn.
"Hey." Mary touched Aja's hand, drawing her attention. "Not our time. Not our place." Mary cast a brief look at the arena. Her expression twisted into a frown. "Not our way."
They'd attracted Arthur's attention. "Does the entertainment displease you, Princess Aja?" His tone was neutral.
Aja withdrew her hand from Mary's, tucked it primly into her lap. She suddenly looked demure, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "It is very different from our entertainments at home," she said. Claire hid a smile at the diplomacy. "I do admit I found the knights fighting much more exciting."
"Hmmm." But Arthur nodded and returned his attention to the arena, gesturing to Sir Galahad, who promptly signaled the musicians. A blare of trumpets and the elderly knight was announcing the next battle.
Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw Douxie taking his place in the stands, sliding in unnoticed at the end of one of the long benches. A moment later, Steve and Eli appeared, their arms full, budging the wizard over. She smiled as she saw Steve practically shoving food - Ugh, those horrible pies! - at Douxie.
Douxie didn't object as Steve shoved food at him. He'd just eaten, but even so he was hungry. The joys of eternal teenager-hood, enhanced by magical calorie burning, he thought morbidly, for at least the thousandth time, accepting the taste-of-home pies that Steve bore.
He surreptitiously stashed several in his magical pocket, because Jim was onto something with the idea of carrying food there.
His eyes fluttered closed at the taste of the few he did consume now, though, because rich and fatty and ohsogood--
His eyes shot open again as the trumpeters blared far too close to his ears and just slightly out of tune, announcing the next round of the tourney.
Which was....
Oh. Douxie sat up straighter on the bench, looking at the Knight of Skulls, followed by his squire, who struggled with the weight of the knight's axe. Over by the king, Claire too was tense, Douxie saw. The knight was fighting Sir Agravaine this time, not "Sir Claire," but that was of less overall importance than what might or might not take place next.
Arthur, on his throne, had no clue. No worries.
"Douxie?" asked Eli, sounding worried.
"Be ready," Douxie murmured, his spell bracelet flaring to life without his conscious input as he kept eyes on the king. "This may or may not be it."
"May or may not be what?" Steve asked cluelessly.
"Someone taking a shot at the king," Eli hissed at him.
Steve's eyes flew wide. "Oh," he said, dropping his food and patting himself down. "Pepperjack, where's my axe?"
"I'm not your squire, Steve!"
The battle started, both knights taking their weapons from their squires, who promptly fled the field. The Knight of Skulls was strong, powerful, and well trained. But so was Sir Agravaine, who was quick and not above a dirty trick or two, as Douxie well knew. Then again, neither was the Knight of Skulls, it seemed. The two of them were well matched, and the assembled crowd cheered riotously for both sides as the battle went on.
Focus, Casperan. The assassin wasn't the knight, and sure as sunrise wasn't Sir Aggravating. He in fact didn't know who the assassin was; the time between Claire's shadow portal and the rack of cold iron weapons falling on the changeling had been so quick Douxie hadn't gotten more than a passing glimpse of the man. He had an impression of dark hair and dark clothes - a description which fit half the people in this crowd, Douxie himself included.
So rather than scanning the crowd to try and find the assassin, his best option was to keep his eyes on the king - which meant the assassin would get way too close before any of them could stop him.
And Arthur could not die yet, not if they wanted their timeline preserved. Which Douxie very, very much did.
I'm deciding the hour of a man's death, he thought grimly, his gaze fast upon the royal box. It's not hubris. But gods does it feel like being judge, jury, and executioner all in one.
And there - in the space behind Arthur. A shadowy figure, raising a blade that glowed eldritch green.
"Claire!" Douxie shouted, even as his fellow wizard raised her hand, dark magic swirling around her fingers.
The assassin lunged.
And fell into shadow.
"Hail Morgana!" a voice cried. Arthur turned, to see a small man stood behind him, bearing a raised dagger which glowed a poisonous witch green. His face was twisted, cruel. Vindictive. And the strike was already falling, Excalibur was not in Arthur's hand--
"No!" a woman's voice cried, and the man fell through a dark hole that had appeared in the solid stone of the ground.
Arthur turned, his heart in his throat. One of Princess Aja's attendants stood stretching out her hand. A matching dark magic swirled about it.
But he had no time to consider the girl's witchcraft as the would-be kingslayer reappeared on the arena floor, knocking over the weapons board, which clattered down on top of him.
What emerged from the raucous mess was... not what Arthur had expected.
Ugly; horned; fanged. Four arms, with each hand clutching another of those knives that he had no doubt would be deadly with a mere touch. "A troll?"
Arthur's people screamed and scattered. He could hear Merlin's boy shouting to protect the king. Well, at least the wizard brat had his priorities straight.
His knights, good men that they were, attacked the threat. The troll snarled and threw two of his blades. They thunked into armor; sorcery ensued. To Arthur's horror, Agravaine and Lamorak turned to stone.
He had no time to mourn them. This, he thought, grabbing Excalibur and leaping down onto the field, is why I hate sorcery. It killed good men, no matter their strength of arms. It was cheating against the natural laws of the world, which decreed that the strong protected and the weak were protected. Magic pushed all that to the side; pushed it off a cliff.
By his side, in a swooping flurry of skirts and sleeves, Princess Aja also alit on the battleground. "Now this is more like it," she said, her strange weapon in her hands, forming a glowing shield before her.
"Don't let the blades touch you," said Merlin's apprentice, on her other side.
"Creeper's Sun," said Aja's sorcerous handmaiden, behind and between the two. "Why is it always Creeper's Sun?"
"Because it's easy to brew and effective--whoa!" The mageling cut himself off as the troll tired of their talk and lunged at them, blades shredding through the air.
Wizards! Disgusted, Arthur went on the offensive, meeting sorcery with steel. Excalibur's blade scraped and sang as it met the knives of his opponent. But the vile creature was quick and wily and had long arms for its size, making keeping out of its reach a near-impossibility.
"For years imprisoned," it hissed, "justice be mine!" One blade snaked inside Arthur's guard, aiming for his side--
"No!" A blast of blue light sent the creature flying away from him before the blade could connect. The troll bounced and rolled straight through the portcullis, into the town of Camelot.
Arthur didn't even have breath to thank the boy before Princess Aja shouted "After him! Do not let him get away!" She was only second-most in the charge, however; her formidable bodyguard was the swiftest. By the time he reached where she had cornered the creature, beside the fountain the town's washer women used, her double-bladed scythe whirling. She had dropped her human seeming; she was taller than the troll was, her reach far greater.
The other youths surrounded the troll, waiting for their own chance. And the troll knew it, glancing from side to side. Calculating.
Cornered animals, Arthur knew, were the most dangerous.
Finally he grinned, and drew a glowing stone out of his loincloth. "Fools. I've already won." He squeezed the stone, and Camelot...
Camelot shattered.
Arthur stared in horror, the world spinning around him as explosions ripped through his castle. His capital. His people. Screams, rubble, flames--
Merlin's boy had a grimace on his face as flames, barely held back by a blue net of power, crawled up the side of Merlin's tower. "Not the tower again," he lamented.
"I'll get them," Aja's handmaiden said, and disappeared, quick as a wink, into shadows and nothingness.
Which was when, to Arthur's increasing... no, horror could not even be the word... the demon creature smiled at him. Sauntered. With a gait and a cadence and a voice he knew well, it spoke, taunting him.
"Morgana?" He could hardly believe it. She was dead, she was surely dead. Without immediate aid, no one could have survived a wound such as he had inflicted upon her--
Beside him and behind him, those few knights who had been able to struggle through the flame and debris stood, as well as those members of Princess Aja's court who had none of them fled but rather raced toward the battle. It felt like their massed numbers should have been enough. But at the same time, Arthur felt helpless before his sister's specter. Before his guilt.
"Ugh, why do they always monologue?" muttered Princess Aja.
Lady Zadra's eyes tracked the troll; by her side, Lancelot's did the same. "Fight beside me, my lady?" he asked.
"Gladly," she replied.
"Ready, Pepperjack?" asked Sir Steve.
Never taking eyes off the target, the smaller knight whose name Arthur had not learned reached out to the side; their hands interlocked in some sort of symbol. "Creepslayerz," they said together.
One of Princess Aja's ladies-in-waiting rolled her eyes. "Ugh," she said, and reached toward the darkening sky.
Lightning cracked down from the heavens, blinding, deafening. It hit right where the troll was - or where it had been. Now it clung to the timbers of one of the buildings around the square. The fountain was a charred, smoking ruin. "Use magic I taught you against me?" Morgana proclaimed through her avatar. Arthur could barely hear her for the way his ears rang. "I think not." The troll landed on the ground again, a poisoned knife in each hand.
Someone was chanting; Arthur could not spare the attention to find out who.
Lancelot and Lady Zadra attacked; Sir Steve and his friend followed. The troll moved like nothing Arthur had ever seen before, faster than the lightning, supple as silk in the wind. Dangerous. Yet for all that, the quartet held their own. For a time.
Lancelot was knocked out of the fray; Princess Aja leapt in with a yell. Her other handmaiden dragged the fallen knight out of the way and picked up Lancelot's blade, standing in front of him, clearly planning to defend him if she must.
The smaller boy was the next to fall. "Eli!" the guardian girl yelled. Ah, that must be his name. Arthur moved to take his place. He was the troll's target, but between the four of them, surely they would overcome--
Darkness swirled above them, and out of it fell four figures - the handmaiden, the dragon, the apprentice, and Merlin. Finally, Merlin.
"What the blazes is going on?" demanded the master wizard.
And like that, a bright blue sigil flared beneath the troll's feet, lifting him into the air. Arthur glanced, astounded, at Merlin's apprentice (and how there were two of him, the king decided he would find out later). The young wizard's eyes glowed blue as his arms snapped out wide, fingers held in odd positions.
Merlin's eyes widened. "That trap is... Hisirdoux?" He sounded astounded.
The boy's hands flared out then clenched into fists. The spell under the troll's feet wrapped around him, forming a bubble. But the troll only laughed, his voice harsh and bitter. "Fools! You may stop me, but you will never win. You will never stop all of us!"
"Master--" grated the apprentice.
Merlin huffed out through his nose and stepped up. "Sloppy, as always," he commented, before slamming the butt of his staff to the cobblestones. A beam of emerald power shot out, wrapping around the blue bubble, tightening.
With the power of the two wizards combined, the battle was over in seconds.
All that was left behind was the wreckage.
Elsewhere, Morgana's lips thinned as she watched the aftermath of the battle. The three gods standing before her seemed less than fully impressed with her efforts on their behalf.
They didn't even care that Janus had sacrificed himself, been murdered by Merlin and his scrawny apprentice.
"Patience," Morgana said softly. "This was only the first step." And since Janus, her clever, vicious creation, had failed, indeed it was.
Since Arthur still breathed and led his pet wizards in their genocidal cause, she needed the next layer of her plan. She needed strength, she needed overwhelming brute force to destroy her murderous brother and his army.
She needed Gunmar.
Author's Note: Despite a week of sick children, have a chapter! I feel like I've maybe found my groove again for writing? Knock on wood, anyway.