This Wicked Day of Destiny

by AkozuHeiwa

Summary:

It's three years after the most recent near-miss apocalypse and things are better than ever for Earth and New Akiridion. However, when Douxie finds a strange magical signature coming from near the ruins of Camelot, our heroes find themselves thrown back in time to a world of knights, kings, and the war that affected all of their lives even centuries later.

Notes:

Hey, guys, I'm back with another forty-chapter monstrosity of angst and trauma! Seriously someone should have stopped me.

To familiar old faces, welcome back and thank you for returning for another adventure! To the new faces, welcome! I do want to warn you that this is the third in a series, and will therefore make little sense without reading "Wizards: The Ones Who Stayed" and "Legacies" first.

Without further ado, please enjoy the fic! <3

Chapter 1: Why Douxie Isn't Allowed to Touch Strange Magic Objects

The fall colours are always beautiful on New Akiridion. Despite the trees not quite managing the same green of Earth during the summer, they still turn the bright oranges and reds and yellows of autumn. Krel would love to be out walking among his people, taking in the sights. Instead, he’s sitting in a council meeting staring out the window while advisors drone on and on and on about whatever it is they’re talking about.

“New Arestios reports fifteen new children have been formed this week, seven of those Akiridion, three hybrids, and five of other species,” reports one of the advisors. “They also report an increase in yield for area farm, although one farm reports an insect infestation and the local library reported a skelteg infestation – King Krel, are you listening?"

“Yes, yes, yes,” Krel says, waving him off. He doesn't even bother looking away from the window because he knows the advisors look entirely exasperated. “Fifteen babies, two bug issues. Uh, send funding as needed for the infestations and for the local school system.”

The advisor eyes him wearily but does write that down. Well, Krel hopes he writes it down. It doesn’t matter, Krel will make sure the funding gets there. Especially for the school systems. He doesn’t know a lot about the global state of schools on Akiridion-5 before it was destroyed but he intends to have a fantastic school system worldwide on New Akiridion.

Looking out at the city now, it’s hard to imagine that this planet didn’t even exist three years ago. Sometimes Krel can hardly believe any time has passed at all, but it should be obvious just looking at New Akiridion’s progress. The surviving Akiridions have begun to spread out and found cities farther from the new capital. They haven’t quite spread globally yet, and frankly, there’s not enough of them to spread globally. They’ve pretty much stopped having survivors show up, so this is what’s left. They have had quite the immigration boom, though, making New Akiridion far more diverse than Akiridion-5 ever was. A good chunk of the immigrants are refugees, and Krel welcomes them with open arms. He likes to greet them personally. The older advisors don’t like it, but then again, they don’t like a lot of what he does because he isn’t his parents or his grandparents before them.

Krel’s mind can’t help but wander as the advisors continue rambling about birth reports and crop yields and other utterly boring things that could have been sent to him digitally. What is the human joke again? This meeting could have been an email. This meeting should have been an email. Krel hates meetings.

“-majesty! King Krel!”

“Huh, yes?” Krel says, eyes snapping to the speaker. Oh, Loth. “Yes, Loth, what is it?”

Loth sighs. “You are distracted. As the humans say, I believe we should wrap this in a bow.”

“Wrap this up,” Steve corrects. The other advisors grumble under their breaths, mostly the older ones who were here before Krel. Krel’s had time to appoint his own advisors, including poor Steve who looks just as bored as Krel feels.

“How about this,” says Krel. “Why don’t you all just submit all your numbers to me for review? I will go over all the birth rates and bug infestations and whatever and then we can meet again tomorrow in order to actually get something done. Sound good?”

“An excellent idea,” says Zadra, glaring at anyone who even dares to breathe wrong. “We will reconvene tomorrow afternoon. Is that a dismissal, your majesty?”

“Dismissed,” Krel says.

The advisors all start making their way out of the room and Krel slumps back in relief. Steve laughs and pats his shoulder. “Hanging in there, bro?”

“This is the worst part of both our jobs,” he complains. “I want to trade with Aja again. She can have this back.”

“Good luck with that!” Steve says. “Come on. She’s supposed to be back soon, we should go greet her.”

Krel stands and stretches all four arms, taking another glance out the window at the cheerful, bustling autumn city, before nodding. “Lead the way, Advisor Steve.”

“No, after you, King Krel,” Steve teases right back.

The castle is as busy as ever. They have a couple of foreign diplomats staying right now from other planets, so there’s a lot of unfamiliar faces around with the familiar ones. Krel is terrible with names, but he still tries to get to know most of the people around here if he can. One thing Papa was right about – a good king knows his people. Papa just never would have thought Krel’s people would be more than Akiridions.

Aja should be back any mekron now. She’s been out for the past several delsons with Eli on a relief mission. Steve has been pouting about his wife and husband leaving him behind even though Krel knows they agreed a long time ago that Steve would focus on New Akiridion stuff while Aja and Eli did more of the exploration and interplanetary diplomacy.

“Eli loves seeing all the other worlds,” Steve told him once, “and Aja’s too restless to do anything but travel. This is perfect for them, and I can keep an eye on you.”

Krel does not need keeping an eye on, actually, he’s gotten much better about staying out of life-threatening danger now that there isn’t any life-threatening danger to get into. Well, that’s a little bit of a lie. Krel has gotten mostly better about making sure his inventions and tinkering don’t put him in life-threatening danger. He thinks he may still be giving Steve grey hairs. Steve says so, at least.

“Oh, she just texted,” Steve says. “They’re back! Hangar seven, come on!”

Krel laughs and follows as Steve takes off running for the hangars. He’s excited too. His sister always brings back interesting stories from her trips and sometimes even interesting people. He doesn’t think there should be any refugees this time. He knows it wasn’t a planetwide disaster, but he can never be sure if she’ll be bringing someone back or not.

“Steve! Little brother!” Aja calls as they enter the hangar. Eli waves from her side until Steve scoops them both into a hug, much to Aja’s clear delight. “Oh! My blond oaf, we’ve missed you!”

Steve lets them go and kisses them both. Krel rolls his eyes as dramatically as he can. Ugh, why must they always be so sappy?

“How was your trip?” Krel asks.

“It was lively!” Aja exclaims.

“Well, it was mostly lively,” Eli corrects, amused. “We love helping people, but it’s not all sunshine and roses.”

“Oh, there was no sunshine,” Aja agrees. “It was very cloudy and rainy which made things much more difficult, but we rescued many people! There was a – Eli, what did you call it?”

“A tsunami,” Eli says. “You don’t have a word for it in Akiridion. I tried looking at old Akiridion texts but honestly couldn’t tell. It’s like a really, really big wave.”

“After the rescue efforts, we helped with rebuilding,” says Aja. “Look at my new transduction!”

She beams and turns it on, shifting to a short, green creature with six arms and a head almost the size of her body. Eli hides a laugh, so apparently, he finds it as goofy-looking as Krel does.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she says, releasing the transduction a moment later. “It’s too bad it doesn’t work on Eli.”

“Yeah, I had to hang back a lot,” says Eli sheepishly. “This planet doesn’t know about life on other planets.”

The Peace Fleet missions bend the rules a bit. Well, a lot. Technically, they aren’t allowed to interfere with planets that haven’t discovered extraplanetary life or space travel, but the rules read more specifically that they can’t reveal extraplanetary life or teach them space travel, so with the transductions, the Peace Fleet can get away with helping in cases of disasters like this. No one has said anything yet. Krel hopes no one does say anything. Helping people in need is one thing Krel will put his foot down on. He won’t abandon a planet to a terrible fate like his parents did to Voltar.

“We should grab lunch,” Steve says. “You can regale us with your newest tales.”

“Oh, thank Seklos, yes,” agrees Aja. “The food on that planet was not really my favourite. I’m sure it was very good! But I didn’t care for it.”

“Yeah, and she complained about it constantly,” says Eli with a grin. “I had synthesiser food so I was doing okay.”

“Lucky jerk,” Aja mumbles, crossing all four of her arms.

Krel laughs. “I don’t think I’d survive your job, Aja. Didn’t this planet have basically no advanced technology?”

“The technology they did have was lively!” she says enthusiastically. “The contraptions they rigged with just wood and stone were incredible! But, yes, they were even less advanced than Earth.”

“I would die,” Krel decides. “I need my technology, thank you very much.”

“Weren’t you just saying you wanted to trade with Aja?” Steve teases. He mimics Krel’s voice – badly, Krel might add. “Oh, I hate this council meeting speglo! This is klebbing awful and I don’t wanna be king!”

“I do not sound like that,” Krel denies immediately. “Also, you used both of those words wrong.”

“I know, but it makes you mad,” Steve says with a grin.

Krel shoves him. “You’re a speglo!”

“Sure am!” Steve declares.

“Boys, boys, stop fighting,” says Aja, amused. They reach the closest cafeteria area. Krel waves and greets people as they walk in, mostly citizens visiting because the castle provides free meals, but a few people he actually recognises, scientists and the like. He spots Moakov and Amirr across the room arguing about something or another – the good-natured kind of argument between friends, at least. Amirr is going to university on New Akiridion, and Moakov is a scientist here at the castle. It’s always good to see them both.

“So how have things been here?” Eli asks.

“Fifteen babies in New Arestios,” Krel says.

“That’s all you remember from the meeting,” Steve says.

“That is all I remember from the meeting,” Krel confirms, hiding a laugh. “Wait, no, I think there were some babies in another city too!”

“Three cities reported babies, Krel,” Steve says. “You were just staring out the window daydreaming.”

“That meeting should have been an email,” grumbles Krel.

Eli laughs and nudges him. “Well, at least you know about all the babies now.”

“I do not miss council meetings,” Aja says. “Those were always horrible. The advisors are so boring!”

“Aw, you think I’m boring?” Steve asks jokingly.

“Yes,” Aja says flatly. Steve gasps and covers his heart, clearly offended, but he melts into putty again when Aja kisses his cheek.

“The great Steve Tarron, felled by a kiss,” says Krel, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been married for a year and you’re still insufferable! Get a room, please. Actually, get your own planet. This one is mine and I claim it for the asexuals.”

“You’re used to us,” Steve says.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Krel sighs.

They get their food and sit around the nearest table. Krel zones out as Aja starts talking about whatever planet they were helping this time. He loves hearing his sister’s adventures, don’t get him wrong, but he’s hungry and still tired from the council meeting so he doesn’t pay too much mind to the details, just happy to have his sister and his brother-in-law back on New Akiridion. He’s missed them. Maybe he should see if his friends from Earth can visit sometime and they can all hang out. It’s been a while since they've all been in one place.

“And then I saved a child from a collapsing building!” Aja yells enthusiastically, snapping Krel back into focus with her volume. “It was a very close call, but everyone got out. It’s a good thing Eli was monitoring the buildings’ stability around the area or we wouldn’t have had any warning.”

Eli blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I figured after the flood water had receded there might be structural damage that wasn’t immediately obvious. Besides, I wanted to be helpful in some way.”

“Do you ever get tired of putting yourself in danger?” Steve complains. “I get tired of hearing about you in danger. Maybe your next mission should be a beach vacation. Wait, no, you just got back from a tsunami. Maybe a nice, relaxing… I don’t know, maybe Disneyland or something, Disneyland is totally safe.”

“Aw, Steve, don’t worry,” says Aja. “We are very good at keeping ourselves safe. I rarely ever even get injured anymore!”

“Anymore,” grumbles Steve.

“It was really an amazing place,” says Aja. “All of the places we visit are. You should join us on a mission sometime, Steve. I think you’d have fun.”

“I think I’d have a heart attack, actually,” Steve says.

“Maybe it would be good for you!”

“Aja, a heart attack is never good for anyone,” Eli says.

“Well, I do not know what that is,” Aja admits. “But hearts are good and attacks can be good for training. Use it to train your heart!”

“Aja, no,” says Steve. “That’s a horrible idea. Don’t encourage Eli. And don’t purposefully give me a heart attack. You like me alive and I like me alive, okay? Yeah.”

Krel hides a laugh and leans back in his seat. Ah, things really couldn’t be much better around here. His friends on Earth visit often and he’s able to visit them. Douxie and Alex have a wormhole downstairs so they’re only a second away. New Akiridion is flourishing and Krel couldn’t be more proud of his planet and his people.

 

 

After lunch, Krel and Steve retreat to Krel’s lab. Krel’s newest project is, unfortunately, one he has been needing Steve’s help on. Not that he doesn’t love spending time with Steve, but Krel doesn’t love needing help on projects. Either way, Steve knows medicine and Krel does not. One of the Peace Fleet’s recent mission had been a more horrific one, the aftermath of a brutal, bloody war, and with it came a slew of amputees. Akiridions had prosthetic limbs, knew how to make them, but Krel knew they could be ten times better. After all, while Akiridions could and did lose limbs, it was rare, and until recently, not much research was funnelled into biological issues, which is exactly the problem Krel is having and exactly where Steve comes in.

“I do not understand where it’s going wrong,” Krel groans. “I am accounting for the nerves being electrical and physical, shouldn’t that be enough?”

“I still think you’re not accounting for the way muscles work,” Steve insists. He has not yet managed to explain how muscles work, by the way, so this doesn’t help. “You gotta – I dunno, metal is gonna react different from flesh!”

“No kidding,” Krel says flatly. “Ugh, I need to have Alex see if his mom can get me schematics for human prosthetic limbs. That’s a start.”

“Maybe get her to send some schematics of literal human bodies also,” suggests Steve. “Well, you could find that on the internet probably. I doubt Dr. Swift can get you schematics for human prostheses.”

“Worth a shot,” Krel says. He pulls up the schematic he’s got right now for the older Akiridion version. “Why can’t biological life forms be less biological? This is a pain. Everything about you is a pain. Bones! I still hate bones.”

“At least you haven’t broken one in a few years,” Steve offers. “Let’s keep up the streak!”

“I’m not superstitious, but you are going to jinx me.”

“You are so superstitious.”

“I am not!”

“I saw you avoid walking under a ladder the other day.”

“You did not! I did not!”

“Hey, no judgement, with magic and trolls and all that, I’m also superstitious,” says Steve. “You never know. Maybe some ancient wizard cursed ladders. It’s possible.”

“That’s… true,” Krel admits. Magic is still so strange. Krel has given up bothering with it because he knows he’s never gonna figure it out and that just makes him angry. He knows Alex likes to study it, but it doesn’t really affect Krel so he leaves it alone. He has more feasible things to study, like technology. He doesn’t really want to study biology, because sometimes he thinks it’s a little too weird, but it’s looking more and more like he has no choice for this project. Ugh. Why did he have to hyperfixate on a project that’s so cross-disciplinary?  

“It’d be nice to know how similar biological beings are across the board,” Steve admits. “That would help us know if this could even be a generalised design that can be adjusted or if we’ll have to specialise from the start. Oh! You should ask Binky for designs. Jim’s old friend Draal had a prosthetic arm that worked really well. I saw him fight with it. He was kinda scary.”

“I will ask Jim to ask Blinky,” says Krel. “If I go to Blinky and ask, I will be there for three hours listening to troll history or something.”

“Good point,” Steve says.

“We should take a break.” Krel stands and stretches. “Maybe play some video games or something. Clear our heads.”

“You just want to whoop my ass at Mario Kart.”

“I’m totally going to whoop your ass at Mario Kart.”

Steve stands as well, adjusting his cape and grumbling about it at the same time. Krel told him he didn’t have to have the cape or anything, but he said it made him look cool and princely. He shouldn’t complain, then, he’s the one that preferred cool looks over comfort. Krel shuts down the designs and schematics and is about to go pull out the video game system he rigged up when his phone starts buzzing. He sighs and pulls it out and answers it on speaker.

“We’ve either found something really cool or a false alarm.”

“Hello, Douxie,” Krel says sarcastically. “I’m doing great, thanks for asking, Douxie. How are you?”

“Yes, hi, sorry,” says Douxie as Steve hides a laugh in the background. “Anyway, remember how we rigged up your old lab to be able to detect magic stuff?”

Krel and Steve exchange looks. Krel nods, then remembers this isn’t a video call. “Uh, yes?”

“Well, Alex detected something weird in the UK this morning,” says Douxie. “We were thinking of taking a field trip to check it out. Like I said, it could be something really cool. Or it could not be, but I figured you might enjoy coming. We’ve already got the Trollhunters on board in case it’s troll-related, but I thought, why not invite Steve and Krel? It’ll be just like old times!”

“Old times got us into so much trouble,” Steve says.

“Yes, but it could be something super cool,” Douxie insists.

“I’m in,” says Krel. “I’ve been bored today. Steve?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, someone has to go to help Alex and Claire keep the rest of you in line.”

“Fantastic!” Douxie says brightly. Krel pouts at the implication he needs to be kept in line. He’s gotten better! He doesn’t need to be kept in line. Douxie probably does, but not Krel. If anything, Alex will need keeping in line if it’s cool magic, he loves cool magic. Krel should be on the list of responsible people instead of Alex. This is so unfair.

“Want us the head over now?” Steve asks.

“If you’re not busy,” says Douxie. “Jim said we could take the Gyre. I hate the Gyre, but not more than I hate planes, so this should be a short trip and you don’t need to pack anything.”

“Bet,” says Steve. “We’ll see you in a few minutes after Krel tells someone where he’s going.”

“I could just leave them a message,” Krel protests.

“Tell your advisors where you’re going, Krel,” Douxie says as if he’d be any better in Krel’s position. Krel lived with him for years. He would not be any better in Krel’s position. Like, not even close.

“See you in a bit,” Krel says, before hanging up and pocketing his phone. “Come on, let’s find Loth. He won’t yell at me. I don’t think he’s physically capable of yelling.”

“He is,” Steve confirms. “Aja says he yelled at her once when she was younger and she almost ate a serrator.”

“She what?” says Krel. “Why haven’t I heard this story? No fair.”

Steve laughs. “Whoops. You didn’t hear it from me. Let’s go find Loth!”

“Steve!” Krel whines, running after him as he hurries out the door. “Details!”

“Nope!” Steve says. “I’ve said too much! My lips are sealed!”

“Steeeve!”

 

 

It takes longer than he’d like to find Loth and let him know where they’re going. He doesn’t yell at Krel, but does extract the promise that they’ll be back before sunrise tomorrow. Krel can do that. Probably. With their luck – well, he’s sure it won’t be anything he needs to worry about. He hopes it won’t be anything he needs to worry about. He’s gonna kill Douxie if it is.

After also letting Aja and Eli know where they were going and changing into human clothes, they wormhole straight to Douxie and Alex’s house. Krel was more than happy to basically give them the Mothership and that house. He’s heard how difficult it is to get a house on Earth and that’s one less thing for them to worry about. Plus, Alex loves the lab and it makes it easier for them to visit. Nobody’s in the room with the wormhole when they arrive. Steve gives him a raised eyebrow.

“Did you tell Douxie we were coming now?” he asks.

“Aha, no,” says Krel. “It’s fine. Come on, I hear music, Alex must be in the lab.”

Steve rolls his eyes at him. Krel rolls his eyes right back, mostly to be a “little shit” as both Steve and Douxie call him, and they head down the hall to the lab where Alex is blasting rock music at full volume. He doesn’t notice them walk in, sleeves rolled up as he tinkers on whatever he’s tinkering on and sings half-under his breath along to the music.

“Alex,” Krel says. Then, when Alex still doesn’t notice, he cups his hands around his mouth. “Alex!”

Alex startles and spins around in his seat. “What – huh? Krel?”

“The one and only,” Krel says, amused. “Having fun?”

“Douxie didn’t tell me you’d be getting here so soon,” Alex says.

Steve jerks his thumb at him. “Dumbass here didn’t tell him.”

“You also didn’t tell him,” Krel says. “You have a phone. Well within your power.”

“Hush,” says Steve.

“Well, Douxie is upstairs,” says Alex, standing and setting his project aside. He tugs down the sleeves of his hoodie. “I know the others are waiting for us in Trollmarket with the Gyre. Field trip!”

“Field trip!” Krel echoes enthusiastically.

“Yay,” Steve says flatly.

“I hope it is something cool,” says Alex as they walk upstairs. “All the past shipments of enchanted items and stuff for the shop have been pretty boring. Oh, someone brought in a cursed laptop the other day. That was much more exciting than a normal virus.”

“How did someone get their laptop cursed?” Krel asks.

“No clue,” says Alex. “I got it uncursed, though, but it ruined one of my t-shirts because it made the laptop breathe fire.”

“Laptops don’t breathe,” says Steve.

Alex shrugs. “This one did.”

“Krel! Steve!” Douxie exclaims as they leave the Akiridion part of the ship for the human house part. He rushes over to hug each of them in turn, even though they literally saw him a couple of days ago. Krel doesn’t mind. “Good to see you! Excited?”

“Considering your definition of cool is synonymous with dangerous, not really,” says Steve.

“Aw, come on, Steve, it’ll be fun!” Douxie says. “Except the Gyre part. Ugh. Krel, can you wormhole us to the UK?”

“No,” says Krel. “Well, I probably could. But I am not going to. I love the Gyre.”

“Of course you do,” grumbles Douxie.

“Come on, I’ll drive us,” says Alex. “Blinky said I could park my car in Trollmarket so it’s not just sitting in the canal all day, so that’s nice.”

“Not sure it’s safer in Trollmarket,” says Steve.

Alex shrugs. “I’ll take my chances.”

He and Steve slide in the backseat of Alex’s car. As they drive over, Krel can’t help but stare out the window with a nostalgic smile. He’s missed living in Arcadia. He’s happy with his life right now, but he thinks he’ll always consider Arcadia his hometown in a way he didn’t really consider the city he grew up in on Akiridion-5. He grew more as a person here than he did there, anyway.

“How’s things around here?” Steve asks.

“You mean since Saturday when we came over for dinner?” Douxie says. “Pretty chill. Oh, did Alex tell you about the cursed laptop?”

“Yeesh, you guys really are as bored as us,” Krel says. “Yes, he did.”

“Boring is good,” Steve says. “Boring means safe. Safe means I can relax. I like relaxing, Krel.”

“I like relaxing too, but if I relax too much I think I’m going to die of ‘relaxation’,” Krel says. “I’m with Alex, I hope this is something cool.”

Steve mutters something about Krel being the death of him. Krel does try very hard not to do that, actually, because he definitely doesn’t want anyone else dying for him in his lifetime. He is not remorseful for the amount of joking stress he causes Steve, though. It’s actually pretty funny to watch Steve stress out over silly things instead of life-threatening danger. Krel may be bored but Steve has a point. They’re safe, and they’ve been safe for three years now.

Alex does park in Trollmarket after all, and they make their way through the bustling community without stopping to chat much since the Trollhunters are waiting for them. As promised, Toby, Jim, and Claire are all waiting for them at the Gyre. Jim is already in human form, just in case. Toby grins and waves at them as they approach.

“Steve, Krel, long time no see!” he says.

“We Facetimed like two days ago, Toby,” Steve says. “New eyepatch, though?”

“Yep,” says Toby. “Decided it was time to ditch the Halloween one I was using.”

“When you weren’t trying to scare kids,” says Claire. “Hi, guys. Ready to go?”

“Woo, Gyre,” Douxie says unenthusiastically.

“Not your favourite?” says Jim sympathetically. “Well, at least it’ll be quick. All aboard for one round-trip to the UK. I promised Blinky we’d be back by sunrise.”

“Yep, promised Loth the same thing,” Krel says. “Plus I have a meeting tomorrow. Ugh.”

“Brought that one on yourself, buddy,” Steve says as they all climb in the Gyre.

“I brought snacks, by the way,” Jim says. “Uh, for after the Gyre. But I made cookies last night and I’ve also got some sandwiches and a couple of other little things if we get hungry.”

“We’re not going on a road trip, Jimbo,” Toby says.

Jim’s cheeks turn pink. “Well, if you don’t want cookies, everyone else can have them.”

“Hey now, I never said that.”

Douxie raises a hand. “I’ll take a cookie.”

“After the Gyre,” Alex says. “I don’t want a repeat of the rollercoaster incident.”

“Shut up,” Douxie whines.

“Everyone ready?” says Claire. “Krel, sit down, please.”

“It’s more fun standing up though,” Krel says. He does sit down, because Claire’s probably right and also she can be one scary lady if she wants to. Douxie is huddled up to Alex and clutching his hand so tight it must hurt. Everyone else is just sitting like a normal person because they aren’t deathly afraid of airplanes, rollercoasters, and Gyres. It is astonishing that Douxie can handle magic flying.

They wind up in the middle of the woods somewhere, presumably in the UK. Krel wishes Gyre rides were longer because they are fantastic. Douxie can’t get out fast enough, but the rest of them don’t rush. Krel can’t help the big grin on his face. This reminds him that he needs to find a way to get amusement parks on New Akiridion. He bets they’d love having rollercoasters. Krel could totally design a really awesome rollercoaster.

Krel fiddles with his serrator. “Douxie, c’mere.”

“Yeah?” Douxie says.

“I’m gonna just adjust the transduction to cover your eyes,” Krel says. “In case we do run into trouble that shouldn’t know about extra-terrestrials and stuff. I don’t want you constantly holding up an illusion.”

“Alright,” says Douxie. “Will that work?”

“It should,” says Krel. “The transduction works to a certain extent on humans, and you do have a core so… should be fine.”

Sure enough, when he’s done adjusting the settings and activates his own human form, Douxie’s eyes shift back to their old human appearance. Krel was almost completely confident it would work, but he’s glad it did anyway. It’s hit or miss when they assume things with Douxie’s new core. There are a number of scientists back on New Akiridion that would kill to study the whole thing, but Krel refuses to let his brother be some science experiment.

“Alright, which way?” says Jim, absently fiddling with the Trollhunter amulet.

“Hang on,” says Alex, pulling up his phone. “Hm… this way, we’re close.”

“Hey, this isn’t far from Nan’s lake,” says Douxie, peering over his shoulder. “Maybe we can visit her later.”

“Your grandma, the legendary Lady of the Lake,” says Toby as they start walking. “Dude, if this magic thing is just your grandma–”

“I am ninety-eight percent confident it’s not Nan,” says Douxie.

“The lake is that way anyway,” says Alex. “So probably not the Lady of the Lake.”

“She’s told you to call her Nan.”

“I know, and I’m still dealing with the fact that your grandmother is the Lady of the Lake.”

“It’s been almost a decade since you found that out.”

“Yes, and it’s still insane.”

“You knew before I knew.”

“Even insaner.”

Krel rolls his eyes at their married couple bickering and looks around the forest. It… just looks like a forest to him. The leaves crunch under their feet as they walk, and he thinks he hears an owl in the distance. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s already dark here, and they’re using their phone flashlights to light the way. By the faintest of glows in Steve’s eyes, he must be using aura-sight to look for the magical objects.

“Look!” Claire exclaims, drawing all their attention. Krel follows where she’s pointing and his eyes widen. Sure enough, there’s a faint glow from the bushes. Douxie takes the lead, brow furrowed and standing in front of them with Claire and Steve right behind. Well, wizard problem, wizards in front, he guesses.

Douxie kneels and pushes the foliage away to reveal a glowing stone, pulsing with light. His eyebrows raise. “A runestone. But I don’t recognise the combination of runes. Time… that’s the only one I can recognise.”

“I brought a cloth bag,” says Alex. “Those are usually safest for magical artefacts, nonreactive and all that. I remember Mort telling us all this stuff.”

Douxie doesn’t look like he’s listening. Krel frowns. “Doux?”

“This magic feels familiar,” he mumbles.

Uncle Mort used to cycle through a lot of different rules for dealing with unknown magical objects, but there was one that was always consistent. Don’t. Touch. It. This means, of course, that Douxie immediately reaches out and picks up the glowing runestone. Krel doesn’t even have a chance to protest before the runestone flashes so bright he has to cover his eyes. The world spins around them and everything goes black.

Chapter 2: The Good Ol' Days

Alex wakes slowly. The first thing he’s aware of is that his head is absolutely pounding. The second thing is the sound of birds, too loud to be muffled by the walls and windows of his and Douxie’s bedroom. Then he also realises he’s cold and as he shifts leaves crunch beneath him.

The mysterious magic signature – the runestone–

“Douxie!” he exclaims, shooting into a sitting position and looking around in panic. He sees Douxie laying a few feet away and scrambles over to him as his husband groans and starts sitting as well. The others are also waking up and looking around in confusion. It still just looks like a forest. The runestone is gone, but Douxie isn’t visibly injured, at least. Alex still doesn’t like the fact that whatever it was knocked them all flat out the second Douxie touched it. Douxie knows better than to touch weird magical artefacts, or at least Alex thought he knew better.

“Is everyone okay?” Steve asks, rubbing his head.

“You had to touch the creepy glowing rock,” Krel says to Douxie.

“Maybe nothing happened?” Douxie says unsurely. “I mean… we’re still in the woods. It looks like it just knocked us out for a couple of hours.”

“Don’t even jinx it,” says Steve. “Come on. The rock’s gone, so we should get home so that I can thoroughly scan all of us. Especially you, Doux. What if it did something we can’t see?”

“I second that,” Alex says. He does not want to risk there being something wrong with Douxie because of that dumb glowing rock. He stands and helps Douxie up. He can’t pretend he’s not relieved that everything seems normal right now, but he’s definitely still holding his breath. There’s a large difference between seeming normal and actually being normal.

“Anyone remember the way back to the Gyre?” Toby asks.

“Um, this way, I think,” says Jim. He rubs the back of his neck. “But I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

“Lucky for you, I left Toby’s old Fitbit thing in there,” says Claire. Toby groans in embarrassment. “And it’s got tracking set up.”

“Yes, yes, rub it in how I spent a week obsessed with winning a cooler or whatever,” Toby grumbles.

Claire pulls out her phone and frowns as she looks at it. Well, that can’t be a good sign. What, have they been teleported to another continent or something? “That’s weird. I’m not picking up any GPS signal at all.”

“Let me see,” says Alex. Claire hands the phone to him and he double-checks the settings and everything. Nope, seems normal. He pulls out his own phone. Same issue, no GPS signal. No cell signal, either. “Nope, we must be in the middle of absolutely nowhere.”

“Well, it can’t be that hard to find a Gyre,” says Jim. “I’m pretty sure we came from this direction, anyway. Still good thinking, Claire.”

“Your planet really needs to update its communications and global positioning systems,” says Krel. “This is why you always hear about stupid twenty-somethings and teenagers getting lost in the woods and starving to death or whatever.”

Jim beckons for them to follow him, hopefully back towards the Gyre. It’s a nice morning, at least. In the darkness last night Alex hadn’t noticed the light dusting of snow on the ground. That’s weird, it’s a bit early for snow, but he’s not complaining. He wishes they got more snow in Arcadia. Southern California isn’t exactly conducive for winter wonderlands.

“I swear we didn’t walk this far,” mumbles Steve.

“Maybe we’re going in the wrong direction?” Jim offers. “I told you I wasn’t sure.”

“Worst case scenario we find a town and Uber to an airport,” says Toby. “Blinky will kill us for losing the Gyre, but the UK’s not that big. There’s probably like three towns within a ten-minute walk or something. We’ll be fine.”

“Like that map game!” Douxie says enthusiastically. “The one that drops you in a random Google street view?”

“Oh, yeah, I was bad at that,” says Alex. “Then again half the time you can’t read the street signs.”

Douxie nudges him with a grin. “Even when you could read the street signs, you were bad at it.”

Jim opens his mouth to say something but stops abruptly, hand going to his pocket and the amulet that Alex knows he has inside. Douxie frowns and he and Claire both flex their hands as if ready to flare focusers.

“I hear something,” Jim mumbles, eyes sharp.

After a few moments, Alex hears it too, a rustling in the leaves. They huddle together defensively. It’s probably just some hikers or something, but Alex knows his friends have dealt with enough trauma that they can never be too wary.

And then, out from the bushes emerge four or five people in armour. The one at the lead has his sword drawn, dark hair tied into a long ponytail and eerily blue eyes sharp. He points the sword at them. “Halt! Who goes there?”

“Oh, thank god,” Toby says, immediately untensing. “It’s just a group of LARPers. Okay, man, you guys scared us!”

Alex catches Douxie and Krel exchanging alarmed looks before returning to stare at the dark-haired man. Alex doesn’t recognise them or their armour, but he has a nagging feeling that he should.

“Sir Lancelot?” Douxie finally blurts. Alex snaps his head to stare at his husband because, uh, what?

“You know my name, traveller, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours,” says the man. He lowers his sword, which is good because Alex is still trying to understand what the hell Douxie meant by that.

“Wait, Lancelot?” says Toby. “Like the Knight of the Round Table, King Arthur’s Lancelot? That Lancelot?”

“Yeah,” says Krel, eyes still wide. He raises his hands. “We come in peace. We’re just a little lost.”

“The only rune I recognised was time,” mumbles Douxie, visibly paling.

“No way,” Alex murmurs back. “There’s no way.”

“Strangely dressed, too,” notes another of the knights. This one, Alex does recognise: Ikram, who’s like an aunt to Douxie and comes over for dinner at least once a month. But she doesn’t appear to recognise them in return. Which means…

Holy shit. They’re actually in the past and that is actually Douxie’s grandfather.

Yep, Alex regrets mentioning the weird magic signal to Douxie. He regrets even looking for it.

“We were actually on the way to Camelot,” Douxie lies. “Um, we are… ambassadors… yes! Yes, ambassadors from the far-off kingdom of Arcadia. And we have come to… build… a relationship… between our kingdoms! What good fortune to be found by the world-renowned Sir Lancelot du Lac Pendragon! Certainly, tidings of good luck for our kingdoms’ friendship!”

Lancelot doesn’t seem to buy it, but he also doesn’t seem to not buy it. “Well, if you are headed for Camelot, perhaps we can be your escort. These woods are not safe, even during the day.”

“One wrong move and I assure you, it will be the last move you ever make,” Ikram warns.

“Yep, we got it, uh, Sir Knight, ma’am, sir,” says Toby awkwardly. Alex can just tell he’s struggling not to address her by name. The other three he doesn’t recognise, but none of them look ready to chop their heads off or something. The oldest one, in the back, looks suspicious of them and of Douxie’s lie, but he doesn’t call them on it.

“Tell us more about this Arcadia,” says Lancelot as they begin walking. He offers them a gentle smile, the same one Mort used to give him when he and Douxie first started dating and Alex was sure he was being interrogated and Mort wanted to reassure him. Alex still thinks that was an interrogation, but at least Mort was nice about it.

“Oh, it’s – it’s very far from here,” Douxie stammers. “It’s, um, you know, across the ocean. But word travels farther than you think!”

“Yep,” Claire agrees quickly. “How could we not journey to meet King Arthur Pendragon and his noble knights?”

“And perhaps lend aid and compatriot…ism?” adds Douxie. “Yep. Friendship! Between our kingdoms!”

“Well, we could always use more allies,” says Lancelot. He seems endeared by Douxie, which Alex supposes is a good thing. Douxie is very endearing, so it’s not at all surprising that his grandfather would take to him. This is seriously weird. The one side of Douxie’s family Alex thought he would never meet, and yet here he is, walking with Sir Lancelot on the way to meet King Arthur.

“It’s very interesting that you come here now,” says Ikram carefully, “in the height of our war against the Gumm-Gumms and the faes.”

Alex sees Jim’s eyes widen out of the corner of his eyes. Toby’s smile wavers some.

“We mean you no harm, Sir Knight, you or Camelot,” Douxie says, face falling into a more serious expression. “I can promise you that.”

Lancelot glances at the knight next to him, the older one that had seemed suspicious before, and he nods. Alex hopes that wasn’t code or something. Be prepared to throw these strange people in the dungeons and arrange for all of them to be burned at the stake this evening! Well, at least Krel would survive. If Alex had to make a list of ways to die, literally anything nine hundred years in the past would be at the bottom.

“Then you shall face no harm from us, traveller,” Lancelot says. He smiles and pushes aside some bushes to let them out onto a clifftop overlooking a beautiful, walled city. A castle stands tall and proud in the centre. “Welcome, my new friends, to Camelot.”

“Awesome-sauce,” he hears Toby whisper. Douxie takes a few steps forward, eyes wide as he takes in the city. Alex takes his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. He remembers when he was little, the first time his parents took him to the town where his mother was born in El Salvador. He had been young, but he still remembers the distinct feeling of awe looking around at the busy streets and walking into his great aunt’s house and thinking, this is it. This is where I came from. He imagines Douxie must feel the same, staring at Mort’s childhood home, a home that was destroyed centuries before Douxie was even born.

“Come along,” says Ikram. “The sooner we bring you to King Arthur, the sooner he can decide what to do with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Lancelot says with a laugh. “Arthur is a kind man. You aren’t in any danger here.”

They follow the knights down the steep stairs on the cliffside. Douxie takes a glance down and turns kind of green. Alex tries not to laugh at him until he also glances down. Nope. Too high, very much too high, and there’s no guardrail either. Yep, Alex hates that.

The gates are open when they arrive. Inside the walls, the city is full of people going about their days. It looks like a ren faire that somehow managed to be actually historically accurate. Alex feels incredibly out of place in his hoodie and jeans, and he’s definitely wary of being in medieval England as a black gay man. He knows that Arthur and Lancelot were a thing, so maybe that means Camelot is pretty accepting. When Mort did speak about his home, it was always with fondness. Alex hopes that means something more than nostalgia. He definitely doesn’t want to deal with assholes on top of dealing with time travel.

“This is incredible,” Claire breathes.

“This is horrible,” Krel mumbles. “Look, that’s a horse and carriage! This is terrible.”

Alex nudges him. “I’m sure we’ll invent automobiles by ourselves if we’re stuck here too long.”

“Please don’t,” says Douxie.

They get a lot of stares as they walk through town. Again, probably the clothes. Alex is acutely aware that he and Claire are wearing purple. Wasn’t that like royalty colours? He really hopes no one thinks he’s royalty. Well, technically he is, because Douxie is Arthur’s grandson, but he tries not to think too hard about that. Krel says he is because he’s his brother-in-law, but Alex thinks Krel would name all of them princes and princesses of Akiridion if he could. He wonders if Camelot often gets newcomers. Maybe that makes them even stranger. Lancelot said the woods were dangerous. Do many still brave them to visit the kingdom? Is this it or is this just the capital city?

The castle is even bigger up close. Alex can’t pretend he’s not intimidated by it, but this time Douxie squeezes his hand and glances up at him with a smile. Okay, Alex, breathe. You’re just meeting another member of Douxie’s family. No big deal. Not like he’s the King of England – oh, wait, except that he is. Alex would really just like to go home and lay down. Whatever magic-induced sleep he got thanks to the time-travel stone was not restful at all, so he’s tired and a little scared. Not only are they in Camelot, they’re in a Camelot at war. They were supposed to be done with the dangerous stuff.

He’s barely been paying attention so he’s startled when a pair of big wooden doors open and let them into the throne room. Douxie’s steps falter at the sight of the man on the throne, playing a board game with a redheaded woman. This must be King Arthur, but for a moment, Alex swears he’s seen a ghost. From his golden hair to his kind smile, Arthur looks so much like Mort that he almost hurts to look at.

Lancelot clears his throat to announce their presence. “My liege.”

“Lance!” Arthur exclaims, standing and practically bounding over like a big puppy. Ah, that’s where Steve gets it from. “And new guests! Welcome, welcome.”

“Visitors from the far-off kingdom of Arcadia,” says Lancelot, a smile tugging at his lips. “Ambassadors, they said. They are a bit hard to follow, but I believe they’re here to help with the war effort.”

“Yes, exactly!” says Douxie with a grin. The grin tightens a second later when Douxie realises what he’s said and also realises he regrets saying it. Alex would like to shake his husband, but, alas, that won’t do any good. Douxie has a tendency to speak without thinking and this is as good an excuse as any.

“But we do need more details,” Claire steps in smoothly. “We’ve heard of your struggles against the Gumm-Gumms, of course, and as a token of friendship have come to help, but we don’t know all the details.”

“Aid is much welcomed,” Arthur says. “I am King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. You’ve met my husband and the leader of my knights, Sir Lancelot du Lac. The other knights before you are some of my best, Sirs Ikram, Tristan, Lamorak, and Dinadan. And this is my fair daughter, Princess Anna.”

Anna curtsies with a kind smile. “Welcome, travellers. It is an honour to meet you.”

“Ah, um,” says Douxie awkwardly. “I’m Hisirdoux… Swift. And this is my husband, Alexander Swift.”

Leaving off the Penn part is probably smart. A little too close to Pendragon. Alex bows as politely as he can. He hopes he’s doing it right. He probably is. Mort insisted on teaching them etiquette, so while that etiquette was out of place at home it must make them fit right in here.

Douxie glances at the others and continues the introductions. “This is Claire Nuñez and her fiancé, Jim Lake Jr. Uh, my little brother, Krel Tarron, and his – our brother-in-law, Steven Tarron. And our dear friend Tobias Domzalski.”

“’Sup,” says Toby with a wave. Jim gives him a deadpan look.

Though he’s clearly bemused by Toby, Arthur does smile and bow back to them. “An honour indeed to meet all of you. I welcome you to our kingdom with open arms.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Jim manages. “We appreciate the, uh, the welcome.”

“We need help in… many areas,” Arthur admits. “So whatever you can offer will be greatly appreciated. Warriors, wizards, healers, scholars… times are difficult right now.”

“Claire and I are wizards,” Douxie offers. Alex would like to shake him again. “And Krel.”

“I am?” blurts Krel. He coughs. “I mean, uh, yes, I am.”

“I’m a healer,” Steve says quickly. “Got used to patching this lot up after, well, anything that got them hurt.”

“I can fight,” Alex says. Douxie shoots him a look. What? Alex does have some training, and he’s definitely not a wizard or a healer. He doubts he’d be any use as a scholar either. If they have to be stuck in the past helping Douxie’s grandparents fight a war, Alex would prefer to be useful somehow. Besides, he’s not sure Douxie has realised just who he’s probably signed himself up to work with. At least Alex will get to be with Lancelot and Ikram.

Jim and Toby exchange looks. Toby nods and Jim steps forward. “Tobes and I too.”

“Excellent!” says Arthur happily. “In that case, Jim, Tobias, and Alexander will train with the knights. Lancelot, will you oversee them?”

“Happily,” says Lancelot, offering them a smile. “I look forward to seeing your progress, lads.”

“Um, thank you, sir,” Alex says, trying not to look petrified. Why did he say he could fight again? He can’t fight. Last time he purposefully joined a fight he got literally skewered.

“Steven, the healers will always appreciate another for their numbers,” continues Arthur. “And Claire, Krel, and Hisirdoux, you can work with my Master Wizard, Merlin Ambrosius!”

Douxie’s face turns sheet white. Now it’s Alex’s turn to give him a look. What did he think would happen? Of course he’ll be stuck working with Merlin. He doesn’t blame him for being alarmed, nor does he blame Krel, who looks just as shaken. Alex wasn’t there for the whole formstone debacle, but he knows Merlin was the villain for that whole thing and he knows the absolute hatred Mort held for Merlin when he never hated anyone. He doesn’t like the idea of Douxie working with that guy.

“But first, you should get settled in,” says Arthur. “We have guest quarters that you’re more than welcome to stay in. I’ll walk with you! Anna, care to join us?”

“Certainly,” she says.

Lancelot beckons them to follow. “Come on, it’s this way. Some of the knights also live in the castle, so you’ll be near them.”

“Like me!” one of the knights – Sir Tristan, Alex thinks – chirps. “And Lamorak here. Ikram and Dinadan both live in town.”

“Better than being your neighbour,” Sir Dinadan teases.

“So, Arcadia!” says Arthur. “I must admit I have never heard of your kingdom.”

“It’s new,” Krel blurts, before turning red. Alex fights very hard not to give Krel an incredulous look. It’s new? “I – I mean… it’s… recently consolidated from two smaller kingdoms you likely wouldn’t recognise at all. The, um, there’d been… warring families. But then there was a marriage?”

“Yes,” Alex quickly adds. Okay, two smaller kingdoms merging they can work with. “The two royal houses formed a marriage alliance. The, um, current king and queen. So now Arcadia is just one kingdom instead of two. But, uh, this only happened a few years ago. So it’s new.”

“Very new,” Krel agrees.

“That’s wonderful to hear, that your kingdom is no longer at war,” says Arthur. “Was it a love match? Or purely political?”

“A love match,” Krel says softly, a small smile forming on his face. That’s right, Krel’s told him about Akiridion history and how his parents’ families had been in conflict for centuries before his parents got married. It’s probably best to pull from some kind of truth. That will make it easier to keep their story straight. Good thinking, Krel.

Arthur looks pleased. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Are you knights back home?” Sir Dinadan asks curiously.

“Sort of, not really?” says Jim. “We don’t really have knights the same way you guys do.”

“Yeah, it’s really different,” says Toby. “But we’ve fought wars before, so we aren’t coming in with no experience. We’ve won wars before.”

“You’re young,” Sir Tristan notes.

“You’re our age,” Claire shoots back.

“Touche, milady,” says Sir Tristan.

“The war against the Gumm-Gumms has been going on for a very long time,” says Sir Lamorak. “Longer than I’ve been alive, before even King Uther’s reign. It’s been a fact of life. But since the fae got involved…”

“It’s gotten worse,” Alex guesses grimly.

“Much worse,” Lancelot says grimly. “The fae are dangerous enemies to have, and this faction despises humans. Not all fae are like that. Most of the time they stay out of human business as long as the humans leave them alone. But these fae… previously, the Gumm-Gumms were only a threat at night, but now we’re facing danger during the day.”

“I fear much longer and we shan’t be able to hold against them,” Arthur admits. “It’s fortuitous that you all arrived. We appreciate your help more than you can know.”

“We’ll help as much as we can,” promises Jim. “Maybe it was destiny that brought us here. Who are we to refuse that gift?”

“Brave words, Jim,” says Arthur. “Or is it James? Do you prefer Jim?”

Jim rubs the back of his neck. “Just Jim. James Lake was a dick – uh, I mean–”

“Oh, I’ve heard much worse, lad,” Arthur says in amusement. There’s understanding in his eyes. Alex knows Mort barely knew King Uther before the man died, but he’d always had choice words about his grandfather, so Alex can only guess what kind of father Uther was to Arthur.

“Here we are,” says Ikram. “These rooms should be free. One for each of the singles, and one for each couple. Does this suffice?”

“Yes, Sir Knight, thank you,” Douxie says, bowing first to her and then to Arthur and the others. “We appreciate your hospitality.”

“Take as long as you need to settle in,” says Arthur. “We’ll send people to fetch you later. I should go inform the healers and Merlin of your arrival. And convince Merlin to be nice – he’s an ornery sort but once you get to know him, he’s not that bad.”

Douxie’s smile tightens again. “I’m sure we’ll… enjoy… working with him.”

“Let us know if you need anything, travellers,” says Lancelot, glancing them over. “We’ll have the tailor drop by sometime to get you some new clothes. I see you packed… light.”

Yeah, because they weren’t planning to get thrown back in time for who knows how long. Their only lead has completely vanished. For all they know, they’ll be stuck here for the rest of their lives. God, Alex does not want to be stuck here for the rest of his life. He already misses Lillie and his parents and his friends, and it’s been an hour at most.

“Thank you,” says Claire. “We, uh, our clothing customs are clearly very different.”

“Clearly,” says Anna, amused as she looks over Claire’s outfit. “Your outfit looks… fun, at least. I like the boots and the skirt.”

“Oh, thank you, your highness,” Claire says, blushing. Jim gives her a teasing look and she nearly shoves him. Alex admires her restraint in not shoving him in front of the Camelot royals. Once they do leave, she does punch Jim’s arm.

“Ow!” Jim says with a laugh. “I can’t believe you think Mort’s sister is cute.”

“Oh my god, ew,” says Douxie. “That’s my aunt, Claire!”

“Anyway,” Claire says. “We should talk in more privacy. Come on.”

She tugs Jim and the laughing Toby into one of the rooms and the rest of them follow. Douxie closes the door behind them and draws runes in the air in front of it while the rest of them sit in a circle on the floor. Alex recognises a couple of them. He really needs to read up more on runes.

“Okay, we should be safe to talk,” says Douxie, plopping down next to Alex, Alex instinctively wraps an arm around his waist.

“Cool,” says Krel. “What the hell was that, Douxie?”

“Uh, what was what?” says Douxie meekly.

“Do I look like a wizard to you?” Krel says, gesturing to himself with both hands. “I can’t do magic! My Gaylen powers aren’t gonna fool Merlin! Ugh, we have to deal with fucking Merlin again.”

“You really had to touch the glowy rock,” says Steve. “And then volunteer us for war.”

“Yes, okay, I fucked up, I got it,” says Douxie.

“To be fair to Douxie, what were we supposed to say?” says Jim. “This is the best way to be trustworthy. We were weird people in weird clothes in the woods at a time when they’re fighting, what, faeries?”

“Fae,” Steve corrects. “Which from what I understand look like humans mostly.”

“See?” says Jim. “They’re going to be suspicious of us. We just need to prove we’re trustworthy. Besides, Claire, Douxie, and Krel can use their access to Merlin’s books to find us a way home.”

“That’s a good point,” Claire says. “But then you guys should have said you were scholars.”

“Claire, I love that you have that much faith in us, but do you really think me and Jim could pass for scholars?” says Toby. “Alex, maybe, he’s a complete nerd–”

“Hey!” Alex protests.

“–but me and Jim? Not a chance,” Toby completes. “Besides, this will give us a chance to scout the area and get to know people. And, you know, be more trusted. I doubt they’d love all seven of the random strangers to be snooping around in their library.”

“We just need to lay low and play it safe,” says Jim. “We don’t want to accidentally change the future. And we can’t purposefully change the future.”

Douxie crosses his arms at Jim’s borderline glare. “I’m not going to purposefully change the future, Jim.”

“I’m just saying, this is a lot more personal for you and Krel than it is for us,” Jim points out.

“Yeah, but I’m not stupid,” says Douxie. “Besides, Uncle Mort pretty much never talked about his past and we don’t even know when we are. I couldn’t tell you based on Aunt Anna’s age because I don’t think he ever even mentioned how far apart they were.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon,” says Alex. He sighs and leans his cheek on Douxie’s head. “My parents are gonna kill us. We were supposed to come over for dinner tomorrow. Today. I guess today. Today in nine centuries.”

“Do you think anyone will notice we’re gone?” asks Toby. “Maybe we can get back to the exact time we left. Or close. Then no one has to know. Cause, uh, yeah, Darci is gonna murder me if not.”

“We won’t know until we try,” says Douxie. He fidgets with the sleeve of his sweater and sighs. “I really am sorry, you guys. I didn’t... I know better than to pick up weird magic things with my bare hands. It just seemed so... I don’t know. It was familiar. I don’t know.”

“Maybe Jim’s right,” says Claire. “Maybe it was destiny. You do have prophecy visions and stuff. Maybe that part of your magic was calling you to the stone.”

“Maybe,” says Douxie unsurely. He’s still fidgeting, a clear tell that he’s getting more and more anxious about this whole ordeal.

“Destiny,” grumbles Krel. “I have just about had enough of destiny and wars and Merlin. Ugh.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” mutters Jim. “And Gunmar! Fantastic.”

“Yeah, it – it’s not ideal, you’re right,” Douxie says, shoulders hunching a bit more. “Maybe if you guys are bad enough they’ll keep you in training and out of battles.”

“And embarrass ourselves in front of Ikram?” says Toby. “Forget Lancelot, she’s terrifying and won’t ever let us live it down when we get home. She trained me so she will kill me if I don’t represent her.”

“Yes, but you have better chances of not dying if you aren’t in battle,” Douxie insists.

“We’ll be careful,” Alex murmurs, kissing the side of Douxie’s forehead in an effort to reassure him. Douxie visibly swallows but glances up to smile at him regardless.

“We can talk more later, but for now, we should get settled,” says Jim. “I know we don’t really have to unpack, but…”

“Figure out our rooms, good idea,” Steve says with a nod. “This one looks like a couple’s room, so you two pairs of lovebirds can duke it out while the rest of us choose from the single rooms.”

“If you want this one, you can have it,” says Douxie. He grins cheekily but shakily, his left hand crumpling the edge of his sleeve into his fist. This time Krel also seems to notice, brow furrowing. “Alex and I will find a better view.”

“This is a fine view, thank you very much,” Jim protests.

“Alright, come on,” says Alex, standing and tugging Douxie to his feet. “We’ll see you guys later. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Right back at you, Alejandro,” Claire says. Alex rolls his eyes at her and she winks – other than her, pretty much only his mom’s side of the family only calls him that ever but she likes to do it to tease him.

He gently leads Douxie out of the room and peeks into the one next door. Similar layout, so this must be another couple’s room. He slips inside and closes the door, guiding Douxie to the bed and sitting him down as his husband’s breathing starts to pick up.

“Hey, hey, breathe with me,” he murmurs.

“This is a disaster, Alex!” Douxie cries. “It’s – it’s – I didn’t mean to get us all sent back in time and I didn’t mean to get us all involved in a war again and – and–”

“Breathe,” Alex says again, squeezing his hands. “Just breathe with me, Douxie, it’s okay.”

They match their breathing for a few minutes, long enough for Douxie to calm down some. Alex watches as the rise and fall of his husband’s chest steady, his core glowing under his shirt and his skin in the shadows of the room. The most reassuring nightlight Alex has ever had. It’s a lot easier to cope with nightmares when he can wake up and see proof Douxie is okay by the faint, steady light of his core, when he can rest his head on his chest and hear a heartbeat and a stable hum.

“Sorry,” Douxie says, hands still clutching tight to Alex’s own.

“No need to be,” Alex says. “Doing better now?”

“Yeah,” Douxie says. “I’m just… I didn’t mean to put everyone in danger again.”

“It was an accident, Doux,” Alex murmurs. He brings Douxie’s hands up and kisses the scars on his left fingers. “We’re gonna be okay. We’ll get home and we’re gonna be just fine.”

“Ever the optimist, my Alex,” Douxie chuckles.

“Always.” Alex gives him a small smile. “There is a bright side. You can get to know your grandparents and your aunt Anna. That’s not a bad thing. I’m glad you’ll get to have memories of them now.”

This does bring a real smile to Douxie’s face, so Alex counts that as a success. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m glad I can meet them. And see Camelot. It’s… wow. This is insane.”

“See?” says Alex. “Enjoy it. We’ll get home, and in the meantime, we’ll see what Camelot was like.”

Douxie nods. Alex wishes he felt as confident as he knows he sounds to Douxie. This is new and this is scary, and he’s a little afraid of what he signed himself up for volunteering to fight. But if there’s anything he’s sure of, it’s that they can get through this together, the way they always do. They’ll be home in no time.

He hopes.

Notes:

The first Alex chapter of the whole series!! I love this man, okay, and you guys are stuck with him so I really hope you enjoy reading him. Alouxie brainrot and all of that.

Also, meet my Arthur and Lancelot! Vastly different from canon but I love them anyway!

As always, thank you all for reading! I'm excited I get to update on my b-day :3

Chapter 3: Seeing Ghosts

“This asshole again! Do you know how much effort it’s going to take not to slap him? All of it. All of my effort, Douxie.”

“Preaching to the choir, Krel,” Douxie replies, or he hopes it’s some approximation of that. Claire looks peeved to be left out of the conversation, but they’re talking in Akiridion for a reason. The two knights leading them to Merlin’s study don’t need to hear the new arrivals complaining about Merlin, who they’ve supposedly never met before. “Listen, at least Grandpa Arthur isn’t suspicious.”

“Concerning, but lucky for us,” Krel mutters. “Seklos and Gaylen. Next time you and Alex find anything ‘super cool’, you can count me out.”

“Noted,” says Douxie, doing his best to pretend he doesn’t still feel really, very awful about getting them stuck here.

“Alright, travellers, we’re here,” says Sir Lamorak. Douxie is pretty sure that’s his name. “Look alive. He can smell fear.”

“He can’t,” clarifies Sir Dinadan. “Lamorak just doesn’t like him. Come on.”

Well, it’s good to know that Merlin isn’t adored by everyone in Camelot. Douxie is sure he’ll like this Lamorak if he also hates Merlin. Dinadan pushes the big wooden doors open. Douxie looks around as they entered, awed by bookshelves full of tomes that look ancient even now. He has to sneak Alex in here. Alex will love this.

“And who do we have here?”

And there goes Douxie’s good mood.

Merlin walks forward, blue eyes icy and sharp as he observes them. Dinadan bows. “Sir Wizard. Allies from the far kingdom of Arcadia. His Majesty spoke to you about them. These are Hisirdoux, Krel, and Claire, all here to aid the war effort.”

“Hm, yes, Arthur did tell me about you,” says Merlin.

It is taking everything Douxie has not to glare daggers at Merlin. Actually, it’s taking everything Douxie has not to straight up attack Merlin. Kerl doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Claire steps forward and bows low, rising with her best fake customer service smile.

“It will be a great honour to work with you, Sir Wizard,” she says sweetly. “Even in Arcadia we’ve heard tales of the great Merlin!”

The bluffing seems to soothe Merlin’s ego. That’s good. Thank the gods for Claire. Douxie thinks he might literally get sick if he tried to suck up to Merlin. Unfortunately, he still looks suspicious, the faintest sheen of acid green in his eyes.

Oh.

Oh, fuck, their auras.

That is going to be a problem. Krel is very obviously not human, and Steve has told Douxie that his aura is off now that he has a core. That alone will make them suspicious. Worse still, even three years later, he and Krel will have Uncle Mort written all over their auras. There’s no good way to explain that one. Auras are incredibly unique. Maybe, hopefully, if asked, they can pass it off for some kind of aura doppelganger. It’s a stretch, but Merlin might accept it.

“Well, I certainly look forward to working with you as well, fair Lady Claire,” says Merlin. Ew. Douxie hates him. He’s slimy. “Knights, you are dismissed.”

“Good luck,” Lamorak mutters to them as he and Dinadan bow and head out. Douxie keeps a half step between Krel and Merlin, just in case Merlin decides to make an early pass at Gaylen’s core. He’s not sure if Merlin even knows about Gaylen’s core yet, but it’s a risk he’s not willing to take.

“Please, come sit, have some wine,” says Merlin smoothly.

“Thank you, Sir Wizard,” says Claire, voice still sickly sweet. Douxie recognises that tone. It’s the same one she used during her brief stint in college at the call centre, the one that just begged for the chance to tell entitled callers to fuck all the way off. The three of them follow Merlin to a set of chairs and sit. Douxie keeps close to Krel. Merlin levitates several glasses and a couple of bottles of wine over.

“Red? White?” he offers.

“Water would be nice,” says Douxie awkwardly.

Merlin looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “I’m… afraid I don’t have any suitable water for drinking. Most of the cleanest water goes to the healers.”

Oh, yeah. They’re in the Middle Ages. Douxie smiles tightly. “Um, white, then.”

Merlin pours each of them a glass. Douxie takes his gingerly. He’s pretty sure Merlin won’t jump right to poisoning them, but he’s wary of just about anything the old man might do. He wishes Archie were here, but Archie hates the Gyre even more than he does so Archie is back home in the twenty-first century. Come to think of it, Junie is too, so at least he and Steve are both sad and familiarless. Gods, his anxiety is going to be off the charts without Archie, who’s basically his emotional support animal. At least he has Alex, his emotional support human.

“It’s been many years since we’ve had wizard visitors from so far away,” says Merlin, clasping his hands together in front of him as he sits. “Arcadia… in all my years and travels, I must say I’ve never heard of your kingdom.”

“It’s new,” Krel says. “A recent marriage alliance. And very small. You would not have heard of it.”

“Hm,” says Merlin. “Well, it will be good to have more magical help around here. Most of our wizards are not highly skilled. Basic healers, some knights that use a bit of magic to help themselves fight. Pah. Hedgewizards, the lot of them. I can see you three are powerful.”

“Ah, yep, yep,” says Douxie awkwardly. “We’re aren’t much, but we’re happy to lend our aid.”

“We have much to discuss,” says Merlin. “How much has Arthur explained to you about our current conflict?”

“Some, but not much,” Krel admits. “We know that you are at war, but… well, we don’t know the details. How long, what is their motive, all of that.”

“Far too long, to answer your first question,” says Merlin. “And as for their motive… the destruction of humanity. A world ruled by the trolls and the fae, an eternal night.”

“An eternal night, huh?” says Douxie softly. Well, at least Morgana hasn’t changed. This works in their favour, really. It’s the very same threat the Trollhunters have faced once before. Just with the fae as added enemies. “Sir Lamorak mentioned the fae were new to the conflict.”

“Aye,” says Merlin, scowling. “I will explain everything. Now, where is my blasted apprentice? Boy!”

There’s a crash from the next room over, followed by what sounds like a teenage boy calling, “Sorry! Coming, Master Merlin, just a second!”

Merlin rubs his forehead. “My apologies on my apprentice’s behalf. Normally he would have been here to greet you, but he can be… scattered.”

Wait. Merlin’s apprentice. Douxie didn’t even think of that, didn’t stop to realise just who else would be here. He can only stare in jaw-dropped shock as Mordred Pendragon, no older than fifteen, runs into the room, bowing frantically and apologetically.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he stammers out. “I was practising that new spell you showed me, would you like to–”

“Not now, Mordred, we have guests,” Merlin dismisses.

Mordred’s eyes wander to them and widen minutely. He quickly bows low. “Welcome, honoured guests! I apologise that I wasn’t here to greet you.”

“It’s okay,” says Claire, because Douxie doesn’t feel capable of speech and he doubts Krel is either. “Prince Mordred, right? It’s an honour.”

“The honour is all mine, my lady,” Mordred says, still bowing. “A-and my lords. I, um, I welcome you to Camelot.”

He looks like Mort. Years younger and happier, but still Mort. Especially the photos they have of Mort in college, back when he first truly re-entered the world after the fall of Camelot. The same bright green eyes, glancing up at them anxiously as if waiting for permission to rise again. Douxie tries to say something but the words die again in his throat. He should have expected to see Uncle Mort here. This is Mort’s childhood home, after all, so of course Mordred Pendragon would be roaming the castle’s halls. But Douxie wasn’t ready, wasn’t at all prepared to find him face to face with a teenage version of his dead father.

“Thank you,” Claire says. “You don’t have to bow to us. I’m Claire, these are Douxie and Krel. It’s nice to meet you.”

Mordred straightens back up and gives them a shy smile. Yep, the same smile too. Douxie’s heart aches, or maybe his core, or maybe both at the same time. Three years hasn’t been enough time to dull the pain of loss at all, it seems.

“It’s wonderful to have visitors,” Mordred says. “We don’t get too many travellers these days because the woods aren’t safe. Anna says trade has been suffering because of it. Dad told me you all came to help with the war?”

“We – we did,” Krel finally manages.

“Mordred, sit down,” says Merlin. “We still have much to discuss. As always your father gave them the bare minimum of information they actually need.”

Mordred does as told, still smiling brightly and hopefully at them, like they might be the answer to ending the war after all. That just makes Douxie feel worse. They can’t change the future, not for this bright-eyed hopeful version of Mort. Camelot is doomed. Just… hopefully not anytime soon. Sometime after they leave, maybe.

“This war has gone on for generations now,” says Merlin. He waves a hand and green fog erupts around the room. “Its history goes even farther back. Trolls and humans have been in conflict for millennia now. I trust you have heard of Gunmar the Black, the Viscious, the Skullcrusher.”

An illusion of Gunmar rises from the fog. Douxie only ever saw him from afar during the Eternal Night. Up close, he’s even more terrifying, big and burly, face curled into an ugly snarl to show off his sharp teeth, one eye glowing a vicious electric blue.

“Yeah,” Douxie says softly, “we’ve definitely heard of him.”

Merlin nods. “Then you know the basics of our war against the dark trolls, or as our trollish allies call them, the… Gumm-Gumms.”

The illusion shifts to show more trolls around Gunmar. These look familiar, the soldiers he’d used in the Eternal Night back in their time.

“Right, yes, 'bringer of horrible, slow, painful and thoroughly-calculated death',” says Claire. Mordred and Merlin both stare at her. “What? I speak some Trollish. The reduplication is what makes it so–“

“Yes, well,” says Merlin, cutting her off. “The conflict we humans have had with them has become a mere fact of life. I had hoped to turn the tides by crafting a legendary suit of armour and gifting it to a skilled Trollish warrior – the Trollhunter.”

An illusion of the Trollhunter amulet appears, then shifts to be an illusion of a troll in the Trollhunter armour. Douxie tries desperately to remember his trollish history lessons from Mort. Who would have been the Trollhunter at this time? He should remember this. She was the big one, wasn’t she, the one everyone likes? Dana? Daisy?

“Deya,” Claire says softly. Merlin’s eyebrows raise. “Um, information travels far in troll communities. Our kingdom is allied with a trollish city beneath us. It’s, um, so we’ve heard of your Trollhunter.”

“Indeed? Well,” says Merlin, “unfortunately, so far, while our Trollhunter has been some help, she has not solved the issue as I hoped.”

“What, were you hoping you could pawn off the issues on the trolls and hope it would be their problem now?” Krel scoffs.

Merlin frowns at him. “It is their kind, their creation of evil. Gunmar was not the humans’ creation, was he? It was their Heartstone that grew corrupt.”

“Okay, okay,” Douxie cuts in. “Moving on! Where do the fae come in?”

“Yes,” says Merlin. “The dark trolls have recently teamed up with a faction of human-hating fae. We have reason to suspect it was my old apprentice, Morgana, that brought them together. She herself is half-fae, and two years ago, she was banished from the kingdom after she killed Queen Guinevere and tried to kidnap Prince Mordred.”

Oh, yeah. Douxie remembers that, remembers seeing that memory. Mort had been so young to watch his mum murdered right in front of him like that. Merlin is an asshole who has no compassion, so of course the illusion morphs as he speaks to show what happened and ends with Morgana standing with Gunmar and several menacing-looking fae. Mordred’s hands close into fists as he stares down at the table between all of them.

“She sounds like a real piece of work,” Claire says with a scowl. She’ll probably never get along with Morgana back home, and if anything, this adventure will make things worse. This will be Aunt Morgana at her worst and Douxie dreads seeing it. He has a pretty good relationship with her now. He doesn’t want it tainted by time travel.

“We are doing what we can to protect Camelot’s people, but Morgana and the fae are tricky,” says Merlin. “The Gumm-Gumms, at least, were only a real problem at night. The fae, on the other hand, are skilled magic users. They can disguise themselves, slip into our cities. They are active day and night, making the woods unsafe at all hours. Worse still, Morgana’s unholy experiments have created a hybrid race she calls changelings.”

“But not like the fae kind,” Mordred pipes in. “Fae changelings are different! That’s just a human adopted by a fae. Not – I know a lot of people think faes kidnap kids and replace them but that’s not actually true. Papa’s a changeling. Um, the fae kind. Obviously.”

“Hm, well,” says Merlin sourly. The illusion shifts once again as he continues to speak, a visual demonstration in case they don’t know what changelings are. Which, Douxie supposes, they probably wouldn’t if they weren’t from the future. “Morgana’s changelings are trolls that can shapeshift to a human form. They are bonded to a human child, a familiar – another perversion, as I’m sure you know that wizards’ familiars are quite different.”

“Yeah,” says Douxie. “I have a cat. He stayed in Arcadia, though. Not a fan of the travel method we used.”

“I have a bird!” Mordred grins. He puts his fingers to his lips and lets out a sharp whistle. A shrill hawk’s cry echoes him before what must be his familiar flies into the room and lands on his shoulder. “Say hello, Enaid, we have guests!”

“Welcome,” she says. Douxie swears she’s smiling. He forgets, sometimes, that Mort once had a familiar too. He’s heard some stories about Enaid, but not many. All Douxie knows is that she died long ago, and few wizards fully recover from losing a bonded familiar.

Merlin looks seconds away from rolling his eyes. That’s fine, Douxie is seconds away from slapping him, so they’re even.

“The changelings could be anyone,” says Merlin grimly. He waves a hand through the illusion and dissipates it, the sickly green fog clearing from the room. “And unfortunately, there’s not enough of them for me to tell a pattern in their auras and recognise them from that. We must be on guard for spies and traitors at all times. You will understand, then, why I may not share many important details with you for now. Not until I’m sure you can be trusted.”

“It’s always good to be on guard,” says Claire. “We won’t fault you for that. As long as we know what we need to know to stay safe and to help.”

“Certainly,” says Merlin. He stands and puts his hands on his hips. “On that note, while I can tell by your auras that you are all very powerful, I’d like a demonstration of your magical abilities myself. If you are powerful and untrained, you’ll need training.”

Douxie gestures between himself and Krel. “We had some training from our dad, but he wasn’t the most traditional of teachers. Well. We weren’t the most traditional of students.”

“Not in the slightest,” mumbles Krel.

“Even without formal training, we do know what we’re doing,” Claire says, arms crossed. “But sure. We can give a demonstration.”

“Come,” says Merlin. “We have a training field not far that we use for magical training. Apprentice! Gather me something to write notes in as well as a quill and ink.”

“Yes, Master Merlin!” Mordred chirps. He hops up and runs out of the room, spooking Enaid into the air. She shakes her head fondly and flies after him. Douxie finishes off his wine and sighs. He thinks he could use more alcohol than that to get through dealing with Merlin all day. What kind of demonstration does he even want?

He hopes Alex is having a better time at knight practice than he is.

 

 

The training field is dusted with a light layer of snow when they arrive, fresh from this morning. It feels too early for snow, but Douxie still uses a quick spell to gather a small snowball and throw it at the back of Krel’s head. Krel whips around to glare at him and he just smiles innocently. What? Just because they’re in the past doesn’t mean Douxie isn’t allowed to mess with his little brother.

“Alright,” says Merlin. “What type of magic do you each specialise in?”

“Creation, I guess?” says Krel awkwardly. “I am good at creating weapons. I can also make… other things?”

By other things, he means planets, but he obviously can’t say that. Douxie is still in awe of New Akiridion. Krel made that place with his bare hands. But creation is as good a description as any. Merlin nods.

“Show me,” he says.

Krel winces but does as asked, cycling through his normal weapons, the white energy reflecting on the fresh snow. He does quick jazz hands afterwards. “Um, tada!”

“Hm,” says Merlin. “I’m sure we can work with that. Lady Claire?”

“I specialise in shadow magic,” she says, head held high. It’s a risk, considering Morgana specialises in shadow magic, but it’s what she’s best at so it wouldn’t be wise to pretend she does something else.

“Shadow magic?” Mordred exclaims eagerly. “That’s difficult to learn! You can do real shadow magic?”

“Excellent question, apprentice,” Merlin says, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Most attempts at shadow magic are little more than dark magic. Show me.”

Good to know. Merlin does not seem fond of dark magic. There’s no way he can’t tell that Douxie has used it in the past, but it’s probably better if Douxie leaves him thinking that’s a habit he’s broken. Claire cracks her knuckles and nods, then throws out her hands in front of her. Her eyes flash purple – just the regular glow of strong magic use, not the black sclera of dark magic – and a swirling shadow portal opens in front of her. She grins and falls backwards into it, only for another purple-lined portal to open several feet away for her to somersault out of.

“Shadow magic,” she says smugly. “Not dark magic.”

“That’s incredible!” Mordred exclaims, practically bouncing up and down. “Can you portal me? Portal me into the kitchen! They’re making strawberry tarts and I love strawberry tarts!”

“Mordred,” Merlin says disapprovingly.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Claire says, winking and summoning a portal above him with a flick of her wrists and dragging it down on top of him. Douxie hides his amused smile while Merlin slaps his palm into his forehead. A few moments later Claire opens another portal and Mordred darts through, holding a couple of tarts.

“You’re my new accomplice,” he tells her decisively, offering a tart. She takes it with a grin and bites into it, way too smug for helping the prince of Camelot and Douxie’s future dad steal a bunch of pastries.

Merlin sighs. “I see you are indeed skilled in proper shadow magic. Very well. It will be useful to have a shadow magic user on our side against Morgana. Now, Hisirdoux?”

“Ah, yes, me,” says Douxie awkwardly. “I’m a jack of all trades! M- my dad trained me in a little of everything and, well, I couldn’t choose!”

“I see,” says Merlin, unimpressed.

“Except potions,” says Krel. “And healing. I mean, he can do healing, but that’s more Steve’s thing.”

“Thanks,” says Douxie. “Thank you, Krel. Jack of all trades except potions and healing. Really selling my talent.”

Uncle Mort made it clear he didn’t have to pick out a specialisation for focus on, that as long as he was happy with how he used his magic, that was enough. He can make weapons, he can do elemental spells, he can do runes and wards… does he really need to be good at one thing in particular like Claire and Steve? Mort was a jack of all trades too. Well… Mort felt more like a master of all trades. Douxie’s been told he has powerful magic, but at times like these, he feels painfully average.

“Well, show me some of your everything, then,” says Merlin, waving a hand.

“Uh, right,” says Douxie, swallowing. Okay, a magic portfolio, basically. He can do that. He’s never done that before, but he knows wizards who go to wizarding schools have to do demonstrations like this. Even Mort did to get into LWU.

He steps forward and starts with basic elemental spells, fire, water, wind, earth, plants. He loved learning elemental magic as a kid. It made him feel like the Avatar and, yes, he did at one point use a blue sharpie to draw an arrow on his head. It was also picture day. Mort had seemed torn between amusement and horror and Douxie doesn’t regret it. Nobody ever buys yearbook photos, anyway. That demonstration done, it’s basic shields and wards, which are harder to demonstrate but a skilled wizard like Merlin should be able to recognise. Then he throws a hand out to levitate Krel, who squawks and gives him the evillest glare he can muster. Douxie grins at him, then drops him and summons a cushion of magic to catch him.

“How’s that?” he says.

“Passable,” Merlin says. Douxie’s smile falls into a scowl. He shouldn’t be bothered by the asshole’s opinion. He isn’t bothered by his opinion, except that a little part of him is bothered because he has these stupid self-esteem issues that haven’t quite managed to go away.

He helps Krel up and they walk back over to Claire, who pats his shoulder.

“Passable,” he mutters to Krel in Akiridion. “I’ll show him passable when I shove my runes up his ass.”

“Calm down,” Krel says quietly, also in Akiridion. “He’s an asshole but he’s an asshole we need on our side.”

Mordred watches them curiously. There’s something sharp in his gaze, a type of recognition Douxie didn’t expect, but he doesn’t say anything so maybe Douxie is imagining it. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. Obviously this Mordred isn’t going to miraculously remember his future as Mort Penn, but… well, Douxie misses his dad. He just needs to remember that Mordred isn’t Mort yet and won’t be Mort for several centuries.

“Alright,” says Merlin. “I can see now where you all need some improvement, and where you can help. How are you in general magical theory?”

“I’ve read up on it!” Claire says enthusiastically. “The history of runes is especially fascinating, did you know ancient civilisations used them to speak to magic itself? I don’t know how true it is that it works like that but I like the idea of politely asking magic for help.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “I’ve read those theories. I don’t put very much stock in them. Hisirdoux, Krel?”

“Not much,” Krel admits.

“I’ve always been more of an experiment guy myself,” Douxie says. “The theory stuff never helped me so Dad stopped bothering to try to teach it to me. I do things my way most of the time.”

“In that case, I think we will need to brush up on theory,” says Merlin. “Back to the castle, then. I have plenty of books you can read. It’s best to know what you’re doing before you try to break any rules, Hisirdoux. Maybe this will help you master a trade instead of dabbling in all of them.”

Douxie scowls again. Fuck this guy. Douxie has never had an issue in how he does magic. Merlin doesn’t get to waltz in and criticise him for doing magic differently from the stupid books. If it was dangerous, Mort would have pushed harder. There’s nothing wrong with how Douxie does magic!

“Easy,” mumbles Claire. “Just humour him, okay?”

“I’ll just give Alex my homework,” Douxie grumbles. “He loves this stuff.”

“Your mundane husband has no business reading magic books,” says Merlin. Ah, fuck, he overheard. “Mundanes don’t understand magic. He should know his place.”

“Oh, that’s it,” Douxie mutters, going to roll up his sleeves. Krel grabs his wrist as Merlin walks away, already headed back to the castle.

“Douxie,” he says.

“He can’t just say that!” Douxie exclaims. “He’s such an asshole. I can tell he doesn’t like me. Fuck him.”

“And we need to stay in his good books,” Claire says. “I know he’s a jerk, but we just need to deal with him until we can get home. That means you can’t punch him, even when he says stuff like that.”

“Merlin’s a little… prickly, but he’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

Douxie jumps about a foot in the air as he turns to face Mordred. “Seklos! Geez, Mordred, I thought you went ahead with Merlin!”

“I’m sorry he was being so mean,” says Mordred. He reaches up to scratch under Enaid’s beak. “He doesn’t know you yet and he’s very traditional. He’ll warm up, don’t worry.”

“If you say so,” says Douxie.

“He probably also doesn’t like you because your aura is weird,” says Mordred. “I wouldn’t worry too much. Like I said, once you get to know him, he’s still prickly but he’s still a good mentor. He’s been teaching me since I was little.”

Douxie longs to warn him of his misplaced trust, but he holds his tongue and smiles weakly. “If you say so, your highness.”

 

 

They return to the castle for lunch. Steve joins them, practically bounding over with a bright smile on his face. At least one of them is having a good time. He thinks he sees Alex across the hall with the knights, but he doesn’t want to go bother him.

“The healers are so nice here,” says Steve. “You guys will love them. And I know you’ll be visiting because I do know you.”

“We’re not that bad,” Krel protests.

“Yes, you are,” says Douxie.

“Looks like you guys are having a tougher time,” Steve observes.

“Merlin’s a dick,” Claire says, stabbing her duck (question mark?) with her knife and scowling. “He’s even rude to Mordred. Not that I think Mordred notices.”

“Mordred,” Steve repeats, eyes widening. “Oh. Oh, shit, I forgot he’d be here. Doux, Krel, you okay?”

Krel manages a small smile. “As we can be. It’s weird to see him like that.”

“Which part?” Douxie says. “Small or happy?”

“Both, I think,” says Krel.

“Merlin seems suspicious,” Claire warns. “But Mordred seems to think he’s suspicious of everyone at first, so we might be okay. The good news is he wants us to be reading up on magic and stuff, which should give us a chance to look into our… situation.”

“Good, good,” says Steve, nodding. “The more you can find, the better.”

“The more you can find about what?”

Krel bursts out laughing as Douxie startles again, accidentally flinging his spoon full of potatoes across the room.

“Someone needs to put a bell on you,” he tells Mordred who just smiles innocently.

“Mind if we join you?” he asks, nodding his head to Enaid perched on his shoulder.

“Be our guest, your highness,” says Claire. Steve is staring, eyes wide, so Krel elbows him to get him to look like a normal person again.

“You look just like my dad,” Mordred tells him.

“Huh, hadn’t noticed,” Steve says. “Who knows, maybe we’re distant cousins or something? Or just doppelgangers. Did you know that statistically, we should all have doppelgangers? I don’t know if that’s a real statistic actually, but... anyway, um, nice to meet you, Prince Mordred. I’m Steve.”

“The healer, right?” says Mordred. “It’s nice to meet you too. And all of you can just call me Mordred. I’m not even gonna be king or anything so don’t treat me like something special.”

“Alright, then, Mordred,” says Steve, expression falling into a fond smile. As weird as it is to see Mort like this, it’s still Mort, in a way, so Douxie understands.

Mordred sits next to him, setting down his plate. “So what are you looking for? Can I help?”

“Oh, uh,” says Claire. “Well, we aren’t even sure what specifically we’re looking for. The more info we can find to help the war effort, the better.”

“That’s true,” agrees Mordred. “Master Merlin has already gone through pretty much all our books though. He’s very old so he’s had a lot of time.”

Douxie snorts. “Grumpy old man, isn’t he?”

“Oh, definitely,” Mordred says, hiding a laugh. “Maybe fresh eyes will help, though. Did you ever have to deal with fae in Arcadia?”

“No, not really,” says Douxie. “Just trolls. Good trolls.”

“I like the trolls,” says Mordred. “The ones that aren’t evil, I mean. We used to visit them more often than we do now, but Dad doesn’t like me leaving the city as much anymore because of the fae issues.”

“Better safe than sorry,” says Steve.

Mordred sighs, lips twisting into a frown. “Yeah, I know. I don’t like feeling so cooped up, though. Feels like all I get to do nowadays is train.”

“I’m sure your father is just trying to protect you,” says Krel, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, I understand the feeling, though.”

“Tell me more about Arcadia,” Mordred says hopefully. “Maybe I can visit one day.”

Douxie laughs. Visit is one word for it. Douxie knows that it was the magic of the town that drew Mort to Arcadia, but he wonders now if the name played a role. How much of this did Mort remember? Not them, no, he would have said something. But maybe he remembered that there was a kingdom called Arcadia that sent aid during Camelot’s darkest hour.

“I’m sure you will!” he tells him. “And I’m sure you will like it there very much.”

Notes:

BABY MORT BABY MORT BABY MORT
Seriously, I love writing Mordred so I hope y'all are excited to see more of them. Meanwhile, time to deal with Merlin again. The one downside to this fic /j
Did Mort remember this? Well, it has been 900 years... plus some other things that are gonna make him not put the pieces together. Also, Douxie takes after Mort in the obliviousness factor.

Hope you guys enjoyed the first Douxie chapter!! Thank you as always for reading!

Chapter 4: Knights of Camelot

Notes:

TW: alcohol use

Jim would like it on record that he does not want to have to fight the Gumm-Gumms again. Cleaning up the zombie Gumm-Gumms from Trollmarket was bad enough. Living Gumm-Gumms – and worse, a living Gunmar – is like something out of his nightmares. Sure, he’s been restless and itching for something, but Gumm-Gumms and specifically Gunmar are not that something. He would have been okay with a space adventure. He’s a little jealous the others got a space adventure and he didn’t. A space adventure would have been better than fucking Gunmar.

Worse still, he knows Merlin is lurking around and he had to send Claire to go deal with him. He hopes she’s smart about it. Well, he hopes Douxie and Krel are smart about it. He isn’t too worried about Claire.

“Doing okay there, Jimbo?” Toby asks as they follow Lancelot, Ikram, and Sir Tristan to wherever it is the knights train.

“Do I look like I’m doing alright?” Jim says. He groans and anxiously tightens his ponytail. He can vent to Toby later about his actual problems, but for now, he focuses on something believable for the knights. “This is going to be awful. I’m out of practice, Tobes.”

“You think it’s gonna be awful for you?” Alex scoffs. “At least you have practice to be out of! I’m going to die in training and then Douxie will bring me back to kill me himself.”

“You’re going to be fine, boys,” Lancelot says, glancing back at them with an amused smile on his face. “I promise, my bark is worse than my bite.”

“Mine isn’t,” says Ikram.

“Yep, we know,” mumbles Toby. At least he was trained by Ikram. Jim has sparred her maybe a handful of times, but not enough to really know her fighting style. Not to mention he really is out of practice. There’s still the odd supernatural threat for the Trollhunter to take care of, but those have dwindled significantly in the past several years. Part of Jim wonders if they really need him, need the Trollhunter anymore. He’s been kind of floating for a while now, looking forward to those on and off threats that last a day at most. He thought his restaurant would be fulfilling, but… he’s never been able to hold still. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He got the adventure he wanted in high school and then…? Thinking about that too long upsets him. Being the Trollhunter was his destiny, his purpose… what is he supposed to do if that goes away? What’s a Trollhunter in peacetime?

“Alright,” says Lancelot. “Do any of you have your own armour?”

They all shake their heads. Jim has the modified Trollhunter armour, but that isn’t something he can just whip out here. He’s keeping the changeling thing under wraps too. He doubts he’d be welcomed. He knows Toby left his armour at home. They didn’t expect this trip to really need any armour, but Jim brings his everywhere just in case. As for Alex, well, Jim isn’t sure he owns armour. He might, Douxie might have made him some after all the times he got hurt on their space adventure, but he clearly didn’t bring it with him if he does.

“That’s alright,” says Lancelot. “We have extra that can be magically resized as needed. In here.”

They follow Lancelot into what must be the armoury. Sure enough, there’s armour hanging on mannequins of some sort in the room, as well as plenty of weapons. Oh, yeah, they’ll need weapons. Jim eyes the swords. There’s a few that are similarly shaped to Daylight. Maybe he can get one of those and the balance won’t be too off.

“We’ll get you personal surcoats as well and everything, but for now plain will do,” says Lancelot. “You’ll have to give the tailor your family crests if you have one.”

“Uh, we – we don’t,” says Jim. “We’re not exactly nobility back home.”

“Maybe Alex,” Toby jokes.

“Shut up,” says Alex. “I’m not. Nobility. Nope. Normal guy and so are Douxie and Krel. Very normal family, the Swifts and, uh, Tarrons.”

Jim very nearly facepalms and does elbow Toby. They’re trying to stay under the radar. Implying that any of them are Arcadian nobility is like the opposite of that. At least Lancelot just looks amused. Ikram clearly doesn’t trust them yet, arms crossed and a suspicious scowl settled onto her face. They need to not look more suspicious than they already are.

“Alright, my normal friends, get your new armour on and I can help resize it magically,” says Lancelot.

“Sir yes sir!” Toby barks, saluting. Well, at least one of them is taking this whole situation with good humour. Honestly, if any of them would, it’s Tobes. Sometimes Jim wishes he were more like Toby, less stressed about things like this. His therapist says it isn’t good to compare himself to others, though. Yeesh, he’s not gonna have his anxiety meds here, is he? He’s screwed.

The three of them get the armour on. Lancelot adjusts things with magic along the way, making pieces bigger or smaller as needed. This armour is heavier and bulkier than the Trollhunter armour Jim is used to. Toby seems right at home – his armour wasn’t the same kind of magical as Jim’s so he might be used to the weight. Alex looks stiff as a board, shoulders tense and fists clenched at his sides.

“First time in armour?” asks Sir Tristan sympathetically.

“Am I that obvious?” Alex says.

“You’re too tense,” says Tristan. “You’ll get used to the weight with time and relax some.”

“You’ve fought wars and yet have never worn armour,” says Ikram, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

Alex rubs the back of his neck. “They’ve fought wars. I was usually long-range… support. Information and stuff, planning. Or getting kidnapped.”

“He’s right, he did manage to get kidnapped like, three times,” says Toby.

“I refuse to count one of those times,” says Alex.

“Tobes and I have worn armour before,” says Jim before Toby can make that a thing too. “Arcadian armour is just… a bit different from this, is all. Less bulky.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t send you out in the field while you still look like newborn foals learning to walk,” says Lancelot. “When I first put on armour, it took quite a bit of getting used to. You’ll get there.”

“Here’s hoping,” mumbles Alex.

“You will all need weapons,” says Ikram. “I expect since you didn’t bring armour, you didn’t bring weapons.”

“No, no, I bring my baby everywhere,” says Toby, whipping out his war-hammer and activating it. He twirls it around to show off. “Trollish make. A gift from some troll friends back home. Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Don’t you make fun of Steve for personifying Ex- his sword?” Jim says.

“That’s different!” Toby hugs his war-hammer to his chest. “This is my baby. But I don’t talk to my war-hammer. Usually. Often.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” says Jim. “Anyway, Alex and I do still need weapons.”

“Any in this room are unclaimed,” says Lancelot. “You can pick out any weapon for right now. I trust you have training?”

“I’m good with a sword.” Jim walks over to the swords he was eyeing earlier and takes one off the wall. No, too heavy. The next one he tries is lighter. A different balance than Daylight, but he can work with it. “This one will work.”

“Alexander?” prompts Lancelot.

“I’ve trained with a… sword,” Alex says carefully. That’s right, he’s trained with a serrator. Jim doubts any of the swords here are anything like Akiridion serrators. “I had a training bow as a kid I was pretty good at? So I know the basics of archery.”

“Well, we’ll have you train with a bow,” says Lancelot, “but also a sword. You will find yourself in close combat far more often than ranged. But we could always use more archers just in case.”

Jim is well aware Douxie would prefer Alex stick to long-range archery, but Lancelot is right that when it comes to dealing with the Gumm-Gumms, they’ll be dealing with close combat. Oh, well, at least the guy tried. Jim wishes he thought of that, since Claire is probably just as pleased as Douxie is right now, except that he’s got no experience in archery so there’s no point in volunteering for it.

Alex picks up a couple of swords before deciding on one. Tristan pats his shoulder. “Don’t worry, when you become proper knights we can see about getting your own forged, both of you.”

“Before we’re even close to that, I need to assess your skill levels,” says Lancelot. “I will spar each of you.”

The three of them exchange alarmed looks. Spar Sir Lancelot? The Sir Lancelot? Jim likes to think he’s a pretty great warrior from years of being a Trollhunter, but Sir Lancelot?

“Oh, don’t look so scared,” Lancelot says with a grin. “I’m sure all three of you are skilled fighters.”

“I’m gonna get kicked out before I even become a real knight,” mumbles Alex.

Lancelot laughs and pats his shoulder. “No, you won’t. You can’t fail this test, Alexander, it’s just to see where you stand.”

“Cool, I love tests we can’t fail,” says Toby, resting his war-hammer on his shoulder. “Alex should spar you first. It’ll be quick.”

Alex crosses his arms and glares. “I’m not that bad.”

“No, but it’ll still be funny!”

“Why am I friends with you?” Alex grumbles.

“Come on, lads, follow me,” says Lancelot. They follow him outside to what must be the area where the knights train. It’s no Hero’s Forge, but it is at least more interesting than an empty field. There’s training dummies and targets, obstacles to practice fighting in rougher terrain, roped-off sections for one-on-one spars.

“Awesome-sauce,” Toby mumbles, green eye sparkling with glee.

“You all speak strangely,” says Tristan. “I like it! You should teach me. What does that one mean? I know what awesome is – great and powerful – and I certainly know what sauce is. What is awesome-sauce?”

“Yeah, that’s – yeah, not really,” says Toby. “We use awesome to mean cool.”

“Cold?”

“And we use cool to mean awesome!”

“I don’t follow.”

“We use them to describe things we find interesting, exciting, or both, sometimes,” says Alex, much more helpfully than Toby. Jim isn’t sure if this is breaking a time-travel rule or not, teaching knights of Camelot modern slang. Oh, well. He’s not sure a way around it. It’s not like they could just tell Tristan, “No way! This is our super-secret Arcadian code that you’re not allowed to know about!” Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all.

Tristan nods slowly then grins. “Cool! Did I use it right?”

“Yes, Tristan, you used it right,” Alex says, hiding a laugh.

“Alright, lads!” says Lancelot. “Alexander? Since your friends so kindly volunteered you, would you like to go first?”

Alex winces. “Here we go.”

“Man, I wish I had some popcorn,” Toby mumbles. Jim grins and leans on one of the wooden poles surrounding the sparring area. Alex follows Lancelot to the centre. He’s holding his sword mostly right, but Jim recognises his stance and grip as the same as Krel’s using a serrator. He’s not properly accounting for the weight of the blade so it’s making him struggle. What? Jim knows a thing or two about using a sword.

“Alright, Alexander,” says Lancelot. “Do you know basic sparring rules?”

“No killing and no maiming,” Alex says. “I’ve sparred with Douxie’s dad before.”

“Good, this should be familiar, then,” says Lancelot. He raises a hand and a deep blue focuser flares in front of it. He draws a circle in mid-air and nodes. So, we’ll do a timed one just for ease. This spell will hold for about ten minutes. Don’t worry about winning or losing, just about showing off your skill.”

“Skill,” Alex laughs awkwardly, “right. Yes. I have that. Skill. Totally.”

Jim can see his eyes trailing Lancelot’s form and adjusting accordingly. Good, smart. Jim studies Lancelot as well as they circle each other. He needs to catalogue weaknesses. If The Sir Lancelot even has weaknesses.

“Your move first, Alexander,” says Lancelot.

Alex lets out a sigh, then charges forward. Lancelot side-steps him easily and ducks behind him. Alex is at least smart enough to recognise he needs to keep his eyes on his opponent, so he whirls around just in time to parry Lancelot’s sword.

“I feel like we shouldn’t be using real weapons for this,” Jim mumbles to Toby. “Douxie’s gonna kill us if we let Alex get skewered again.”

“Eh, I’m more worried about Lancelot,” says Toby. “You know what they say. The less you know about how to use a sword the more dangerous you are.”

“I can hear you!” Alex yells.

“Don’t get distracted, Alexander!” Lancelot calls. Alex yelps and brings his sword up again to block another attack. “If you don’t pay enough attention, you will get killed in battle.”

“Right, not ideal,” Alex says, taking a chance to dodge backwards and get out of way of Lancelot’s sword. Jim’s pretty much never seen Alex fight, but he knows him well enough to know he should probably focus on evasion and manipulation of his opponent. Use his brain to his advantage. Alex is not doing that because he clearly hasn’t trained enough in fighting. Jim almost bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from calling out pointers. No one likes a backseat sparrer.

Lancelot has got to be going easy on Alex. He’ll probably go easy on all of them, especially since he has to keep a spell active at the same time. Jim isn’t sure whether to feel thankful or indignant. On the one hand, he’d like to see how he could fare against The Sir Lancelot at his best. On the other, he’s pretty sure he would get pummelled.

“About a minute left!” calls Ikram.

“Alright, we’ll wrap this up,” Lancelot says. He darts forward to get closer. Alex’s eyes widen in alarm and he falls right into Lancelot’s trap, unsteadily going for the attack and putting himself in the perfect position for Lancelot to swiftly disarm him and swipe a leg at his ankles to knock him to the ground. Lancelot smirks and levels his sword at Alex’s throat. “And dead.”

“You could have done that the whole time,” Alex says. Lancelot sheathes his sword and helps Alex up, patting him on the back.

“Yes,” he admits. “But then I wouldn’t know anything about your swordsmanship. You did well for a beginner. I can tell this sword is unbalanced for you and whatever swords you’ve used in the past are much lighter.”

“You could say that,” Alex says.

“Go sit and rest,” says Lancelot. “Tobias! Up next, come on, lad.”

Toby hops up and runs to leap over the rope, twirling his war-hammer at his side. “Question. Rules on magic use?”

“Only that either neither or both of us can use it,” says Lancelot. “You’re a wizard, Tobias?”

“Toby,” he corrects. “And no. But my war-hammer's got some magic to it.”

“Well, then, you can use your war-hammer,” Lancelot agrees. He lifts his sword and Jim’s eyebrows raise as water condensates on the blade until it's coated in a decent layer of glowing liquid. “And I get a magic weapon of my own. Seems fair?”

“Dude, that is so cool!” Toby exclaims. “Alright, bring it!”

“Same thing as Alexander, ten minutes,” says Lancelot. A wave of his hand resets the magic timer from before. “Your move, Toby.”

Toby grins and launches into the air before diving for Lancelot. The knight lets out a surprised laugh and catches Toby’s hammer with his sword.

“Flight!” he exclaims. “Delightful!”

“I have got to get me one of those!” Tristan exclaims. “Did you two know he could do that?”

“Yes,” says Jim, grinning proudly. “Toby’s damn good with that thing too.”

Lancelot manages to push Toby back. At least Toby has been trained by both Mort and Ikram. That should give him a big advantage. He’s been working hard the last few years to make sure his skills are up to snuff with his new depth perception issues. Jim kind of understands. It took a lot of training to be able to fight well in his troll form, the final battle notwithstanding. Once that adrenaline faded he found himself clumsier, suddenly taller and stronger and with heightened senses to boot. If that was hard to adjust to, he can’t imagine losing an eye like Toby. His best friend is nothing if not adaptable, though.

He snaps back into paying attention as Toby hits the ground and rolls, deactivating his war-hammer to get it out of the grip of the water from Lancelot’s sword. Okay, that’s cool, his sword doubles as a water-whip.

“I would have done better with a serrator,” Alex grumbles.

“It’s the legendary Sir Lancelot,” Jim says, watching Toby leap back into the air and dive again. “I think we’re all doomed.”

“That the best you’ve got?” Toby taunts. His next dive and feint move actually makes Lancelot stumble. Looks like all Toby’s training with his war-hammer has paid off beautifully. Jim wishes he could use Daylight. An unfamiliar weapon is going to throw him off. At least Toby has worked with his for almost a decade now.

“Is that a challenge, Toby?” Lancelot grins and side-steps another dive, bringing his sword around and using it to channel the water to drag Toby back to the ground. “I see you’re used to fighting magical enemies.”

“Yep, we made a lot of those,” grunts Toby, using his hammer as a brace to flip out of the water holding him. He doesn’t quite stick the landing, wincing as he stumbles, but he rights himself quickly.

“One minute!” Ikram calls again.

“Oh, boy,” mumbles Toby.

Sure enough, within thirty seconds Lancelot has Toby disarmed and on the ground holding his head. At least Jim knows he won’t use magic against him since his weapon is just a plain sword. Lancelot grins. “Dead.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” says Toby, accepting his hand to stand up.

“You did very well,” praises Lancelot. “You know your weapon and your strengths and you adapt well to your opponent. But you can be overconfident and underestimated me because you expected me to go easy on you.”

“You did go easy on me,” Toby says.

Lancelot laughs. “Maybe a little.”

Toby joins them back on the sidelines and punches Jim’s upper arm. “Alright, Jimbo, your turn to get your ass whooped.”

Jim stands and stretches before making his way to the sparring area. Okay, this is fine, he just has to spar with the most legendary knight of literally all time. And not fanboy while he’s at it. What has he learned from Toby and Alex’s spars? Lancelot will hold back for the first nine minutes to see his skill level and analyse his fighting style. Jim should use that time to impress him. And then in the last minute he’ll get his ass kicked. His go-to seems to be disarming and knocking over. Jim just needs to keep his sword in hand and his feet on the ground. Simple enough. Probably.

“Ten minutes,” says Lancelot. He gives him a reassuring smile. Does Jim really look that nervous? “Your move, Jim.”

Okay. Okay, here goes nothing. Is this like a placement test? If he does badly will he be put with all the teenage squires and stuff? That would be embarrassing. That’s probably not what’s going to happen. Lancelot is waiting, so he needs to just pretend he’s training back at home and go for it.

Jim charges forward, sword raised in a stance that should approximate a beginner’s. Rule number one: always be afraid. Lancelot already has no reason to be afraid of him, but if Jim makes him think he’s worse at swordplay than he actually is, then he’ll have the advantage of surprise. He keeps looking for weakness as Lancelot sidesteps his first attack and he whirls around for a second one. This time their swords meet with a metallic clang. Lancelot grins at him. Jim can’t help but laugh before jumping backwards.

Lancelot charges this time, then feints right and Jim spins to meet his attack. What has he got so far? He’s right-handed, but he seems to have trained to be as ambidextrous as he can with a sword so that doesn’t do Jim much good.

Okay, well, time to try taking him by surprise. During Lancelot’s next attack, Jim catches the inside of his sword arm with the back of his own, then hooks an ankle around Lancelot’s to pull his feet out from under him and knock him onto his back. Ha! See that? Jim knocked The Sir Lancelot to the ground!

“Seems I underestimated you!” Lancelot says with a grin, bringing up his sword to parry Jim’s next move.

“Looks like it, old man!” Jim goads. Lancelot just quirks an eyebrow and suddenly finds his own legs kicked out from under him. He lands with a grunt and looks up to see Lancelot getting to his feet. Oh, no, he doesn’t. Jim rocks backwards and then flings himself to his feet. It’s easier to do that in troll form but he’s practiced enough to manage as a human pretty well too. Lancelot looks impressed. Jim tries not to let that go to his head.

Who is he kidding? That’s totally going to his head. The Sir Lancelot is impressed! With him!

They circle each other again, then Lancelot lunges forward. Jim jumps back and parries the next attack, twisting his sword with Lancelot’s and then stumbling and wincing at the sharp metallic screech as the metal grinds together and slips apart.

“One minute!” he hears Ikram call.

Fuck, here comes Lancelot’s usual finisher. He keeps his sword tight to his body – extending it too far gives Lancelot too many openings to disarm him. He keeps an eye on his feet too, since he has a tendency to use those to knock the others over.

Jim manages to parry another attack, but before he or Lancelot can do anything else, Ikram yells, “Time!”

“I didn’t get disarmed?” Jim blurts.

Lancelot laughs. “You didn’t! Well done, Jim.”

“Let’s go, Jimbo!” Toby cheers, jumping the rope to come to give him a hug and a high five. Alex joins them and gives him a fist bump as Toby starts chanting, “Jimbo! Jimbo! Jimbo!”

“Well, it’s good to see you three aren’t hopeless,” says Ikram. “We have a number of people who arrive and wish to be knights. Not everyone is qualified, even with training.”

“I think you three will make fine knights of Camelot,” says Lancelot with a fond smile.

They exchange grins. Jim tries to keep his glee to a normal level. The Sir Lancelot said he’d make a fine knight of Camelot! He sparred The Sir Lancelot and didn’t lose! Sure, a few minutes longer and he might have, probably would have, but he didn’t!

“Alright!” says Tristan. “More knights my age that aren’t Gawain. This is awesome! Did I use that right?”

“You sure did, buddy,” Toby grins, offering him a high-five. Tristan blinks and then waves back. “No, no, it’s a – it’s an Arcadian tradition. You slap my hand. It’s called a high-five.”

Tristan brightens and returns the high-five. Lancelot shakes his head fondly. “Alright, we’ll give you a tour of the area before lunch. Afterwards, we’ll do some more traditional training. See where Alexander is with archery, too.”

“I can already tell you I’m a beginner,” Alex says. “Also, um, you can just call me Alex.”

“Can I call you Lex?” Tristan asks.

“Sure, if you want?”

“There’s a lot of ground to cover before lunch,” says Ikram. “Come on, boys.”

Jim sheathes his new (temporary?) sword. Maybe this won’t be too bad. It’s kind of fun to be training again. It’s nice to have a purpose, too, to be needed again. A Trollhunter may not be much in peacetime, but this is wartime and Jim is a warrior. Maybe this is just the thing he needed.

 

 

Training after lunch splits them up. Jim ends up with Sir Lamorak and Anna’s husband Sir Lot, sparring a couple more times before they start working on general stretches and agility. Lot attributes his skill at this to dealing with a baby learning to crawl. Lamorak is older than Lancelot but he’s spry for his age. Jim… not so much. Years of Trollhunting injuries have left him with some chronic pain and stiffness and it’s been a while since he’s needed to be agile. It’ll just take a bit of practice to get back into, but man, his knees are going to kill him tonight.

As it starts getting dark out, a group of knights drag them downtown. Jim shrugs at Toby and Alex as they’re pushed into what seems to be a pub. There’s live music, bright and rowdy and once again reminding Jim of a ren faire.

“You know the routine, my dear Edwin!” says Tristan to the bartender. Well, he looks like a bartender. “We’ve got some new recruits here for initiation!”

“More like here to be tormented,” says Lot with a laugh. He’s got his son in a sling over his chest. “Go easy on them!”

“Haha, I’ll prepare my finest mead!” says the bartender. Edwin? He winks at them. “And my strongest!”

Jim is pretty sure they’re about to be hazed. Damn, he really thought he avoided that one by not joining a frat in college. Well, Lancelot is here, and Jim hopes he’d put a stop to anything too crazy. Then again this is medieval England. Their definition of something too crazy may be entirely different than Jim’s.

“So,” says Toby while their wait, “this is the little prince?”

“Yep,” says Lot with a smile. “Prince Gaheris. Anna and I take turns carting him around everywhere. I’m hoping if he spends enough time watching us knights he’ll grow up to want to be one too.”

“It’s practically expected,” says one of the knights Jim hasn’t learned the name of yet. “Prince Mordred is an odd one for not joining as a squire by now.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees both Toby and Alex jolt at the mention of Prince Mordred. He almost wonders why until he remembers very suddenly that oh, yeah, Mort was Prince Mordred. Oh, boy, that's going to be interesting with Krel and Douxie.

“Mordred’s talents are in magic, not combat,” says Lancelot. His tone leaves no room for argument. “Arthur and I both recognise that. We’re not going to force him to be a knight just because of Uther’s stupid old traditions.”

“Three Knights’ Challenges!” calls Edwin, sliding three frankly far too large tankards of mead across the counter to them. “Best of luck to ya, lads, and if you get sick, do it outside.”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” mumbles Alex.

“Ha!” says Lamorak with a grin. “Here’s the real test, boys! How well can our new recruits hold their alcohol?”

Ikram coughs pointedly. “If they drink alcohol.”

“Right, yes, yes, if you don’t drink alcohol for religious reasons or something you’re exempt,” says Lamorak, waving a hand. “We’re not barbarians! Well, lads?”

“Fuckin’ bet,” says Toby, grabbing his tankard, the mead sloshing at the rim but luckily not spilling over. Jim takes his as well. As a changeling, he’s got a pretty high tolerance for alcohol, so he’s not too worried. Alex is the last to take a tankard, mumbling something about Douxie killing him. Oh, this is gonna be good.

“Together?” Jim says, eyeing the knights and half expecting them to start chanting, “Chug, chug, chug!” They don’t, thankfully. Toby and Alex both nod and they all three lift their tankards to their lips.

Jim has never had mead before. Whatever they’ve been given is… strong. Even Jim can tell it’s strong, but past that it tastes of sweet honey with a hint of spice so it’s not actually bad. He’s pretty sure it’s been spiked with something else to make it stronger, though, and Jim really should stop analysing every new food and drink he gets his hands on. The knights cheer them on as they finish their tankards.

“Well, I’ve had worse,” says Toby as Alex hacks up a lung next to him. Lancelot pats him on the back.

“Not a fan?” he teases.

“What is in that?” Alex manages.

“Just mead,” says Tristan with a grin, “spiked with spirits, of course. This kind of stuff will get you right fucked up.”

“We’re all gonna get alcohol poisoning,” Alex groans.

“You’re a lightweight,” Toby says. “I want another! Let’s go!”

Jim mentally resigns himself to the position of drunk wrangler. “I’ll stick to mead that isn’t spiked, I think.”

“Same,” says Alex.

“Suit yourselves,” says Lamorak, laughing. He slaps Jim on the back so hard Jim almost stumbles. “Here’s to our new recruits! May they become knights Camelot can be proud of and may they not die horrible, gruesome deaths!”

The other knights give a cheer.

“Woo,” Toby echoes, laughing nervously. “Here’s to no horrible, gruesome deaths!”

Jim accepts another mug of mead from the bartender and nods his head in agreement. He wants to ask how common horrible, gruesome deaths are around, but he’s a little scared to know the answer so he just sips his mead and enjoys the cheerful atmosphere. Even the baby seems delighted by the whole situation. Jim is… a little concerned about a baby in a bar or pub or tavern or whatever this is, but Lot seems to be sticking to non-alcoholic drinks and also playing drunk wrangler with him and, of course, Ikram. He can’t help but smile at Toby as he joins Dinadan in a jig up by the musicians. Well, Toby’s always said he doesn’t even need to be drunk to have fun. It’ll get more chaotic as the night goes on.

“Enjoyed your first day, Jim?” asks Lancelot.

Jim takes another sip of his mead and laughs lightly as he watches his friends have fun. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I did.”

Notes:

It has been YEARS since I've written anything from Jim's POV so I hope I got him alright. Did some character studies (rewatching some of Trollhunters) and had to remember it's also been like eight years since Trollhunters (in universe) so... anyway, Jimbo!

I've also done more research on medieval drinks than literally anything else in this series I think. Whoops. I tagged this chapter but not the last chapter cause this was drinking to get drunk and the last was not. 😅

Hope you guys enjoyed!!! As always, thank you for reading! <3

Chapter 5: A Guide to Magic for Non-Magic Users

By the end of the day, Krel is thoroughly exhausted, mostly emotionally. Dealing with Merlin has been awful. He’s been a jerk to all of them all day, even Mordred, who for some reason keeps defending him. And of course, just seeing Mordred… well, that definitely opens up old wounds and rubs them raw. Douxie looks as emotionally spent as Krel feels. He hopes they’ll get used to this eventually or else it’s going to be hell until they can find a way home.

They manage to get back to their quarters without asking for any help. That castle is confusing but they aren’t that far from Merlin’s study. That doesn’t exactly make Krel comfortable. He would rather be as far from Merlin as possible. But free lodging is free lodging, so he won’t complain. Steve meets them there, but Alex, Toby, and Jim aren’t back yet. Douxie paces in the hall.

“Do you think they ran into trouble?” he says.

“On their first day?” says Steve.

“Yeah, that would be more likely from us,” Krel says with a teasing grin. “I’m sure they’re fine, Douxie.”

“Ugh, this whole place makes me anxious,” says Douxie. “Merlin makes me anxious. I hate this.”

“It could be worse,” Claire offers.

“How?” says Douxie. “How could it be worse?”

“King Arthur could have immediately thrown us in the dungeons or something,” Claire says. “Or we could have run into these evil fae instead of Lancelot and the knights.”

“Fine, maybe it could have been worse,” Douxie concedes.

There’s chatter from down the hall. Krel perks up when he recognises Toby’s laughter and… singing voice? Oh, good, they’re coming back and they seem to be in good spirits. Maybe a little too good of spirits, actually.

The group rounds the corner. Ah, yes. They’re drunk. Toby is leaning on Dinadan and they’re singing… something or other. Jim looks the most sober, walking with Ikram who also, unsurprisingly, looks sober. Alex sees Douxie and immediately beelines for him and clings onto his arm.

“My handsome husband!” he exclaims, giving Douxie a sappy, goofy smile. “I haven’t seen you all day! You’re so pretty.”

“Are you drunk?” Douxie asks.

“Knight hazing,” says Jim.

“Drunk on my love for you!” Alex says. He probably thinks he sounds romantic. Krel rolls his eyes as hard as he can. Douxie and Alex are already insufferable but drunk Alex takes the mushy lovey-dovey bullshit to a whole other level.

“Your husband is pitiful,” Krel tells his brother.

“Aw, I think it’s kind of cute,” says Claire.

Alex has managed to pull a fondly exasperated Douxie into a hug and rests his cheek on Douxie’s head. “I missed youuuu!”

“Yeah, he started crying at the tavern because you weren’t there,” says Jim.

“Yeah, Alex… does that,” says Douxie. He shakes his head fondly and reaches up to pat Alex’s cheek. “C’mon, you big sap, you need some water or you’re gonna wake up so hungover. Night, you guys.”

“Night, Douxie,” Krel says as the others echo their goodnights. “Good luck.”

Douxie gives him finger guns in response and drags his husband to their room. Jim and Claire each take one of Toby’s arms. Toby lights up. “Jimbo! Claire! Jlaire! Man, I love you guys.”

“We love you too, Toby,” Jim says, amused. “Off to bed with you. Night, everyone.”

Krel waves. Ikram nods to them and leads the other drunk knights down the hall, grumbling about being the only responsible one. Steve shakes his head.

“Hopefully we have hangover potions,” he says. “See you in the morning, Krel.”

“Night, Steve.”

Krel enters his room and closes the door behind him, locking it with a sigh. He turns off his transduction and flops onto the bed. It’s been a while since he’s spent so much time in human form. Not since Toby killed him. He’s gotten a lot better about using it for shorter periods of time, but longer ones put him on edge. He feels more vulnerable, somehow, even if he’s really not. Getting killed in that form hasn’t been easy to get over. And now he’s stuck with Merlin, so his nerves are pretty frayed.

He hopes they can go home soon. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep up the wizard charade. Krel doesn’t know the first thing about how magic really works which makes it hard to replicate beyond a visual level. Merlin will catch on soon and then what? He’s a dangerous enemy, here at the height of his power and influence. They had a hard time beating him when he was still recovering from losing his magic. How could they handle becoming his enemy in this time? As much as he hates it, they have to stay on his good side. So Krel needs to pass for a totally normal, competent wizard. Maybe he can pass for an incompetent wizard? Maybe that’s safer?

He turns over and groans into the pillow. He hopes New Akiridion is doing okay. Aja is probably freaking out. Unless they really can return to the moment they left. That would be ideal. He should pretend that’s definitely the case just so he stops feeling so bad about vanishing on Aja. And Steve too. Poor Aja and Eli. He knows Steve is probably glad they aren't here, and Krel is too, in a way. Less people he loves in danger. But he misses them anyway, and he's sure Steve misses them just as much. This sucks.

But it’s late, and tomorrow is an early morning, so he pulls the covers over himself and tries to get comfortable in the medieval bed. He misses any of his homes, back in the twenty-first century. Thank Seklos he isn’t alone here, but he wishes he shared a room with someone, maybe Steve or Toby or both. It’s cold and lonely in this big, empty room.

He doesn’t sleep well at all.

 

 

The next morning, he and his “fellow wizards” report back to Merlin’s study. He wanted them here early and they’re probably already late considering Douxie spent at least forty-five minutes making fun of Alex this morning and then dragging him up to the healers for a hangover potion or something. Merlin is waiting for them when they arrive, a stack of books in front of him and a scowl on his face, as always.

“Does early mean something different in Arcadia?” he asks.

“We’re night owls,” says Douxie. “So this is pretty early.”

“Well, here, you should get used to it,” says Merlin. “Winter is fast approaching and we have precious few daylight hours. We need to be able to use as many of those as possible, considering our main threat operates at night.”

“Aren’t we safe in the city?” says Claire. “A few light spells and we can work at night.”

Merlin’s scowl deepens. “There are things to do outside the city too. But for now, I have gathered several books on magical theory for all of you to read up on. If you don’t understand something, you may consult me. If you don’t understand too many things, I will get the children’s books.”

Douxie rolls his eyes. “Oh, no, you needn’t do that on our account.”

“You mentioned some training,” says Merlin. “I do question why you weren’t taught theory like this.”

“It wasn’t really relevant,” says Krel. “Un- Dad was more of a hands-on type of guy anyway.”

If he and Douxie are going to pass as blood brothers or whatever Douxie’s going for, they should both probably stick to calling Uncle Mort Dad. Not that Krel minds. Even if he only had Mort for five years, the man was more present and attentive than Papa was in the fifteen years before that.

“Well, you will get proper training while you’re here,” says Merlin.

“We do magic differently in Arcadia,” says Claire quickly. “Your way of doing things is just a bit of a culture shock.”

“You will need to know our way of doing things because it’s the right way of doing things,” says Merlin. Yeesh. No wonder Uncle Mort hated this guy. Krel knew he was a dick when he met him, given he was trying to destroy the world or whatever, but turns out he’s always been a dick. “Now if my apprentice would ever be on time…”

On cue, Mordred skids into the room with an armful of books and papers. “Hi, sorry, I’m here, good morning!”

Merlin sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration. Douxie has that stunned look on his face again. Krel is slowly trying to get used to this miniature version of Mort. He’s brighter and full of far more energy than Mort ever was, but then again, this Mordred isn’t weighed down by centuries of trauma and difficult memories.

“Now that everyone is here,” Merlin says, “we can start with the basics. I’m sure Mordred could use the refresher.”

Mordred groans in the most Douxie-like fashion Krel has ever seen from anyone other than Douxie. He’s beginning to realise his brother takes more after Mort than he thought he did. As an adult, Mort usually came across as put together and responsible. Logically, Krel knows he was not, and was prone to being a dumbass like Douxie, but he’s starting to really see that in Mordred.

“All of you seem to have an excellent grasp on wordless magic,” continues Merlin, “so perhaps we shall start with basic incantations. Maybe some runes, as well.”

“Not to be rude,” says Douxie in a tone that says he would love to say a lot of curse words right now, “but we’re here to fight a war. Basic incantations aren’t going to stop an army of evil trolls and fae from taking over the world. We didn’t come here to learn magic. We already know magic.”

Claire crosses her arms and nods. Krel does not know magic, so he’ll keep his mouth shut. Learning more about it might actually help him fake it better. He should probably borrow a couple of those books to read. But he can see why Douxie and Claire are frustrated. He can’t imagine being told he needs to start from the basics of engineering. Wait, that was just freshman year of college.

“Very well, Hisirdoux,” says Merlin, “I suppose you’re correct. Basic incantations won’t stop our adversaries. But neither will the basics you all demonstrated last night. Shadow portals and weapons and elemental spells are well and good, but how well do you fight with magic?”

“Uh,” Douxie says.

“You will each spar me,” Merlin says decisively.

Krel glares at his brother. “Great going, Hisirdoux.”

“Whoops,” mumbles Douxie, giving him a sheepish smile as Merlin walks away to grab his staff. Krel is doomed. Maybe he fooled him with the basic demonstration, but there’s no way he can fool him during a spar. They’re all doomed. And they can’t even kill Merlin. They probably can’t kick his ass either. They need to stay inconspicuous. This is so unfair. Krel could have been a scholar, but, no, Douxie had to call him a wizard and he didn’t want to make him seem like a liar. Krel would have been a great scholar.

“Come along, lads,” says Merlin. “Back to the training grounds. The ones farther from the castle, we don’t need an audience. Always dangerous to have an audience.”

They follow Merlin out of the library. At least it’s not too cold out today, although there are still patches of snow on the ground. Krel is fond of snow, although it was a headache to explain to the Akiridions when it first showed up on New Akiridion. It was perhaps not the best decision to make a planet so different from Akiridion-5, but, then again, if they’d had to find a planet to migrate to, it would have been unpredictably different. At least New Akiridion’s climate is similar to Earth’s. With less global warming. Krel figured it was safer to avoid some of the major natural disasters that came with that. Luckily, Akiridion industry has used very clean energy since before even, well, now.

Mordred looks positively giddy. “This is going to be incredible! Are all of you master wizards? I’ve never seen a real wizard duel before between two master wizards! Plus Master Merlin never teaches me anything about magical combat. I learned to fight from Papa but that was mostly mundane stuff, even though he has magic and could definitely teach me magical combat. I think he doesn’t want to step on Master’s toes–”

“Mordred, that’s enough,” says Merlin firmly. “They aren’t here to listen to your incessant rambling.”

“We don’t mind,” says Douxie, eyes narrowing at Merlin. “He’s just a kid, man. He can talk if he wants. And, ah, no, I don’t think I’d call us master wizards but we don’t really use those classifications anymore. Anymore in Arcadia. Uh, because they used to, but… they don’t anymore.”

“So you could be master wizards,” Mordred says, although he glances anxiously at Merlin while he speaks. “You’re old enough to be out of training at least.”

“Yep, we all have our armour,” says Krel. Technically his armour came from an ancient dead space god, but he’s not going to mention that. Douxie got his from graduating wizard training, and Claire got hers from Merlin so technically he thinks that should count too. He’s not sure if either brought theirs, but Krel did. Just in case. It shouldn’t be recognisable to a non-Akiridion and he doesn’t expect to run into Akiridions here.

“Really?” gasps Mordred. “I can’t wait to get mine! Dad says he’s already started crafting it for me. He wanted to make it for me instead of Master Merlin. He said he’ll give it to me when he thinks I’m ready.”

“So you should not view the receiving of said armour as a signal that you are a fully trained wizard,” Merlin says sharply. “Arthur knows nothing of magic. Only I can decide when you have graduated.”

“I know, I know,” Mordred says. “Papa’s gonna enchant the armour though! So it grows with me!”

“I bet it will be great, Mordred,” says Claire, smiling indulgently. “I think Krel’s is like that. Douxie’s probably is but I don’t think he’s grown since then.”

“Hey!” Douxie complains. “Always the jabs at my height. I’m taller than you!”

“Just barely,” she teases.

Krel reaches over to pat his head. “There, there. One of us had to be the shortest.”

“It used to be you.”

“Key phrase: used to be.”

“Shut up.”

“Alright, enough of your bickering,” says Merlin. “We’re here. Now, I believe the fair Lady Claire shall be the first to spar me.”

Claire scoffs in annoyance but cracks her knuckles and steps into the centre of the clearing. She ties up her dress so it resembles pants and will let her move a little bit better. He thinks there's a term for that, but he wouldn't know for sure. Krel can’t imagine having to fight in a dress. That sounds like no fun. Douxie flicks a hand to magically clear the stone bench nearby of snow and water so they can sit down to watch. Mordred doesn’t sit, bouncing on his heels and practically vibrating with excitement.

Merlin also steps into the clearing. Claire flares focusers. She doesn’t have her shadow staff with her, which is probably for the best. Krel knows it used to belong to Morgana – she’d offered to train Claire in it, a – what did they call it? a grape branch? – to try to win her friendship and forgiveness. Claire refused flat out and Mort gave Morgana a stern talking-to about boundaries and how no one is owed forgiveness for hurting someone. From what Krel knows, they just avoid each other now. Anyway, Claire has gotten good at shadow magic even without the staff, so he’s not exactly worried about her.

“Now, don’t be dismayed if this is over quickly,” says Merlin. “I am, after all, a very powerful wizard.”

Claire smirks. “Yeah, okay. So am I.”

She opens a portal behind her and steps backwards into it before reappearing behind Merlin, summoning a glowing purple staff and swinging it in a wide arc towards him. He catches the attack with his own staff and Claire holds his attention there as she opens another portal underneath him. He yelps in alarm as the ground vanishes from under him and he falls in, then she reopens the portal to send him stumbling into a tree. Mordred hides a laugh.

“Woo, go Claire!” cheers Douxie.

“Very tricky,” says Merlin, whirling around to send a blast of unformed magic at her. She dives out of the way then raises a shield to redirect the next blast harmlessly upwards. Then she opens another portal beneath her and disappears into it. Merlin walks back into the clearing, looking around suspiciously.

The portal opens above him and Claire drops down, summoning the staff again and hooking it around his neck. Acid green magic surrounds her and throws her to the ground in front of him, flipped onto her back, and she blinks, dazed for just a moment. She shrieks and throws up a shield just in time to stop a magic dagger from driving into her chest, the point of it a breath away from making contact. Douxie starts to stand but Krel grabs his wrist.

“She’s fine,” he says. Merlin isn’t stupid enough to kill them here. Probably. At the very least, not with Mordred as a witness.

“Do you yield?” Merlin asks.

“If this was a real fight, no,” says Claire. “But since it’s a spar…”

Merlin smirks and vanishes the knife and then Claire swings herself to her feet and sweeps her staff at his ankles to knock him over.

“Also no,” she completes smugly. “Don’t you know what they say about assuming, Sir Wizard?”

“You remind me a lot of a former apprentice of mine,” he grumbles. Claire falters some. They all know his last apprentice before Mordred was Morgana. Is that who he’s referring to? Bad move. Claire hates being compared to Morgana.

Merlin pushes himself back to his feet and sends several more magic knives flying her way. She opens a portal then another aimed at Merlin so that she can redirect his attack back at him. While he’s busy with that, she darts forward and slams her staff into his side. He scowls and uses his staff to pull one of her legs out from under her and send her crashing onto her back again. Then green magic pins her wrists and ankles to the forest floor and Merlin points his glowing staff at her throat.

“I’ll ask again,” he says. “Do you yield?”

She glares at him but sighs. “I yield.”

The restraints disappear and he offers a hand to help her up. She bats it away and stands on her own, brushing off her dress and untying it. Mordred grins and claps excitedly.

“That was amazing!” he exclaims. “You were all – woosh! And he was all – wham! And then you tricked him with that fake yield and then you were all – pssh! And he was all – waaa! And that was so amazing!”

Claire laughs and comes over to ruffle his hair. “Thanks, Mordred.”

Merlin sighs and rubs his forehead. “Alright, Krel. You’re up.”

“Sure you don’t need a break?” Krel says, keeping his voice teasing and sarcastic. This is going to be a disaster. He thinks he can mimic the blasts of unfocused magic that Merlin likes and he does have weapons down. He can probably even fake focusers if he tries. He didn’t last time but Merlin didn’t call him out on it, so maybe weapons don’t need focusers. But maybe he can use them for the blasts? Ugh, this is going to be difficult. He also has to hold back from shooting a hole in Merlin’s head as much as he wants to. And flying. He wants to look competent but non-threatening. Flying will make him look like a powerful wizard.

“I assure you I do not,” says Merlin. He looks insulted by the mere idea.

Krel makes his way to the clearing and makes fake focusers, since Claire started with hers ready. He glances back at Douxie to see if he’s doing it right and Douxie gives him a thumbs-up. Okay. Merlin gestures. Krel’s move.

Krel forms his trusty sword and lets the fake focusers vanish as he charges forward. Merlin easily sides-step him and Krel skids into a turn. Merlin parries his next attack with his staff then forces him back with a blast of magic.

“Magic, Krel, you’re not a knight!” Merlin snaps.

“This is magic!” Krel exclaims, gesturing with his sword. “Magic sword!”

“A magic sword is not going to be enough against the fae!”

Krel throws up a shield as Merlin sends another blast at him with his staff. He flinches at the green energy washing over his shield. Focus, Krel. Seklos, he hates this guy. Okay, he’ll try the “magic blast”. He throws his hands in front of him and does his best to shoot unformed energy at Merlin. To his delight, it works, but unfortunately Merlin dissipates the blast within seconds and sends his own back. Krel can try that, maybe. As the blast gets closer, he decides maybe not, and instead forms his sword and cuts through the magic. That at least works. Hm. If Krel can make energy blasts, maybe he can make something more widespread and trick Merlin into thinking it’s a fog spell?

As Merlin charges another blast Krel slams his hands into the ground and focuses on raising energy around the clearing to obscure like a fog. To his shock, steam starts to rise from the snow in the clearing. Merlin’s eyes widen and he looks down at the ground. Krel never considered this possibility, but the ground below his hands seems to be responding to his will for fog and heating to melt the snow.

Huh.

Well, if Krel can create planets, and Gaylen was formed here…

He hates getting new revelations about his powers at times when he can least focus on them. He still hasn’t fully processed the whole red giant thing that he hasn’t managed to replicate since Douxie got blown up, he doesn’t want to deal with another new power on top of that. But the area is getting foggy so he’s just going to roll with it. He stands and creeps around Merlin, just out of eyesight. He knows his shields can sometimes mess with aura sight – Steve complains about it whenever they spar – so he summons one of those along with his sword, still circling.

Merlin raises his staff, bright glowing green, and the fog begins to whirl around him. Okay, time to attack, before Krel loses the element of surprise. He darts forward and takes a note out of Aja’s book, directing his shield downward and using it to slide under Merlin and knock him off his feet. He rolls and hops to his feet with the momentum, whirling around to aim his sword at Merlin’s throat.

“Do you yield?” he taunts.

Merlin smirks at him and knocks his sword away with his staff, the green glow brightening until Krel has to squeeze his eyes shut and stumble back, rubbing his eyelids because that was way too bright. Kleb! He should have disarmed him!

While he’s distracted, something hard connects with his knees and he goes down, restraints on his wrists and legs like Claire. Yep, definitely should have disarmed him. That stupid staff!

“Do you yield?” Merlin asks.

Krel huffs. “Fine, yes, I yield.”

The restraints vanish. Krel reluctantly accepts the offered hand. As far as Merlin knows, he doesn’t technically have any reason to have as much animosity as he does towards him. Krel should at least pretend to be friendly. Maybe not friendly. Krel doesn’t think he can stomach friendly. Polite. He can probably manage polite.

He walks back over to the others. Mordred, at least, looks entertained. “You were amazing too, Krel! That fog trick was really smart, you’ve got to teach me it!”

“Uh, maybe later,” says Krel. He doesn’t know how he did that fog trick, so he will not be teaching it to anyone. He hopes it looked like magic. The clearing is wet now and completely cleared of snow. It’s weird that the ground responded like that – that the planet responded like that. New Akiridion he could maybe understand, but he didn’t create Earth. A celestial didn’t create Earth, even. He’s going to need to figure out how to hack into Akiridion-5’s libraries from his phone in a way that doesn’t let them know they’re hacked. There’s no way he can wait until they get home to research this.

“Alright, Hisirdoux,” says Merlin. “Let’s see where you stand, for all your blustering earlier.”

“Blustering,” grumbles Douxie. “I’ll show him blustering.”

He stomps into the clearing, the crunch of snow and leaves transitioning into the squish of mud as he does. He flares focusers and glares at Merlin. Merlin stretches and yawns, clearly not actually tired, which just makes Douxie angrier.

Great. Douxie’s already made Merlin not like him. Klebtastic.

Douxie doesn’t wait for a signal before drawing the snowmelt into the air and coalescing it into a stream that he whips out at Merlin. Merlin counters that with a thread of magic that freezes the water solid, but Douxie is quick to drop the ice so it breaks into shards and instead lifts them with magic and sends them flying at Merlin. Merlin raises a shield to block them.

Douxie forms his battle-staff and charges, ducking sideways and swinging his staff for Merlin’s legs. Merlin catches Douxie’s staff with his own and manages to twist it out of Douxie’s grip. Douxie draws a rune in mid-air and pushes it forward and Merlin bats that away with his staff so whatever it was dissipates in the air nearby. Douxie uses this distraction to rope magic around Merlin’s wrists and throw him sideways. This actually does make the older wizard stumble.

Merlin, unfortunately, is physically stronger than Douxie, and he uses that to his advantage, grabbing hold of the magic ropes around his wrists and jerking Douxie forward so hard that he falls to his knees. Oh, Douxie looks pissed now. Merlin sends another blast of unformed magic at Douxie and Douxie dodges.

Into the air.

Seklos and Gaylen, Douxie, why?

“You can fly,” notes Merlin, something sharp in his eyes and his voice. Mordred’s jaw has dropped and he leans forward, starry-eyed and grinning. “It seems I underestimated you, Hisirdoux. My mistake.”

“Fuck,” Douxie mumbles.

Merlin takes to the air as well and renews his attacks. Douxie alternates between shielding, dodging, and cutting through the magical attacks with his battle-staff. He darts forward, levitating some stones from the ground and sending them flying at Merlin, then tackling Merlin towards the trees. Merlin gains control back and lets out a large blast of magic, throwing Douxie to the ground. He skids on impact and groans. Merlin flies downward and restrains him with magic, just like he did for Claire and Krel, but Douxie is stubborn. He glances to the side and jerks his head towards Merlin and several spikes of stone shoot from the ground towards Merlin. Merlin destroys those with a blast of magic and then summons several knives to fall around Douxie, all missing him but landing dangerously close in the ground.

Merlin summons another restraint to hold Douxie’s head in place and levels his staff at his throat. “Yield.”

Douxie snarls up at him but he must realise that there’s no point continuing the fight. “Fine.”

Merlin releases him. Once more, he offers his hand. Douxie does take it, but it looks like it’s only because he’s sore, using his other hand to rub his head. Mordred runs forward, bouncing around both of them.

“Oh my gods!” he yells. “Flying! You can fly! A flying wizards’ duel! That was incredible!”

“Thanks, Mort-dred. Mordred,” says Douxie. Krel shakes his head and he and Claire also walk forward to join them. Claire puts a hand on Douxie’s shoulder. He smiles at her. “Well, that was an experience.”

“I will concede,” says Merlin. “You three are skilled. More skilled than I expected. It takes a very powerful wizard to be able to fly.”

“Well, I learned the hard way,” says Douxie. “And it took me a long time. Just because we aren’t your traditional wizards doesn’t mean we aren’t powerful and in control of that power.”

“You should still read up on magical theory,” Merlin says firmly. “As well as on different forms of magic, such as fae magic. I assure you, should you find yourself facing a fae, they will not go easy on you like I just did.”

“Easy on us, sure,” mumbles Krel.

“So no basics, right?” says Mordred. “I want to learn advanced stuff.”

“Perhaps,” says Merlin, lightly tapping Mordred on the top of the head with his staff. “But only if you can pass a quiz on the basics.”

“A quiz?” Mordred repeats in dismay.

“Gotta walk before you can run, buddy,” says Douxie. He makes a face. “Cannot believe I’m on Merlin’s side with this.”

Merlin chuckles. “Look at that. We can agree on some things.”

Douxie looks green. Krel grins and pats his shoulder comfortingly. “Physically pains you, doesn’t it?”

“To the core,” says Douxie.

“We will break for lunch,” says Merlin. “After that, I want you all back in the library. I’m afraid we wizards don’t find ourselves in as many battles as you may think. We have work to do.”

“You don’t hear me complaining,” Krel says.

Merlin doesn’t follow them as they start walking back towards the castle. Krel dares to sneak a glance back before they’re too far from the clearing. He’s just standing there, watching them. Unfortunately, he looks suspicious. Douxie flying definitely tipped him off that they’re more than they seem and claim to be. Krel worried his “magic” did too. Would he have been able to tell that it came from a completely different energy source? What will he think if he did notice?

Krel has a bad feeling that they’re going to have to be a lot more careful from now on.

Notes:

Didn't expect to be able to update today but then I hyperfocused on the spars so... yeet! Always fun to play with Krel's powers and how he's discovering more even years later. Merlin is, as always, a pain in the ass.

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed! As always, thank you for reading! <3

Chapter 6: We Three Knights

Alex already knew he did poorly in his placement spar, but the fact that Lancelot is now personally training him has to be a testament to just how poorly he did. They must be desperate for people since they didn’t just automatically kick him out. Lancelot helped him find a lighter sword. It’s still not quite like using a serrator, where the blade weighs nothing and he doesn’t have to worry about the balance or anything like that, but it’s a bit easier. Lancelot is incredibly patient with him. He reminds Alex a lot of Mort in his demeanour and even his gentle smile.

“Widen your stance just a smidge,” he says as they half-spar, half-talk. Alex does as told. “Good. Steady footing will make it harder for an opponent to knock you off balance.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s ideal,” Alex mumbles. He adjusts his grip on his sword then brings it up to parry Lancelot’s next move. The guy really likes surprise attacks.

“How much formal training do you have with a sword?” asks Lancelot.

“Uh, none,” says Alex. “I had some minimal training from Douxie’s dad, but he specialised more in magic than combat. My parents never exactly loved the idea of me in fights.”

“Well, certainly no parent loves that,” agrees Lancelot. “You and your friends did mention being involved in battles.”

Alex nods, dodging sideways and then quickly righting his stance again. “Them more than me. I was out of town – uh, the kingdom when one of the big... I don’t know if they want to call it a war, but when that happened. The two big battles before that I was home but the best weapon I had was my guitar. It’s like a lute.”

“Hm, yes, not the best weapon,” says Lancelot. “It sounds like Arcadia faced many battles.”

“A good handful, mostly within the last decade,” admits Alex. “Like I said, in the most recent conflict, I was mostly tactical support.”

“And getting kidnapped?” Lancelot teases.

Alex sighs. “And getting kidnapped, yeah.”

“Come on,” Lancelot says with a laugh. He sheathes his sword. “Let’s go take a break. You look like you need it.”

Alex follows him over to one of the benches and they sit. Lancelot pulls out a few pastries from the bag he’d brought to training and offers him one. Alex takes it. He’s a little wary of the food here sometimes. Some of it is familiar, but a lot is definitely weird. This looks like a normal tart, though, so it shouldn’t be too risky.

“I always like to have a snack ready,” Lancelot says with a wink. “Plus extras for trainees and squires. The kids love it.”

“Thanks,” says Alex, smiling and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I’m not exactly… well, I’m no Jim or Toby.”

“Nothing to apologise for, Alexander,” says Lancelot. “You’re going to make a fine knight. A little more training and I’m certain you’ll be able to hold your own. Besides, the Gumm-Gumms aren’t exactly skilled fighters. More brute force than anything else. And the fae rely on magic. I can tell you’re a quick thinker and that will help you against them.”

“Right, maybe,” mumbles Alex. Fighting evil trolls and evil fae is not exactly at the top of the list of things he’d like to be doing, considering it sounds pretty synonymous with dying and leaving poor Douxie a widow or whatever.

Speaking of Douxie, there’s a magic explosion visible above the trees. By the faint hint of blue, that’s his husband. He really hopes it’s friendly sparring or Douxie’s latest experiment and not actual danger. Lancelot follows his gaze and chuckles.

“Good to see explosions caused by someone other than my son,” he jokes.

“Yep, that one was all Douxie,” Alex says. “He’s great at magic, but he does have a special talent for blowing things up.”

“Sounds like Mordred,” says Lancelot fondly. “He’s a magical prodigy. More talent in his pinkie finger than most of us have in our whole bodies, but… well, sometimes I feel that Merlin isn’t training him to his full potential.”

“Magical prodigies are hard to train,” says Alex. “Douxie’s dad used to complain about it all the time. Douxie runs on intuition and that’s great and all, but it makes him hard to teach.”

“Maybe he can impart something to Mordred, then,” says Lancelot. “I don’t know. Merlin is stubborn and stuck in his ways. He’s training Mordred by the books, but…”

“Mordred’s part fae, isn’t he?” Alex says.

Lancelot gives him an appraising look. “You’ve heard about that? I suppose it’s been the talk of the town since we gained fae enemies. Yes, he and Anna both are, but Mordred is the one that really inherited the magic of it. I’ve often thought about asking my mother to train him, but it’s a half a day’s journey to her lake, and with all the dangers of travelling right now, I don’t feel comfortable with it.”

“Your mother… the Lady of the Lake?”

“You’ve done your research, Alexander,” Lancelot notes. “Yes, my mother is fae. Not biological, but I’m sure you can tell that by my ears.”

“I’ve never actually met a full fae,” Alex says sheepishly. “Do they have weird ears?”

“Pointed,” says Lancelot, amused. “If you look closely at Mordred and Anna’s, they have the faintest point to theirs, too. They’re only a fourth fae, though.”

“Huh, I never noticed…” Alex murmurs. It’s not like he ever pays close attention to anyone’s ears, to be fair. Is it the fae part or the magic part that made Mort so long-lived? A mixture of both, maybe, and cruel fate to be alone for centuries.

“So, what about you and your husband?” asks Lancelot. “Any plans for children one day?”

“Maybe one day,” Alex says hesitantly. “We’ve talked about it before, but… well, now’s not a good time, anyway, and we should probably talk about it more. I just… wizards live a long time, y’know?”

“They do,” acknowledges Lancelot. “Depends on the wizard exactly how long, though. Between you and me, I think Merlin’s older than he lets on!”

“Well, he looks it!” Alex jokes back, seizing the subject change while he can. It’s not that Douxie’s lifespan is a problem, per se, or maybe that it is, but it’s one Alex accepted a long time ago. The new core has only made him more anxious about it, though, because Akiridions live for thousands of years. Humans don’t. It’s bad enough Douxie will one day have to grieve him, but adding kids for him to eventually grieve too? Alex… worries.

“He’s older than Uther was anyway,” says Lancelot, crinkling his nose. “Bastard of a man, that one. Anyway, magic does do wonders for one’s long-term health. Usually.”

There’s another explosion over the trees. Alex tries and fails to hide his fond smile, shaking his head. “And there goes my husband again. At least they’re outside. He blew up the microwave once with his experiments.”

“The… micro… wave?” repeats Lancelot.

Oh, yeah. Middle Ages. Right. “Uh, Arcadian thing. Anyway, Douxie and Krel are brothers from hell when it comes to explosions.”

“Thank the gods Anna isn’t like that,” mumbles Lancelot. “I couldn’t handle two!”

Alex takes another bite of his pastry to hide his laughter. He can’t imagine what it could have been like if Douxie and Krel had grown up together. Douxie was chaotic back in middle school when they first met and Alex didn’t even know about magic back then. Looking back, the sprinkler malfunction during one of their science tests was probably not so much a malfunction and more of Douxie trying to get out of a test he didn’t study for. He has to give him some props. It did work.

“Anyway, Alexander,” says Lancelot. “Arthur wanted me to extend an invitation to dine with us tonight.”

“With – with the king?” Alex manages.

“Well, and the rest of us,” says Lancelot, grinning. “We may not be Arthur, but I hope you’d enjoy our presence nonetheless.”

“I’d be honoured,” Alex says.

“Excellent,” says Lancelot. “I’ll let Toby and Jim know as well. Do bring along your explosive husband. I hear he and Mordred get along well. All of you Arcadian travellers are welcome, actually.”

“We’ll, uh, we’ll be there,” Alex stammers. Should he bow? He’s sitting down. He doesn’t know medieval etiquette well enough. He should have asked Mort for more lessons. “And, um, you can call me Alex, you know. The only ones that really call me Alexander are my parents when I’m in trouble.”

Lancelot laughs. “Alright, then, Alex. I’d hate for you to feel like you’re constantly in trouble.”

Alex blushes. “Yeah. Nope. Thanks.”

“Now,” says Lancelot, standing and stretching. “I believe we have more training to do! On your feet, let’s go!”

Alex groans. “The break was too short.”

Lancelot grins at him and draws his sword. “Ah-ah-ah, Alex, people who take breaks get kidnapped!”

“I changed my mind, I don’t like you anymore,” Alex says, which only makes Lancelot laugh because it’s a blatant lie. He stands and rolls his shoulders before following Lancelot back out to train.

 

 

“I hope we’re not in trouble.”

“We’re not in trouble, Alex. Stop fidgeting.”

“We could be though,” says Alex, resisting the urge to pace around the room while Douxie helps him put on the weirdly formal armour he and Jim and Toby had been given. “Do you think we’ve raised too much suspicion?”

“I don’t think they’d invite us to dinner just to tell us we were in trouble,” says Douxie. He finishes tightening a strap on the armour and kisses Alex’s cheek. “There. You’re all set, handsome.”

“I look stupid,” Alex says.

“You look like my beautiful knight in shining armour,” Douxie flirts.

“This isn’t even armour I can fight in,” Alex complains. “It’s too fancy. And heavy. I definitely look like an idiot.”

Douxie pulls out his phone. “Smile! This is so gonna be my lockscreen.”

“Douxie!” he whines.

“You look so good though!” Douxie says. “Come on, please? Just one picture.”

And then he pulls out the pleading eyes and Alex is never capable of saying no to that damn face so he sighs and smiles for the picture. He can’t help but let the smile turn genuine at Douxie’s enthusiasm. He knows his husband has been anxious since they got stuck here – and not having Archie hasn’t helped at all – so it’s good to see him excited again.

“You’re lucky you don’t have to wear armour,” says Alex.

“Technically, Merlin said we should wear our wizards’ armour if we want to be formal,” says Douxie. “I’m a little wary, though. I dunno. Especially with Krel’s armour. But also he already doesn’t like me so maybe I should.”

“You do look good in your armour.” Alex grins and grabs his own phone from the bedside table. “Maybe I should make that my lockscreen.”

“Better than that horrible picture of me you have now,” says Douxie. That’s true, he should leave it as the embarrassing photo of the time Douxie tried to open a can of crushed tomatoes and it blew up in his face. That was funny.

“Nah, leaving it,” he decides. “I need the daily reminder not to let you in the kitchen.”

Douxie rolls his eyes at him and grabs the amulet that contains his armour, turning it over in his hands. “I know it’s just dinner but... I dunno. I don’t want it to get messed up.”

“It’s up to you, love,” says Alex. “Although you’re right, it probably won’t get messed up at dinner. But Mort made that armour to protect you. I know you don’t want to see it damaged, but...”

“I know, I know,” Douxie murmurs. “Uncle Mort would rather see the armour damaged than me damaged.”

He presses the amulet to his chest to activate the armour. He really does look good in it, the gold and blue metal bringing out his eyes. Oh, right. Alex taps beside his own eyes. “Transduction.”

“Right,” says Douxie, grabbing his phone again and rapidly typing into it. “Texting Krel. He probably got caught up reading in his room.”

“Wish we had an extra serrator for you,” Alex says. “So you could control your own transduction.”

“Eh, for emergencies I can illusion my eyes,” says Douxie, blinking rapidly as the transduction falls over him and his eyes return to looking human. “Just not ideal in the long-term, plus Merlin can probably detect illusions and we do not want him more suspicious than he already is.”

“After you flew in front of him,” Alex says.

“Yeah, yeah, I got mad, okay?” he says. “I hate dealing with the guy.”

“Don’t blame you,” Alex agrees. “I hate leaving you alone with him. He’s a creep and an asshole.”

“I’m hoping he starts leaving us alone so we can actually get research done,” says Douxie. “We told him we weren’t here to learn magic but he seems determined to make sure we have some formal training.”

“I should have volunteered to be a scholar,” sighs Alex. He sits on the bed and Douxie sits next to him, offering him a hairbrush so that he can braid his hair. Alex starts brushing out the tangles.

“Is training not going well?” Douxie asks.

“No, it’s fine,” says Alex, setting aside the brush and starting to braid. “Except that I need way more of it than Jim and Toby. Your grandpa is personally training me.”

“That’s nice, though,” says Douxie brightly. “Spending time with your grandfather-in-law and all that.”

“He reminds me of Mort,” says Alex. “Speaking of… holding up okay?”

Douxie bunches up a wad of fabric from his cape in one hand. “I mean, I guess. It’s weird still. He’s so… light. Not weighed down by… everything, you know?”

Alex nods. “I get it.”

There’s a knock at the door, followed by Krel’s voice. “Are you two ready or should I come back in another hour?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re ready!” Douxie calls back. Alex smiles and grabs a piece of fabric to tie the braid in place, then drapes it over Douxie’s shoulder and kisses his temple. Douxie smiles up at him. “Thank you, love.”

“Anytime,” says Alex. He stands and offers Douxie a hand to help him up as well before they leave the room. Krel is waiting for them outside with the others. Jim and Toby are also in the fancy armour and look just as annoyed about it as Alex is. Claire is in her armour and surprisingly Krel is as well, although without the helmet and with a cloak carefully draped to hide the Gaylen’s core insignia on his chest.

“Everyone else gets cool outfits,” grumbles Steve. “What do healers get? Nothing! Stupid ass knights getting their asses kicked and coming to get their noses fixed.”

“Yeah, Ikram says a lot of patrols come back injured,” says Toby. Alex tries not to notice Douxie’s alarmed and worried look. “But hey, they’ve got the best healer ever, am I right?”

Steve glowers at him. “If you come to me with a broken nose, I’m just letting it stay broken.”

“Love ya too, Steve!”

“Good evening, travellers!” All seven of them whip around at the voice. Tristan stands with his hands on his hips and a grin on his face next to Dinadan who smiles and waves. “Your escort is here. Figured you might get lost.”

“Thanks, guys,” says Alex. They would have gotten lost trying to find wherever it is they’re supposed to meet the royals for dinner. They probably have a royal dining room of some kind but Alex wouldn’t have the faintest clue where to start looking for it.

“Always a pleasure, Lex,” says Dinadan.

Douxie nudges him with a grin. “Good to see you’re making friends that aren’t us.”

“Hush,” Alex says.

“Come on, the formal dining room is this way,” says Tristan. “They almost never use it. King Arthur likes to eat among his subjects when he can.”

“He’s a good king,” says Krel.

“Definitely,” agrees Tristan.

They follow the two knights through the castle. Alex is glad they sent Tristan and Dinadan and not someone he doesn’t know yet. Their cheerful attitude makes him feel a bit better. If they were in trouble or something, he’s sure one of them would say something about it. At the very least they wouldn’t be so chipper.

Alex keeps his head bowed to avoid the stares in the hallways. Douxie links hands with him reassuringly, always a calming presence at Alex’s side. He feels dumb in the bulky formal armour and out of place in a time that isn’t his own. He couldn’t even put on his own armour tonight. He tries not to dwell on it.

They arrive at a large set of wooden doors. Tristan and Dinadan push them open for them. Inside, Alex can see tapestries decorating the walls between big windows and a long wooden table in the centre of the room. Arthur stands from his seat at the head of the table as they enter. He and Lancelot are both also in formal armour, which makes Alex feel slightly less stupid.

“Welcome, welcome!” Arthur says jovially. “Please, come sit, make yourselves at home.”

A teenaged boy waves eagerly from the table – Mordred, it must be, with those bright green eyes. To no one’s surprise, Douxie gravitates towards him and Alex follows. Douxie’s right. It’s weird to see him like this.

“How are you all settling in?” Arthur asks as they take their seats at the table. There’s food already set, and it looks self-serve. Alex waits until the royals have started serving their food before getting his own, just to be sure he’s doing it right.

“Well, thank you, your majesty,” says Claire.

“Please, call me Arthur,” he says. “I do hope we can all consider each other friends while you’re here.”

The legendary King Arthur just asked them to call him by his first name. Alex would think he was having a really weird dream if he didn’t have, like, five hundred bruises from training. It’s only the royal family here, right now, with an empty chair next to Arthur and Lancelot that must be reserved for their late wife. Part of Alex wishes they could have met Guinevere, that Douxie could have met her, but by now she’s been dead for at least a couple of years. Merlin joins them a few minutes later. He nods to all of them and takes a seat.

“Tell us more about Arcadia!” Mordred exclaims. “Are there more powerful wizards there? Douxie, this is your husband, right? Were you guys knights back home too? What’s Arcadia’s royal family like? What–”

“Give them a chance to breathe, lad!” Arthur says with a laugh.

Mordred rubs the back of his neck. “Right, sorry, Dad.”

“It’s okay,” Alex says, hiding his own laughter. “He reminds me of Douxie at his age.”

Even at this age Douxie has more energy than he knows what to do with most of the time, but back when they were kids he couldn’t hold still to save his life. His high spirits and enthusiasm were part of what endeared Alex to him when he moved to Arcadia.

“Arcadia’s a great place,” says Douxie. “Small, uh, kingdom, but friendly and all that. We have lots of magic users in town and a troll community right below us.”

“Yes, yes, Toby has a trollish weapon,” says Lancelot. “So I take it relations are good with the trolls there?”

“Yep,” says Jim. “Tobes and I spend a lot of time with them, actually. They’re great.”

“Perhaps you can meet our trollish allies as well,” says Arthur. “Not everyone is as open-minded about working with them, so it’s good to have more knights that are.”

“I don’t see why people have issues with the trolls,” says Anna. Little Prince Gaheris is sitting beside her in a medieval high chair being fed some kind of fruit puree by Lot. “They’ve been at war with the Gumm-Gumms for centuries before we were.”

“Not everyone understands that,” Merlin says.

“You weren’t old enough to understand how deeply anti-magic your grandfather’s Camelot was,” Lancelot reminds her. “Uther may be gone but the sentiments he stood for still linger in our people.”

“That was... your father, right?” Toby asks Arthur. Alex winces. Toby is way more daring than he is to ask about Uther. Alex has only ever heard bad things about Mort’s grandfather and Mort was only a baby when he died.

“Yes, he was,” Arthur confirms. “I don’t know how much Arcadia has heard of him, but I assure you I am a different man.”

“No, no, yeah,” says Toby. “We haven’t heard that much though. Didn’t you work with Uther, uh, Sir Wizard? And I mean, wasn’t...”

“Queen Morgause,” Douxie supplies.

“Right, wasn’t she fae?” says Toby.

“Half, but yes,” says Arthur. “Father didn’t know that. Their family kept it well under wraps. But now fae are welcome, so long as they aren’t evil. Not... everyone agrees with that, but I will not discriminate based on species.”

Claire and Toby both glance at Jim, not nearly as subtle as they should be with Merlin in the room. Luckily the old wizard is busy serving himself more gravy so he doesn’t catch it. Alex sees Lancelot’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. Well, Douxie and Mort don’t get their obliviousness from him, it seems. Maybe Arthur, who looks none the wiser, but Lancelot is perceptive. He knows they’re hiding something. Oh, Alex hopes he doesn’t ask him about it. He knows why Jim is keeping the changeling thing under wraps. Maybe Arthur would be okay with it, but he doubts many others would.

“I did work with Uther,” confirms Merlin. “I was his advisor before Arthur’s. He tolerated my magic as a means to an end. But a human wizard is very different from a fae.”

“And only a select few fae are working to see humanity’s demise,” says Arthur, frowning at Merlin. “Just as not all humans are good, not all fae are evil. That is my final say on the matter.”

Gaheris lets out a loud laugh, drawing everyone’s attention and breaking the tension as he whacks the spoon out of Lot’s hand and sends fruit mush flying everywhere. Alex can’t help but smile. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Douxie smiling, too.

“Sorry,” says Lot sheepishly. “Babies, y’know?”

“Trust me, my little brother Enrique use to be the same way,” says Claire.

Alex laughs. “I vaguely remember Lillie being the same. I thought it was hilarious, but to be fair I was, like, nine.”

“I remember when Mordred was a baby,” says Anna.

Mordred’s face turns red. “No, you don’t!”

“Yes, I do!” she teases back. “You were obnoxious. Cried all the time. Gaheris is much sweeter than you were.”

“At least you can’t remember me as a baby,” Krel says to Douxie.

“You do embarrassing stuff as an adult so I don’t need to,” Douxie shoots back.

“You two are close in age, right?” says Anna with a smile. “It must have been nice growing up together.”

“Krel’s a great brother,” Douxie says, which avoids the whole comment about them growing up together since that definitely didn’t happen. Alex definitely agrees it’s better to avoid blatant lies. The less things they can get called on the better. “Wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

“I’d trade you for a hamburger right now,” Krel mumbles, poking at the meat on his plate.

“He doesn’t mean that.”

“I very much do.”

“I would also trade you for a whatever that is,” Mordred tells Anna.

She winks at him. “Likewise, little brother.”

Alex finds himself relaxing as dinner continues. All of the Pendragons are incredibly friendly, which he supposes he should have been able to guess based on Mort and Douxie. He’s still dubious that they were just called down here for a nice dinner to welcome them, but at least they don’t seem to be in trouble. Merlin is reserved, joining the conversation here and there but seemingly disinterested in most of it. Alex knows the others are watching what they say as much as he is. They don’t need to make Merlin more suspicious than he already is.

As dinner starts winding down, Arthur starts murmuring with Lancelot. Alex tries not to be too worried. A secret conversation could be about anything. He glances over at Jim who at least looks equally anxious. Toby is busy doting on the baby from his seat next to Lot.

Arthur clears his throat and stands. “Alright, my friends, believe it or not, there was an ulterior motive to this meal.”

Anna hides her laugh with a hand. Mordred looks excited. Either this is something good or the Pendragon siblings take delight in others’ misery. Alex could see that. Mort definitely knew about his crush on Douxie before Douxie did and he definitely laughed about it.

“Jim, Toby, Alex,” says Lancelot. Oh, no, what did they do? “If all three of you could come forward?”

Well, can’t disobey both one of Camelot’s kings and the leader of the knights. Alex tries to keep his hands from fidgeting as they step forward. Douxie gives him an encouraging thumbs-up. If he knows what’s going on and didn’t tell him Alex will be a bit put out. Not really. But on principle.

“Normally, this is supposed to wait for a special occasion,” says Arthur. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex sees Merlin cross his arms and scowl. “And normally I would wait until you three were more integrated with the others and had more training. But these aren’t normal times, and we need all hands on deck so to speak. Lancelot has reported to me about your progress and potential, and I’ve decided it is time to officially allow you to join our ranks.”

“Wait, already?” blurts Toby, eyes wide. Alex tries to shove down his excitement. So that’s what the formal armour is for! They’re getting knighted. Holy shit. He did not expect this to happen so fast.

“I know it’s out of the ordinary,” says Arthur sheepishly. “But it was a break in tradition to allow women and common-born folk to become knights. What’s three foreigners eager to help our home?”

“Your training is far from over, but even mine has never ended,” says Lancelot, giving them a gentle smile. “Jim Lake, Tobias Domzalski, Alexander Swift. Your king has seen fit to offer the three of you knighthood. With this title comes a responsibility to your kingdom and its people. You will serve and protect them with honour and chivalry. Do you accept this offer and all the duties it entails?”

“We do,” they say together. Alex does his best to keep his hands still and his smile, well, normal. This is so cool. He’s going to be a real, actual knight. Sure, it’s dangerous, and he still doesn’t think he could survive an actual fight, but this is still one of the coolest moments of his entire life, up there with finding out about magic and aliens and all that.

“Kneel before your king,” says Lancelot.

Is there a proper way to kneel for this? Alex tries to copy all the paintings he’s seen of people getting knighted. A side-glance at Toby and Jim shows they’re doing about the same.

“I am honoured by your bravery and willingness to serve a kingdom you were not born into,” says Arthur. “The titles I am bestowing on you will make you and yours official citizens of Camelot. I welcome you to our kingdom, Sir Knights.”

He draws Excalibur. The sword that will one day be Steve’s looks no different now than it will in nine centuries.

“I ask you each in turn,” Arthur says. “Do you swear to uphold the values of faith, loyalty, courage, and honour, to protect your kingdom and her people with your life?”

He nods to Jim. Jim looks back at him with grim determination. “I do, your majesty.”

Then to Toby, who grins. “I do, your majesty.”

Then, finally, to Alex. For half a second he’s taken aback again, because when he smiles like that Arthur looks just like Mort. Alex swallows down his shock and nods. “I do, your majesty.”

Arthur taps each of their shoulders in turn with Excalibur, ceremonious and purposeful, just like movies or paintings or books. Has Alex mentioned how cool this is?

“Rise, Sir Jim, Sir Tobias, and Sir Alexander,” says Arthur, “Knights of Camelot! May you make us all proud.”

They stand. Alex is promptly tackle-hugged by his husband. He laughs and wraps his arms around Douxie.

“I’m so proud of you!” Douxie says, as if Alex actually did anything to deserve this.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” says Alex.

“Maybe,” Douxie says sheepishly. “Mordred let it slip. I figured it was a pleasant surprise so you’d forgive me for not telling you.”

Alex laughs and kisses his forehead. “You’re right, you’re right.”

“Congrats on the new dual citizenship,” Krel teases them.

“You know you also get citizenship, right, Krel?” says Mordred with a grin. “It should extend to family, so since you’re Douxie’s brother and Healer Steve is his cousin, you guys are in too.”

“Hey, cool,” says Steve. “What does that make us? Camelotians? Camelotese? Camelos? Kinda digging Camelos.”

“I’m not,” says Krel. “Don’t call us that. Don’t call anyone that.”

“I like it!” says Mordred.

Steve ruffles his hair. “Thank you, mini-Mort. Dred. Mini Mordred. Because you’re short.”

Mordred pouts. “I’m not that short. I’ll get taller.”

“You sure will,” mumbles Steve.

“Congratulations to our newest knights,” says Merlin, looking all three of them up and down. His smile is fake, lips pressed thin and eyes cold. “I do hope you will last longer than some of your peers have in the past.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” says Jim, with a smile just as fake and eyes just as sharp. “We will.”

 

 

Later that night, after dinner has fully wrapped up and they’ve all gone to their rooms, Alex lies in bed with Douxie, curled together underneath the surprisingly soft blankets. Alex expected worse from the Middle Ages.

Douxie’s excitement has faded. Something is bothering him, but Alex doesn’t want to press. He’ll come out and say it on his own time. He always does. For now, the best remedy is always cuddles from his husband and Alex is more than happy to provide.

“I still can’t believe I’m a knight now,” Alex admits softly.

“My literal knight in shining armour,” Douxie teases, but his smile falls just as fast and he turns his face into the crook of Alex’s neck. Alex wishes he could more easily bring Douxie’s good mood back. He’s been quiet and worried far too much since they got here.

“My parents are gonna lose their minds,” Alex says. “And to think my mom was so happy that I chose a safe job like engineering.”

Douxie traces over the old scar on his chest, the one from his rescue after Ultios captured him, down the deeper scar at his hip. “Alex?”

“Hm?”

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Douxie murmurs.

“Of course I will,” Alex says, gently running his fingers through Douxie’s hair to work out the braid. “Promise me you’ll be careful too. I don’t like you this close to Merlin.”

“He won’t try anything,” Douxie says softly. “You’re going to be dragged into battle.”

Alex sighs. Yeah, he can understand why Douxie’s worried. “I promise. I’ll do my best to stay safe.”

“I can’t lose you,” Douxie whispers. “You know that, right? I can’t.”

You will one day, he doesn’t say, doesn’t voice the concerns he was reminded of earlier, the fear he has for the future. Neither of us can prevent that.

Instead, he kisses Douxie’s hair and holds him a little closer. “You won’t. We’ll get through this together, like we always do.”

Douxie turns his head again and shifts to get more comfortable. Alex closes his eyes, focussing on the faint buzz of Douxie’s core that can only really be heard when he pays close attention. Steady, reassuring, almost musical in its droning. It suits Douxie.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Douxie says, muffled into his skin.

Tomorrow will be more training, more practice before eventually Alex has to find himself fighting a war, but tonight he’s safe in bed with his husband. He falls asleep to a song built from soft breaths, heartbeats, and a humming core.

Notes:

Get it? A play on We Three Kings? I decided to rename it from what I posted on Tumblr for those confused.

Anyway! Our boys are knights now! Mostly because Arthur is desperate for help in the war but hey! Knights! Also - immortality angst from the other side. This chapter gave me more trouble than it's worth, or maybe that's just cause work was really busy this week, but I hope you all enjoyed!

Thank you for reading1 <3

Chapter 7: A Role Reversal

“Today,” says Merlin, “I will be taking you out to the forest to gather potions ingredients.”

It’s the day after Alex and Jim and Toby got knighted. Alex was more excited than ever to go to training this morning, rambling about how he’s a real knight now and maybe soon he can get real knight armour instead of the borrowed stuff and a real knight sword instead of the best they could find in the armoury. Douxie had rolled his eyes and pretended not to find his geeking out adorable. He’s glad Alex is having fun. Douxie is worried out of his mind but at least right now Alex has just been training. That won’t last forever.

Unfortunately, Douxie is stuck with Merlin and has to deal with his own “training” because Merlin doesn’t seem to get that they aren’t here to learn magic from him. Krel perks up at the idea of a field trip. Claire pretends to be excited, but Douxie knows her well enough to see that she’s wary.

“The forest that we’ve been warned to avoid because it’s too dangerous?” Douxie says.

“You won’t be joining us, Hisirdoux,” says Merlin. Douxie’s jaw drops in indignant anger. “Don’t give me that look. You have homework.”

“Homework!” Douxie exclaims. “You can’t give me homework! You’re not my teacher!”

Merlin waves his hand and a levitated book slams into his chest. “Read this and take notes. Clearly you have little training in flight.”

Douxie holds the book out with a frown. A Begynner’s Guide to Aërial Combat!? Douxie doesn’t need a beginner’s guide to anything! Fuck that, if Merlin won’t let him go on the field trip he’ll just use the time to research their time travel issue. Beginner’s guide. Fuck him. Fuck that.

“Krel, fair Lady Claire,” says Merlin. Douxie’s going to slap him if he calls her that one more time. He thinks Claire can tell because she puts a hand on his forearm and subtly shakes her head, plastic smile still in place. “We will head out immediately, while the day is young. The forest is safer in the sunlight.”

“Be careful,” Douxie tells Krel and Claire. He doesn’t like the idea of them alone in the woods with Merlin.

“We will,” Krel promises. “We’ll see you when we get back.”

“Come along,” says Merlin. “Hisirdoux, I expect to see your notes when we return.”

It takes all of Douxie’s effort not to roll his eyes. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

Merlin lets out a frustrated sigh and walks out of the room, beckoning Krel and Claire to follow. Douxie waves as they leave, throwing him apologetic looks over their shoulder. This isn’t necessarily bad. Time to research. When he’s sure they’re gone, he sets A Begynner’s Guide to Aërial Combat on the table and stands.

“Alright,” he mumbles. “Where to start?”

He walks over to the tall bookshelves. The coolest stuff is probably on the top shelf, out of reach of anyone who can’t fly and doesn’t have a ladder. Well, sorry, Merlin, but Douxie can fly and he’s gotten quite good at it. His feet lift off the ground and he heads up to the very top, running his fingers along the spines of the dusty old books. It’d be nice if he knew how Merlin organised this place, cause it sure isn’t the Dewey Decimal System. Not that that would help. Douxie was so bad at that back in school.

“Time, time, time,” he mumbles. “Literally anything about time.”

He stops at one book, less dusty so read recently, frowning. Ġeweald æf þe Ġeþances. Goddammit, of course he has books in Old English. Douxie can’t read Old English. He can read Middle English fine, but that’s basically normal English with bad spelling and a few vocabulary differences. Kinda. Sorta. But Old English may as well be Icelandic to him. Oh, well, that book probably isn’t relevant. He moves on. Oh, here’s one that mentions time! Well, it’s spelt weird, but that’s to be expected He pulls it out and skims it and sighs.

“Time-stopping enchantments,” he mumbles. “Useless. This is going to take forever. I miss the internet.”

He puts the book back and continues searching. He needs to figure out a spell to search this place for him. Actually, that might work. He flies back down to sit at the table, grabbing a quill, ink, and parchment so he can start working out a good spell, sketching out the general idea. Maybe this is where he would benefit from theory, but that’s more Alex’s interest than his. He’s always just been able to build spells in his mind, the right way or not. Probably a spoken spell, this one. He’ll need to word it exactly right. He taps the quill on the paper, absently chewing on his lip and trying to think.

“How did you do that the other day?”

He yelps and nearly snaps the quill in his hand and falls off his chair while whipping around. Mordred is standing behind him, green eyes wide and smile eager. Douxie lets out a sigh. “I am not kidding about the bell, Mordred, Seklos and Gaylen!”

“Sorry,” Mordred says sheepishly, brow furrowing a bit. He shakes his head. “But how did you do it?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Douxie says.

“Fly!” Mordred exclaims. “Can you teach me? Merlin won’t. He says I’m nowhere near skilled enough yet, but he’s going so slow with my training! It’s always books and meditation and more books. I never get to do anything – how do you Arcadians say it? – I never get to do anything cool!”

Whoops. Did they break the timeline teaching baby Mort to use cool like that? Eh, Douxie’s not fading from existence. He’s not even sure they can change the timeline, even if a part of him wants to. Anyway, he’s not surprised to hear Merlin’s been going excruciatingly slow with Mordred’s training. He knows a lot of Mort’s magic was self-taught, and he knows that somehow, Merlin will be responsible for Grandpa Arthur’s death. He probably has a vested interest in keeping Mordred undertrained and naïve.

“Well, I’m not sure I can explain it well,” Douxie admits. “But I can maybe try to teach you.”

“Yes!” Mordred cheers. “Merlin’s not gonna be back for hours now so we have plenty of time! Come on, we can use the same clearing from your spars! That was amazing, by the way. You did really well against Master Merlin.”

Douxie rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks. Yeah, that works. Uh, you’ll have to lead the way. I’m still getting used to Camelot.”

“Okay!” says Mordred. “Follow me!”

Douxie can’t help but smile as Mordred leads him to the clearing, rambling about what little he’s managed to read about flying and how it relates to magical theory. As strange as it is to see his dad as a teenager, he’s a pretty endearing kid. A smart kid, too, given half of what he’s saying is definitely flying over Douxie’s head. Alex should hang out with him sometime, he’s as big of a nerd as Alex is. Absently, he wonders if their kids will be like this, so eager to learn and excited to talk about the stuff he does know. He almost trips as soon as the thought crosses his mind. Their kids? Oh, boy, they’ve only briefly talked about that. Nope, not the time, Doux, not the time.

Well.

Maybe the time?

He shakes his head, forcing himself to zone back into whatever Mordred is still talking about. “–and it’s probably related in some way to levitation spells, which you think would make it a lot easier, but trust me, I have tried levitating myself and it did not end well.”

“Yeah, generally, that doesn’t end well,” Douxie agrees. Yes, he tried that too as a kid. “Flying doesn’t feel anything like casting a spell, anyway.”

Mordred gives him a startled look. “It doesn’t? Aw, man, that’s going to mess with all of my ideas about how to fly.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Douxie says. “My dad always said that flying is about instinct and emotion. You’re part fae so you should have a lot easier time figuring that out than I ever did.”

“But aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry?” says Douxie.

“Part fae,” Mordred clarifies. If Douxie didn’t know better, he’d say Mordred looks suspicious. “I can see your aura and it’s definitely not all human. Neither is Krel’s.”

“Oh, uh,” Douxie manages. He was waiting for someone to call him and Krel out on their auras. “Well, my dad’s grandmother was fae, the one I told you about? But Krel and I were adopted by him so… but I’ve been told we have weird auras. I can’t see them.”

“Maybe that’s it,” murmurs Mordred. He shakes his head. “Fae and part fae can usually see auras anyway. But Papa’s aura is kind of fae-ish because he was adopted by a fae so that could be it with you and Krel.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” says Douxie, knowing full well that that is not what makes his and Krel’s aura weird. He can’t exactly say that Krel’s an alien and he has an alien core so he’ll just need to let Mordred assume what he wants to. Confirming or denying anything is too risky.

“You had a hard time learning to fly?” Mordred asks.

“Yeah, and U- Dad was no help,” says Douxie. “I learned flying way later than Krel and Steve did.”

“Krel and Steve can fly too!?”

“Whoops,” mumbles Douxie. “Yes, they can. Uh, don’t mention that to Merlin, will you? He already doesn’t like us.”

“Steve has a fae-ish aura too,” Mordred muses, eyes narrowing again. “But you and Krel were adopted… is he your cousin through your adoptive dad?”

“Yes,” Douxie says. It must be weird for Steve to see his ancestor as a literal baby. Douxie is pretty sure baby Gaheris will grow up to be Steve’s ancestor, unless they have more time before Anna’s death and the fall of Camelot than he originally thought. “Steve is part fae, if that’s what you’re getting at. He uses some fae stuff in his healing. I should know, he’s saved my life with it before.”

“Woah,” says Mordred, a smile forming on his face. “That’s incredible. I don’t get to meet many other part fae.”

They’ve reached the clearing by now. It’s once again coated with a thin layer of snow. Douxie’s a little worried it’ll be a bit icy in places after whatever the hell Krel did that melted all the snow last time. Well, maybe having a difficult terrain will help Mordred in some way.

“Alright, so everyone I know who can fly pretty much learned in combat,” Douxie says. “Usually spur of the moment. Krel manages to learn it in combat training though, so… how about a spar?”

“Me? Spar you?” Mordred stammers. “But you’re a master wizard!”

“I’m really not,” says Douxie. “And relax. It’s just a friendly spar to see if we can’t get you off the ground. Plus it’s good to know magical combat and you said Merlin never teaches you.”

“That’s true…” Mordred says. A grin splits his face and he runs to the clearing. “This is going to be so much fun! I know how to do normal combat a little bit, but it doesn’t look that similar at all.”

“It’s similar but different at the same time,” says Douxie, walking out more carefully. The snow crunches under his feet but luckily the clearing doesn’t seem too slippery. “Do you know how to make weapons?”

Mordred is practically vibrating with excitement by now. “I get to learn how to make a magic weapon?”

“You sure do!” Douxie says. Aw, he’s adorable. Douxie loves kids. “Okay, it’s really simple. Most people end up favouring one type of weapon, even though they can make others. I favour a battle-staff, like this.”

He summons his staff, trying to focus on the feeling of calling it into existence so that he can describe it to Mordred somehow. The familiar weight in his hands is comforting. He’s never quite managed to understand how a weapon made of magic can have weight at all, but he’s learned not to question it too much. That’s Alex’s thing, researching the science behind the magic. Mort gave him his login info for the LWU thesis website years ago and Alex reads the new ones religiously every year. Nerd.

“So like all magic, it’s about focus and intent,” he says. “I am… not going to be very good at explaining this, so bear with me.”

“Focus and intent,” repeats Mordred. “Sounds simple enough.”

Douxie knows Mort was a magical prodigy as a kid, so he should be easy to teach, right? Oh, that’s weird, to think that he’s the one that’s teaching Mordred how to make weapons so that one day Mort will be able to teach him in turn. That’s so weird to think about. Douxie is going to get a headache if he goes down that path so he pushes it to the back of his mind and gives Mordred an encouraging smile.

“It will become easier as you get used to it,” he says. “It won’t even need focusers eventually, once you’ve figured out your weapon and start summoning it more often. Krel’s weird in how easily he can summon a variety of weapons. Most of us stick to one. My battle-staff, for example, and my childhood friend used a spear.”

“So… focus on creating a weapon?” says Mordred.

“Basically,” says Douxie. Yeah, he didn’t explain that well at all. No wonder Mort never explained anything in an easy-to-follow way if he learned this stuff from Douxie. Maybe he should read up on magical theory after all.

Mordred nods and holds out his hands, bronze focusers lighting up in front of his palms. After a few moments of concentration, a bronze dagger sparks into existence and Mordred closes his hand around the hilt, eyes lighting up.

“I did it!” he exclaims. He makes a couple of slashing and stabbing motions, then frowns. “I don’t think this is right though.”

“Cycle through ideas,” Douxie encourages. “You’ll know when you’ve found the right thing. Most people do.”

“Alright, ideas,” murmurs Mordred.

The dagger fizzles away and Mordred flares his focusers again. This time, he summons a staff like Douxie’s. Douxie grins and shows him a few stances, and he eagerly copies them before shaking his head. Douxie probably could nudge him in the right direction, but he wants Mordred to be able to figure it out on his own. Next he summons a crossbow and tries shooting it. Douxie ducks as a bolt soars through the air where his head just was and Mordred gives him a sheepish laugh and vanishes the crossbow.

“Okay, I figured that one was a no,” Mordred admits.

Finally, he closes his eyes and holds out his hands. The familiar bronze dual swords that Douxie knows form and he catches them. Douxie is momentarily stunned silent. It’s so easy to sometimes forget who he’s talking to, that this child will grow up to be Uncle Mort, will one day sacrifice his life to save the world but more importantly to save his kids. Seeing him grinning, green eyes bright and dual swords brandished proudly, is an instant reminder of the man Mordred will one day be.

“These,” Mordred says decisively. “These are right. Do you think so?”

Douxie mentally shakes off his thoughts and smiles. “I think they suit you perfectly, Mordred.”

“Are we gonna spar now?” Mordred asks hopefully.

“Yep!” Douxie says. “Remember, this isn’t like a mundane spar. You want to use your magic to your advantage. Almost any spell can be a weapon or a shield if you’re creative, so be creative.”

“Creative, got it,” says Mordred.

“I’ll recap basic sparring rules: no killing, no maiming–" and because Douxie really can’t resist– “so if you were plotting my murder, hold off until after the spar.”

“Boo!” Mordred calls. “You’re not funny Douxie!”

Douxie laughs. Okay, he can see why Uncle Mort pulled that every time. Oh, no. He’s becoming his dad.

Maybe that’s a sign.

Bad Douxie! Back to sparring, think about the whole kids question later.

“Funny or not, I am an experienced wizard,” Douxie says. “I won’t dare to call myself a master or anything like that, but I do have combat training and I’ve been in active, life-threatening fights before. I’m sure you can hold your own, but don’t be let down if you can’t, okay?”

“Alright,” says Mordred, bouncing on his heels.

“We’ll start simple,” says Douxie. “Try to land a hit on me using magic. Don’t focus on flying. It was never any of our intent to learn to fly when we learned, so focusing on winning the spar is much easier and might result in flight in the end anyway.”

“Right, okay, land a hit with magic,” repeats Mordred. “I can do that. Totally.”

Douxie forms his battle-staff and grins. “Your move, kiddo.”

Mordred charges. Douxie easily side-steps this attack and then brings his staff up to catch the swords as they whip back around. It’s weird to be the more experienced one in a fight. Mordred is clumsier at this age than he ever was in adulthood. He’s also heavily reliant on his swords.

“Magic, Mordred,” Douxie reminds him, easily twisting out of the way of another slash of the swords. “This is wizard training, not knight training!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know!” Mordred says. He vanishes the swords hesitantly and flares focusers, copying Douxie’s own move against Merlin and levitating a few stones to use against Douxie. Douxie grins and bats each away with his staff, then catches the last two with magic and sends them flying back at Mordred.

Since he’s having Mordred work on the offensive side, he stays on the defensive instead of attacking back after that. This is just a beginner’s spar. Whenever he trained with Uncle Mort, he was either working on defensive or offensive until he got good enough at both to combine them. Somewhere between here and then, Mordred must get plenty of training in magical combat, but for right now he’s still learning. Douxie throws up a shield when Mordred levitates sticks as his next projectile.

“Be creative!” Douxie calls.

“I’m trying!” Mordred says, but he’s grinning so at least he seems to be having a good time. He looks around, cataloguing his environment. Good, he should learn to always use that to his advantage. Something must catch his eye because he runs past Douxie. Douxie whirls around in order to keep his eyes on Mordred. He doesn’t want to make this easy on him, although he doesn’t want to make it harder either. Some sort of nice, happy medium. Douxie hopes he’s providing a nice, happy medium.

Mordred flings his hands out, focusers lighting up, and sends tendrils of bronze magic up to the tree tops. Huh, what is he doing? Douxie stays on the defensive, staff poised in front of him, as Mordred wraps his hands around the magic and pulls. He grins cheekily at Douxie.

“Hey, Douxie,” he says. “You like snow?”

“What?”

“I said, do you like snow?” Mordred repeats with a cheeky grin, letting go of the trees which snap back into place, sending all the snow that had accumulated on its branches flying at Douxie. Ah, clever! Douxie throws up a fire spell to melt the snow before it can hit him, but that momentarily obscures his vision and when the flames clear, he’s lost track of Mordred.

Alright, smart kid. He knew what he was doing. Douxie should know better than to underestimate him. Mort was always crafty when it came to magic.

He closes his eyes and focuses. If Mordred has managed flying, this won’t help, but if not, he might be able to hear the snow crunching under his boots – aha. There he is. Douxie whips around and brings his staff up just in time to block Mordred’s swords.

“Aw, come on!” Mordred exclaims.

“Gonna have to try harder than that, bud!” Douxie says, amused. “But I’ll give you points for creative thinking this time!”

Mordred grins. “Really?”

“Yep,” Douxie says, eyes narrowing. He doesn’t trust that face. He’s seen that face in the mirror before. That’s the face of a little shit.

Sure enough, while he’s distracted, a snowball hits him in the back of his head, still painted with bronze magic as the snow scatters and falls onto his shoulders. Mordred lets out a loud, delighted laugh. Douxie lets his staff vanish.

“And that’s game, isn’t it?” he says fondly. “Well done, distracting me while levitating the snow, I’m guessing?”

“You got it!” says Mordred cheerily. His smile falls a few moments later. “But I didn’t manage to fly.”

“Maybe we should try a spar with you on defence,” muses Douxie. “That’s how Krel learned, I think. That’s the only other thing I can imagine. Jumping from high places did absolutely nothing for me so it’s not even worth the attempt.”

“Jumping from high places, you say?” Mordred says.

“No,” Douxie says firmly. “We are not jumping from high places. I just told you it didn’t work.”

“It didn’t work for you,” Mordred says, vanishing his swords and scanning the trees. “But it might for me!”

“I am really, very confident that it won’t,” says Douxie.

Mordred’s grin widens and he takes off running for the tree line. “You can catch me!”

“Mordred Pendragon, don’t you dare!” Douxie yells after him, Too late, Mordred is already climbing the first tree he can find. Douxie runs over and then floats up to his level, arms crossed disapprovingly.

“Well, I’m up here now,” Mordred says, climbing onto a branch. He gives him an innocent smile. “You don’t look strong enough to pick me up so I guess I have to just give it a try!”

“Gee, thanks,” says Douxie. “No, absolutely not. You’re going to climb back down like a normal person. Your dads would kill me if I let you jump out of a tree!”

“You can catch me!” Mordred insists, standing and balancing carefully on the creaking branch. Douxie does not like that sound one bit. “I’m not even that high up!”

“Mordred Pendragon,” Douxie says again. He wishes he knew his middle name. Does he even have a middle name? Never mind. “Down. Now.”

“But Douxie,” Mordred whines.

“Don’t ‘but Douxie’ me, young man,” Douxie says. Gods, now he really feels like he’s turning into his dad.

Mordred sighs. “Fine. I’ll get down–”

There’s a loud, angry crack that cuts off Mordred’s sentence. Both of them both look at the base of the branch in alarm, just in time for it to splinter and send Mordred plummeting with a shriek. Douxie throws out his hands to catch him with a levitating spell, but he’s only fast enough to slow the fall and not stop it completely. Mordred groans on the ground, rubbing his left wrist with a wince. Douxie flies back to the ground and runs to him, eyes wide.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “That was stupid! I told you not to even consider and what did you do? Climbed a tree and argued with me until the branch broke!”

“Sorry, Douxie,” Mordred mumbles sheepishly. “Guess it really doesn’t work that way.”

“No more jumping from high places,” Douxie says firmly. “You’re going to give me a heart attack. I’m twenty-six. Too young for a heart attack!”

“A what?” says Mordred, crinkling his nose.

“Never mind,” says Douxie, helping him up and gently taking his left arm to look over it. “Hm, I don’t think it’s broken, but let’s get you to the healers. Steve can fix you right up.”

Mordred nods, eyes glued to the ground as they start walking. He gingerly cradles his injured arm, lips pulled into a frown. “You’re not gonna teach me again, are you?”

“What?” says Douxie.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” murmurs Mordred. “I just really want to learn. Merlin barely teaches me anything anymore because he’s so busy working on the war effort. Or maybe because I’m bad at listening.”

“Hey, no,” says Douxie gently, pausing to rest his hands on Mordred’s shoulders and give him a reassuring smile. “I’d be happy to teach you again if you wanted. Yes, you should have listened to me, because now you’re hurt. But you’re a lot like me, Mordred, so I understand. Just promise me you’ll be more careful in the future.”

Mordred nods quickly. “I promise!”

“Good,” says Douxie, ruffling his hair. “Now come on. Let’s get your wrist fixed.”

 

 

Douxie brings him straight to Steve in the healing wing of the castle. He’s sure all the other healers are reliable, but he trusts Steve more than a bunch of strangers. Mordred has cheered back up with the assurance that Douxie’s not mad at him. Mort always said Douxie was a lot like him and Douxie never really believed it growing up. Seeing Mordred now he definitely understands.

“There’s Tweedle-dee, where’s Tweedle-dum?” asks Steve as they walk over to him.

“Hello to you too, Steve,” Douxie says sarcastically. “No Krel today, believe it or not. I’m actually here for Mordred.”

“Prince Mordred!” Steve greets with a smile. “And what brings you in today, lad?”

“The Middle Ages is catching,” Douxie mumbles in Akiridion with a teasing smile.

Steve shoves him and responds in kind. “Shut up.”

Mordred’s brow furrows as he looks between them. Douxie’s smile tightens a bit and he waves a hand. “Uh, just speaking… a language from home.”

“Right…” says Mordred carefully. “Um, and, I hurt my wrist.”

“Let me see,” says Steve. Mordred offers his arm and Steve gently prods at it. “Hm, probably sprained. I’ll do a scan to be extra sure. How’d you manage this?”

Mordred mumbles something unintelligible, eyes anywhere but Steve or Douxie. Douxie nudges him and raises an eyebrow. He sighs and repeats, louder, “I fell out of a tree trying to learn how to fly.”

Steve glances at Douxie and lets out a soft chuckle. “Well, doesn’t that sound familiar? Alright, sit down while I get some paper for the scan. I’m sure you’ve had these before.”

“Yes, sir,” says Mordred shyly.

“Oh, he certainly has,” says one of the nearby healers, amusement colouring her voice. “Prince Mordred has been known to blow things up in his face from time to time.”

“Healer Agnes!” Mordred complains. “You’re making me look bad in front of my new friends.”

Douxie pats his head with a laugh. “I also have a penchant for blowing things up in my face. Ask Steve.”

“You and Krel both,” says Steve. “I learned healing because of these dumba- uh, because of these guys. Krel particularly. Swear to god there’s no self-preservation in their family.”

Douxie would love to argue that, except that he’s not wrong at all, so instead he pouts. “You’re in our family too.”

“I never claimed to be better,” Steve says. “Although I am. Marginally.”

“Marginally,” snorts Healer Agnes. “You’ve barely been here, what, a week? And I can already tell the first time we get a rush you’re going to overdo it healing.”

Steve blushes. “Yeah, well, at least I don’t usually actively throw myself into danger. Anymore.”

Mordred hides a giggle behind his good hand. Steve pricks one of his fingers on the other hand and presses it to the paper to get the scan going. Healing is one of the very few arts where any kind of blood magic is still acceptable in modern times, just because sometimes it’s flat-out necessary. Douxie still thinks they need to invent a scan that doesn’t use blood.

“Yep, sprained,” says Steve. “Alright, we have a potion for that, but I still want your wrist braced for a couple of days to be safe.”

“Aw, do I have to?” Mordred whines.

Steve stares at him for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re a mini Douxie. Yes. You do have to.”

“How are you liking working with the healers here?” Douxie asks while Mordred pouts and lets Steve wrap his arm and brace it stiff.

“It’s nice,” says Steve, smiling. “I’ve never really had the chance to work with other healers before. They’re teaching me a lot.”

“He’s eager to learn,” adds Agnes. “It’s nice to see. He reminds me of Queen Morgause.”

Steve looks startled to be compared to his many-greats-grandmother. “I do?”

Mordred looks curious too. Douxie knows Morgause left when he was very young and he didn’t really remember her. He’s often wondered if Mort resented her for leaving. He loved the three parents he did have with all his heart, but… well, even Douxie has felt those irrational twinges of resentment towards his own parents. It’s stupid, they didn’t ask to get killed when he was a baby, and Douxie doesn’t think he’ll ever get the full story of how they died, but… well, if he feels like that for no good reason, why wouldn’t Mort resent Morgause for leaving him and Anna to go travel?

“She intended to return, you know, birthdays, maybe,” he remembers Mort telling him at one point. “She died before she could, but she didn’t abandon us.”

Wishful thinking or not, it’s clear to Douxie she didn’t want to be a mother to them. That had to sting. Still, regardless of any possible resentment, Mordred looks hopeful to learn more about his mother.

“Aye, you have her passion for learning and for helping others,” says Agnes with a fond smile. “Plus you make potions like she did.”

“Well?” preens Steve.

“Panicking the whole time,” Agnes teases.

“This is bullying,” says Steve. “You’re mean to me.”

“But you do have her talent in potions, even if you stress about it far too much,” says Agnes. “Mordred gets that from her. He’s excellent at brewing all sorts of potions.”

Mordred’s cheeks tinge pink. “I don’t know if I’d say excellent.”

Agnes pats his shoulder. “Well, I would, your highness. Even if your more experimental potions blow up on occasion.”

“Of course they do,” Douxie mumbles fondly. He’s starting to see why Mort was stressed raising him. Was he this bad at fifteen? He should ask Alex. Alex was the only one here that knew him at fifteen. He is aware he was older than fifteen when he was throwing himself off tall places trying to fly, but in his defence, nobody gave him concrete proof that wouldn’t work. Douxie told Mordred directly that jumping off tall places wouldn’t help.

Teaching Mordred has been really fun. It’s weird every time he remembers that Mordred will grow up to be Uncle Mort, but Mordred is endearing even with the stress of him jumping from tall places and potentially blowing things up. Maybe one day he’ll be training his own kid in magic, and maybe they’ll be stressful and chaotic and prone to blowing things up, but Douxie can’t help but look forward to that day anyway.

Notes:

Douxie takes after Mort in many ways! Including the dad instinct. :3 Also, I wish I could find a good translator for Old English so I just have to hope none of y'all are fluent in it. I did do research on archaic spellings of words though so I didn't pull A Begynner’s Guide to Aërial Combat out of my ass

Had fun writing this one, obviously, since I got it done so fast kfjjsgra I hope you guys enjoyed reading it! <3

Chapter 8: Once and Future Trollhunter

It’s been about a week since they arrived in the past. It’s not so bad here, now that Jim is starting to get used to it. All of their fellow knights are friendly, at least the ones they’ve met. Jim still can’t believe they’re knights now. They haven’t been sent out on any cool knight missions yet, but it’s only a matter of time and Jim is excited. He can’t be the Trollhunter here, but he can be Sir Jim, Knight of Camelot. And that’s practically the same thing! Protecting the innocent, fighting against evil, no longer waiting for something to come around and give him purpose again. Ah, it is good to be back.

“Isn’t this great, Tobes?” he asks as the two of them spar out in the forest. It’s well past midnight if their phones are at all reliable. Thank you, Krel, for making them solar-powered or whatever he did to make them work without any way to charge them. It’s a risk to be out here this late, but they talked about it and decided it was worth it. Jim needs to train in his troll form too, after all, and there’s no one he trusts more to have his back than Toby.

“It is pretty cool,” Toby agrees. “Personally, I’m holding out hope that Arthur makes me a real duke, not just a Spring Fling duke.”

“Aw, Toby, you’ll always be a duke to us,” Jim says.

Toby laughs. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

“Knights, though,” says Jim. “So! Freakin’! Cool!”

He brings up his borrowed sword to catch Toby’s hammer, skidding back a couple feet. Even hidden in the woods, it’s too risky to bring out Daylight. If the Gumm-Gumms show up, they’re bound to recognise the sword and the armour. So it’s no armour and a borrowed sword for now. He’s excited to get his own sword. They’re supposed to soon, along with slightly more personalised armour and, uh, some kind of fancy medieval shirt with their family coat of arms on them. When they all brought up not having those, Lancelot just laughed and told them to browse through the existing heraldry and create their own.

“Can’t wait to tell Nana,” says Toby. “And Varvatos. Man, he’s gonna eat this up! He’ll want all the tales of our glorious battles.”

“I actually kind of missed this!” says Jim. Well, that’s an understatement. “Training again, the thrill of battle – just like old times!”

“We almost got killed, like, a lot in old times,” Toby points out.

“But we didn’t!” Jim says brightly. “A life of almost is a life of never! And we have never been killed!”

“Krel has.”

“Most of us have never been killed!” Jim corrects. “We can continue the trend, don’t even worry about it. You and I make a great team and it’s not like they’ll throw Alex to the wolves before he’s ready. We should enjoy it, Tobes! Really soak in the action.”

“Jimbo, I love you, but you’re off your rocker,” says Toby. He de-activates his war-hammer and yawns. “And it’s getting late. I for one am not half-nocturnal like you are.”

“I don’t know if I’m really half-nocturnal,” muses Jim. “I should ask Strickler.”

“Hasn’t he told you to call him Walter?” Toby teases.

Jim shudders. “He has and it was one of the most horrifying days of my life. Not a chance in hell I’m calling him Walter.”

“You think I can call him Walter?”

“You can try,” says Jim. “It might be funny if you do.”

“I’m gonna do it,” Toby says with a grin. “To his face. Watch him try to give me detention.”

“I definitely wouldn’t doubt that.”

He sheathes his sword as they start walking back towards the city. He stays in troll form, just in case they end up ambushed or something. He’ll be better able to defend Toby like this. Not that Toby can’t defend himself, because he absolutely can, but Jim likes protecting his friends. He doesn’t expect to run into any humans out here. Everyone seems far too afraid of the Gumm-Gumms to venture out of the city. Maybe there would be patrols, but Jim is fairly confident they can avoid those.

“There’s so many stars here,” Toby says, head tilted back to stare at the clear night sky through the trees. “Crazy what no light pollution does.”

“It really is nice here,” Jim agrees. “I mean, definitely want to get home. I want WiFi and hot showers back.”

“Tell me about it,” Toby groans. “After training all I want is to take a long shower and then flop into bed. And instead I have to settle for a lukewarm bath.”

Jim nods morosely. “Modern luxuries. Really took ‘em for grant-”

His voice breaks off in a yelp as he’s suddenly dragged back by acrid green chains. Toby immediately whips out his war-hammer, but Jim recognises the magic as it washes over him. No, no, no, he can’t be controlled again! He can’t be used against his friends again – can't wake up to Toby bleeding and what if he had done worse, what if he had killed his best friend? He shoves down panic as Merlin steps out of the bushes.

“Sir Tobias, step away from the changeling,” Merlin says icily. Toby’s glare hardens and he moves to be more in front of Jim.

A couple of other knights step out of the bushes. Ikram and Dinadan and...

Oh, no.

“Sir Tobias?” says King Arthur, brow furrowed as he stares at them. “And... Sir Jim? Is that you?”

Jim swallows. “Um, hi. Your majesty. It’s not what it looks like. Well, it’s exactly what it looks like, but it’s not–“

“You’re a changeling!” Merlin growls. “One of Morgana’s spies, no doubt. I should have known! I knew you Arcadians were suspicious.”

“Enough, Merlin,” Arthur says firmly. “Let Jim continue speaking. Go on, lad.”

“Look, I may be a changeling, but I swear I’m not working for Morgana!” Jim insists. “I was born human, just like all of you!”

“One of her earlier experiments,” murmurs Arthur, eyes wide. “I wasn’t aware any of you survived to adulthood.”

“Did you know about them – us – her experiments?” Jim asks, eyes narrowing. It seems out of character for the Arthur he’s slowly been getting to know, to knowingly allow Morgana to experiment on children of any species. Jim has spoken to Strickler and Not-Enrique about it. Not-Enrique was taken from his troll family too young to remember a time before being with the Janus Order, but Strickler remembers.

“Not until it was far too late,” Arthur admits. “I regret that I didn’t know sooner, soon enough to stop her. It wasn’t until after she killed my dear Guinevere that we learned many of the things she’d been doing.”

Jim owes Morgana a lot. The version of her he knows in his time has changed, and she’s the reason he can still live in the human world he grew up in. He’ll never forgive her for hurting Claire and he’ll always harbour wary resentment for her part in the war against the Gumm-Gumms, but – well, he wouldn’t call her a friend, but they’re on friendly terms. A part of him doesn’t want to taint that by learning more about her actions in Camelot.

“How long... how long did she get away with it?” he manages, despite himself. It sounds more accusatory than he meant it to be

“There aren’t many of your kind, if that’s what you’re asking,” Arthur says softly. “The ones born human. I can only assume she’s perfected her method for troll-born changelings. We keep seeing more pop up. I didn’t know she travelled as far as Arcadia, though, so I fear now there are more like you than we know of.”

“I’m the only one like me that I’ve met,” Jim says carefully. It’s true – he's never met another changeling that was born human. He didn’t know Morgana ever tried that to begin with.

“Are we quite done yet?” asks Merlin impatiently. “The longer we stand here, the sooner the changeling’s allies will arrive! We need to take him back and lock him in the dungeon.”

“Jim hasn’t done anything wrong but be alive,” Toby says hotly, grip so tight on his war-hammer that his knuckles are white as the snow. “If you’re going to punish him for that, then I guess the tales we heard about the great King Arthur were nothing but myth.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’ve already told you that I will not discriminate based on species. You’ve given me no reason to distrust you.”

“Arthur!” Merlin snaps. “You cannot have a changeling knight.”

“Why not?” says Arthur. “Let him down. They swore to protect Camelot when they both became knights.”

“That was not a binding oath,” scoffs Merlin. “Anyone could swear such a thing and bring us down from the inside. We cannot trust him. Your father–"

“I am not my father,” Arthur says firmly, “and it would do you well to remember that every once in a while. Sir Tobias is right. Sir Jim has committed no crime. Existence cannot be a crime. Now let my knight down.”

Merlin glares at Arthur but releases his spell. Jim drops to the ground with a wince, relieved to be free from the old, familiar magic.

“Your blind trust is going to be the end of you, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin says.

Arthur steps forward and offers Jim a hand. Jim takes it, grateful, letting Arthur pull him to his feet. The king doesn’t spare Merlin a second glance. “I would rather go through my life thinking the best of people than the worst. It seems a sad life indeed to assume the worst.”

“I won’t let you down, King Arthur,” Jim promises.

Arthur smile and squeezes their still-clasped hands. “I know you won’t, Sir Jim.”

“I cannot wait till Tristan sees you like this,” says Dinadan with a grin. “Any more secrets for us, Sir Jim?”

Jim laughs. “Oh, I’m full of secrets – secret recipes!”

Toby groans. “You’re hilarious, Jimbo, truly hilarious.”

“It’s late,” says Ikram. “We should all return to town before we run into any actual enemies. I think we’ve covered enough ground for patrol.”

“She just doesn’t like me out on patrol,” Arthur stage-whispers to them.

“I do not,” Ikram agrees, arms crossed. “It’s far too dangerous. What are we to do if the king and the strongest wizard in Camelot get taken out in an ambush?”

Merlin scoffs. “Your lack of faith in me is frankly insulting, Lady Ikram.”

“Sir Ikram,” she corrects.

“Sir Ikram is correct, though, we should head back,” says Arthur. “Tomorrow, I believe we are well overdue for a visit to Dwoza.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. He recognises that name, if only vaguely, from some of Blinky’s history lectures. He glances at Toby to see if it’s familiar to him too, but catches him mid-yawn instead. He hides a laugh as they start back for the castle.

Well, at least he doesn’t have to worry about keeping his troll side a secret anymore. He just hopes it doesn’t end in disaster.

 

 

The next morning, they meet Arthur at the gates of the city bright and early. Anna is with him along with Lamorak, Dinadan, and another knight Jim doesn’t know the name of yet. Claire and Steve are coming with them, but Alex is staying back to train more with Lancelot and Douxie and Krel are staying back because Merlin is in a mood and insisted they stay. Jim doesn’t like that one bit, but he also doesn’t like leaving Mordred by himself with the bastard so maybe it’s better that Douxie and Krel are there.

“Field trip!” Toby exclaims as they walk through the snowy woods. “Man, this is so much more fun than boring old training again.”

“And herb hunting,” adds Claire.

“So remind me where we’re going?” says Steve. “Dozo? Or something?”

“Dwoza,” corrects Lamorak with a grin. “You’ll like it, trust me.”

Jim honestly has no idea what to expect. He spent a while last night trying to remember where exactly he recognises the name from, but he came up empty. Man, Blinky is gonna be so disappointed if he finds out the only thing that stuck was the name. It’s got to be significant for Arthur to be bringing them there.

“Let’s just say there are people I’d like you to meet,” says Arthur mischievously. “You’ll see. Patience is a virtue very useful for a knight.”

“Patience is a virtue very useful for a knight,” Toby mocks under his breath. Steve hides a laugh. Claire rolls her eyes fondly.

“So it’s really true?” says the knight Jim doesn’t know. “You’re a changeling?”

“Uh, well, yep,” Jim says awkwardly. “I sure am.”

“I’ve never met a changeling that wasn’t evil,” she says. “Then again, I haven’t met many changelings. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced, by the way, I’m Laudine.”

“Jim,” he says. “But, uh, you knew that.”

“You’re the talk of Camelot, you travellers,” she says.

Dinadan laughs. “You can say that again! Especially now that it’s got out about Jim being a changeling. People love new gossip topics. You’ll be old news in another week or so.”

“Has that really spread into town?” Jim asks uncomfortably. He doesn’t want people to be afraid of him. It explains the stares he got this morning, if the news has spread that fast.

“Probably Merlin,” says Lamorak, crinkling his nose. “Sometimes I think he wants to sow suspicion among the citizens of Camelot.”

“He doesn’t like us much, I don’t think,” says Steve.

“Understatement of the next nine centuries, dude,” Toby says.

Anna shakes her head. “He doesn’t like anyone very much, so don’t be too offended.”

“Merlin will warm up to you,” Arthur says. “He has a wary nature. Give him time.”

No thanks. But Jim nods anyway. He’s glad Lamorak seems to dislike Merlin. He wishes Arthur didn’t trust him so thoroughly, although luckily not so thoroughly that he takes his word on everything. Jim would probably be dead or at least imprisoned if that were the case.

“Or ignore him,” says Lamorak with a cheeky grin. “That’s what I typically do.”

Arthur laughs. “Don’t be a bad influence on our guests, Lamorak.”

“I’ll be whatever influence I want,” Lamorak says, winking at him. “I used to babysit you, you know.”

“Wait, seriously?” says Toby.

“He tells us the best stories of Dad’s childhood,” says Anna, smiling playfully. “Lancelot likes to say he’s a bad influence on us, but all he’s telling us about is what they did as kids.”

“Let me tell you, our king was a pain in the ass as a child,” says Lamorak.

Arthur’s cheeks are tinged with pink. “You are only seven years older than me, Lamorak.”

“Old enough to be constantly told to watch you while you and your friends snuck out of the castle,” teases Lamorak. He pitches his voice higher in what must be an effort to mimic teenage Arthur. “I’m Prince Arthur and I’m going to convince Lance and Gwen to follow me on a foolhardy quest for the Holy Grail!”

“You are insufferable, my old friend!” Arthur says.

Jim hides a laugh behind his hand. It’s nice to see Arthur as so human instead of some untouchable leader. Maybe that’s why his story survives until Jim’s time, because he was a people’s king and his people loved him. Krel should try to hang out with him more – Jim knows that this is the kind of king Krel wants to be, on the same level as his subjects instead of above them. It’s the leader Blinky tries to be. Sometimes Jim forgets that Blinky is in charge of Trollmarket because he almost never acts like it when people aren’t coming to them both with issues.

They continue talking as they walk. It’s sunny out today, a little warmer than yesterday, the evergreens dripping with melting snow. They still have their cloaks draped over their armour, because even warmer it’s still cold out. Jim isn’t used to this weather yet. They rarely get snow in Arcadia, and never in November. Never this much, either. Toby and Claire are both loving it. Jim has not made up his mind yet. It’s cold and the training areas get slippery and then he falls on his ass and embarrasses himself in front of all the other knights.

They eventually come to a bridge, carved out of dark stone and decorated with intricate designs and Trollish lettering. Snow rests on top, but strangely, no melting icicles are left, if there even were any to begin with. It’s a beautiful bridge, but that’s the only thing around. There aren’t even ruins.

“We’re here,” says Arthur.

“Not to question you, King Arthur, sir, your majesty,” says Steve, “but this is a bridge.”

Arthur glances back at them, eyes twinkling. “Ah, Healer Steve. This is far more than just a bridge.”

He pulls out a shimmering orange stone that looks rather like the horngazel. Jim tilts his head, eyes narrowing, watching as Arthur inserts the stone into a slot on the bridge. The carvings light up in orange and a swirling portal opens beneath the bridge. Jim tenses despite himself, immediately reminded of Killahead, but this portal doesn’t seem nearly as sinister.

“Follow me,” says Arthur.

Jim grabs Claire and Toby’s hands and they step through the portal together. He squints to adjust to the light, but then lets out a soft gasp as he looks around the bustling Trollish city, bright, alive, so much like Trollmarket it physically hurts to look at.

“Welcome to Dwoza,” says Arthur, “realm of the trolls!”

“Awesome-sauce,” Toby mumbles in awe. Jim laughs despite himself, his smile widening as he takes in the city. It’s bigger than Trollmarket ever was. There’s a sky here, golden and red hues dancing above them. The cliffs surrounding them are all carved into, stairways and buildings built right into the stone. A couple of gnomes dart past them, followed quickly by a pair of troll whelps. Jim sees so few whelps in Trollmarket so that alone surprises him. He’s asked Blinky about that – centuries of hiding and stressing over Gunmar’s potential return haven’t been kind to the trolls of Trollmarket. They’re recovering, slowly, but this place is more than Jim could have ever imagined.

“King Arthur!” greets a familiar voice. Jim’s head snaps to stare as Vendel approaches them, younger, with darker hair and unclouded eyes, smiling kindly and Jim can’t breathe. Vendel. It’s been years since he’s seen Vendel and all the apologies and thanks he wanted to give him if they ever met again die in his throat. This Vendel doesn’t know him, this Vendel doesn’t know he will be betrayed by a fellow leader and die and it will be all Jim’s fault. This Vendel is alive and happy, this Vendel…

Did Vendel know? Did he know Jim would one day end up in the past, that Jim would one day be a changeling? Or after nine centuries had he forgotten the names of King Arthur’s changeling knight and his friends?

“Vendel, my old friend, it’s good to see you, as always,” Arthur greets, clasping arms with Vendel and smiling. “I’d like you to meet two of our newest knights and their friends. These are Sir Jim and Sir Tobias, along with Lady Claire and Healer Steve.”

“An honour to meet you, humans,” says Vendel. “I am Vendel, son of Rundle, leader of the realm of Dwoza.”

“King Arthur! Princess Anna!”

Jim’s jaw nearly drops as more familiar faces run forward. Arthur laughs. “Blinkous Galadrigal! And Dictatious too, I see!”

“Oh my god,” Toby mumbles. “Look at his hair.”

Toby’s right. Blinky’s hair really is… something, a veritable mane of blue that Jim desperately wants to take a picture of so he can never let Blinky live it down when they get home. Does Blinky remember them? Jim doubts it. Blinky and Dictatious are both geniuses but they also both forget what they had for breakfast by the time they get to lunch. He’s sure Blinky remembers a changeling knight, but he wouldn’t remember Jim’s name, especially if Jim tries not to spend too much time with him.

“You don’t usually bring your new knights to meet us,” Dictatious is saying when Jim zones back in.

“Well, these ones are special,” says Arthur. “Particularly Sir Jim. Jim, if you will…?”

“Oh, uh, right,” says Jim. He’s suddenly having second thoughts. What if Dwoza hates changelings too? Oh, boy, here goes everything. He closes his eyes and shifts into troll form. He blinks a few times to stave off the brief dizziness that always comes with gaining so much height and body mass. He hears Blinky gasp.

“A changeling,” says Vendel softly. Jim can hear gasps and murmurs from the crowd that has started gathering. He can recognise a couple of faces. Bagdwella, Mugg, even Rot and Gut – well, he’s ninety percent sure those are Rot and Gut, considering he’s really never seen more than their eyeballs.

“A changeling that was born human,” says Arthur. “One of Morgana’s earliest experiments. He holds no allegiance to her or to Gunmar. I thought he could use some troll role models. Heh, troll models if you will.”

“Boo!” Toby calls.

“It seems my aunt travelled farther than we know,” says Anna. “Sir Jim and his friends come from a faraway kingdom, not Camelot. Although I believe you mentioned trolls there?”

“Yep,” says Toby. “Lots of ‘em, too. But they don’t live anywhere like this. This place is amazing.”

“Allies of Arthur are welcome here,” says Vendel. He doesn’t exactly look thrilled about it. “I trust you can give them a tour, Arthur?”

“Certainly,” he says. “Busy day?”

“Isn’t it always?” Vendel sighs. He smiles and nods to them. “Enjoy your stay in Dwoza, humans, changeling. If you should need me, Arthur knows where to find me.”

“My brother and I can aid you in your tour of our magnificent realm!” Blinky says as Vendel walks away. “As Dictatious said, it is not often that we get newcomers like yourself.”

“We welcome your company, Blinkous,” says Arthur. “Come along, my friends. Let me introduce you to the wonders of the trollish world.”

 

 

Jim misses his Blinky.

Their tour is going great. Blinky and Dictatious ramble about the history of Dwoza and Arthur makes sure they stay on track to mostly see the highlights. But being around this past version of his father figure just makes Jim ache for home. He wonders if this is how Douxie and Krel must be feeling hanging out with Mordred all the time. Worse, probably, because at least when Jim gets home Blinky will be waiting for him and they can laugh all about how Blinky never put the pieces together. Jim’s pretty sure he never put the pieces together. If he knew and didn’t warn them, Jim is going to be having a very long talk with him.

Seeing Vendel again stings too. Jim has maybe not done as good a job processing his trauma as he likes to pretend. Then again, no one expects to be rocketed back in time by a magic stone in the woods and suddenly see younger versions of dead people they cared about, so maybe he’s processed it totally fine and this has just completely thrown him off. He’s gonna go with that.

“It’s you! The changeling!” yells a young voice behind them. Huh, that accent is familiar. That voice is familiar. Jim turns, pointing to himself, only to freeze as soon as he does, the wind knocked out of him like he’s been hit in the chest with a baseball bat.

“Ah, young Draal!” says Blinky. “We were just giving Arthur’s newest knights a tour.”

“Well, not all of us are knights,” says Steve awkwardly. “I’m a healer, uh, Claire’s a wizard.”

“A changeling knight?” says Draal. He’s younger, of course he is, a teenager at most but Jim wouldn’t bet money on it. Forget what he said earlier about Mordred, this must be how Douxie and Krel feel. Draal looks so happy. His horns aren’t nearly fully grown yet, and he doesn’t have any of the familiar dents and scars in his stone from years of training and battles. Jim wasn’t ready. Someone should have warned him Dwoza was home to people he knew in the future. Jim should have remembered.

“That’s right,” says Arthur, clapping a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “A fine knight indeed! Camelot is lucky to have Sir Jim.”

“That’s incredible!” baby Draal yells. “One step closer to a troll knight, ha! I’m going to be a troll knight one day. Or maybe even the Trollhunter!”

“Trying to usurp me, youngling?”

Nope. Jim is going to faint. He hopes Claire is ready to catch him because Deya the Deliverer, the Deya the Deliverer is walking up to them, decked out in her armour, the legend herself, and Jim is going to faint.

“You’re old enough that I won’t have to!” Draal says.

“Cheeky, aren’t ya?” she laughs. She pats his head and scans them with a smile. She doesn’t trust them fully yet, he can see the way her eyes stay sharp as they trail over the group of them and linger on Jim. That’s okay. Jim is honoured to be mistrusted by Deya the Deliverer. The Deya the Deliverer!

“It’s good to see you, Trollhunter Deya,” Arthur says.

“And you as well, King Arthur,” she replies. “And new friends. Welcome! Always nice to see fresh faces among the human knights. The less influence Uther's leftovers have, the better.”

Lamorak raises an affronted hand.

“Except Lamorak, he can stay,” she amends.

“It’s – it’s an honour to meet you, um, Trollhunter,” Jim stammers out. Should he bow? Maybe he should bow? “I’m Jim. This is my best friend Toby, my fiancée Claire, and our friend Steve.”

“A changeling, I hear,” she says. “Never heard of one of your kind on our side before, but if Arthur insists.”

Jim is beginning to think Arthur has a bit of a reputation. While his trusting nature has definitely benefitted Jim and his friends, eventually it’s going to backfire. Probably with Merlin. Definitely with Merlin.

“Changeling Knight!” Draal exclaims. “Spar me! I’m training to be a warrior. It’s good for me to get practice!”

“Oh, uh,” Jim says awkwardly.

“Draal,” says Deya, “what has your father told you about challenging strangers to fights?”

Draal’s shoulders slump and he crosses his arms. “To not to.”

“Nevertheless, I would be interested in seeing our new changeling friend fight,” Deya says. Draal perks up hopefully. Jim swallows. Oh, no. “What say you, Sir Jim? A spar! Between Camelot’s new knight and Dwoza’s Trollhunter.”

“M-me? Spar you?” Jim manages, before sputtering out several unintelligible syllables even to himself. Blinky grins and slaps his back.

“It sounds like the boy accepts!” he exclaims.

Does it? Does it sound like that?

“Excellent!” says Deya. “Follow me to our Hero’s Forge!”

Oh, that’s cool, they have one of those here too. Wait. Wait, go back. Jim, spar the Deya the Deliverer? He’s going to get his ass handed to him on a silver platter! Then again, it’s Deya the Deliverer, so that’s kind of a compliment.

“Toby, tell me I’m dreaming,” he hisses to Toby.

Toby pats his arm. “Sorry, Jimbo, you are not.”

“Deya the Deliverer!” he whisper-yells, trying to keep his voice down so the others don’t hear. “I’m freaking out, Tobes, like, seriously freaking out!”

“Relax, you’ll be fine,” Toby says. “She won’t be trying to kill you. You’ve beaten G- that guy that was trying to kill you before! This’ll be like a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, really don’t think you’re right about that,” Jim mumbles.

“You needn’t be afraid of Deya, lad,” says Lamorak. Jim startles backwards and the older knight hides a laugh. “Or of me! No, but the Trollhunter is a kind soul. She’s probably just curious.”

“And I’m probably just gonna die,” says Jim.

“Relax, man, I can heal you,” says Steve. He frowns. “Not if you die. Can’t heal that. That was a one-time, uh, thing, that was a special case. Don’t die.”

“We aren’t planning on it,” says Toby, amused.

“Alright, Changeling Knight!” says Deya, stepping aside to reveal a stone arena eerily similar to the Hero’s Forge in Trollmarket. “We’re here.”

“Right, okay, this is gonna be fun, yep,” Jim stammers. “Very fun. Totally not gonna die.”

Deya laughs. “Breathe, youngling, it’s okay. Am I really that scary?”

“No – yes – no,” Jim says. He glances around the stands above the arena. A crowd has started to gather, eyeing him with distrust and wariness. That’s okay, Jim is used to being the exotic outsider. The first human Trollhunter, the first changeling knight. Plus most if not all of the changelings are probably still working for Morgana and Gunmar, so he understands their reservations about him.

He and Deya both walk into the centre. Jim draws his sword as Deya draws Daylight. Oh, Daylight. Jim misses Daylight so much.

“Ready, Changeling Knight?” Deya asks as they circle each other.

“As I’ll ever be,” Jim says.

Deya smirks and charges. Jim rolls to the side and pops back up to charge at her this time. She parries with Daylight, a grin splitting her face. She vanishes Daylight and instead summons an axe. An axe? Since when can the armour do that!? Jim gives Toby and Claire a bewildered look and they both shrug. He hopes it’s a gemstone powerup. He can ask Blinky when he gets home. He wants a cool axe, too.

He somersaults out of the way when she brings the axe down on him and runs along the edge of the arena. Even in troll form he’s still lighter and more agile than a lot of troll species are, so he’s not too worried on that side. Deya leaps after him, summoning Daylight again as she skids in front of him. Jim hits the ground and slides just past her, sweeping his sword at her legs. She rolls to the side and throws Daylight in his direction. It misses, embedding in the stone wall beside him.

Deya comes at him with a pair of daggers. On instinct, Jim tugs Daylight out of the wall and brings it up to catch the daggers. It’s only when Deya’s eyes widen that he realises his mistake.

“How are you doing that?” she asks.

“Doing what?” Jim says at first, before his brain finally catches up with him and he realises he is still holding Daylight, even as she backs off her attack. Fuck. He quickly lowers the sword and offers it to her. “Sorry! My bad! Uh, here’s your sword back.”

Better to play dumb. She takes Daylight back and narrows her eyes, clearly stunned. Only the Trollhunter can wield Daylight, but it looks like the magic doesn’t know what to do with two Trollhunters in one time period. It recognises him, that’s for sure. A glance up shows Vendel in the audience, looking just as suspicious.

Great. Fantastic. Good going, Lake.

“Uh, are we still – are we still, uh, sparring?” Jim asks awkwardly.

Deya readjusts her stance. “You bet we are.”

She charges again. This time she’s ready for him when he dodges, swerving right in order to catch him off-guard and force him to parry with his own sword. Jim might be able to summon Daylight away from her, but that would be a stupid move, so instead he jumps backwards and runs. She rolls right into his legs, knocking him into a somersault. Jim launches himself back to his feet, then uses the wall to gain height and jump over her. She whirls around just in time to catch his sword with Daylight again.

Then Daylight vanishes, and a second later he hears metal tap against metal and he looks down to see Daylight pointed at his abdomen.

“Dead,” Deya says with a smirk.

Aw, bested by his own trick. Jim should have been on the lookout for that one.

“That was fun,” he tells her, sheathing his sword and smiling. “It was an honour to spar with you, Trollhunter.”

“The honour is all mine, Changeling Knight,” she says. “I sense a kindred spirit in you, Sir Jim, and a fighting spirit as well. I can see you will be an excellent ally in this war.”

Jim’s cheeks heat up. “Thank you, Trollhunter.”

“Ha! Call me Deya, kid,” she says with a grin, slapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to your day. Let me know if you need anything!”

She waves to the others and leaves as the crowd begins to disperse. His friends run to him, Toby chanting his name and Dinadan and Laudine joining him. Jim laughs.

“Hey, Claire?” he says.

“Yeah?” she asks, lips twitching upwards in amusement.

“Think I might faint,” Jim says. This gets a laugh out of her. “I just sparred Deya, Claire! The Deya!”

“And you didn’t get your ass handed to you!” Toby says with a grin.

“Haha, you make Camelot proud, Sir Jim!” Arthur declares. “A fine knight indeed!”

Baby Draal starts rambling excitedly about the fight. Jim impressed him, that’s for sure. It feels good to have impressed this younger version of Draal, even if he seems to be at an age where just about anything could impress him. Jim’s impressed with himself, though. The Deya the Deliverer!

Yep, Jim is going to be reeling from this for the rest of his life.

Notes:

Dealing with so many characters is always a pain gsghlad but hopefully this chapter turned out enjoyable anyway! For the sake of the timeline we won't spend too much time in Dwoza, but hey - always fun to see younger versions of familiar faces!! Also, fanboy Jim. Enough said.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed! We're getting into the fun stuff soon >:3

Chapter 9: Lies and Illusions

Krel is literally going to die.

He means it too! His friends may laugh at him when he says it out loud, except Alex who is totally on his side, but it’s absolutely true. Even when he first came to Earth he wasn’t so out of his element, because at least they had rudimentary computers! This Middle Ages, this horribly simple, horribly primitive century is going to drive Krel insane. Over a week with nothing but his phone! Thank Seklos for his phone. It’s the only thing advanced enough to even begin to tinker on.

At the very least, their biggest problem being stuck here is the lack of technology. Between Mordred adoring Douxie, Lancelot taking a shine to Alex, and the trolls liking Jim, they’ve managed to settle themselves snugly into Camelot and, more importantly, into King Arthur’s good books. He wasn’t even mad about Jim being a changeling. That bodes well for if Krel is ever outed as an extra-terrestrial, but he’s confident in his transduction so he isn’t worried.

Today finds Krel and Claire in the library again. They’ve had very little luck finding a way home, but Merlin has a lot of books, so they have a lot more research to do. Douxie isn’t with them right now. He might be with Mordred, but it’s even more likely he’s bothering Alex. Krel has definitely not missed the not-so-subtle hints his brother keeps dropping about children. Krel shudders to think about a mini-Douxie running around, even if they’re mellowed out by Alex’s genes. He’s been told that humans can’t make children if they’re both male, but he’s not sure he believes it yet. It doesn’t seem like that’ll be happening soon, though. Krel can tell Alex hasn’t missed the hints either, but he seems to be pointedly ignoring them. Yeah, Krel is not going to touch that.

“I think I found something!” Claire exclaims.

Krel flies down from where he’s perusing the upper shelves to peer over her shoulder. “What is it?”

Claire narrows her eyes and then her shoulders slump. “No, wait, false alarm. This is about rapidly ageing wine.”

That’s pretty par for the course for what they’ve found so far. Krel found something similar about cheese earlier. They’ve also found potions for keeping your skin young, spells for ripening fruit and other spells for unripening fruit that’s gone mushy, records of artefacts that freeze time and cursed items that trap the victims in eternal time loops… but nothing about actual time travel. Maybe that’s for the best, maybe they should be glad Merlin doesn’t have that kind of info, except it means they also don’t have that kind of info and they don’t know how to get home.

Krel groans. “I swear to Seklos if Douxie got us stuck here forever I’m going to kill him.”

“At least you might live to see the twenty-first century again,” Claire laments. “Only, what, nine hundred years? Akiridions live longer than that.”

“Not if I die of boredom without technology!” Krel says. “At this rate, I’m going to have no choice but to invent electricity and then the internet. Alex will help me. He’d be okay breaking the timeline for this.”

“Invent hot running water while you’re at it,” Claire says.

“Good idea,” Krel agrees. He sighs and stretches. “Alright, this isn’t going anywhere. I’m going to go see if I can get some fruit or something from the kitchens. You want anything? I know they’re still mad at you for helping Mordred sneak in.”

“I’m good,” she says, ignoring the last part though Krel knows by her smirk she heard it. Never let it be said that Claire Nuñez doesn’t have a mischievous side. Krel thinks it comes from growing up with parents that wanted her to be perfect. He would know. One of the best things about his time on Earth was that Uncle Mort didn’t expect perfection from him, and he had the chance to be himself and have fun instead of putting all that aside for the good of the rest of the planet.

“Okay, then,” says Krel. “Staying here?”

“I’m going to keep reading,” Claire says. “There has to be something. Merlin’s tomb had all sorts of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff going on. He must have books on it!”

“Good luck,” mumbles Krel. He sighs and leaves the room, resisting the urge to pull out his phone and check it. Nothing to check here, no texts from friends or Aja, no chance of pulling up the internet to do research that way because the internet doesn’t exist yet. His phone is going to blow up with notifications when they get home, if they get home, because Aja will be texting him non-stop. Or maybe they won’t get home, and by the time he gets the first text from Aja he’ll have been waiting nine centuries and she won’t even know it. That’s a scary thought.

He’s not paying attention to where he’s going and instead walks right into someone wearing armour. They both stumble backwards. Krel looks up, an apology on his lips.

“Ugh, it’s you,” he says instead when he sees Merlin. Then he shakes his head. “I mean, my apologies, Sir Wizard.”

“Your apologies indeed,” Merlin says coolly.

Great, he’s in a mood. He’s been in a mood since Jim got caught. Krel tries to step around him, but Merlin blocks his way. He frowns. “Uh, I was just leaving. Did you need something?”

“I’m onto you, Krel Tarron,” says Merlin. Krel’s blood runs cold. How is Merlin onto him, exactly? Were they too obvious? Does he know they’re time-travellers? Worse, does he know about Gaylen’s core already? Krel didn’t think he could know, but Gaylen came from Earth so it’s not unreasonable that there would be tales of him here, too.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he forces out. It’s not even a lie. At this point, Merlin could be talking about anything.

“You and your brother may think yourselves clever, but you can’t hide your aura,” says Merlin. “Incredible power, and yet neither of you will show most of it. You, in particular... I can tell there’s far more to you than you’ll show. You both look human, but neither of you has a human aura.”

“Excuse me?” Krel says, well aware that his voice is pitching upwards the way it does when he’s alarmed. “Our auras are perfectly normal.”

“Normal for a fae, perhaps,” challenges Merlin. Oh, good, he’s drawn the completely wrong conclusion. However, oh, no, he’s drawn the completely wrong solution.  Of all the things for him to assume, this is probably one of the worst.

“Are – are you trying to say I’m a fae?” he manages.

“A fae spy, no less,” says Merlin, eyes narrowed. “And I will not allow you to spy any longer.”

Krel swallows and takes a few steps backwards. He channels his inner Toby for some kind of retort. “Okay, as the – Arcadians say, you are off your rocker, old man. Lay off the forest mushrooms.”

Yeah, he thinks Toby would be proud of that one. He turns to leave, as fast as he can, but he barely has half a second to realise he should have known better than to turn his back on Merlin. A flash of green fills his vision, and the world blinks abruptly into darkness.

 

 

Krel awakes to yelling. He can’t make out the words at first, just angry British voices that aren’t Douxie or Uncle Mort. Of course they aren’t Uncle Mort, but one of the accents is similar. His head is pounding and his arms tremble as he starts trying to push himself into a sitting position on the stone floor.

“–had a good reason for this, Merlin!”

Merlin? Merlin’s dead. Steve killed him! A few milliseconds later Krel finally remembers. Time travel. Merlin’s not dead and he in fact just knocked him out and apparently dragged him before the king.

“First a changeling and now I bring you a fae,” Merlin says hotly. “They are spies, Arthur, they are your enemies!”

“They are citizens of Camelot!” Arthur snaps. Krel sees his blue eyes glance down to him and soften some. “Sir Tristan, help him up, please.”

“On it, your majesty.” Strong hands gently pull Krel to his feet, and when Krel wavers, Sir Tristan keeps his hands on his shoulder to hold him up, offering him a gentle smile. “Merlin’s a paranoid sort, mate, don’t take it too personally.”

“What’s going on?” Krel asks, wincing at the sunlight pouring in and worsening his headache. “Why did he knock me out?”

“Merlin claims you are a fae spy,” says Arthur. “What say you to this accusation, lad?”

“I say it’s complete nonsense!” Krel exclaims. “I am not a fae and I am definitely not a spy!”

Arthur nods and gestures at him. “There, you see? Not a fae and not a spy. Fae can’t lie. We’re done here.”

“He could be part fae!” Merlin points out. “You know as well as I do that part fae can lie – your son certainly does so often enough.”

“Do not bring my son into this,” Arthur warns, eyes narrowing.

“Krel!” Speak of the devil, Krel glances back to see Mordred running into the room, followed closely by Douxie, Alex, and Lancelot. Oh, good, Krel feels much better with familiar faces. Mordred looks between his father and his teacher apprehensively. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you, princeling,” says Merlin.

“Krel,” Douxie gasps out, hurrying to his side and taking over steadying him from Tristan. Alex puts himself squarely between him and Merlin. Krel appreciates the thought, even if he doubts Alex could do much to defend him if Merlin attacked. “Are you okay? Sir Lancelot came and got us, said Merlin dragged you to Arthur!”

“I’m okay,” Krel says. “He thinks I’m fae or something.”

“What?” says Douxie, crinkling his nose.

“Look at their auras!” Merlin exclaims. He grabs Mordred by the arm and drags him to his side. “Apprentice! You cannot tell me their auras look human.”

Mordred’s lips twist into a guilty frown. “Well… no, no, they don’t, but that doesn’t matter! My aura isn’t human either! I’m more fae than them, Douxie said their adopted dad is fae, that’s all it is, just like Papa!”

“What!?” Merlin spins Mordred back around by the shoulders and shakes him.  “They admitted to this and you didn’t immediately inform me? Foolish boy! No wonder your father doesn’t want you as king!”

Mordred’s face falls. Arthur’s expression turns thunderous and he strides forward to pull Merlin away from Mordred. “Merlin, that is enough! Do not speak to my son that way!”

“If he’s truly stupid enough not to consider that important information to share with me–“

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn if their adopted father was Gunmar himself!” Arthur snaps. “So long as they mean us no harm!”

“Look, we aren’t fae spies,” says Douxie. “We’ll prove it if you can give us a way to.”

“Then let me remove any illusions,” says Merlin. “And submit to a truth spell!”

“Fine,” Douxie spits out. Krel tries not to glance at him in alarm. “But I don’t want you casting on us. Not after you knocked my little brother out.”

“Will you permit Lancelot?” asks Arthur.

Krel nods. “Lancelot seems a good man. We’ll allow it.”

He doesn’t like the idea of a truth spell, but Mort’s fae blood always made him scary good at detecting lies, so they’re both pretty good at twisting the truth to serve them as they need to. It helps that the lies in their story are mostly by omission. Most of what they’ve told people has threads of truth in it. Lancelot steps forward, giving them a reassuring smile.

“Okay, I’m going to use a spell to drop any illusions on you,” he says. They both nod. Krel is very glad he thought of using the transduction for Douxie’s eyes now. Lancelot’s magic washes over them like salty ocean spray at the beach. Nothing changes, but Krel expected as much. They aren’t under any illusions.

“See?” says Arthur. Merlin curls his upper lip angrily. “Alright, lads, now Lancelot will do the truth spell. I’ll be the only one asking questions.”

“Alright,” says Douxie. Lancelot’s magic washes over them again. Krel doesn’t feel all that different, which is good. He still has his wits about him so he can paint the right picture using the truth.

“First, to establish the spell works, what are your first names?” asks Arthur.

“Hisirdoux,” Douxie says.

“Krel,” Krel says. Part of him wonders if the spell does work, considering how normal he feels. He’s glad Arthur didn’t ask for full names. It’d be awkward to try to explain why Douxie left out the Penn part of his name when they first introduced himself. It’s not necessarily suspicious but it is really weird. Plus, it could tip Merlin off to the time-travelling. Maybe. The combination of Mort’s aura painted across theirs with the last name Penn… it’s too suspicious for a man that’s already incredibly suspicious.

“Alright, perfect,” says Arthur, as if that actually proved the spell worked. By the look in his eyes, he doesn’t care. This is a formality. “Do you mean any harm to Camelot or her people?”

“No, your majesty,” says Douxie. “We mean no harm to Camelot.”

“We mean no harm,” Krel echoes. Hm, that must be the spell, considering how he felt compelled to answer too despite the fact that Douxie already had. “We really do want to help protect this kingdom and all of humanity.”

Arthur nods, pleased. “Lancelot, drop the spell.”

Merlin’s jaw drops, clearly outraged. “Those were two questions, Arthur! If you can even count the first one!”

“That was all I needed to know,” Arthur says. “They mean no harm to Camelot. Isn’t that enough?”

“They’re clearly hiding something!” Merlin protests. “You have to be thorough!”

“They’re allowed to have their secrets, Merlin,” Arthur says firmly. “Being king does not entitle me to every private detail of their lives! I don’t care if they’re part fae, I don’t care if they’re dragons in disguise or secretly from the sun! They mean no harm to my kingdom. That’s all I care about.”

He has a good point. Krel tries to imagine what he would do in Arthur’s situation, if, say, Eli dragged someone to him with claims that they were an enemy spy. Not that New Akiridion has enemies yet. Or ever. Krel really hopes not to make any enemies. But if he did have enemies and someone was accused of being a spy, then he thinks Arthur’s way is reasonable. Find out if they mean harm, and if they don’t, then what’s the issue? Spies mean harm, that’s why they’d be spying. Merlin doesn’t seem to agree, lips curled in what can only be described as a snarl and eyebrows set low and angry over his icy eyes. Krel looks away. He can almost forget how scary Merlin really is when they’re both playing nice to each other, but right now? No, this is the evil Merlin that Krel met as a teenager. This is the man that tried to kill his friends and nearly destroyed the world.

He returns his attention to Arthur as the king bows low to them. “I deeply apologise for my advisor’s behaviour. This is unacceptable and will not happen again. You are honoured guests, and with Alex’s knighting, both of you are citizens of Camelot and therefore under my protection.”

“It better not happen again,” Douxie says. Alex gives him a look and he sighs. “But it’s not your fault, your majesty, and we appreciate the apology.”

Krel nods and offers him a smile. “You’ve shown yourself a good king. We’re proud to call ourselves your subjects.”

"Thank you, lad,” Arthur says as he straightens back up and smiles back. He then turns to Merlin, smile falling into a stern frown. “As for you, Merlin, this behaviour will not continue! Do not presume to treat our guests like criminals with no proof. Their species is irrelevant! They have done nothing to earn your suspicion.”

“Yes, my liege,” Merlin grits out. Seklos, if looks could kill, Arthur would already be dead on the floor. Merlin turns and starts to leave, snapping his fingers. “Apprentice! Come along. You are behind on your training.”

Mordred looks anxiously between his dad and Merlin before running after his mentor. Arthur sighs and rubs his forehead. Lance puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re free to spend your afternoon as you wish, lads,” says Arthur tiredly. “I truly am so sorry this happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” says Krel. “He hasn’t liked us from the start. It is what it is.”

“He grows more paranoid every day, I fear,” Arthur admits. “The war has worn on us all. I don’t mean to make excuses for him. He forgets this isn’t my father’s Camelot anymore. The circumstances of one’s birth mean very little to me. To my father, they were everything.”

“Seems you find people like that everywhere,” Alex says softly. Krel winces and nods. Arcadia is generally very accepting, and it’s gotten even better, but Krel still remembers people like Seamus’s father who judged him simply for what he looked like. Mother chose this form for him for a reason.

“I understand if you don’t wish to work with him anymore,” says Arthur.

“I’m not sure we have a choice,” Krel admits. “If he’ll play nice, so will we. Infighting is a quick way to lose a war. We won’t contribute.”

“But if he attacks us again we will fight back,” Douxie warns.

Arthur nods. “I understand. Thank you, both of you.”

“We won’t let you down, your majesty,” Krel promises.

“Since I doubt you want to go back to that stuffy old wizard’s study any time soon, why don’t Lex and I show you around town?” Tristan suggests brightly. “I know you two haven’t been out much.”

“That sounds nice,” Douxie says.

“I suppose you two can have the afternoon off of training, since you’re asking,” says Lancelot, smirking and raising an eyebrow. Ah, yes, Krel has seen that expression on Mort before. Sometimes it’s scary how much he was like his fathers.

Alex rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. Tristan barks out a laugh. “Don’t need to ask, the king said we could spend our afternoon as we wish!”

“You know he meant Douxie and Krel,” says Lancelot.

“Ah, but he’s right, I didn’t specify,” says Arthur mischievously. “By order of your king, you’re all free from training for the rest of the day!”

“King’s order, then, Camelot tour!” exclaims Tristan.

Lancelot shakes his head fondly. Arthur waves. “Have fun, be safe, stay inside the walls of the city!”

“Yes, Dad,” Douxie says half-sarcastically, before quickly covering his mouth, clearly startled. “I’m so sorry, that was a joke, my bad!”

Arthur laughs. “Don’t worry about it, Hisirdoux.”

By the startled look in Douxie’s eyes, he is going to worry about it, but Krel doubts it’s for the reason Arthur would think. Arthur looks so painfully like Uncle Mort that even Krel can’t stand to look at him sometimes. Of course the sarcastic “Yes, Dad.” would slip out. How could it not when the briefest glance leaves them seeing a ghost?

They wave to the kings and Tristan leads them out of the room. Well, at least Krel’s getting a break after all, and maybe the cool November air will clear his aching head a little bit. They’ll need to warn the others. Merlin has gone past suspicious of them now. It’s not over. Not nearly.

 

 

After they’re fairly sure most of the castle has gone to sleep, the group of them crowd into Jim and Claire’s room to talk. The others seem a little concerned when Krel and Douxie and Alex drag them in and close the door. Douxie casts a spell for privacy.

“Okay, party in our room, I guess?” says Jim, confused. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, no,” says Douxie. “Merlin issues.”

“Great, fantastic,” says Steve, throwing up his hands. “What now?”

“Well, he’s gone from suspicious to downright malicious,” Krel says. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard. He knocked me out today.”

“What, like that’s hard?” jokes Toby, though by the way his good eye narrows he’s concerned.

“Ha ha,” Krel says. “Luckily King Arthur believed us when we said we weren’t fae spies, but I don’t think Merlin is convinced. Steve, you especially need to be careful since you’re actually part fae.”

“Noted,” says Steve. “He knocked you out? And you didn’t come see me?”

“I’m fine,” Krel says. “It was probably a pretty basic knockout spell. And you’re not going to let me get away without a scan, are you?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Steve confirms.

“Jim, you’re on thin ice like we are,” Douxie says. “He’s not happy about you being a changeling. And he’s convinced Krel and I aren’t human either so he’s not happy about us.”

“Your auras,” groans Steve. “Dammit, there are spells to disguise those. Well, too late now.”

“I knew he didn’t like us, but I didn’t think he’d resort to violence,” says Jim, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. “He must have been pretty certain to show his hand so quickly.”

“Yeah, Arthur wasn’t happy,” says Alex. “Yelled at Merlin in front of us. You could tell Merlin was furious. He’s going to be horrible now, probably. Nothing like embarrassment to make an asshole worse.”

Krel feels bad for Mordred. The way Merlin spoke to him in the throne room rubbed him entirely the wrong way, and then he dragged him off for training. He hopes Merlin didn’t just go and yell at him more. Why does Mordred defend him? Merlin’s a jerk to everyone including Mordred.

“Any luck in the library?” Steve asks.

“Nothing,” Claire admits. “I was reading all day. I still think there’s something. The carvings on the walls of his tomb showed the future!”

“I wish I could put him in a tomb,” mutters Krel.

“Showing the future is entirely different from getting to the future,” Douxie says. He taps his head. “I see the future all the time. If that meant I knew how to time travel, we’d already be home.”

“No visions so far, right?” Toby checks. “Not seeing anyone’s core, no explosions?”

Douxie shakes his head. “As much as I feel like I’m tempting fate by saying this, no. No visions. At least, no discernible visions. If they aren’t especially alarming, it can be hard to tell the difference.”

“That’s a relief,” Krel murmurs. “No offence, but your visions usually mean bad news.”

“None taken,” Douxie says. “I’m right with you on that one.”

“Do we have any other ideas for getting home?” asks Steve. “With Merlin already acting up, I’d rather get away sooner than later. Eventually he’s going to make his move on Arthur and I don’t want to be here for that.”

“No leads short of asking the bastard himself,” says Douxie. “And I think we all agree that’s a bad idea.”

Steve groans and leans his head back. “Right. Yep. Okay, well… I guess we just have to play it safe right now.”

“Sounds like as close to a plan as we can get,” agrees Jim. He yawns and stretches his arms above his head. “It’s late. We should all get some rest.”

“Come on, Krel,” says Steve. “I gotta scan you. Night, guys.”

“Night,” Krel adds.

“Goodnight, Krel, Steve,” says Jim. The others wave as Krel follows Steve out of Jim’s room and to Steve’s own. A part of Krel wants to ask to sleep here tonight, for the familiarity and the comfort of having his brother nearby. Maybe he should. What’s stopping Merlin from sneaking over here in the middle of the night and kidnapping him? Maybe he will, then. Steve will say yes.

“Sit,” says Steve, going to the nightstand and opening the drawer. “I’ve got some healer’s paper in here somewhere.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m fine,” Krel says.

“Don’t want to risk it,” Steve says. “He could have planted a curse or something. Use it to control you like he did Jim. Plus I don’t trust you that you’re not hurt. Plus it’s bad to keep getting head injuries, you know that, right? Plus–”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” says Krel. “You know I don’t get the head injuries on purpose. Also, does this really count? He used a magic spell, not a bludgeon.”

“Don’t trust it,” says Steve. “It counts. Aha!”

He pulls out the sheet and grins, walking over to Krel and holding out a hand for his hand. Krel sighs and offers it, letting Steve prick his finger and press it to the corner of the page, leaving a blue stain.

“Alright, let’s see,” murmurs Steve, scanning the sheet. “Hmm… miraculously, you’re telling the truth.”

“Did you think I was lying?”

“I thought you were leaving out information,” Steve says. “But you’re the picture of good health. Well, I haven’t figured out how to make this thing show me core output and all that, but judging by your aura, that’s a-okay.”

“Thanks, Doctor Steve,” Krel says teasingly. Steve pats his head fondly and turns away to rip up the sheet to throw out. Krel’s smile falls as he glances at the door, fiddling with his hands. “Um, is it… okay if I sleep in here tonight?”

Steve blinks at him. “If you want to. You know you’re always welcome. Is everything okay?”

“I’m just… worried he’ll try something,” Krel admits softly. “I’d rather not get kidnapped again.”

“Of course you’re welcome,” says Steve. “Let’s grab your pillow and stuff from your room, though.”

Krel sighs in relief and nods. He knew Steve would say yes, but it’s still a relief that he agreed. They go to the door and Steve opens it, only to stop. Toby is right outside, poised to knock.

“Uh, hey,” he says. “I was just, uh, coming to check on you guys. And… well, you know, there’s safety in numbers with Merlin being Merlin…”

“Sleepover?” Steve says with an understanding smile. “Yep, go get your pillow too. There’s room for the three of us. Knights of the Vaguely Oval-Shaped Table!”

Toby laughs. “Knights of the Vaguely-Oval Shaped Table!”

“What a name,” Krel says fondly.

It only takes a few minutes to gather enough pillows and blankets and reconvene in Steve’s room. A quick spell makes the bed a bit larger, and Steve grabs their pillows and stuff and tosses them on.

“What?” he says. “The floor is stone, you wanna sleep on it? No? Thought not.”

Krel shrugs and climbs in with his friends. For some reason it just brings him back to sleeping over at Mort’s old apartment over the shop, back when Ikram was still under mind control and it wasn’t safe to venture home alone. And here they are again, Merlin a threat and safer in a group. Douxie has Alex and Jim has Claire. Krel has Steve and Toby, and he could ask for better allies if something were to happen.

“Don’t want to sound ungrateful, but you think we can get a bunkbed in here from now on and just share?” says Toby.

Steve snorts. “We’d never get any sleep, we’d be up all night gossiping or something.”

“Ah, just like college,” Krel sighs.

“The good ol’ days,” agrees Toby, amused. “Those five years of peace and quiet. This time we only got, what, three? Lame.”

They rest in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Krel shifts to stretch his lower arms, only to remember he forgot to deactivate the transduction, so he grabs his serrator to do that and lets out a sigh, leaning back into the pillow and closing his eyes.

“Do you think we might be stuck here?” Steve whispers.

Krel turns his head to glance over at him. “Do you?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around himself. “I miss Aja and Eli. I’m glad they aren’t in danger but… lucky the others get their partners.”

Krel can’t relate, exactly, but he does understand the basic sentiment. He’s glad at least his sister and one of his brothers-in-law are safe. He’s terrified for the friends and family that are stuck here too, in constant danger.

“Hey, we’ve made it out of everything else that’s been thrown our way,” Toby says. “We’ll get home. I’m sure we’ll get home.”

“I’m glad you guys are here,” Krel admits. “I wish you weren’t, I wish you were home safe, but I am glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Yeah, man, who’d heal your concussions?” Steve teases. Krel laughs lightly. It’s more than that. Steve and Toby have been by his side longer than even Douxie. They were some of his very first friends, and Krel can’t imagine facing another apocalypse or war or adventure without both of them by his side.

Toby shifts to drape an arm around each of them. “We’ve got this, guys.”

“I hope you’re right,” Krel murmurs.

Steve sits up to reach over and put out the candle by the bedside, leaving the only light in the room Krel’s own glow. Krel doesn’t think he’d ever be able to sleep in complete darkness, and by the relieved sigh Steve lets out as he settles back into sleep, he’s grown used to the glow of an Akiridion in his room at night too.

“Personal nightlight,” Toby teases.

“Just like old times,” Krel says fondly.

“Don’t have any freaky dreams on us, though,” says Toby. “That was way too bright.”

“I’ll try not to,” Krel laughs.

“Enough talking,” Steve murmurs. “Steve is sleepy. Goodnight, buttsnacks.”

“Goodnight, Steve,” Krel and Toby chorus.

Krel closes his eyes again, feeling safer than he has in a long time here. Tomorrow he’ll have to deal with Merlin again, and an angry Merlin at that, but for tonight he’s safe with his friends.

He sleeps better than he has since they got to the past.

Notes:

Merlin, causing problems as usual! And Arthur, who perhaps might be too trusting but at least it helps our heroes. And of course I couldn't resist adding in some soft Knights of the Vaguely Oval-Shaped Table. Toby and Steve may not have POVs anymore, but I still love themmmmm

Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Things will start picking up soon :3
Thank you for reading!

Chapter 10: Fight Fire with Fire

“Great news today!” Ikram says as she walks up to them at breakfast and sits. “It’s our turn for a patrol of the forest, and I’ve been approved to take our new recruits along.”

“That’s great news?” mumbles Dinadan under his breath.

“I heard that, Sir Dinadan,” Ikram says.

It’s been a tense few days since Merlin found out about Jim and since he attacked Krel like he did. Alex hates that Douxie still has to work with the guy. If he’s willing to knock Krel out he may be willing to attack them again, or try a truth spell on them himself, or try to read their minds, or who knows what else. Most of the knights have taken well to Jim being a changeling, at least, although some of the older ones regard all of them with suspicion. Alex and Toby make it their business to glare back at the ones staring. Jim’s not some spectacle for their amusement and he hasn’t done anything wrong. Alex would love to point out that it’s their wizard that did this to him, but, well, that wouldn’t go well for pretty obvious reasons.

“Patrol?” says Toby. “That sounds exciting! Or potentially very boring.”

“Hope for boring,” says Lamorak. “Boring means we didn’t run into trouble. Exciting means we could die.”

“Don’t scare them,” Ikram chides. “This is very routine and we shouldn’t run into trouble. We have patrols every day. If we do get in a skirmish, the goal is just to get home. We can’t warn the kingdom of danger if we’re dead. Defeating our enemies is a bonus but it’s too much of a risk to attempt if there’s a safer way out.”

“Right, skirmish, don’t die,” Alex says. “I can definitely do that.”

Jim nudges him teasingly. “Can you, Alex, can you?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “You get skewered one time and no one ever lets you live it down!”

“Don’t get skewered, Lex, it’s bad for your health,” Tristan says cheekily.

“No, I hadn’t noticed,” Alex says dryly.

“We leave as soon as we’re done with breakfast,” says Ikram. “So you’ll need to get your armour and weapons and meet by the gates. I will not be pleased if any of you are late.”

“Sir yes sir!” Toby chirps with a salute. “It’s about time we get to take our new armour for a test run!”

They’ve finally been given more personalised armour and weapons. Jim already looks smoother in practice with his brand new sword. Alex’s is lighter, now, and even he can tell it’s more balanced in his hand. Lancelot has been training him and Jim both to use their swords ambidextrously, and he’s encouraged Toby to do the same with his war-hammer. Alex likes to think he’s starting to actually get better at this swordplay thing. At the very least, he thinks maybe he won’t die the first time he finds himself in a fight. Which hopefully won’t be today. He shouldn’t think about that. He’s definitely going to jinx it.

They finish breakfast quickly and hurry back to their rooms to change. Douxie’s already gone to Merlin’s study for the day. Alex wishes they got more time to spend together during the day, though maybe right now it’s for the best. He thinks about going to warn Douxie that he’s going on patrol but ultimately decides not to worry him. It’s routine, it’ll be fine. Plus anytime he bothers Douxie when he’s with Mordred he gets hit with some hint about children. Alex hasn’t figured out the best way to tell Douxie they should wait till they get home to talk about that – and definitely hasn’t come up with a good way to voice his concerns without potentially hurting Douxie’s feelings – so he’s just avoiding the whole thing. Yes, he knows that’s not the best thing he could do. No, he’s not going to have that conversation right now.

It's early in the morning, but the city is already alive and bustling as he and Jim and Toby make their way towards the gates. Jim pauses a second to buy an apple from a stand and eats it as they walk.

“We just had breakfast,” Toby says.

“So?” says Jim. “Apple a day keeps the doctor away. Maybe it’ll be good luck.”

“I remember when I was a kid I used to set apples outside my door when I didn’t want my mom coming in,” Alex says. Jim snorts. “What? Kid logic, it made sense at the time, my mom’s a doctor!”

“Surprised Jimbo didn’t think of that one,” says Toby teasingly.

“I wouldn’t try to keep my mom out anyway,” says Jim primly.

“Who’s keeping mums out?” Tristan asks as they join them at the gates. “What have you got against your poor mother?”

“I was a kid!” Alex protests.

“I’m just messing with you,” says Tristan, patting his back. “Ready to go look at some trees and birds and come home?”

“Here’s hoping,” says Dinadan.

“Good, you’re all here,” says Ikram. “We won’t be going too far from the city. Just a quick patrol around the area to make sure nothing is lurking in the woods. If you see anything suspicious, try to remember where and what but don’t engage. We aren’t going out to engage.”

“Espionage!” Toby says. “I know a thing or two about espionage. I was a double agent back in the day.”

“That backfired horribly,” Alex says.

“Well, yes, but aside from the part where it backfired horribly I did a pretty good job,” says Toby.

“Is that how you lost your eye?” Tristan asks eagerly.

Toby laughs and shakes his head. “Nope. Lost this baby in the final battle.”

“I’ve always wanted an eyepatch,” muses Dinadan. “I think it would look – how do you Arcadians keep saying? – chilly. It would look very chilly!”

“Close, dude, but it’s cool,” Toby corrects.

“Try not to chatter too much either,” says Ikram, raising an eyebrow. “We aren’t going for a leisurely stroll. If you’re loud and obnoxious we definitely won’t notice anything suspicious.”

“Yes, sir, no chatter,” says Jim, nudging Toby.

They follow Ikram out of the city and up the stairs in the cliff into the woods. It’s snowing lightly, and they’ve all got fur cloaks on over their armour because of the cold. Alex holds out a hand to catch a few snowflakes on his gloved palm. He’s always liked snow. They used to get a lot of it up where he lived before moving to Arcadia, but nowadays he doesn’t see it all that often. It feels early for snow, but it is mid-November so maybe it’s not that early after all.

Alex keeps his eyes peeled. It would help if he knew the forest better, but, to be fair, since this is his first patrol part of it is probably learning the forest. So he makes a mental note of everything he sees. The big problem is that Alex is an indoors kind of guy. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t mind the outdoors, but he was never the hunting and camping kid. More the building computers and programming kid. Okay, he was a weird kid, but he comes by it honestly from his dad. It's why he and Krel get along so well, because they’re both weird in approximately the same way. All this to say – Alex couldn’t tell a pine tree from a fir tree or a maple tree from a magnolia and he really hopes there isn’t poison ivy out here because he will walk right into it.

At least things are quiet out here, the snow crunching beneath their feet, the sun breaking through the clouds at times and making the snow on the trees crackle and melt. Alex wants to whip out his phone and take a million pictures. Nature is so pristine here. How much of this forest remains in modern times? At least some of it, but surely a lot has been cut down and replaced with cities and towns. He wonders if Camelot’s castle still stands, ruins after centuries. He almost doesn’t want to know, now. It would just make him sad.

Alex hears a creak in the trees above them. He sees Jim frown and Lamorak tilt his head. So they heard it too. Alex hopes it was a wild animal.

“We’re not alone,” mumbles Lamorak, seconds before vines whip out of the trees and wrap around their arms and legs, lifting them off the ground. Alex lets out an undignified squawk of alarm, mixing with the others’ yelps and curses.

“Thanks for the advanced warning, buddy, really helpful,” says Dinadan flatly from where he’s dangling upside down. Lamorak gives him a sheepish grin. Alex tugs at the vines to try to get free, but it’s not of any use. They hold fast.

“Look what we have here,” says a new voice, light and sinister, as several people leap down from the trees. All of them have long, pointed ears, which means they must be fae. A handful could pass for humans, but others still seem entirely otherworldly. The speaker is a fae with green-tinged skin and what seems to be blades of grass or something for hair, braided back into an intricate design.

“A bunch of humans trying to play warrior,” says another fae, this one with frost patterns decorating his glassy, dark skin. “What a catch!”

“We haven’t done anything to you,” Lamorak growls. “Let us down, now.”

“Ah-ah-ah, we give the orders around here, human,” says the greenish fae. He observes them all and walks up to Jim, tilting his chin up with a finger. “And this, this must be the changeling we’ve heard about. I’m surprised to find one of your kind among Arthur’s knights.”

“He’s a damn good knight too,” snaps Tristan. “Leave him be!”

“Look,” Alex cuts in, trying his best to appear non-threatening and friendly, “we were just out for a walk to get some fresh air. We don’t mean you any harm. Even knights need to take breaks sometimes! So why don’t you just let us go and we’ll part ways as unlikely acquaintances and call it that?”

Before he can blink, the fae is in front of him, eyes narrowed and a sharp smile curving his lips. “Oh. Oh, I like you, bold little human. Tell me, did anyone ever warn you that fae can hear lies?”

No. No one warned him of that. Alex would have very much liked to have been warned of that, Douxie. He knew fae couldn’t lie themselves, but not that they could tell when others were lying. In retrospect, it does make sense. No wonder they could never get away with anything with Mort. He knew when they were lying. No wonder also that Arthur trusts them so easily. Mordred and Anna could call them on any of their lies. Thank god they’ve been using half-truths instead.

“Tell me,” says the fae, “may I have your name?”

“Don’t give him your name!” yells Tristan.

The fae pouts. “Ruining all my fun! Fine, have it your way.”

Alex tries to run through everything he does know about fae from folklore, true or not. Okay, they can’t lie and they can hear lies. Names were important, he does remember that, and being careful with your words which Alex has already bungled. Uh, something about deals and contracts, he thinks, something about iron and salt and maybe that’s demons or maybe slugs? He’s not sure. Someone should have given them a fae crash course. They should have mentioned to Lancelot that they don’t really have fae in Arcadia.

Okay. Don’t lie, don’t tell him his name, don’t make a deal or contract, he can definitely do that–

“Alright, bold little human, let’s make a deal.” Ah, fuck. Of course. Fuck Alex’s whole life. “Let’s have a friendly spar. One on one! You’ve intrigued me. Not many humans are bold enough to try lying to a fae. Are you bold enough to battle one?”

“That sounds more like a challenge than a deal,” Alex says carefully.

“The deal is this,” says the fae. “If you win, I let you and your little friends go home. If I win… we kill you all. None of you look important enough to juice for information.”

Alex swallows and glances at the others. Lamorak and Ikram are frantically shaking their heads, so this is definitely a bad idea.

“And if I say no?” Alex asks.

“Then we kill you all anyway,” says the fae.

Great. Okay. Not much choice then.

“Hey!” Ikram calls. “I am the lead knight on this patrol. If you want to make a deal with someone, make it with me, not him.”

“I don’t want to make a deal with you, Knight,” says the fae. “Now, bold little human, what do you say?”

The others are struggling in their restraints. The vines are creeping up their arms and legs, and Alex can feel them tightening on him so they must be doing the same on the others. Alex is in no way skilled enough to fight this fae. Not a single chance. But at the same time, if he doesn’t…

“I’ll agree to your deal,” he says, “conditionally.”

The fae narrows his eyes but stands back and nods. “Alright, I’ll play. What are your conditions?”

“We go by normal sparring rules, so that means no killing and no maiming," Alex says. "Whoever knocks the other down first. And I’m mundane, so you can’t use magic. You can make yourself a weapon but that’s it.”

The fae observes him for a moment before nodding again. “Very well. No killing, no maiming, and no magic for the duration of our spar.”

The vines holding Alex release him and he drops to the ground. He pushes himself to his feet with a wince and doesn’t dare look back at the others. No doubt Ikram is pissed, but what choice did he have? If he didn’t agree, they were all going to die anyway.

He draws his sword. The fae forms his own with a flash of silvery magic. A swordfight. Well, at least Alex has trained with those. Okay, breathe Alex. You can do this. Just knock him down. Outsmart him. Somehow.

“This won’t take long,” says the fae, “but it should be very amusing. Are you ready, my bold little human?”

Alex swallows. He’s so, so, so fucked. And even if he lives, Douxie is gonna kill him for this. He lets out a breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The fae charges forward. Alex adjusts his stance to the steadier one Lancelot keeps drilling him on and brings up his sword to parry the fae’s attack. He really hopes the thing with fae is that they always abide to the terms of deals, because if that’s not the case, this is going to end terribly. Alex jumps to the side and then steps away from the next thrust of the fae’s sword. Then he brings his own out to attack. The fae makes a move that looks kind of like Lancelot’s typical disarming finisher, so Alex jumps backwards and tucks his arms close to his body. Don’t give him an opening. Don’t risk losing his weapon. If he loses his weapon, he is definitely dead.

He sidesteps the next attack, left instead of right, switching hands to maybe throw off the fae and attack from this side instead. He tries to keep track of the fae’s movements. He’s not as nimble as he looks, every step seeming to plant him into the ground like a tree and ripping up snow and dirt as he steps away. There’s a bit of a lag between his motions. Okay, Alex might be able to use that.

His focus on the fae’s feet costs him. There’s a sharp metallic screech as the fae’s blade makes contact with his chest plate, ripping through the fabric of his surcoat. Thankfully the armour serves its purpose and Alex is not, in fact, injured. But he is startled, enough that the fae can tackle him and slam his back into a tree, knocking the breath out of him. Ooh, yep, that’s gonna leave a bruise.

The fae smirks at him, keeping him pinned against the tree with an arm on his chest and a hand holding his sword arm away. Alex stomps on his foot instead, as hard as he can, armour on simple fabric shoes, and the fae howls and stumbles backwards.

“Let’s go, Alex!” Jim cheers.

“You can do it, man!” Toby adds.

Well, he’s glad his friends believe in him more than he does. He’s winded from hitting the tree, breathing hard and circling the fae, noting the limp now that his foot is injured. The guy’s expression has gone from amused and taunting to frustrated. He probably thought he’d have won by now. Alex kinda thought the same thing. Well, at least if he dies, he can die a good enough swordsman to have held his own for more than thirty seconds.

Alex charges first this time, feinting right when he sees the fae preparing for him to feint left like he did before. Much to both of their shock Alex’s sword slices through his cheek and up to his temple, just missing his eye. Alex winces. Okay, he didn’t mean to do that. The fae looks furious now.

Maybe Alex can use that to his advantage, though. He dodges a few more times, trying to get in closer. He grits his teeth when the fae’s sword slices through his upper right arm – great, of course it’s the dominant one. He switches hands again but glances down at the fae’s feet. He’s struggling, staying planted more in one spot, roots curling up his heels and around his shins. Alex would classify that as cheating except that he’s not so sure the fae is doing it on purpose.

Alex aims high with his next attack, directing the fae’s attention upward to parry his sword. Here goes nothing – he plants his foot between the fae’s then uses the slickness of the half-melted snow in order to slide his leg out and hook it around the fae’s ankle, the foot that Alex didn’t injure, leaving all the fae’s weight on his bad foot. The fae yelps and then tumbles to the ground. Alex stumbles, but regains his balance in time to level his sword at the fae’s neck.

“I win,” he says breathlessly, chest heaving, out of breath but somehow, miraculously victorious. “Now let my friends go.”

The fae stares up at him furiously, malice shining in his green eyes. Alex tries not to show how terrified he is. The fae’s lips curl into a sharp smile. “So you did, my bold little human.”

Alex glances back to see if he’s releasing the others, only to feel vines curling up his legs. He barely has a chance to look back down at the fae before he’s being flung to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder. He blinks and there’s a boot swinging at his face and pain blossoms where it makes contact. Before he can regain his bearings the same foot is planted on his chest. The fae leans forward to push more of his weight down. Dazed, Alex drops his sword and starts trying to push the fae off of him. He hears his friends protesting in the background.

“We had a deal!” he manages, strained by the pressure on his chest.

“Our deal stands,” the fae acknowledges. “But I never specified I would let you go unharmed.”

A loophole. Goddammit, Alex, how could you be so stupid? Of course he’d think of a loophole! And he’s clearly pissed that he lost. They’re so entirely fucked. The fae puts more weight on Alex’s chest and Alex winces at the creaking of his armour. Not a good sound, considering it’s the only thing probably protecting him from broken ribs right now. His cheek throbs where he was kicked.

“Now, what are we going to do with you, troublemaker?” murmurs the fae.

Before Alex can make a smartass comment that would probably get him in even more trouble, the fae stumbles off of him with an arrow in his shoulder, howling in pain. The other fae, who until now have mostly been watching with amusement, get into fighting positions. Alex feels hands on his back and shoulders and almost lashes out until he realises it’s Lancelot helping him sit up.

“Are you okay?” he asks as several more knights flood in.

“Been better,” Alex says. His head is pounding. “What are you doing here?”

“Had my own patrol, we heard you,” says Lancelot. “Easy, lad, you’re injured.”

“Oh-ho!” exclaims the fae that Alex was fighting. “It seems I misjudged! Bold little human, are you close with the royals?”

Ah. Alex does not like that. He brushes past it, though, glaring at the fae instead. “We had a deal! I won our spar, now let my friends go!”

Lancelot shoots him an alarmed look. The fae’s lips curl into a snarl, but one of his fellows puts an icy hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. The fae huffs. “Very well. We did have a deal. Next time we meet, don’t expect the mercy we showed you today.”

He waves a hand and the fae vanish into the trees. Now that Alex runs through the deal, he feels like a complete idiot. The fae only said he’d let Alex and his friends go home, not that the others would. And he didn’t mention unharmed, or when, so they could have been captured and tortured long before they were ever allowed to go free.

As the others are freed they run over to him. Lancelot helps him unsteadily to his feet. Jim and Toby take over from there.

“Holy shit, Alex,” Toby says. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Yeah, I didn’t either,” Alex admits.

Tristan and Dinadan each throw one arm over their shoulders and use the other to pump their fists in the air, cheering. Alex laughs breathlessly, despite the fact that his chest is aching and his head is pounding. He glances over at the others. None of them look injured, at least. Maybe the deal was stupid, but it still saved their lives in the end.

“We should get back to Camelot,” says Lancelot. “Get Alex to the healers, the rest of you checked just in case.”

“Sounds like a plan,” says Jim. “You can walk, Alex?”

Alex nods. “Just a little winded.”

“You didn’t get skewered,” says Tristan proudly. “Looks like we knights taught you a thing or two, ey?”

“Douxie would kill us if we let you get skewered again,” says Toby.

They start making their way back to the city. Alex tries not to lean on his friends too much. He gingerly pokes at the bruise forming on his cheeks and comes back with sticky red fingers. Ah, damn, he’s bleeding there too. The blood from his arm drips onto the snow. He’s nauseous at the sight of it.

“Alexander,” says Lancelot softly.

Alex swallows. That sounds like he’s in trouble. “Yes, sir?”

“What was your deal with the fae?” Lancelot asks. “The exact wording, please.”

“He challenged me to a spar,” Alex says. “If I won, he said he’d let me and “my little friends” go home. If he won, he said he’d kill us all. I managed to get him to agree to no magic and basic human sparring rules.”

Lancelot nods slowly. “And that was all? Nothing else? Does he know your name?”

“Probably, but that’s my bad and not his,” Jim says, guilt twisting his lips into a frown. “I called out his name. Well, his nickname, I guess.”

“Not too bad,” mumbles Lancelot. “If that was all. And you didn’t give him your name.”

“No, sir,” Alex says. “Look, I – I recognise that it was probably stupid to make a deal with him, but they were going to kill us anyway. This way we at least had a chance.”

Lancelot sighs. “I understand why you did it. But it’s too dangerous. Fae are incredibly good at loopholes in their deals, and thankfully it sounds like he didn’t slip in any unrelated clauses for you to agree to accidentally, but they do that too. Don’t do it again.”

“Noted,” Alex murmurs.

“There really wasn’t anything else he could have done,” Ikram admits. “I tried to convince the fae to deal with me instead as patrol leader, but… he seems to have taken an interest in Alex.”

“After Alex lied to his face,” adds Dinadan, the snitch.

“You – you lied to a fae,” Lancelot repeats. “Alexander.”

“We don’t have fae in Arcadia!” Alex protests. “I don’t know the rules! I mean, it explains why we never got away with anything with Douxie’s dad but I didn’t know they could hear lies!”

“Okay, alright, that one is my fault,” Lancelot admits, dragging a hand down his face. “I should have given you three a lesson in dealing with fae. I will definitely do that before your next patrol.”

“We’re running in circles, Lance,” says Lamorak gravely. “These fae are too powerful. We barely had warning before they had all of us restrained. If we don’t find a way to actually fight back, the most we’ll ever do is drag this war on forever.”

Ikram nods. “We need allies on their level. Good fae who can help us fight the bad ones. More powerful magic users than just Merlin.”

“I fear you’re both right,” agrees Lancelot. “I will speak with Arthur when we get home.”

The rest of the walk passes in a blur. Alex swears he blinks and then the castle is in sight again. Damn, how hard did that fae kick him? Lancelot still looks troubled. Douxie’s going to kill him when he finds out about this. If he finds out about this. When. Alex will tell him, but maybe he’ll see how stressed he is tonight before he does. The last thing he wants to do is give his husband more anxiety about this whole situation than he already has.

Lancelot splits from them when they arrive. Jim and Toby help Alex to the healing wing and Tristan, Dinadan, and Lamorak trail along with them. Steve looks up as they arrive and his face immediately falls into a frown. He beckons them over.

“What are you doing in training?” he demands. “Sit down. Jesus, Alex.”

“We went on patrol, Healer Steve,” Lamorak says helpfully. “We got ambushed and Lex bested a fae in a duel.”

“Why the fuck were you duelling a fae!?” Steve exclaims.

“I’ve already gotten lectured by Sir Lancelot,” Alex says mulishly. “I don’t need it from you.”

Steve grabs out a sheet of healer’s paper and huffs. “You were supposed to be my responsible guy, Alex! The one I didn’t see here! If anyone was going to duel a fae, it would be Jim.”

“Hey,” Jim says.

“No, no, he’s got a point,” says Toby.

“Did you miss the part where I won?” Alex says, offering his hand so Steve can prick his finger. “You should be proud of me. I bested him. Fair and square and all of that.”

“And then the bastard went back on his terms and attacked anyway,” Tristan says, crossing his arms and scowling. “Only a man without honour cannot admit a fair defeat.”

“Well, the good news is your armour did its job,” says Steve. “He manages to get your arm pretty good and you’re bruised to hell, but that’s not too hard to fix. I don’t even think you’re concussed. Couple of potions and salves and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Alex says, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” says Steve. He walks back over to the cabinets to grab the aforementioned potions and salves. “Anyone else injured?”

“Nay,” says Lamorak. “Maybe some light bruising, but nothing we need a salve for.”

“Alright.” Steve walks back over. “Here we go, Alex, blue potion first then the red one. The red one’s really just a precaution but if you drink it first you will start gushing blood everywhere like a gory anime and I don’t want to deal with that.”

Alex swallows, a little queasy, and takes the potions from him. “Yep, blue first, gotcha.”

He drinks the potions. Ugh, they’re disgusting. Like medicine. He had hoped that magic medicine tasted better than the mundane stuff. This is nearly as bad as that cherry cough syrup he had once and never bought again because it tasted like death. But it does its job, and the wound on his arm seals up like it was never even there. He hesitantly takes the red potion next, relieved when nothing visibly happens.

“Jim, Toby, help him out of his armour for the salve,” says Steve. He grins teasingly at Alex. “I’ll get his face so Douxie doesn’t whine too much about his favourite view being messed up.”

Alex’s cheeks heat up. “Shut up, Steve.”

He lets Steve apply the salve, cold on his skin. Steve’s a damn good healer. He proved that time and time again during the whole Ultios situation, and it seems he’s proven his worth here too, given how much the other healers seem to like him.

Alex glances back as the metal footsteps sound from behind him. It’s just Lancelot. He smiles and waves as he approaches. Steve looks up for half a moment before returning to salve application. Toby and Jim have set Alex’s armour aside for now. Alex should probably see about getting it fixed up some before Douxie sees it like this. Even though Alex is fine, his husband will have a heart attack.

“I take it my knight will live, Healer Steve?” says Lancelot.

“Unfortunately,” Steve jokes. Alex pouts at him. “But yes. He’ll be back at one hundred percent by tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” says Lancelot. “I spoke with Arthur and he agrees. We need fae allies, and I know where to start. I was hoping you lads would join me.”

“Quest!” Toby exclaims. “You bet we’ll join you!”

“Your wizards as well,” says Lancelot. “I have a feeling she’ll like to meet all of you.”

“She?” Alex says, brow furrowing. Wait, a fae ally, someone Lancelot knows, she…

“Yes, she,” Lancelot says with a smile. “Sleep well tonight, because tomorrow we leave to meet my mother: the Lady of the Lake.”

Notes:

Whoever said Alex couldn't be a dumbass when he wanted to as well? It's not just for Douxie!

I had a lot of fun with this chapter, as always when I get any kind of whump rdkjghrg I hope you guys enjoyed as well! <3

Chapter 11: Strange Women Lying in Ponds

Douxie hasn’t been this excited since they got to the past. They’re going on a field trip! To Nan’s lake! Granted, Nan won’t know him yet, but it’s still exciting and he loves visiting her lake. Alex seems amused by his enthusiasm as they grab their cloaks from their room and get ready to leave.

“You know how great Nan is,” Douxie says eagerly, adjusting Alex’s cloak for him over his armour. “Even if she doesn’t recognise us, she’s gonna be nice, and her lake is gorgeous in the wintertime.”

“I know, babe,” Alex says, leaning down to peck his lips. “I’m sure you’re glad to get out of the castle too.”

“Seriously,” agrees Douxie. “You’re lucky you got to go on patrol yesterday.”

Alex laughs awkwardly. “Lucky, yeah.”

It definitely seems like the skirmish he told Douxie about last night spooked him. According to Alex, Lancelot’s patrol had arrived in time to scare the fae off, but Douxie can understand why he might be startled. Douxie is too – how close did he come to losing Alex if Lancelot hadn’t arrived? – but at least his husband wasn't hurt. He’s scared they won’t be so fortunate next time. But, hey, that’s the whole point of getting fae allies, right? Fight fire with fire and all of that.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yep,” says Alex. “Here’s hoping for a peaceful trip.”

Douxie laughs. “Don’t jinx us, love!”

They head out to join the others downstairs. Lancelot is taking all of the Arcadians with him and Mordred is joining them too. When they meet the others, Lancelot is fussily adjusting Mordred’s cloak and Mordred is rolling his eyes like any teenager dealing with a protective parent.

“It’s fine, Papa,” he says. “I like the cold anyway!”

“Not to walk for two hours in, you don’t,” says Lancelot. “Just hold still and let me get your cloak fastened correctly, it doesn’t work if you just tie it over your shoulders like a cape.”

“Cloaks, capes, same difference,” Mordred says.

“I can tell you to stay home, you know.” Lancelot finishes adjusting the cape, then tugs a hat onto Mordred’s head. “Don’t think I won’t. You’ll catch your death in the cold.”

“That’s mostly a myth, actually,” says Steve. “The cold can lower the immune system but it’s not the thing that makes you sick. Well. Except for hypothermia, I guess.”

“See, I won’t get sick,” says Mordred smugly. He leaves the hat on anyway at Lancelot’s sharp look. “Anyway, are you guys excited? Nan’s lake is the best! You’re going to love it, and her, she’ll love you too, she loves new people.”

“She’s curious about new people,” Lancelot corrects. He chuckles. “My mother is very kind, but wary of humans. Understandably. I’m sure she’ll like all of you, but do try not to insult her, please.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die,” Douxie says. He can barely contain his giddy smile. “She sounds lovely.”

“Did you ever meet your fae family?” Mordred asks curiously.

Douxie nods. “My great-grandmother.”

Ironically the same woman they’re going to see now. Krel hides his amusement. “She’s also kind but wary. And we know the basics of fae etiquette from her.”

“At least a couple of you do,” mutters Lancelot, rubbing his forehead. The three knights look sheepish. Ah, boy, Douxie will need to ask Alex about that later. “Alright, if everyone’s ready, we can–”

“One moment!” calls Anna, waving a hand as she runs over to them. Douxie waves back. “I’m sorry to bother you last minute, Lancelot, but can you watch Gaheris? Lot has patrol and I need to help Dad. Nan will take him in a heartbeat when you get there, you know fae and children, so it’s just for the trip.”

Oh. Oh, this is perfect.

“Alex and I can watch him!” Douxie volunteers.

Alex blinks. “We can?”

“Yes!” Douxie exclaims. Oh, this is brilliant. It’s all coming together. “Alex is fantastic with kids and I must have picked up something from my dad. It’ll be a breeze!”

“Oh, thank you, Hisirdoux, Alexander,” says Anna. She gently passes Alex the baby and Douxie the bag she brought with her. “He’s been fed already but there are supplies in the bag. He’s a well-behaved lad, I promise, very calm.”

“He’s in good hands,” Douxie says.

Alex doesn’t seem to have caught any of his hints yet, even the more obvious ones, which isn’t like him because usually Douxie’s the oblivious one. He must be distracted. This way he can show Alex just how wonderful fatherhood would be! Then maybe Alex will bring it up himself. Or maybe all the hints will finally click together. This is perfect. And Alex looks so cute with the baby. He already knows how to hold him and everything. He’s going to be such a good father and this will show it!

That, or Douxie’s going to have to drop the subtle approach and just talk to his husband. He doesn’t want to startle him, though. Well, hopefully this plan works like it’s supposed to.

“Alright,” says Lancelot, amused. “Now are we ready to go?”

“Ugh, can I stay home now?” Krel groans. “I don’t want to deal with these two being sappy with a baby all trip.”

“Come, come, we’re wasting daylight,” Lancelot says with a laugh. “I want to be back here before nightfall. The fae may be dangerous but we are far more likely to run into Gumm-Gumms after dark.”

They set off into the woods. Douxie finds all his attention drawn to Alex and Gaheris. He almost trips, like, five times. Krel glares at him for it. Claire laughs at him for it. This is not fair. Alex with a baby is distracting. Douxie didn’t think this through. Look at his soft face and the way he smiles when Gaheris reaches up and tugs on one of his loose dreadlocks! Douxie is so gone. Well, he married the man for a reason. But gods, Douxie is so gone.

As they get deeper into the forest, Lancelot glances back at them. “Now, my mother isn’t someone you really need to worry about, but it’s come to my attention that some of you don’t know the basic rules of interacting with fae.”

“Most of us,” Claire admits. “I’ve done some reading, but I think only Douxie and Krel really know much.”

“Yeah, cause U- Dad drilled it into us,” says Krel.

“Good,” says Lancelot. “But I’m going to go over them for the rest of you. There’s three major rules you really must remember.”

“Woo, another three rules,” mumbles Toby.

“Number one is to always be extremely careful with your name,” says Lancelot. “Even nicknames run a risk. It’s not a death sentence if a fae learns your name, but it’s not ideal. But if they ask you to give it to them or they ask to have it, do not respond. They mean that quite literally.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, and what happens if we do accidentally give our names to a fae?” Toby asks.

“There’s power in names, Toby,” Lancelot says grimly. “Especially in true names. I've heard of fae using it to control people, I've heard of fae using it to kill people or to leave them comatose and empty. Don't let there be accidents. It's safer to avoid giving anyone your name.”

Toby nods quickly. “Noted!”

“Now, rule number two, Alex,” says Lancelot, shooting Alex a look. Alex smiles very sheepishly. Douxie frowns. “Never make a deal or contract with a fae. There’s power in such things as well, both verbal and written agreements. To break a deal with a fae is a death sentence at best. They will never break a deal with you, either, but they are excellent at loopholes. It’s too risky.”

“I’m very good at loopholes, too,” Mordred says smugly.

Lancelot laughs. “On that, don’t make a deal with Mordred, either.”

Douxie watches Alex with furrowed brows. The only reason he could think that Lancelot would single Alex out was if he tried to make a deal with a fae. Or worse, he did make a deal with a fae. Alex avoids his eyes, preoccupying himself with the baby. Oh, they will be talking about this later.

“Now,” says Lancelot, “rule number three–”

“Kick ‘em in the gronk-nuts!” Toby exclaims

“What – no,” says Lancelot. “No? What?”

Jim laughs awkwardly. “Uh, troll thing. Go ahead.”

Lancelot gives them a concerned look but shakes his head. “Right, well. Rule number three: be very careful not to lie. Fae can sense lies. At the very least, you’ll know fae are always truthful. They physically cannot lie – but that means they’re very, very good at twisting their words. Regardless, most fae take grave insult to being lied to.”

Jim and Toby both look pointedly at Alex who pretends to be very fascinated with the trees above them. Yeah. Douxie is beginning to think that Alex left out a few key details when he told him about the skirmish with the fae yesterday.

“Now, like I said, my mother won’t give you much trouble,” says Lancelot. “I still wouldn’t lie to her, but she won’t ask you to give her your name and she won’t likely make a deal with you, either.”

“She does have a terrifying disappointed face,” says Mordred. Oh, yeah, Douxie knows that very well. Mordred may not know it but he’s going to grow up to have that same disappointed face. “Best to keep on her good side!”

Baby Gaheris babbles happily at the sound of Mordred’s voice. Alex’s expression melts as he laughs. “Sounds like your nephew wants his uncle to hold him! What do you say, Mordred?”

“Oh, um, I’m not very good with kids,” Mordred says shyly. Yeah, right. “I might drop him or something.”

“Maybe that’s what happened to you,” mumbles Steve teasingly.

“Shut up,” Douxie mutters back, shoving him good-naturedly.

“It’s not too hard,” Alex says. He gently passes Mordred the baby, adjusting his arms to the correct position. “Be sure to support his head. He’s old enough to do it on his own, but it’s good to learn for the future.”

Alex is going to be such a good dad. Douxie covers his mouth with his hands to hide his wide smile. Look at how good he is with Mordred and the baby. He lets Gaheris grab his fingers, but when the baby decides to stick them in his mouth he pulls back with a laugh.

“Ah-ah, baby, not food,” he says. He beckons Douxie over and holds out a hand for the bag. Douxie offers it to him, trying to hide just how much he’s melting. Alex pulls out something that looks kind of like a pacifier or a teething toy. He offers that to the baby instead, fond smile painting his face. “There we go, that’s better, huh?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever have kids,” says Mordred. “I keep telling the stupid nobles I don’t want a wife or a husband or anything like that. Did you know Lord Gawolane keeps trying to set me up with his daughter? I told him I don’t want to marry her.”

Lancelot groans. “I’ll have Arthur talk to him. Again.”

“Dad promised he won’t force me to marry,” Mordred says.

“Good,” says Krel. “Some of us aren’t interested in that. Totally normal. I’m the same way.”

“Really?” Mordred asks, delighted.

“So was our dad,” says Douxie fondly. “So you never know. You may end up adopting a kid or two one day.”

Mordred tilts his head. “Maybe. I think I wouldn’t know what I was doing.”

“Well, you’re not doing bad with Gaheris,” says Alex.

“Yes, but I think you should take him back now, Sir Alex,” says Mordred, offering the baby back up to him. Alex laughs and takes Gaheris in his arms again, automatically readjusting to hold him comfortably. Douxie already knew Alex would be an amazing father, but seeing him actually interact with a baby really just cements that.

Now he just has to convince Alex.

 

 

They reach the lake by midday. Douxie is excited. The forest finally looks familiar again, right outside the boundaries of Nan’s Realm, the magic having protected the area even centuries from now. Will the lake be different? Will Nan? She won’t know him or Krel. This is going to be especially difficult since they can’t lie at all, but they’ve had to be careful anyway because of Anna and Mordred. It should be okay. Maybe.

“Alright,” says Lancelot. “We’re here. Remember, be on your best behaviour.”

He closes his eyes as they step into the Realm. Douxie does too, letting Nan’s familiar magic wash over him like a gentle wave at the sea and letting out a soft sigh. He can feel that the magic is curious – it recognises him, them, but it doesn’t know why. It’s a short walk from the forest to the shore of the lake. Lancelot steps up to the water's edge, letting the gentle waves wash over his feet.

“Mama!” he calls, cupping his hands around his mouth. “It’s me! I’ve brought guests!”

A wave rises from the lake and convalesces into a humanoid shape, gliding to the shore and eventually stepping onto the rocky sand in the familiar shape of Douxie’s grandmother, long hair braided down her back, skin as glistening blue as the waters of her lake, reflecting in the snowy sunlight. She comes forward to cup Lancelot’s cheek, then bends down to cup Mordred’s, then claps her hands together at the sight of Gaheris.

“The little prince!” she exclaims. “Here, give him to me!”

Alex chuckles and passes Gaheris to her. Gaheris babbles excitedly at her and she babbles right back at him, absolutely delighted. As a general rule, fae love kids. Nan especially loves kids. Douxie has many fond memories of hanging out at her lake as a child, even if back then he never actually put together that she was fae and the legendary Lady of the Lake. Douxie nudges Alex and nods at the baby to say, look, how cute! Alex laughs lightly which is probably an agreement.

“Lancelot, my son, introduce me to your guests!” Nan exclaims

“Of course,” says Lancelot. “May I first present our newest Knights, Sirs Jim, Toby, and Alex. Next, our new wizard allies, Douxie, Krel, and Claire. And finally, our newest healer, Steve. My friends, this is my mother, the Lady of the Lake, Viviane du Lac.”

Nan surveys them carefully, eyebrows raising. Oh, no. Yeah, she’s caught on. Maybe this will be a good thing. If anyone can help them get home, it’s Nan. Nice of her to warn them. Then again, if there’s anyone that would take the timeline seriously enough to knowingly not warn them, it’s Nan.

“Lancelot, why don’t you and Mordred go get the baby settled?” she suggests. “I still have the old crib set up.”

“Alright, Mama, don’t scare them too much,” says Lancelot, taking the baby from her. He winks at them. “Don’t worry, my friends, her bark is much worse than her bite.”

He and Mordred walk towards the old willow a ways down the shore. The rest of them smile awkwardly at Nan. Her smile has fallen as she scans over them, but she doesn’t look mad at least.

“I can see you aren’t from around here,” she says eventually, a small smile returning. “Or, dare I say it, now.”

“Aw, man, are we that obvious?” Toby groans.

“Tobes!” Jim exclaims.

“What?” says Toby. “She’s the Lady of the Lake! We can’t lie to her, I’m not gonna pull an Alex here.”

Alex winces. “Please don’t make that a thing.”

“I guessed from your auras,” she says. “The way my son presented you suggests you have only been here a few weeks, a month, perhaps. Yet all of your auras are touched by Mordred’s much farther back. Especially yours, Douxie, is it?”

Douxie rubs the back of his neck. “Yep. We were waiting for someone to call us on that.”

“Not many humans with aura-sight would put it together like that,” Nan assures them. “You’re probably safe from many others figuring you out.”

“That’s good,” mumbles Jim.

“You’re a powerful fae,” Claire says. “Maybe you can help us get home.”

Nan nods slowly. “I can certainly try. I know little about time magicks, but I can see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Nan,” Douxie says in relief. “I knew we could count on you.”

Her eyebrows raise again, but her lips twitch into a fond smile. “So, that’s it, isn’t it? I must say I didn’t expect to meet any children of Mordred’s for many years yet. But family is sacred to the fae, as I’m certain you know. You will have any aid you could wish for.”

“If it helps, we found a runestone that sent us back,” Douxie offers. “I don’t remember the exact runes, but one of them was time.”

Nan nods slowly. “I see... well, that is a start. Unless I specifically ask for something, please don’t tell me more of the future. I don’t know if you can change things, but you should not, no matter how much you may want to.”

“Yeah, we figured as much,” says Jim. “We’ll be careful.”

“More careful,” Toby corrects. “No more teaching the knights slang.”

“I really don’t think that is going to break the timeline,” says Alex.

“We should join Lancelot and Mordred,” says Nan. “I get the feeling he didn’t bring you here just to meet me.”

“Yeah, no, unfortunately not,” says Jim.

They follow Nan over to the willow. Lancelot has already got Gaheris settled down in the wooden crib. It’s a lot warmer beneath the willow’s canopy – definitely magic, but Douxie's pretty sure the tree is magic itself. He used to think the willow was basically her house when he was a kid because this was where he and Mort would stay. Turns out she sleeps underwater, so the willow is really a guest room.

“She didn’t scare you off, I hope,” Lancelot says.

“I would never,” says Nan. “They seem like a fine group, and you know I trust your judgement, Lancelot. Now, I know you aren’t just here for a social visit.”

Lancelot sighs and sits on the moss, cross-legged. The rest of them sit as well, including Nan whose dress seems to melt around her like a very large raindrop.

“You remember the faction of human-hating fae I mentioned to you that Morgana swayed to her side?” he says. Nan nods. “Well, they’re growing bolder. We’re losing more knights and civilians now than at any other point in the war. The forests aren’t safe for travel anymore even during the day. I fear Camelot stands no chance should things continue this way.”

“You wish for me to reach out to the fae courts for aid,” she recognises. “They do not like to get involved in human affairs, my son, you know this.”

“I know, and I wouldn’t be asking if we weren’t desperate,” he says. “They might listen to you. You’re neutral in their feuds and incredibly powerful.”

“And known to meddle,” she says, smiling ever so slightly before sighing. “I will ask. I will reach out to other neutral fae as well. But I cannot make any promises outside my own aid, Lancelot. Just because your enemies are fae does not mean the courts will see it as their problem.”

“Thank you, Mama,” he says. “I’m sorry to drag you into this.”

She shakes her head. “You are my son. Your war is my war. We’ve seen already that one fae is not going to change the tides, so I will search for allies.”

“Do you think anyone might help?” Jim asks worriedly. “Or is it a long shot?”

“I think some may,” she says. “I may be able to convince some of those that generally like humans. Maybe even those ambivalent. But I cannot be sure. And I have my doubts either of the actual courts will.”

“What do you mean by that?” Claire asks curiously. “You keep mentioning courts.”

“The Seelie Court and the Unseelie Court,” she explains. “Not all fae fall under one of them. I myself am neutral. Generally, the Seelie Court favours the humans and the Unseelie Court does not, but that doesn’t mean they will or won’t help. They will be meeting at the solstice, so that is the soonest I can promise a decision. I’ll speak to the Elders beforehand.”

“Our guests have quite a bit to learn about fae,” Lancelot says.

Nan blinks and gestures to Douxie and Krel. “Are they not – what – an eighth fae, is it?”

“Adopted, but yes,” says Douxie, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Didn’t get around to explaining stuff to the others.”

“I’m sure Lancelot will explain things well,” says Nan. “But if you do have questions, feel free to ask me. I know I’m several hours from Camelot but I am happy to help.”

“I wish you lived closer,” Mordred says. “I like visiting the lake. There’s so much magic here!”

Douxie nods. “Yeah, I’ve always noticed that, uh, in my great-grandmother's Realm also. Not this one, obviously, because I’ve never been here before, but not surprised it’s the same.”

Nan gives him an amused look. “Yes, fae Realms are always full of magic. Sensing magic is a valuable skill to have and hone. I encourage all of you to practice with it, even the mundanes. It will serve you well.”

“Hell yes, magic for mundanes!” Toby exclaims. “Claire, Claire, Claire–”

“Yes, Toby, I’ll help you practice,” Claire says.

“Well, there’s a couple of hours yet before we have to set off for home,” says Lancelot, glancing up at the sky. “As long as you stay within the boundaries of Mama’s Realm, you should be completely safe.”

“Aye, no one who wishes harm may enter here,” Nan confirms. “Enjoy yourselves! Go swimming, perhaps, Mordred, you love swimming!”

“Nan, it’s snowing,” says Mordred. “I would freeze.”

“Humans, so fragile,” she murmurs. She smiles and laughs, spreading her arms in a welcoming gesture. “Well, make yourselves at home. Perhaps I can help my son teach you a little more about the ways of the fae.”

It sounds kind of like the others need it. Douxie leans against his husband, who glances down with a smile and wraps an arm around him. If he closes his eyes, listens to the soft cadence of Nan’s voice, focuses on the soft moss and the rustling of the leaves around them, he can almost pretend they’re home, visiting Nan, safe in the twenty-first century. He misses home, but… well, this is close enough for now.

 

 

They head home long before it gets dark. Nan asks Douxie before they go to try to remember what he can about the runes and Douxie promises to do his best. The walk back goes just as smoothly as the walk there, although they all jump at every crackling of the leaves and snow. They get back in time for dinner and then eventually retire to their rooms. Douxie is laying with Alex now, relaxing after a long day. Alex hasn’t said anything about the hints or about how well babysitting Gaheris went. Douxie fiddles with his sleeve. He doesn’t want this to be a serious conversation. He’d really hoped it would be easy.

Okay. He just needs to ask.

“So,” he says shyly, “you were really good with the baby today.”

“I still remember some from when Lillie was little,” says Alex. “Plus I used to babysit for my cousin, remember?”

“Right, right,” says Douxie. He sits up and lets out a breath. Alex sits as well, looking a bit concerned. Breathe, Douxie. They’ve had this conversation, sort of, in the far-off sense. He knows Alex wants kids one day, right? This should be easy. “So I was thinking, you know, about, uh, about kids. And us. And I’ve been dropping, like, a lot of hints. Like even Krel has noticed but, uh, you don’t seem to have so, um. Kids! What do you think?”

There’s a beat of silence. Douxie’s smile falls slowly. Alex seems to be trying to figure out how to respond, and it’s clearly not the immediate, enthusiastic yes that Douxie was hoping for.

“Look, Douxie, now really isn’t a good time,” says Alex awkwardly. “I mean, we’re nine hundred years out of time and in the middle of a war.”

“I know, I know, but like – like when we get back!” Douxie says. He tries to sound encouraging. “I mean, you know, we’ve been married a few years now and we’re financially stable and all that so…”

“I don’t know, Douxie.” Alex rubs his arm and glances away. “Kids are a lot, and with you–”

“With me?” Douxie repeats. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“If you’d let me finish–”

“No, yeah, go ahead, finish!”

Alex groans and covers his face. Douxie feels a little bad, he shouldn’t have snapped like that. He just… thought this would be simple. Alex drags his hands down his face and sighs. “It’s just, with your whole lifespan thing, I don’t…”

Douxie feels like he’s been dumped in Nan’s lake, cold and icy with the winter weather. “My lifespan? That’s – that’s never been a problem for you before.”

“Of course it’s been a problem!” Alex exclaims. “It’s always been a problem, I just–”

“So now there’s a problem between us?” Douxie chokes out. His core buzzes out of rhythm, a horrible reminder of what he is, or what he isn’t, not completely human anymore and likely doomed to thousands of years without the humans he loves. And now it’s getting between him and Alex.

“No – that’s not what – that isn’t at all where I was going with that!” Alex says, eyes wide. “I just – I just don’t know if it’s such a good idea, you know, to – to bring kids into that equation.”

“What, so because I’m long-lived or whatever you suddenly don’t want kids?” Douxie manages. His eyes burn.

Alex shakes his head. “It’s not – why are you getting so worked up about this? You have centuries to think about kids!”

“I don’t want kids centuries from now!” Douxie snaps, tears starting to blur his vision. “I want kids with you and you don’t – you don’t have centuries–”

“That’s the problem!” Alex throws his hand out to gesture towards the window, towards the forest outside the city crawling with Gumm-Gumms and fae that want them all dead. “And now we’re in a war and it’s just a horrible time to think about the future! I almost died yesterday fighting a damn fae, we might–”

“What!?” Douxie breathes in horror. He definitely didn’t mention that part. “What do you mean you almost died fighting a fae!?”

“I – I mean–”

“And you didn’t even think to mention it to me!?”

“Oh, well, it’s not like you’re the king of telling the people you love when shit like that happens–”

“Oh, really, turn it back around on me!”

They’re both shouting by now. Douxie is standing, out of the bed, trembling because he’s so – he doesn’t even know. Stressed? Scared? What does it mean if his lifespan is now a problem for Alex? Has always been a problem for Alex?

“I should have said something when you first started dropping hints,” Alex says.

“Oh, so you did catch my hints!” Douxie exclaims. “And you, what, decided to ignore them and hope the problem went away?”

“Douxie–”

Douxie shakes his head, hot, angry tears dripping down his cheeks. “You knew about my lifespan before we got married! If it was such a big deal to you–”

“It’s not–”

“It sure sounds like it is!”

“Okay, fine, it is, but if you’d just let me explain–”

“Oh, fuck off!”

Alex looks stunned for a moment. Douxie tries to find more words but he doesn’t know what to say that’s not going to make both of them more upset, so instead he turns and storms out of the room, ignoring Alex calling his name and slamming the door behind him. Krel’s room is just across the hall. Douxie doesn’t bother knocking, rushing inside. Krel looks up from the desk, startled.

“Douxie?” he asks. “Are you… okay?”

Douxie flops face-first onto Krel’s bed, trying to contain his tears. “No.”

He hears Krel’s chair scrape on the stone floor before the bed creaks as he sits beside him. “What happened?”

“Me and Alex got into a fight,” he admits into the blankets. Gods, of course, he’s always known, deep down, that his lifespan would be an issue, but he thought Alex didn’t care. That he would have brought it up sooner if he did. What does his lifespan even have to do with kids? The panic starts to fade and his chest aches. He should have listened. He blew things up. A wave of guilt crashes over him as more tears fall and soak into the blankets. Alex is probably pissed at him. Or sad. More likely sad. Gods, Douxie made him sad.

“Oh,” Krel says softly.

He turns his head so it’s not completely buried in the blankets. “Can I crash here for tonight?”

“If you want to, you’re always welcome,” Krel says.

“I’ll talk to him,” Douxie promises. “I just – I’m too emotional right now. Gods – I’ve already fucked things up enough as it is.”

“Hey, I’m sure you’ll work it out,” Krel says. “You’re Douxie and Alex! I’ve never seen a couple more disgustingly lovey-dovey than you two.”

Douxie sighs and wipes his eyes. “Yeah, well… it looks like things were bound to blow up eventually.”

“It’ll be okay,” Krel assures him. “Just let yourself cool down and then go talk to him.”

Douxie really hopes he’s right. Alex never mentioned having a problem with his lifespan. Why now? Why this? Douxie’s old insecurities are back to rear their ugly heads. He rarely lets him think about the difference between them, between their lifespans, because it always just hurts to imagine a far-off future day without Alex. They don’t even know what Douxie’s going to age like. Is that what it is? Is Alex realising he wants someone he can grow old with? Or maybe Douxie should have fucking listened and now he’s yelled at his husband and stormed off like a fucking five-year-old.

He’ll talk to him. Soon. Once he’s cooled down.

Suffice to say, Douxie doesn’t get any sleep that night.

Notes:

It's all fluffy baby fever until some dumbasses communicate poorly! Oh well, can't be all sunshine and roses around here :3

Anyway, I hope you guys liked Viviane because I adore her. Fae are such a fun concept to play with so I'm just running with it. Some of the stuff is loosely based on an RP with a dear friend of mine, shout out to zir!

Thank you guys for reading! Next chapter, more fluff before the storm :3

Chapter 12: Adventures in Draal-sitting

Notes:

This was supposed to be a light-hearted chapter but it turns out I do have some triggers to warn.

TW: offscreen dismemberment and death

Claire goes straight to research this morning, which leaves Jim and Toby to go eat with the knights for breakfast. Jim doesn’t mind eating with them – it’s easy to gravitate to Ikram and Lamorak and Tristan and Dinadan, and they welcome him and Toby easily. He appreciates the easy comradery. He’s sure Krel is with Steve and Alex with Douxie somewhere else. Regardless of the new friends, Jim still pouts about Claire not joining them. It feels like he barely gets any time with her here aside from nights. He’s too busy being a knight and she’s too busy working with the bastard. He should see if she wants to come to training one day. She’d probably like that and it would get her out for fresh air again.

There’s not much on the agenda today, as far as Jim knows. Ikram could spring another patrol on them but he really hopes she doesn’t. Not everyone seems to agree with Jim’s hopes for a peaceful, easy-going day. Tristan lets out a loud groan and stabs at his muffin.

“Alright, I’m already bored,” he says. “It’s boring when we don’t have patrol.”

“We almost died on our last patrol, Trist,” says Dinadan. “We deserve the break.”

“Breaks are boring!” Tristan exclaims.

Jim laughs and swallows a bite of the apple tart he grabbed for his plate. Some of the food here is surprisingly good. Jim itches to cook. Maybe if they have today off he can wander down to the kitchens and help out there.

“I would much rather be hanging out here than out in the woods dealing with the fae,” he says.

“They’re getting more active,” says Ikram. “Take the break while you can, Sir Tristan. Eventually we’ll have to patrol so often that no one gets a break.”

“How would your Iseult feel about you running off into danger?” teases Lamorak.

Tristan laughs. “She’d be right proud of me! Idle hands are the devil’s hands or whatever that bullshit is.”

Jim glances over as someone sits next to him. It’s just Alex, visibly exhausted and looking kind of like someone kicked his puppy or something. That’s weird, Alex usually eats with Douxie. Well, maybe Douxie is with Claire researching. Ditched for the library! Jim definitely understands his pain.

“Lex, my man!” says Tristan.

“You look glum,” notes Dinadan. “Trouble in paradise?”

Alex sighs morosely and drops his head into his arms on the table. “Douxie’s mad at me.”

“Wait, you and Douxie got in a fight?” Toby says in disbelief. “You and Douxie, the most lovey-dovey couple in all of ever? No offence, Jimbo.”

“None taken,” says Jim, equally shocked.

“It was my fault,” Alex says, voice muffled by his arms. “I'm just worried about him. He's gonna be so sad when I get old and die, and now he wants kids and then he'll be sad when they get old and die!”

Jim glances at Toby and he shrugs. Yeah, okay, glad they’re both a little confused. Lamorak reaches over to pat Alex’s shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, many knights die without getting old!”

Alex groans pitifully.

“Yeah, okay, no, that’s not helpful,” says Jim awkwardly. He puts a calming hand on Alex’s back, trying to be as comforting as he can. “Look, Alex, I’m sure if you and Douxie talk… whatever this is… out, everything will be fine. Claire and I have fought before and it turned out okay.”

“Probably,” mumbles Alex, not bothering to lift his head. “Maybe. If I can make my stupid mouth say what I want it to.”

“Okay, I’m bored and Lex is sad,” says Tristan. “We need something fun to do. A boys’ day out. Boys and Ikram. A boys and Ikram’s day out!”

Ikram looks resigned to her fate. “Dare I ask what your idea of fun is?”

“Well, I hear the trolls have all sorts of fun stuff to do!” Tristan exclaims. “Maybe we’ll find precious jewels! Or we can practice fighting trolls! Plus, Jim here is half-troll so it all works out.”

“I’m a changeling,” Jim corrects. “Not the same thing.”

Well, technically his troll form is still a half-troll form, but it’s still not quite the same thing. He does sometimes wonder what he’d look like as a full troll, but part of him is glad to keep some of his humanity no matter the form.

“Close enough! Lex! What do you say?” Tristan asks. Alex makes a miserable noise. Tristan grins and claps his hands together. “Perfect! It’s settled. We leave as soon as we’re done eating!”

“I don’t recall agreeing to this,” grumbles Lamorak with a smile on his face.

“I suppose I can ask Arthur if he’ll lend us the key,” says Ikram. She’s also smiling – trying to pretend she’s not, but smiling nonetheless. Jim thinks she’s just as excited as Tristan and Dinadan for a field trip. “We can’t stay too long! We want to be back before dark.”

“We know, we know,” says Dinadan. “Lex, lad, eat something so you’re a little less… depressed.”

“Not how that works,” Alex mutters, but he does reluctantly raise his head and grab a muffin. He takes a pitifully small bite and sighs. Okay, Jim really hopes they can cheer him up some today because the poor guy seems to be going through it. He’s tempted to text Claire to see if Douxie’s as miserable, but he doesn’t want to meddle in whatever these two have going on.

They finish breakfast quickly. Jim is kind of excited to get back to Dwoza, even if it is risky to spend time with people he knows in the future. He’s fairly confident Draal never put the pieces together. The Jim he knew was all human, after all. He’s confident Blinky would have said something if he remembered. Nine hundred years is a long time, even for a troll. Vendel... Jim’s not sure. It doesn’t really matter now. The Lady of the Lake made it clear they shouldn’t change anything, so even if it’s possible, even if Jim could warn Vendel, warn Draal too, he shouldn’t.

The walk to Dwoza passes safely. Jim really, really didn’t want to run into more evil fae after last time. He was so close to just activating the Trollhunter armour to get out of the vines. If Lancelot hadn’t shown up with backup, he probably would have. He hates being helpless, hates knowing if he was just free he could do something to help, hates watching and hoping things will turn out with no control over the situation.

They’re greeted with stares as they enter Dwoza, but at least a handful of trolls offer friendly waves. Jim can’t help but wonder what became of Dwoza, why the trolls no longer have their own separate realm like this. Probably something in the war. Jim kind of hopes he’s not here to find out.

Jim goes ahead and shifts to troll form. Tristan gives him a once-over and grins. “Damn, Jim, been working out?”

“Careful, don’t let Iseult catch you staring!” Dinadan teases as Jim’s cheeks heat up.

“Puh-lease, she’d want a piece of that too,” Tristan says. He winks at Jim, clearly just joking around rather than actually flirting, but Jim's blush darkens anyway. “You and Claire just let me know if you’re interested.”

Toby guffaws. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen him this embarrassed in forever!”

Jim shoves him. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

He does wish he had read more into Arthurian legends. Some of the names around here have been just barely familiar, enough that he knows anyone more read than him would recognise them, but Jim only took a class by proxy through Toby and Douxie and they spent most of their time angry at the portrayals of Mordred. The myths may not be accurate but they might have at least given him an idea of what to expect. Then again, he was directly taught trollish history and he’s still confused.

“Changeling Knight! Sir Jim!”

Jim stops automatically, used to random trolls asking him for help, but his eyes widen when he sees who, exactly, is approaching him. Kanjigar pulls Draal out in front of him. Fucking Kanjigar probably knew. Jim would bet money on it. Kanjigar definitely wouldn’t have warned him, either.

“Sir Jim,” says Kanjigar gravely, “I must ask of you a favour.”

Jim glances down at Draal’s grinning face then back up to Kanjigar. “The favour is babysitting your kid, isn’t it?”

“I would never ask you to sit on a baby!” Kanjigar exclaims, clearly affronted. “No, I would like you to watch Draal while my wife and I are patrolling the deep caverns.”

“Yeah, in human, that is what babysitting means,” Jim says.

“He seems strangely fond of you,” Kanjigar continues as if Jim hadn’t spoken. “Perhaps with you watching him he won’t immediately run off and get into trouble.”

“I won’t, I promise!” Draal exclaims. He strikes a frankly adorable warrior’s pose. “Sir Jim can teach me how to fight like a changeling!”

“Excellent!” says Kanjigar, patting his head. “Thank you for your help, Changeling Knight!”

“Wait, I–”

Too late. Kanjigar has already turned to leave without Jim actually agreeing to watch his kid. Yeesh. Jim’s opinion of him as a dad can’t sink much more but it still does nonetheless. Who just foists their kid off on someone they met all of once? Did Jim even talk to Kanjigar last time he was here? At least Draal doesn’t seem too upset to be handed off like an unwanted chore. That’s fine, if Kanjigar can’t bother to be a decent dad Jim can at least try to be a decent brother.

Dinadan pats his shoulder. “You have fun with that, lad! We’re going to try to cheer Lex up.”

“And I’m going to make sure these three don’t make things worse,” Ikram says.

“We would never!” Tristan exclaims. He throws an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “Come on, Lex, let’s put a smile back on that face of yours.”

Jim watches them drag poor Alex off. Yeah, that’s not going to end well. It’s probably a good thing Ikram is going with them. She and Lamorak can probably balance out Tristan and Dinadan. Maybe. Toby shakes his head.

“Don’t worry, Jimbo, I got your back,” Toby says. He promptly proves himself a bold-faced liar by turning to Draal and adding, “Hey, Draal, I bet Jim can show you some awesome fighting moves!”

“Tobes, I’m going to kill you,” Jim says.

“Can you kill him as a demonstration?” Draal asks hopefully.

“He doesn’t mean that literally,” Toby says at the same time as Jim says, “Yes.”

Toby narrows his eye at him. Jim smiles innocently. Draal cheers. Jim obviously won’t actually kill his best friend, but it is fun to mess with him.

“Come on,” Jim says. “I guess we should find somewhere to train if we’re going to do that. Hero’s Forge? Is that allowed?”

“If it’s not too crowded, yeah!” chirps Draal. “This is gonna be great! Changeling fighting! Hey, what’s it like to go in the sun?”

“Uh, well, it’s warm and comforting,” Jim says as they start walking. “Bright, too, brighter than it is in here.”

“Oh, does that affect your fighting?” Draal asks.

Jim shakes his head. “Not that much. I was born human, remember?”

Draal nods. “Is Morgana your mother?”

This time Jim almost trips and Toby bursts out laughing. “Morgana? His mom? HA!”

“No. No, she is not my mother,” says Jim firmly. “I have a mom that’s way cooler than her and not evil.”

“But she made you, didn’t she?” Draal asks. “Why did you decide to turn on her?”

“What she’s doing is bad,” Jim says. “Experimenting on people and especially whelps is bad and so is trying to get all the humans killed. She’s half human so you’d think she’d understand at least that much.”

“That’s true, if I was half human, I wouldn’t want to eat them,” muses Draal. “Do you think they taste good? Do they taste like socks?”

“No,” Jim says. “Please don’t eat anyone.”

They’ve reached the Forge. There’s a few other trolls in here training, but plenty of space for him to work with Draal. Man, this is going to be weird. How does Douxie do it? He’s taken to mentoring Mordred like a duck to water. Jim feels weird just looking at Draal, young and excited and smaller than him, which is by far one of the weirdest parts. Jim is a very small troll. Average sized human but very small troll. Bagdwella likes to tease him for it all the time.

“Alright, Draal, I’m going to be real with you,” Jim says. “I am not usually the one teaching others how to fight. But I had some pretty good teachers so we’ll see what I can do. What all do you know?”

“Not that much,” Draal admits. He perks up. “Oh! I can do this!”

He jumps from one foot to the other then leaps forward and rolls into a ball. Jim laughs and dodges out of the way when he rolls at him, turning and watching him pop back up and stumble. Draal turns with a successful grin.

“Not bad!” Jim says. “Definitely a useful trick for a fight.”

Draal practically glows at the praise. Okay, wow, so Kanjigar hasn’t taught him shit. On the one hand, Draal is a child still, probably not even quite the equivalent of a human teenager. On the other, Kanjigar clearly wasn’t a very doting father even before he became the Trollhunter. Plus somehow a part of Jim kind of expected Draal was born fighting like a pro. He didn’t expect he ever needed teaching. Or that Jim would teach him. Oh, that’s weird. Will Jim teach Draal things that Draal will later teach Jim but the only reason he knows those things is because Jim taught him? Time travel gives Jim a headache.

“Why don’t we start with basic sword skills?” Jim suggests. “If you want to be a Trollhunter one day, you definitely need to train in swordplay.”

“Excellent!” Draal exclaims.

“Do you guys have training swords?” Jim asks. “Or, like, at least sticks?”

“Uh, let me go find something!” Draal says, running off.

Jim sighs and runs his hands along his horns. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“As long as you don’t use real swords, it’ll be fine,” says Toby. “No stabbing, no problem. Relax, Jimbo, you’ll be a great teacher.”

“Thank you, but that’s not the biggest issue here,” Jim says. “What if I break the future? What if I’m so bad at this that I convince Draal to be a pacifist or something? Draal! What if–”

“Breathe, buddy, breathe,” says Toby. “I don’t think we’re going to break the future. We don’t know enough about this time to be able to try to keep things happening the right way, anyway. For all we know, you were always meant to teach Draal.”

“I guess.” Jim readjusts his ponytail with yet another sigh. He sees Draal running back to them holding up wooden swords. That’ll work. Jim’s honestly surprised they had those here.

“Are you sure we can’t use real swords?” Draal asks.

“Very sure,” Jim says, taking one of the practice swords. He does a few practice slashes and jabs, just to get the feel of the wooden sword. Draal watches him with starry eyes. He smiles at him. “Okay, Draal. Swordplay is a lot about instinct. Your blade is an extension of your body, and your body is an extension of your eyes.”

“Blade, body, body, eyes, got it,” says Draal.

“We’ll start with some basic stances,” Jim says. “Mimic my movements, okay?”

Draal nods eagerly. Jim starts by walking him through the same basic stances he would one day show Jim. Much to Jim’s surprise, Draal is focused and determined. Jim kind of expected him to be more impatient to get to the fun stuff, but it looks like he’s taking this seriously. Jim should have known he would. Draal always took training seriously. But preteens are impatient so Jim kind of just assumed Draal would be too.

It really is nice to see him again, even like this. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for getting Draal killed. It was a warrior’s death, one he knows Draal would be proud of, but Jim would rather have Draal alive and with him. In the months they knew each other Draal had quickly gone from rival to friend to brother and Jim will always consider him family. It’s interesting to see his childhood, to fill in the blanks of what Draal never told him. He so rarely spoke of his relationship with Kanjigar, and he spoke even less about his mother. Jim’s gotta admit, his estimation of Kanjigar is not great right now. Draal looked up to him anyway.

“You’re doing good,” he tells Draal. He perks up at the praise. “Be sure to widen your stance some. Account for your body mass. Your troll species is very top-heavy and if you grow up to look anything like your father you’re going to need to pay attention to that.”

“Top heavy, got it,” says Draal.

“Alright, you’ve got some basic stances, so now I’m going to start showing you how to put them into practice,” Jim says. “We’ll go slow, not a real fight by any means. Just practice with attacking and parrying.”

Draal nods eagerly. Jim takes it slow and patient, much like Draal did for him. He’ll skip the part where Draal scared the crap out of him by pinning him to the wall. Right now is just the basics. Draal has nine hundred years to train. Jim wishes he’d had more time instead of being thrust into such a dangerous role so quickly.

He loses track of time as they walk through the motions. Jim is hesitant to do much more without talking to Kanjigar about it first, parental permission and all that, but then again, he doesn’t think Kanjigar will care. Toby has found some random troll to spar with, apparently bored of Jim’s teachings. That’s fine. Draal is still listening with shocking attention and that’s the important part.

He barely even notices when the others show back up until he hears Ikram call his name. “Sir Jim! It’s time to go!”

“Oh,” he says, lowering the wooden sword. Draal falls into an immediate pout. “Is Kanjigar back yet? I’m kinda on babysitting duty.”

“Haven’t seen him,” says Tristan. “We’ll grab an early dinner in town, but we wanna be back well before dusk. The last thing we want to do is get caught by the Gumm-Gumms.”

“I can watch the whelp.” Jim startles with a yelp as Deya appears behind him. She’s got this stealth thing down apparently. Unfortunately, it appears he wasn’t done fangirling last time because he stammers very embarrassingly at her and she laughs. “Hello to you too, Changeling Knight. May I have a moment of your time before you go?”

“O-of course,” Jim says. “Um, Tobes, can you…?”

“Watch Draal, got it,” he says with a salute. “Draal, hey, you wanna try out my war-hammer?”

“Do I ever!”

Jim sighs. Well, that can only end in disaster but he does trust Toby with Draal more than anyone else in the world. He follows Deya off to the side, a secluded corner but still within eyesight of the others.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Close your eyes,” she says.

“What?”

“Just trust me, Sir Jim.” Jim swallows and does as asked. “Now hold out your hand.”

Jim opens his hand, palm up, and moments later something cold is placed in it. He instinctively closes his fingers around it, tracing the familiar inscription and when he opens his eyes and looks down, Deya’s amulet is glowing. She nods.

“There’s something strange about you, Changeling Knight,” she says. “The amulet recognises you. And something tells me you know why.”

“You’re very observant,” Jim says anxiously. “Would you leave me alone if I tell you I can’t tell you?”

“Tell me this instead,” she says, eyes narrowed. “Can we trust you? Vendel is wary. We all saw how Daylight reacted to you. The last thing I want is an enemy that can steal my sword, that could turn my own armour against me.”

“I would never!” Jim exclaims. “You can trust me, I promise. If ever we’re in battle together it’ll be on the same side.”

“You have King Arthur’s trust, but that isn’t hard to earn.” Deya holds out a hand and Jim hands her back her amulet. She turns it over in her hands and sighs. “I’m aware Merlin distrusts you. While that’s also not hard to earn, it does make me… hesitate. You must understand, he has helped us for decades in our war. I’m inclined to trust his judgement.”

“Merlin doesn’t like me because I’m a changeling,” says Jim. “Plain and simple. But… if you’d rather I not return to Dwoza… I understand.”

“Honestly, I’d rather you do return so I can keep an eye on you,” she admits. “I saw you with Draal. You’re good with him. Kanjigar trusts you with him. He has excellent instincts and would make a good Trollhunter himself one day. The amulet trusts you, despite Merlin’s misgivings. I want to trust you.”

“I’ll prove that you can,” Jim promises.

She eyes him and then, finally, smiles. “I’m sure that you will, Sir Jim. Now, I believe I’ve held you long enough. Get back to your humans. When you return, I wish to get to know you more.”

“I’ll see you then,” he says shyly.

She pats his shoulder and walks away to go corral Draal. Jim lets out a shaky breath. Yep, okay, that was terrifying. He should have been expecting it. Eventually someone rational was going to come along and not trust them, not trust him, especially after that spar with Deya. He should have been more careful. Of course Vendel and Deya would be suspicious. He shouldn’t have been able to wield Daylight. He doubts they’ll guess time traveller, at least. He wonders what they do think.

He rejoins the others. Dinadan tilts his head. “Uh, so what was that all about?”

“Just… still need to prove myself,” Jim says.

Toby lands next to him and nudges him. “You will. Everyone I know loves ya, Jimbo.”

Jim laughs. “Thanks, Tobes.”

“Goodbye, Sir Jim!” Draal calls, running over and bowing to him. “Thank you for training me.”

“Anytime,” Jim says, reaching out to pat his head fondly. “I’ll try to stop by more often, okay? When I have time.”

“You’re always welcome,” Deya says, as if she didn’t just interrogate him or whatever that was. “Safe travels, knights of Camelot.”

“Thank you, Trollhunter,” says Ikram.

Jim waves to Draal as they leave. He’s surprised at how much he enjoyed training him, being a good role model. He hopes he’s a good role model. Draal deserves at least one of those in his life. He’ll have to be sure to say goodbye before they leave for their time. Not just for Draal but for himself as well.

It’s snowing lightly when they get out of Dwoza. Jim discreetly checks his phone for the time. Mid-afternoon, a few hours before what sunset will probably be. Good, they should get back to Camelot with enough time, assuming they don’t get ambushed again. Jim really hopes they don’t get ambushed again.

“So what did you guys do all morning?” Toby asks.

“Gave Lex the grand tour, since he didn’t come last time,” says Lamorak. “Had a run-in with a bunch of gnomes. That was fun.”

“Fun is a word for it,” mutters Dinadan, shuddering. “For such little fellows, they are full of rage.”

Jim laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Ah, but they’re full of love as well!” Toby says. “We’ve got a little gnome buddy back home. I hope he’s doing alright. I know his kid just graduated high school.”

“His kid the peanut,” Alex says. He still looks miserable, but at least he’s doing more than sighing morosely.

“I’ve learned not to question it,” Jim says. “We’re all very proud of Chompsky Jr for graduating high school at nine years old and we leave it at that.”

“He’s going to be a biophysicist,” adds Toby.

Alex shakes his head. “Yeah. Okay. Sure, why not?”

“I’m just going to pretend that made sense,” says Tristan. “We’re still on a mission to cheer Lex up properly. I’d say drinks but I kind of think that would make things worse.”

Jim thinks back to the last time they got Alex drunk. He cried about missing Douxie all night, and that was when they weren’t fighting. He nods. “Yeah, let’s not.”

“I’m not that bad,” mutters Alex.

“You are,” say Lamorak and Dinadan together.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ikram frown and stop walking. He waves a hand and the others stop as well. Ikram shields her eyes from the light, peering at something in the distance. Jim follows her gaze. A few yards away there seems to be a random patch of flowers growing in the snow. Weird, but he’s not sure he gets the fuss. There are flowers that bloom in winter, right? No big deal. Jim is literally pleading with the universe for it to be no big deal.

“Stay close,” Ikram says softly. “Blooms like that this late into the autumn can only mean fae.”

“Fantastic,” mutters Toby.

Instead of leaving well enough alone and going home where it’s safe, they creep closer to the random flowers. As they approach it becomes clear they’re in a circle around red-stained snow. Jim swallows and prepares to draw his sword.

“A faerie circle,” murmurs Dinadan. “Whatever this is, they wanted us to see it.”

“So we should avoid it and get the hell back to Camelot?” Alex suggests.

“No,” says Lamorak grimly. “Given what the last few faerie circles have held… stay close, lads. And hold your stomachs.”

Jim and Toby exchange wary looks. Nope, Jim does not like this, especially as the scent of stale blood burns in his nostrils. Ikram and Lamorak take the lead. Tristan swallows visibly, hands clenched into fists.

“So much for cheering anyone up,” he mumbles.

Ikram kneels and murmurs something in Arabic. Jim peers over her shoulder and his stomach rolls. Oh, nope. Nope, he thinks he’s going to be sick. There’s not much within the faerie circle, but it can only be a warning: some locks of ginger hair and a severed hand laying in bloody snow.

“Oh my god,” whispers Alex in horror. Toby looks as green as Jim feels.

“Lamorak,” Ikram says softly.

He nods and flares focusers, brow furrowed in concentration. He sighs. “Sir Owain. But we should have a healer confirm too, just to be sure.”

“I don’t understand,” manages Toby.

“Sir Owain was captured by the fae a week or so before you all arrived,” says Tristan, face grim and numb, staring at the… remains. “He’s not the first and he won’t be the last. They always like to let us know when they’ve killed them.”

Lamorak removes his cloak and gathers the remains into it, folding it neatly to hide them. Jim’s good mood from earlier has entirely vanished now. He knew this was a war but this… this is nothing like anything he’s been involved in. He’s sickened by the fae’s gloating. Look, see, we’ve killed your brother-in-arms! But we won’t even give you a body to bury! Jim shakes his head and runs to the bushes to lose his breakfast.

“I’m sorry you had to see this, lads,” Dinadan murmurs.

“There’s a reason we patrol in groups.” Ikram stands and brushes snow off her legs. “Less likely for things like this to happen, but they still do. Sir Bedivere was captured only a day or so after you got here, for example.”

Jim remembers vaguely hearing about that, too new to really understand the gravity of the situation. He wipes his mouth and lets out a breath. “We need to get back to Camelot before we join him, then.”

She nods. “Yes. Not far now. They always leave the remains where we will find them.”

Jim can’t help but grab his friends’ hands as they walk back to Arcadia. Toby squeezes his hand. Alex’s expression has fallen into shock. Jim looks around at the other knights – none seem surprised, just resigned and sad. This is common, or at least common enough. If they aren’t careful, this could be one of them.

Something in their faces must tell the people of Camelot what happened because heads bow and faces fall as they pass. Jim knows without asking that they’re going straight to Lancelot with the bad news. He wants to go find Claire, make sure she’s okay. She’s safe, though, safe in Camelot’s walls where the fae can’t get in and hurt her. Jim’s the one in danger. How can he tell her that the next patrol he goes on may be his last? That all she might get back is a hand?

Lancelot is with a few other knights out in the training area. He smiles at them as they arrive, but he must recognise they aren’t here with good news and his face turns serious. Lamorak steps forward and presents his cloak. Lancelot unfolds it and his eyes widen in horror.

“Sir Owain, based on my scans,” Lamorak says softly. “We can get the healers to confirm.”

Lancelot closes his eyes. “Yes. We should go do that. Another circle?”

“Aye,” says Dinadan. “Not far from here. We happened across it on our way back.”

Lancelot nods. He glances up at them, at Jim and Toby and Alex, shaken and scared. Toby has Jim’s hand in a vice grip. Alex’s grip is looser, but Jim won’t let go of either of them, not yet. Lancelot smiles grimly, wryly.

“Welcome, lads,” he murmurs, “to war.”

Notes:

So I ran out of plan this chapter and decided to traumatise them instead! Whoopsie! Welcome to the fae like to play with their food :3

Anyway I hope you enjoyed! Things are pretty much downhill from here :3 Thank you for reading!

Chapter 13: Lost in the Woods

Notes:

TW: more mentions of the same dismemberment and death as last chapter

Krel hasn’t had to deal with a Douxie this stressed and morose in a very long time. He slept all morning and Krel didn’t bother waking him till it was lunchtime and he could admit he was getting hungry himself. He didn’t really want to leave Douxie alone. Unfortunately, by the time Douxie got up, Alex was already long gone with the knights doing who knows what. Lancelot mentioned something about a trip to Dwoza. Either way, that means it will be a while before they get back and therefore a while for Douxie to work himself into anxiety.

Now in the late afternoon, with the sun already turning the sky outside hues of pink, Krel and his “fellow” wizards are hanging out in Merlin’s library, avoiding the man himself and supposedly doing more research, but it’s kind of hard to research with Douxie pacing a hole in the floor. Krel would kind of like to start banging his head into the stone wall, but he thinks Steve would yell at him for giving himself a concussion.

“I should apologise,” says Douxie.

“You should,” Krel agrees. He doesn’t know the whole story but Douxie has admitted to storming out in anger and saying some not very nice things, so Krel can agree that an apology is probably in order.

“He’s probably not mad,” reasons Douxie. “He’s probably just sad. Ugh, that’s worse. I made him sad.”

“So you should apologise,” Krel says.

“But what if he is mad?” Douxie continues as if Krel hadn’t spoken. “What if this is all too much? What if I pushed him over the edge?”

“I’m sure he’s not mad. You’ll never know if you don’t talk to him.”

“I don’t want to know if it means he’s gonna divorce me!”

“He’s not going to divorce you, Douxie,” Krel says, trying hard not to roll his eyes. That wouldn’t be very brotherly of him. He’s tempted, though. “Breathe.”

“I should have just listened instead of going off on him,” Douxie groans. “What kind of husband am I? A bad one! I’m a bad husband!”

Claire slams her book shut. “Can you please take your panic session elsewhere? Some of us are trying to read. Douxie, just practice your apology by writing it out and talk to him when you see him tonight. And for the love of everything good, stop freaking out.”

“Come on, Douxie,” Krel says, grabbing his brother’s arm and dragging him out of the library. “You need to stop wallowing. We’re going to find something to do until dinner or whenever you can see Alex.”

“Dinner’s soon!” Douxie yelps. “I don’t even know where to start my apology!”

“Usually with ‘I’m sorry’,” Krel says flatly. He tries to think of something fun and distracting to do as he drags Douxie through the halls. Maybe they could help in the kitchen? No, Douxie in the kitchen is a recipe for disaster. Ha. Recipe in the kitchen. Krel’s still got it. Mordred’s busy with training, so Krel can’t even weaponise the baby version of Mort to cheer Douxie up.

Douxie sighs pitifully. Seklos and Gaylen, is Alex being this pathetic with the knights right now? Probably. Krel did not sign up to play relationship therapist. Douxie and Alex are hard enough to deal with when they’re happy and in love and sickeningly sweet. This sad version is going to drive Krel insane. He wishes Mary was here, actually, if anyone could fix… whatever this is… it’s Mary Wang.

“Come on, let’s go into town,” Krel says. “Maybe you can get him, ugh, flowers or something. Flowers are used for human romance, aren’t they?”

“I guess,” Douxie says morosely. “I don’t think flowers will be enough though.”

“Well, maybe you can find chocolates.”

“No, chocolate wasn’t introduced to Europe until way past this time.” Douxie sighs again. “They probably don’t have any of the spicy foods he likes either.”

Krel drags him downstairs and out of the castle. He likes spending time in town, getting to see the vibrant city that Mort grew up in. People are generally friendly here, especially because Krel and Douxie have been seen often with the prince and the court’s master wizard. Krel doesn’t like getting brownie points for hanging around Merlin, because in his opinion anyone willingly hanging around Merlin is a little suspicious or, well, Arthur, but he’ll take what he can get. He’d rather they be trusted than treated like strange, dangerous outsiders. He’s tried to be friendly with everyone he runs into, so he waves at a few of the people as they walk into the market square. Some even wave back. He counts that as a win.

“Maybe we should ask around,” he tells Douxie. “Find out what big romantic gestures they have here in Camelot.”

“Or maybe we should not do that,” says Douxie. “Do you really want to see me try pulling some grand medieval romance thing off?”

“No, but I do want to see you stop being sad,” says Krel.

“Hisirdoux, Krel!” calls Anna’s familiar voice. They stop walking as she and Lot catch up to them with a smile. The sight of the baby does not seem to help Douxie’s mood like Krel hoped it would. He still doesn’t know what the fight was about but he has a sinking feeling it has to do with all the hints Douxie’s been dropping and Alex has been pointedly ignoring. Yeah. He knew that was going to blow up in their faces.

“Princess Anna,” Douxie says, bowing. Krel does as well, to be polite.

“Enjoying some fresh air, lads?” says Lot. “Us too. Always nice to take a stroll around town.”

“Oh, when it was safer we used to walk around in the woods,” says Anna. She sighs. “I miss those days. Since Morgana brought these fae in it’s been different here. Spirits are a lot lower. Losing Gwen didn’t help.”

“You don’t call her Mum like Mordred does?” Douxie blurts. His cheeks turn red. “Sorry. That is… not my business.”

She laughs lightly. “It’s okay. I loved her as a mother, but… I never really felt ready to replace my birth mother. Mordred never knew her, he was so little when she died, but…”

“Yeah,” Douxie says. “I guess I can understand that. I think of my adoptive father as my dad but he raised me to call him uncle cause he didn’t want to replace my parents.”

“Raised us,” Krel coughs, smiling plastically. Douxie winces ever so slightly. Yes, Douxie, their cover, remember?

“I was – we were both really young when they died,” says Douxie.

“I am sorry for your loss, both of you,” says Anna.

“Is it a loss if you never really knew them?” Douxie shrugs. Krel knows that’s a lie. Just like Toby misses the parents he never knew, he knows Douxie misses Percy and Hannah Galder. Not in the same way Krel misses Mama and Papa. Not in the same way they both miss Uncle Mort. But it’s still a loss, and it’s shaped his entire life. Krel can’t pretend to know what it’s like.

“This is why I tell Lot to be extra careful,” Anna says. Her lips fall into a worried frown. “It’s getting so dangerous to be a knight. I don’t want my baby to grow up without his father.”

Lot kisses her forehead. “I’m being careful, dearest.”

Douxie swallows and looks away. Krel hasn’t liked his friends being knights from the start, but the longer this goes on the less he likes it. They’re going out on patrols now, or have at least once, and it doesn’t seem to have gone very well.

There’s a commotion in the crowd. Anna frowns and gestures for them to follow her. The hush that’s starting to fall over the marketplace doesn’t bode well. Douxie’s face pinches in worry and he reaches out to grab onto Krel’s arm. By the time they push through the crowd, whatever had gained people’s attention is gone, but the whispers remain.

“Not another,” says an older man, leaning heavily on his cane like the world is weighing on his shoulders.

The lady next to him shakes her head. “We’ll hear more soon.”

“God bless our brave knights,” says another lady.

Anna and Lot exchange looks. Douxie’s frown pulls deeper. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” says Lot, “but I have a suspicion. We should get back to the castle. I have a feeling the knights will be called for a briefing soon.”

Krel and Douxie follow them back through the crowd. Douxie doesn’t let go of his arm and Krel’s glad for it, afraid he’ll lose him in the throngs of anxious, whispering people. Krel only catches bits and pieces. Another, another, they all say. God bless our brave knights. Krel doesn’t like the sound of that, doesn’t like the way merchants are closing their shops early, doesn’t like the way heads bow and hoods go up, the way a silence falls over the whole of Camelot. Another, another, another what?

Lot and Anna split at the castle gates with a quick kiss. Lot hands Gaheris off to his wife and hurries towards where Krel knows the knights train. They continue to follow Anna, upstairs, towards the throne room. The hush has started to spread through the castle, the whispers echoing on the stone.

“Go find Lady Claire and Healer Steve,” she says. “I’m sure Dad will announce what happened soon enough.”

She disappears into the throne room, behind wooden doors. Normally, Krel would listen, wouldn’t eavesdrop, but he and Douxie both hesitate just outside, listening through the cracks for what’s going on.

“…fae are definitely getting bolder,” Lancelot is saying. “I've had reports coming in from some of the outer villages about raids during the daytime, so not the Gumm-Gumms.”

“I was in town,” Anna says as she approaches. “Papa. Dad. What’s going on?”

“Well,” Lancelot says softly.

“News on Sir Owain or Sir Bedivere?” asks Arthur, voice grim.

“That’s… part of the reason I came,” Lancelot admits. “A group of knights found Sir Owain. Or… what’s left of him. We had a healer confirm it was him.”

“That little left?” Arthur sounds heartbroken, but not surprised. Krel doesn’t recognise that name, Sir Owain. Sir Bedivere he does, because Toby mentioned him to Krel and Steve the other day, how the man had gone missing so shortly after they arrived. What’s left of him?

Another, another, the town rings in his head.

“Gods have mercy on us,” murmurs Anna.

“More than usual,” Lancelot says, as if this makes things better. “A whole hand this time. And the standard locks of hair. Always enough to know, but never much. I’m sorry, Arthur. I know you hate hearing–”

“My knights are dying, Lancelot!” Arthur exclaims, voice cracking with grief. “My people are dying, dying gruesome, horrible deaths and we don’t even have bodies to bury! That’s the sixth knight we’ve lost this way in the past two months! Six!”

“I know, love, trust me, I know.” There’s a brief silence, or maybe they’re murmuring to each other, too soft for Krel to hear over the horrified buzzing of his core. “Owain’s family will be holding a service tonight. They’ve invited us and the knights.”

“We’ll be there,” says Arthur, soft and fragile. “Gods above have mercy on us. I don't want anyone leaving the city walls at night anymore. All incoming travellers should be scanned for illusions, and all outgoing travel should be limited to necessity. Patrols stick together and always have a magic user and a healer along.”

“I’ll make sure word gets out to the people,” says Anna.

“And I’ll brief the knights,” says Lancelot.

There’s footsteps. Krel grabs a pale Douxie and rushes around a corner before they get caught. They weren’t supposed to hear all of this. Will Arthur be announcing a sanitised version later? Douxie looks seconds away from being sick and Krel can’t pretend he doesn’t feel the same, eyes wide as he leans up against the wall, hands pressing hard against the rough stone.

A hand and some hair.

Another, another, another.

“Seklos and Gaylen,” he whispers. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

Douxie holds his stomach. “I’m gonna throw up. Oh my gods. What the fuck. What the fuck?”

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” Krel says, hand going to hold his forehead and threading his fingers into his hair. “Seklos, this is worse than – at least none of the other stuff we've dealt with had people disappearing and getting brutally murdered!”

“We have to get home,” Douxie chokes out. “What the fuck. We have to get home.”

“We better tell Claire,” Krel says. Do Jim and Toby and Alex know already? If not, they will soon. It sounds like Lancelot will be telling them shortly. Krel already didn’t like them being knights, but to learn they’ve lost six in the past two months this way? No, no, no, Krel hates this. The town wasn’t even surprised. Arthur wasn’t even surprised. When things like this have become commonplace, they’ve gotten completely out of hand.

They hurry back to the library, passing knights rushing towards the briefing Lancelot must be holding and nobles and servants alike shaking their heads and murmuring amongst each other. Claire is still reading, soft music playing from her phon. She’s not going to like this. That’s the understatement of the century. She looks up as they enter and sighs, clearly disappointed that they’re back so soon. Krel feels a little bad that they’re about to ruin her day further. Her brow furrows as she observes them, observes their frowns, their tension, the shake in their hands and the anxiety in their eyes.

“You two okay?” she asks.

“No,” Douxie gasps out, winded from running. “Not even a little bit.”

“We have trouble,” Krel says. “This is worse than we thought.”

“We’re stuck in the past in a war with evil trolls and evil fae,” she says. “How much worse can it get?”

“We were in town and it was – it was like the whole world stopped,” Krel says shakily. “We didn’t – Anna and Lot, we ran into them, they seemed to know but – all everyone said was another, and another, and God bless our knights–”

“Slow down,” says Claire. “You’re not making any sense.”

“We just overheard Arthur and Lancelot talking,” Douxie says. He still looks sick to his stomach. Krel leans on a chair. “Did you know six knights have gone missing in the past two months? No, no, seven. Seven knights! But six of them – six of them have been found. What’s left of them has been found. A hand! A hand and some hair! And that was more than usual!”

Claire covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh my god.”

“We need to get home,” Douxie says. “We need to – we need to warn our knights.”

“I think Lancelot’s taking care of that,” Krel says. “But we should definitely have a team meeting tonight.”

Douxie collapses onto a chair, holding his head. “A hand and some hair. Seklos, this is way over our heads. This is way over our heads. This is an actual war, this isn’t – this isn’t some crazy asshole coming after us specifically this is – this is – gods.”

Krel sits as well. He can’t help but agree. Something about this feels different than everything else they’ve dealt with. Morando, Merlin, Ultios… it’s not like people didn’t die fighting them, but… Douxie’s right, they had a pretty singular focus. They weren’t kidnapping and murdering their allies and leaving their remains for them to find. How must those knights have felt, finding what was left of their brother-in-arms? Knowing they could be next?

They need to get home. Before this happens to one of them.

 

 

Unfortunately, they don’t manage to catch the knights at all for the rest of the day. Krel can only assume that Lancelot has been briefing them and insisting on upping their training or something. Just like old times. Krel can tell Douxie is getting very anxious.

“Do you think he’s avoiding me?” he asks Krel, pacing in Krel’s room while Krel sits on the bed. “I’d be avoiding me if I were him. Wait. What if he thinks I’m avoiding him? Oh, no, oh, no.”

“Douxie, relax,” Krel says. “He’s probably not avoiding you. Toby and Jim aren’t back yet either.”

“Oh, no,” Douxie says again. “What if they’ve been captured? Have you seen them on the grounds at all today?”

“Douxie, you’re going to have a panic attack,” Krel says. “It’s not even that late yet. They aren’t stupid enough to be out after dark, I’m sure they’ll be home soon.”

On cue, he hears voices outside and quickly recognises them as the knights Alex and the others like to hang out with. Douxie pauses his pacing, eyes hopeful. Krel quickly reactivates their transductions as the footsteps stop outside his door.

“Chin up, Lex,” he hears Tristan say. “It’s normal for couples to get into a fight or two. You guys will be fine.”

Douxie’s face falls at the mention of their fight. Krel sighs and stands, walking over and pushing him towards the door. “Just go talk to him.”

Douxie nods. Krel follows him but stops to spy from the doorway as Douxie steps outside, rubbing his upper arm. Alex lets out a slow breath and turns to face him. Lamorak and Tristan exchange awkward looks.

“Well, we’re going to… go,” says Lamorak. He and Tristan hurry down the hall. Toby waves until Jim quickly drags him into his and Claire’s room. Douxie’s grip tightens on his arm, clearly anxious.

“Hey,” Alex says softly.

“Hey,” Douxie says. He takes a deep breath. “Alex, I–”

“Guys! We’ve got a problem!”

“Steve!” Krel hisses, which gives away his spying but he is so sick and tired of Douxie being miserable and if Steve gets in the way of these two making up Krel is going to drop him off the castle’s highest tower.

“Yep, sorry, very bad timing,” says Steve, eyeing Alex and Douxie, “but I definitely just saw Mordred sneaking towards the city walls.”

“What!?” Alex and Douxie exclaim in unison. The two of them push past Steve to get into his room to see. Even fighting they work in unison. Krel and Steve join them to peer out the window. Sure enough, there’s Mordred and Enaid sneaking out of the city. Forget Steve, Krel’s going to kill that little shit. Is this how Mort felt dealing with him and Douxie all the time? The universe is cruel. This is cruel, unusual punishment for being an insufferable teenager himself.

“We better go get him before he gets hurt,” Krel says with a groan. “He’s exactly like you, Douxie! This is horrible.”

“Let’s get the Trollhunters,” sighs Steve.

Alex puts a hand on Douxie’s shoulder and gives him a tiny smile. “We’ll talk after, okay?”

Douxie swallows and nods. Alex kisses his cheek then hurries out of the room after Steve. Krel rolls his eyes. “Told you he wouldn’t divorce you. Now let’s go save Uncle Mort’s ass.”

Steve has grabbed the Trollhunters and it looks like Alex was grabbing cloaks because he tosses one at Krel and Douxie bother. Krel shrugs his on as they run downstairs and out into the city. They’re so telling Arthur about this. They may not be able to ground Mordred but Arthur sure will. Douxie traces a rune in the air and a line of blue extends out of the city, faint enough to not really be noticed by anyone else.

“Very simple tracking spell,” Douxie explains quickly. “Easy since we’re just looking for Uncle Mort. C’mon.”

They skip any pretence of trying to sneak out and instead Claire shadow-portals them past the city’s walls and they keep running, up the cliffside stairs and into the forest. What the hell is Mordred up to? Thankfully he doesn’t seem to have gotten far. It isn’t long before Krel spots him and points.

“And where do you think you’re going, Prince Mordred?” Steve calls.

Mordred jumps about a foot into the air with a very unprincely squawk, knocking Enaid off his shoulder. He turns and pales. “Steve? Oh, shit. I mean – hiiii?”

“Don’t you hiiii me,” Steve says, crossing his arms as they catch up to him.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Enaid says. Mordred pouts at her. If Krel didn’t know Junie was a chaotic bundle of energy and excitement, he’d definitely start to wonder if all familiars were generally done with their wizards and mildly judgemental like Archie. Maybe it’s because Steve was already somewhat responsible by the time he got Junie and Douxie and Mordred are... not.

“It is way too dangerous for you to be out at night!” Douxie snaps. “Especially alone! What were you thinking? This is how you get dead, Mordred!”

“I just – have things – I need to do,” Mordred hedges awkwardly. “Merlin hasn’t left me alone practically since you guys got here!”

“Loath as I am to agree with Merlin on anything, you shouldn’t be alone in the woods regardless!” Douxie says. “It’s far too dangerous! Come on, let’s get back to the castle before–”

There’s rustling in the leaves around them. Toby activates his war-hammer and Douxie and Steve both form magical weapons. Well, Steve tries. He’s never been the best at those.

“We should start moving,” Alex murmurs.

Too late. As he says that, Krel recognises glowing eyes in the dark forest as several trolls step out and surround them. Mordred’s eyes widen in horror and he forms his dual swords. Krel is suddenly very glad he still had his serrator on him for the transduction because it looks like Alex didn’t bring his sword. Mordred’s eyes narrow as he activates it and shoves it into Alex’s hands, but he can handle that later. Claire forms a weapon for Jim as well. Alex pushes Mordred behind him.

“Fleshbags,” says one Gumm-Gumm, stepping out from behind two others, larger and more intimidating than his fellows. Jim’s eyes widen.

“Bular,” he snarls. He shifts forms to give himself a better advantage. Krel carefully watches the trolls for any sign that they’ll attack. This Bular must be their leader and they’re waiting for his call.

“A changeling!” says Bular in surprise. “And you recognise me. What is an impure doing with them?”

“About to be kicking your rocky ass!” Jim snaps.

He lets out a roar and charges, which sparks the rest of the Gumm-Gumms to attack as well. Thanks, Jim, real helpful. Krel shoots into the air to give himself an advantage. No Merlin means they can use their powers more unhindered. They’ll deal with Mordred once they’ve survived the fight. They’re outnumbered, but they’ve fought outnumbered before and won. They’ve also fought outnumbered before and lost, though, so Krel’s not getting his hopes up.

He forms a blaster with his powers and starts trying to pick off the Gumm-Gumms from the sky. He sees Claire weaving the forests’ shadows to her command and Douxie’s eyes glowing golden on black as he swallows Gumm-Gumms in inky blackness. Toby winks at him from the air nearby before diving down to whack one troll with his hammer.

“Krel!” calls Mordred from just below him. Krel lands to check on him. He doesn’t look injured, at least. “I know a spell that Merlin taught me to use against the Gumm-Gumms! It’s supposed to be really effective against trolls!”

“Great,” Krel says, forming a shield to protect both of them from a Gumm-Gumm's bludgeon. “Go tell Douxie!”

“Douxie’s way over there!” Mordred exclaims. “It’s just a super concentrated light spell, light spells are basic.”

“Look, Mordred, my... magic... doesn’t work like yours!” Krel says. He grabs Mordred and flies out of the way, setting him on a sturdy tree branch. “Tell me how it works and I’ll tell Douxie. You stay up here.”

“What?” Mordred says. “I can help!”

“We’re not having this conversation right now,” Krel says. “The spell?”

Mordred huffs but holds out a hand, focuser lighting up in front of him. “It’s basically a light spell but you gotta focus on making it sunlight. Look, watch.”

A beam of light shoots out at the nearest Gumm-Gumm below them. The troll shrieks in pain and Mordred gasps and stops the spell. The Gumm-Gumm falls to its knees, a patch of dead stone across its chest.

“I didn’t know it would do that,” Mordred manages.

“No time to feel bad,” Krel says. “Keep it up but try to stay out of sight. They’re trying to kill us, we can kill them back.”

“O-okay,” says Mordred unsurely. Krel generally doesn’t like killing sentient beings either, but in this situation, there isn’t much of a choice. Also, the Gumm-Gumms do seem to genuinely want them dead. It doesn’t seem to be mind-control like they’ve dealt with in the past.

Douxie and Claire are fighting back-to-back right now, so Krel flies down to land beside them and throws up a shield.

“Mordred told me to use a light spell!” Krel says. “He said to focus on it being sunlight.”

“That’s right!” Douxie exclaims. “Mort mentioned once using concentrated UV radiation to fight the Gumm-Gumms!”

“He did?”

“Yeah, you were busy being kidnapped,” Claire says. “Doux, I think this is going to be more your speciality than mine. I’m shit at light spells.”

“You got it,” Douxie says.

“Also avoid all of us,” says Claire. “Those are gonna be straight cancer beams if it’s pure UV light like that.”

“Noted!” Douxie shoots into the air and forms a focuser in front of each hand, then spreads his hands out to form several more in front of him. Krel can only faintly see the beam in human form – Akiridions can see a broader spectrum than humans can but the transduction can make it iffy. Krel runs back into battle as several Gumm-Gumms roar and start turning to stone.

“Well, that’s terrifying!” he hears Jim say.

“Just don’t get hit!” Krel calls to him.

“Where’s Mordred?” Alex asks as Krel passes him.

“Tree!”

“Tree!?”

Krel waves him off. “He’s out of harm’s way! Focus on the fight!”

Strangely enough, they’re not losing. They’re not winning by any stretch of the definition, but they aren’t losing either. The UV spell is definitely coming in handy. Steve seems to have picked up on it too, although Krel can’t tell whether Douxie told him or if he picked it up himself. Krel mostly sticks to his blaster. It’s the most effective and, better yet, long-range.

Krel makes the mistake of flying too close to the ground and a Gumm-Gumm grabs his leg and slams him into the forest floor. Krel manages to turn over and throw up a shield in time to stop a sword inches from his core.

“You guys are really getting on my last nerve!” Krel grits out, struggling to hold the shield up against the Gumm-Gumm's brute strength.

“Krel!” he hears Mordred yell before another beam of light hits the Gumm-Gumm in the face and it stumbles back with a screech. Mordred grins and waves from the trees, then yelps when a Gumm-Gumm spear embeds into the trunk next to him and he loses his balance and falls.

“Kleb!” Krel yells. He stumbles to his feet to run to catch him, but that just knocks both of them to the ground. Two Gumm-Gumms approach and Krel gets to his feet and throws up a shield. He glances back at Mordred. “Shield and run for home. Now!”

Mordred nods and draws a rune in mid-air to summon a shield around himself before taking off running. Most of the Gumm-Gumms are retreating by now, especially with the invisible UV spells flying around. Krel sees the leader – Bular – narrow his eyes and then run towards Mordred. Krel throws the two attacking back with the shield and summons his blaster to aim at Bular, but his distraction means a club bludgeons right into his side and knocks him off his feet with a sharp spike of pain.

“Mordred!” he calls.

Mordred turns and lets out a yelp as he trips over a tree root. Alex, the closest, charges forward to get between him and Bular.

“Alex!” Douxie cries out as Bular lifts Alex off the ground. Alex struggles in his grip as Douxie focuses the UV spell on Bular’s back. Bular stumbles and snarls, then stomps his foot hard. The ground collapses below him – there are cave systems all throughout this area, Merlin told them as much when they were out gathering herbs – and he disappears with Alex. Douxie dives forward and skids on his knees, digging at the rubble that fell in and blocked the entrance. Krel manages to get to his feet and run over to help. Jim is right behind him.

Mordred is still frozen in place, hands covering his mouth and eyes wide. The others join them too, digging their fingers raw and cold on the icy rocks that stand between them and Alex. Jim lets out an angry roar as he tosses a particularly large rock away. It crashes loudly in the forest behind them. It seems that the rest of the Gumm-Gumms have fled, at least, they’re not sitting ducks waiting to be attacked themselves. Krel digs and digs until his hands are numb and he realises the truth.

It’s too late.

There’s no way they’ll be able to dig through this fast enough. Bular will be long gone with Alex by now, gone who knows where, if he even kept him alive at all. Douxie seems to realise this too, collapsing forward onto his hands, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead and a wound on his arm, staining the stone and the fresh-falling snow that starts to coat the rocks around them.

“He’s gone,” Douxie whispers in numb horror. “He’s gone.”

Alex is gone, buried beneath the rubble, taken by the enemy. And after the conversation they heard today, Krel fears his brother-in-law is gone for good.

Notes:

Hehehehe >:3

Also fights are a bitch to write and never as long as I think they'll be that's why you have like 1k angsty words of the city at large finding out about Owain.

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and cliffhanger! :3

Chapter 14: In the Lion's Den

Notes:

TW: graphic depictions of torture, discussion of death, probably medical inaccuracies

There's a lot of whump this chapter. So. Do with that as you will.

Alex wakes to icy coldness. He gasps and splutters, water dripping down his face and the chill biting into his skin. It takes him a second to realise he’s being held up by vines around his arms. His feet are still on the ground supporting him right now, but his shoes are gone. Actually, all of his warm clothes have been stripped away, leaving him soaking wet and completely exposed to the freezing air around him. He’s in some sort of cave, with no entrance in sight but frost on the ground and pools of water around him. He tries to remember what happened through the pounding of his head. They followed Mordred… and got ambushed. He was taken by the troll, Bular, so he’s a little surprised he hasn’t been eaten yet.

“Good morning, my bold little human!” chirps an unfortunately familiar voice. The fae from before steps into view and Alex steels his expression into a glare. “Or should I call you by your name, Sir Alexander?”

“Where am I?” he demands. “What do you want from me?”

“You’ve struck my interest, Alexander,” says the fae. “It was difficult to convince Bular to gift you to me. He wanted a free dinner. But, oh, I remember how worried the king consort was for you! You’re more important than you look.”

Oh, yep, this is bad. Alex does not want to be seen as important by the bad guys. Granted, he does like being alive and being seen as important seems to have kept him that way, but he’s not so sure this situation is better for him.

“He’d have been worried about any knight in my place,” Alex says. “I’m not special.”

The fae laughs. “Well, you’re not lying, so you believe that. But I did some digging. Your husband is close with Prince Mordred. The king consort spends much of his time in one-on-one training with you. Whether you realise it or not, you are special.”

“He spends all his time training me because I’m a terrible fighter,” Alex says. “Oh, wait – but I beat you, didn’t I? Wow, you must be even worse–”

The vines snap upwards, leaving Alex dangling by his arms, feet several inches off the ground. Okay, okay, that’s uncomfortable. That’s definitely going to start hurting after a little while. There’s a time and place for the snark, Alex.

“We want information,” says the fae. “You are close to the royal family, which means you will have information. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll give it to us.”

Alex doesn’t know what kind of info they want, but he is very confident that he doesn’t have it. Even if he did, he wouldn’t tell this guy. He scoffs. “Good luck with that. I’m not giving you anything, fae.”

The vines tighten on his wrists. A warning, no doubt. Alex swallows. He’s about to get tortured, isn’t he? Tortured for information he doesn’t even have. And what if he does have something they want? He can’t risk giving it away. The others are counting on him. Douxie is counting on him.

God, Douxie. He’s probably never going to see him again and the last thing they did was fight.

“Let's try to start slowly,” says the fae, fake kindness seeping from his voice. “I ask you a question. You answer. Is that a simple enough explanation for your pitiful human brain?”

“I'm very confident that I'm smarter than you,” Alex says flatly, “but yes, I understand what you want me to do.”

His mouthing off earns him a slap in the face. He recoils but turns back to glare at the fae.

"Only speak to answer questions, Alexander,” scolds the fae. “No more of these... retorts.”

Alex holds his tongue for now, even though he definitely wants to keep being a smart-ass. He's great at being a smart-ass. Ask everyone he knows. Unfortunately, being a smart-ass is definitely just going to make his life even more miserable.

The fae clasps his hands calmly in front of him. “Now. What is the next mission that will bring Arthur out of his safe little city?”

“I don’t know, man,” says Alex. “He’s the king. He does whatever he wants.”

The vines drag him away from the wall he’s been up against and he’s hit with a wave of dizziness. When he stops moving and looks down, he’s over one of the pools of water he noticed before. It’s not cold enough to be frozen over, but Alex really would rather not get wetter than he already is right now.

“This cave system is full of natural springs and pools,” says the fae calmly. “It's snowing outside, and I must admit it's quite chilly in here. Now, I'll ask again. What is the next mission that will bring Arthur out of his castle?”

“I told you, I don’t know!” Alex insists. It’s true! Arthur does do whatever he wants, sometimes despite others begging him to keep himself safe above all else. He knows Merlin and other advisors are constantly telling him to stop going out on patrols, but Arthur scheduled himself for a patrol in, like, a couple of days–

Oh. Oh, shit. Alex knows about the patrol, which means he knows at least a mission that will next bring Arthur out of town, which means he’s lying.

“Wrong answer,” says the fae. The vines release. Alex barely has a second to yelp before he’s plunged into the icy water. He reflexively gasps and then immediately begins struggling for the surface as his throat and nose burn with the water he just inhaled. Except he can’t. The vines are back around his arms, holding him beneath the surface. Alex’s eyes widen in horror as he fights to free his arms, lungs screaming for precious oxygen that he definitely can’t get in the dark water. When he can’t hold his breath any longer he gasps in more water and then tries to cough, choking, chest aching.

And then he’s ripped out of the pool and he desperately coughs up all the water he just inhaled, tears pricking at his eyes. He’s so cold that his whole body feels like one big bruise, but at least the water is still dripping off of him instead of freezing to his skin.

“I see you haven’t learned from our last encounter, Alexander,” sighs the fae. “Let’s try again. When will Arthur next be out of the castle?”

Alex has to continue gasping for air a few moments before he can say anything, but at least this question he can work with more. His throat is sorer than the time in high school he got sick and was out for like a week.

“I don’t know,” he chokes out. “He’s the king. He can come and go as he pleases.”

The fae narrows his eyes. “Clever human. Fine. I’ll play. I know from your last lie that you do know the next mission that will bring him out. What and when is that mission?”

Alex presses his lips together and glares back at the fae. Sure, maybe he does know, assuming they won’t change patrol schedules with him gone. Like hell he’s going to tell this guy when that is.

“This would be so much easier if you just cooperated, Alexander,” says the fae, shaking his head. “Aren’t you cold? I could dry you off. Maybe even get you some blankets.”

“I’m not going to betray my king,” Alex hisses. More importantly, he’s not going to betray his family. Arthur may never know it, but he is family. But even more than that, he’s not going to betray Douxie, not going to risk Douxie’s safety just for some blankets.

The fae shrugs. “So be it.”

And Alex is dropped into the frigid water once again.

 

 

The fae gets bored eventually, or maybe he has something more important to do than tormenting a prisoner who won’t give him shit. Alex is left alone, still dangling from his arms over the pool. He’s scared the vines will break, that he’ll fall and drown because god, his arms hurt too much to swim, his shoulders absolutely killing him from the strain of holding his body up. He’s still cold but he stopped shivering a while ago. That’s not a good sign. His mom’s a doctor. He knows these things.

“Hanging in there, kid?”

Alex’s head snaps to the voice. There’s another man in the cave. Alex can barely see him in the shadows, but he seems to be dangling just like Alex is. He sounds older, vaguely familiar like Alex has heard his voice once before.

“Sorry,” says the man with a hoarse chuckle, “bad joke, I know.”

“Wh-who?” he manages. He sounds as weak as he feels.

“Bedivere,” says the man. “You’re one of the newbies, right?”

“Y-yes,” Alex says. “You – you were the one captured right after we got here. You’re still alive?”

“I’ve got enough fae blood that they’d feel bad killing me,” says Bedivere. “Sorry we hadn’t met till now. Shitty first meeting.”

“Yeah, a little bit,” Alex agrees.

“Don’t feel too bad when they break you.” He hears Bedivere let out a quiet sigh. “We all break eventually. Poor Owain… and once they’re done with you, well… they say they’ll spare you, but…”

“I can’t,” Alex says. He swallows and then coughs and both actions aggravate his sore throat. “I can’t break. My husband needs me – needs me to be strong. I can’t put him in danger.”

Bedivere grunts. “Tell me the same thing in a week, kid.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the night. The next day, or what Alex assumes is the next day, is the same thing. The fae asks his questions. Alex doesn’t answer. Half his questions Alex doesn’t know the answer to. Sometimes he dares to mouth off, to do his best to retain his spirit, but it only makes it worse. Part of him wonders if that’s worth it, but he remembers his brief talk with Bedivere and steels himself anyway. He doesn’t want to be broken. Maybe if he just clings to what matters, to Douxie and his friends back in Camelot, to his parents and Lillie back home, he won’t be broken. An important prisoner won’t be killed. Tortured, but not killed, not as long as he has information to give them. Well, as long as they think he does anyway.

That night brings a healer. He’s surprised to see him at first until he realises how numb his hands and feet have gotten and he’s grateful despite himself. The healer feeds him a potion and warmth floods his limbs. He sighs despite himself. He didn’t realise just how much he missed the warmth until he has it returned to him again.

“I always tell them to be careful with their toys,” grumbles the healer. He draws a rune in midair and Alex feels his magic wash over him. “Good, nothing internal for me to fix. Just the flesh damage from the ice and the cold sickness.”

“The cold sickness?” Alex says. “Oh. Hypothermia. That’s why I stopped shivering.”

The fae acts like he can’t even hear Alex, using a spell to place salve on the places that Alex has noticed gone numb. Frostbite, then. The salve vanishes into his skin and he immediately feels better, even if his fingers and toes tingle and burn with the suddenly returned feeling. The fae observes him for a moment as if to make sure his spells and salves worked before he nods and leaves.

He doesn’t heal any more than that.  It’s a brief reprieve from the cold and a postponement of death. He hasn’t given them what they want. He can’t die on them yet.

It continues. He loses track of the days, bit by bit. He wants to pretend he’s only been here one, but he’s pretty sure that isn’t true. How long has it been, then? Douxie must be going insane trying to find him, trying to save him. He refuses to break, to give in, to put Douxie in danger, even as the fae starts trying new things than just the water. Heh, just when he was getting used to the water, too. It almost wasn’t so bad last time. He’s always liked swimming! He pretends his throat doesn’t close with fear when he glances at the pools of water

“Where are the weak points in the walls?” the fae asks this time.

“I don’t fucking know, man,” Alex bites out, and a vine slices through his back like a whip. He bites his cheek and doesn’t cry out, doesn’t give the fae the satisfaction, until the vine-whip comes down again and he lets out a choked sob. It’s the truth. He doesn’t know. But he doesn’t think the fae cares anymore. He’s thought about telling him that he’s only been here a few weeks, that he’s just a rookie knight, but then what? He doesn’t want to die. He needs to keep living if he ever wants to get home.

The healer comes again that night, dabbing potions into the burning lashes left on his back, the blood dripping sluggish and hot against his icy skin, down his legs and dripping onto the rocks below him, staining the ice red. Alex feels sick at the sight of it, nauseous on an empty stomach because they haven’t been feeding him at all. God, he’s starving. He wants to go home.

“This could all stop,” the healer murmurs, the first time he’s actually addressed Alex directly. He never heals everything. Just enough to keep him alive another day, another week, another however long because Alex doesn’t have a day-night cycle to keep track of. His tormentor doesn’t visit on a schedule and neither does the healer. Bedivere doesn’t know either. It’s dark in here and they’re both too tired to try to approximate hours and days.

“What?” Alex rasps out. “You mean you’ll finally let me die?”

The healer raises an eyebrow, which means Alex definitely hit the nail on the head.

“I’m not stupid,” Alex adds. “My mom’s a doctor. If you weren’t healing me all the time, I’d be dead ten times over.”

“Does it not tempt you?” the healer asks. “Death is a mercy not all of us get, human.”

“Well, maybe I have something to live for.” Alex coughs weakly. He’s getting sick. He can feel it in the wheezing rattle in his chest, in the way his cough persists and worsens, in the way he feels hot sometimes despite the cold. The healer never heals everything. He leaves the sickness. He leaves bruises from cruder methods, punches and angry jabs. He leaves the nearly dislocated shoulders, and the only reason Alex is fairly sure they aren’t fully dislocated is that they hurt like hell and he can still wiggle his fingers.

“Well, you’ll live through tonight,” says the healer. A spell vanishes the blood from his hands. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

When they’re left alone, Alex and Bedivere try to talk, about home, about comfort, about family. Bedivere isn’t getting healed. He’s not getting tortured, either, but he’s not going to last much longer in this cold. Alex mourns him in advance. Bedivere has become a friend, he thinks, and a good friend too. Maybe just because they’re in this hell together. He’s heard you make friends quickly in situations like these.

“Wonder what my parents would think of me now,” Bedivere says one night. “So proud I became a knight, y’know, probably before you were born, kid. Oh, they wouldn’t be proud now.”

“I think Mami would cry,” Alex whispers, “if she saw me now. Dad would too. I miss them.”

Them and Lillie both. How long have they all been gone from the past? What must his family think? And what will they think if he dies here, centuries before even his great-great-grandparents are born? If the others get home, what will they tell them?

He misses them. He misses Lillie’s bright smile. She’s been so excited lately, submitting all her applications to the best of the best, because his little sister deserves the best of the best. Art schools – she’ll do so well. Oh, he hopes they get back in time for him to see her graduate. He hopes he gets back at all. He doesn’t want her to start college mourning her big brother. He misses Cass and Jordan. He hopes they aren’t too worried, but they’ve been here in the past for weeks now, so he’s sure they’re freaking out. He misses his parents. After the Ultios mess they were so scared, rightfully so, because he disappeared into space and got kidnapped and skewered. No more adventures, he’d told them. He promised they’d play it safe from here on out. He promised Mami and Dad they would never have to bury their son.

He should stop making promises.

“When’d you decide to become a knight?” Bedivere asks.

“The day we arrived,” Alex admits. “I just... wanted to help. I wanted to be useful.”

Everyone else had a way to help. Alex isn’t a wizard. He’s not a healer. He’s not a veteran Trollhunter like Jim and Toby either. Scholar – maybe he could have done that, but what good would he have done anyone as a scholar? How does that help win a war? And a mundane scholar couldn’t help get them home either.

“Dangerous decision, that one,” says Bedivere.

Alex swallows. “Yeah.”

“Do you regret it?”

“A little bit.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“You think that makes us cowards?”

“No. I think it makes us human.”

Alex hums an agreement. He closes his eyes and pretends he’s home again, with Douxie, safe and sound. He misses Douxie. He wants to go back, to have chosen his words better, to have never fought. If he imagines hard enough, he can almost hear the soft buzz of Douxie’s core, feel their hands intertwined, taste his lips and see his golden eyes. But then he coughs, long and wet and painful, and he’s pulled back into this horrible cave and his horrible reality.

“They’ll find us,” he says, half a statement and half a prayer. “They’ll find us, they’re looking. Douxie won’t stop looking. He’ll find me, he always finds me.”

Always because Alex is always the one kidnapped, even by allies. He should have known he couldn’t be a knight. If this is some kind of twisted fairy tale, Alex is the damsel in distress like he always is, like when he was taken by Ultios, like when even in the final battle he was used against his friends. And now he’s been taken again and he knows they’re looking, he knows they’ll run into whatever danger they have to save him. The more he thinks about it, the less it comforts him.

“They’re bound to be hiding our aura,” says Bedivere.

“We found Krel despite that,” Alex says. He’s aware that doesn’t make sense to Bedivere but he clings to it anyway. “And you don’t know Douxie and the others. They’re smart, they’re all smart, they’ll find us.”

“Whatever keeps you going, kid.” Bedivere lets out a string of coughs himself.

“You gotta hang in there, Bedivere,” Alex says. “They’re going to save us. Both of us.”

Bedivere laughs hoarsely. “Throwing my joke back at me, I see. I’m hanging. ‘Bout all I can do is hang. Surprised they haven’t put the vines around my neck. Hang me that way instead of just letting me freeze and starve.”

“You said we all break,” Alex says. “Did you?”

Bedivere sighs. “Yeah. I told them what I knew. Didn’t know much, and I doubt it’s affected anyone. Told them a couple of patrols I knew. That I knew the wizard has wards around the city. That we’re working with the trolls, but they already knew that, that King Arthur has a key to Dwoza. I don’t think they knew that. I… I hope it hasn’t affected anyone.”

“I don’t know,” Alex admits. “I know our first patrol was ambushed. I doubt that was your fault, though.”

“Maybe,” murmurs Bedivere.

“This is a horrible situation,” Alex says. He lets out a breath. “I don’t blame you for giving them info. Arthur and Lancelot won’t either, when we get home. They’ll just be happy you’re back.”

“I hope you’re right.” Bedivere coughs some more. Alex’s lips twist into a deeper frown. They’re both sick by now, but Bedivere is doing worse than he is. Is that part of the torture? Let Alex get attached, let Alex make a friend in this hell only to make him watch that friend wither away and die? That’s worse than the icy water and the stinging whip combined. He has to get home to Douxie. Even if that means being tortured for weeks. He wants Bedivere to be able to come home too.  

As long as he’s valuable they’ll keep him alive, right? He needs to be valuable. Bedivere isn’t anymore. He already said the only reason they haven’t killed him is his fae blood. Isn’t this crueller? Letting him starve and suffer like this? That won’t be Alex’s fate, at least. He hasn’t got a drop of magical blood in him at all, let alone fae blood. So he really needs to give them a reason to keep him alive. The longer he’s gone, the less valuable he becomes. What little he knows will get changed, will get updated and altered so that he isn’t a security risk. They probably expect him to break. They have to expect it, just to keep themselves safe. How long has it been? Arthur’s probably already been on that patrol and back. He knows fuck all about the city’s defences, fuck all about much of anything the fae could want. When he stops being valuable, when they realise he’s not valuable…

No. No, he won’t let that happen, won’t let himself get killed for being utterly useless to the fae. He’ll just… he’ll bluff his way back into being valuable. Maybe let slip just enough half-true bullshit that they think he knows more. As long as they think he knows more, they’ll keep him alive. He just has to buy time. Douxie will find him. Douxie will find him.

The next day or week or maybe hour brings more than just the usual fae, which is weird because he usually comes alone. Maybe his other fae buddies don’t like torture as much as this guy does. At first, Alex thinks he’s hallucinating when they walk in. He’s finally lost it or his fever has gotten to him. He definitely has a fever by now. He can only stare as they approach, as she glides across the icy floor and looks him up and down with vague distaste.

“So this is the young knight I keep hearing about?” Morgana says. “Hello, Alexander.”

“Great, are you going to torture me too?” he blurts. She looks like she did those brief moments he caught sight of her during the Eternal Night, menacing and golden and far more powerful than he could ever hope to imagine. “This is going to suck when I get home. You’re kinda cool. Damn.”

“Still full of spunk, I see,” she says, glancing at the fae. “You weren’t kidding about this one.”

“He’s gone past intriguing and into annoying,” says the fae with a scowl. “Normally I like a challenge, but pain doesn’t seem to be working on him. I haven’t gotten anything useful.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised how resilient humans can be,” Morgana says as if she isn’t half-human herself. “Tell me, Sir Alexander, who is it you fight so hard for? A wife? A child? Both, perhaps?”

“Go to hell,” Alex spats.

“I know he has a husband,” says the fae. “Close to your nephew.”

Morgana’s eyebrows raise. “A husband, I see. And a friend of dear Mordred’s? He must be something.”

He wonders if Morgana remembers him, remembers whatever she’s about to do to him. That would have been an awkward conversation if she did. Alex tries to imagine it because he needs something to laugh at.

“Oh, by the way, in your future and my past, I tortured you,” she might have said.

“What the fuck?” he might have replied. Or maybe, “Okay, nine hundred years trapped in a rock fried your brain.”

Maybe both. Before this happened he never would have believed in time travel. Well, he would have consulted Krel and Douxie before not believing, but when they inevitably said they didn’t know of any tech or magic that could send a person back in time, he wouldn’t have believed it. Morgana’s weird and a little loco anyway.

Speak of the devil, Morgana snaps in front of his face to gain his attention. Right. Douxie’s crazy murder aunt is about to torture him. He has a fever and he’s cold and he’s in a lot of pain. He’s distracted.

Morgana pulls out a jagged dagger. Yep, that doesn’t look fun. It’s sickly green in colour, dull in shine so it doesn’t glint in the dim light of the cave. That’s a shame. That would make it look badass. God, he’s delirious or something. It’s a dagger and she’s gonna torture him with it. Who cares if it looks badass?

“If you want to get home to your beloved husband,” Morgana says, voice dripping with faux sweetness, “then you’ll give us the information we want, hm?”

She hovers above the ground and drags the knife along his right palm. He winces at the pain but compared to, well, literally everything so far, that’s basically nothing. The cut isn’t even that deep, although the blood from it still drips down his arm and onto his face and hair. Alex cringes away, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the blood out of them. Then, moments later, there’s a sharp stab of pain from the cut and the blood stops.

He hesitantly glances up, knowing damn well it didn’t clot that fast. Nope. Of course not. The cut and a patch of his palm have turned grey – what looks to be solid stone.

“Do you like it?” says Morgana with a smile. “I’m calling it Creeper’s Sun. I do have a cure, and if you give us what we want, I’ll give it to you and we’ll even let you go home! Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Though he thinks he knows the answer, he asks, “And what will it do to me if I don’t get that cure?”

“Then it will turn you to stone and you will die,” she says. “And then you’ll never see that precious husband of yours again. It’s your choice, really. You probably have a few days to decide.”

Alex swallows. There’s another sharp, shooting pain and when he glances up more of his hand has turned to stone. Can Douxie find him in time? How long can he afford to wait? Maybe he has a few days before his whole body turns to stone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t die before then if his lungs or heart or brain go. Then again maybe that’s what she means?

“They’ve been looking for him,” the fae says, bringing Alex’s attention right back to them. Oh, no. Oh, this is bad. “Some of them are getting uncomfortably close. That husband of his is a powerful wizard and the king consort has taken a personal interest in him as well.”

Morgana tuts. “Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?”

She runs a hand through his dreadlocks, long since come free from the bun he’d been keeping them in, and he pulls his lips into a snarl to try to warn her off. She has the gall to laugh at him as she pulls a few locs forward. With a slice of golden magic she shears off a few inches of them then holds them up with a pleased smile.

“Such lovely long hair,” she murmurs. “Oh, well. This should be ample proof if we can get a fae to confirm it as well. They won't seek out a dead man. You should be sure to hide his aura better. A powerful wizard can punch through whatever you have going on now.”

Alex’s eyes widen in horror. “No – no, wait – you can’t–”

“You’ll find that we very much can, Alexander,” she says.

He shakes his head, tears welling and dripping hot down his icy cheeks. “Please – please, you’re going to break his heart. Don’t do this to him!”

“Remember, Alexander, we have a deal now,” says Morgana. “You're the one doing this to him. Give us what we want, and you can go home. Or you can die, cold and broken, and never see your husband again.”

The fae just smirks at him as they both leave. Alex can’t help but break down in sobs. A part of him expected to die here, to never see Douxie again, but… god, it’s going to crush Douxie. Alex hates that he’s breaking Douxie’s heart this soon. He always knew he would, one day, always knew Douxie was functionally immortal and he was not, but… but they’ve only had a decade together, only three years married. And he’s already breaking Douxie’s heart.

“Alex…” he hears Bedivere say quietly.

“Don’t,” he chokes out.

“No one would judge you for giving in,” Bedivere says. “You didn’t judge me, did you?”

“I don’t even think I have the info they want,” Alex whispers. He can’t manage anything louder than that, his voice choked at the back of his throat, the tears still falling and his aching shoulders trembling. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die.”

Bedivere doesn’t seem to have a response to that. Alex squeezes his eyes shut. The tears keep falling anyway. He doesn’t care. He’s going to spend the rest of his life cold and broken, just like Morgana says, so he sobs quietly and lets himself mourn the future he no longer has.

Notes:

What is fanfiction if not a vessel for OC whump? uwu

Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter of. Pretty much straight whump. Couldn't resist! So has begun what I call to my friends Circumstances. :3

Thank you for reading! <3

Chapter 15: A Knight's Send-Off

Notes:

TW: dismemberment, discussion of death, discussion of people being eaten

Also my first (?) major retcon of pre-Wizards canon, whoops!

Douxie doesn’t know how long he kneels there on his hands and knees, staring at the dirt and rocks and rubble between him and Alex. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. They can’t have gotten Alex, his Alex. His hands are starting to go numb on the icy ground as snowflakes stick to his hair. If it weren’t for the stinging of his wounds he’d think he was having a nightmare.

“I – Douxie, I’m–”

“What!?” Douxie snaps, standing and whirling on Mordred, who flinches back with wide eyes. “You're what? Sorry? What the fuck were you thinking? If you hadn't run off, Alex would still be here!”

Mordred shakes his head tearily. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean–”

“Of course you didn’t mean for this to happen, but it did because you were too reckless and – and–“ He stops when Krel puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. Douxie lets out a shaking breath and sucks in another. Mordred is crying, tears streaming down his cheeks as he trembles like the last fragile autumn leaves in the wind.

“I’m sorry – I’m sorry,” Mordred chokes out. As his anger fades, all Douxie can see is himself, three years younger and standing there clutching Krel’s dark core to his chest, standing there because his own stupid mistake got Krel killed. He manages another shuddering breath and can’t tear his eyes away.

“We need to get home,” says Jim hoarsely. “Back – back to the castle, I mean. It isn’t safe.”

“I – I can’t,” Douxie chokes out. “I have to – I have to find Alex.”

He manages to turn away from Mordred and falls back to his knees to dig more. His fingers are already raw and bloody and so fucking cold. The snow is starting to cover the cave in already. If they have to come back tomorrow will they even be able to find it?

“Douxie,” says Krel, voice soft and breaking, “it’s no use. That troll is long gone by now.”

Douxie looks up at him, tears blurring his vision. Krel’s face holds that same shocked numbness from when they found what was left of Akiridion-5. No. No, no, no. If they wait until morning, they won’t have any chance of finding Alex. It can’t – it can’t be too late. But Krel’s right. The troll is probably long gone by now. Douxie has heard that the Gumm-Gumms eat humans. Oh, gods above, he’s going to be sick.

Krel pulls him to his feet and doesn’t let go, supporting him as they begin the walk back to Camelot. Douxie can barely see through his tears, through the numb, broken haze. It’s silent, now, stark contrast to the angry sounds of battle. There are a few rustles from the wind, but Douxie has a hard time hearing that over the ringing in his ears. Mordred is sobbing. Somewhere past the numb haze Douxie feels bad for yelling at him.

The next time Douxie can get past the haze they’re reaching the castle. Steve has Mordred tucked under his arm, trying to comfort him as Enaid preens his hair. Douxie is still leaning heavily on Krel as they walk up the steps, one short now. Douxie turns his face into Krel’s shoulder to hide his tears.

“Mordred!” he hears Arthur yell. Mordred’s absence must have been noticed. Arthur and Lancelot both run over to them and Arthur tugs Mordred away from Steve to pull him into a tight hug. “Where on Earth – what happened!?”

“I’m sorry,” Mordred chokes out between sobs. “It’s all my fault!”

“We saw him sneaking out from the window,” Steve explains hoarsely, voice tight and strained. “We followed him to try to get him home but we got ambushed. Gumm-Gumms.”

“We need to get you all looked at by the healers,” says Lancelot, looking them over worriedly. He reaches a hand up to brush Jim’s hair out of a gash on his forehead, and then glances at Toby, holding a hand to a gash on his side, then Krel, rubbing his other shoulder, which now that Douxie looks is definitely dislocated. Douxie hugs himself tighter.

“Where’s Alex?” Arthur asks, brow furrowing.

No one wants to say it. At least, Douxie doesn’t want to say it, because to say it out loud makes it all the more real. Steve runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “They – they took him. The trolls.”

“Bular,” growls Jim, voice rough and low and angry.

Lancelot’s face falls further. Arthur shakes his head. “Not another… oh, Hisirdoux. I am so sorry.”

“We will search for him,” Lancelot promises. “Alex is a great knight and a friend, as well. But… Douxie, I have to warn you…”

“We know,” Krel says shortly. “We heard you. Talking about Sir Owain, the stuff you didn’t say in public. We know.”

“To be truthful, we actually must hope he is given to the fae,” Arthur admits. “They at least may keep him alive long enough for us to find him. But even then… I’m so sorry, lad.”

Douxie nods stiffly. He can’t find his voice right now, throat choked silent with his tears.

“There’s nothing we can do tonight,” Lancelot says softly. “Let’s get you healed and then you can get some sleep. You’ll need it for our searches.”

Douxie barely pays attention as they walk up to the healing wing to get fixed up. He lets Krel sit him on one of the beds, lets one of the healers awake treat his scrapes and bruises. He’s vaguely aware of the others being treated too, of Steve joining to help heal as soon as he himself is fixed up, of relief that Krel’s not bleeding and worry when he hears Claire’s wrist is broken. He takes the bitter potions to fix his concussion and the gashes on his forehead and arm, but what does it matter? This isn’t fair. Alex is alone out there, somewhere cold and probably injured too with no one to treat his wounds. Douxie didn’t get a good look in the fight, doesn’t know how bad off his husband is right now. Doesn’t even know if his husband is alive right now.

Arthur and Lancelot walk them back to their rooms. Douxie hesitates at his door before Krel guides him into his room instead. That’s probably for the best. Douxie doesn’t want to be alone right now, and he definitely doesn’t want to be alone in the room that he shared – shares with Alex. He’s not dead. He has to tell himself that.

Krel sits and Douxie collapses next to him as everything catches up. Krel pulls him into a four-armed hug – when did he release the transduction? It doesn’t matter. Douxie lets himself sob. Are those broken, anguished noises coming from him? They must be. There’s a certain detachment even as all the pain sets in and his shoulders shake and cries rip themselves from his throat. Krel doesn’t say anything, just rubs his back and holds him close. What could he say? Douxie can’t even reassure himself.

After a few minutes, there’s a knock on the door. Douxie’s sobs have slowed to shaky hiccups so Krel gently helps him lay down and goes to get the door. It’s just Steve.  He waves awkwardly and Krel lets him in.

“Hey, um…” he starts. “Listen, I know you’re not sleeping anytime soon so I thought, uh, I thought maybe you’d like to go ahead and do a scan of the area? They – they might have his aura hidden but, um, it’s worth a shot, right?”

Douxie sits up slowly. Scan of the area… yes – yes!

“Steve, you’re a genius!” he exclaims, hopping to his feet. A scan is perfect! If they can pinpoint him they can go save him right now! Krel mumbles something snarky about calling Steve a genius, but Douxie can see the hope in his eyes too.

Steve rubs the back of his neck. “I try. If we can find him, we can leave to look for him at dawn. It’s too dangerous at night.”

Douxie frowns. “Every second we waste–”

“Trust me, I know,” Steve says with a grimace. “But we do know good to Alex dead or captured ourselves. We can get help from the knights in the morning too. They love Alex.”

Krel is already pulling out his phone and stealing Douxie’s while he’s at it. He sets them on the desk and taps both screens. “Maybe I can rig up our phones to keep constant track. Steve, give me yours too. We can hook up the Trollhunters’ later.”

Steve hands over his phone. “You really think you can get it to work?”

“I need something to tinker with,” says Krel with a shrug. “Busy hands to keep my mind off things. You two work on the spell.”

Douxie nods and follows Steve to the other side of the room to cast the spell. Gods, did he need this hope to cling to. He follows Steve through the familiar motions, tracing silvery blue in the air next to Steve’s gold. It’s been years but the spell comes back to him easily, they cast it so many times during the Ultios mess. Douxie can see the golden glow in Steve’s eyes of fae magic – he must be doing that aura concentration thing on Douxie again to get Alex’s aura. A few minutes later Krel rushes back over with their phones and he and Steve channel the magic into them.

Douxie takes his phone. “Is this Google Maps?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Douxie,” says Krel. “You’re lucky I got it to work with no GPS or anything like that.”

“How did you get it to work with no GPS?” Douxie asks.

“I hacked into a few Akiridion long-range satellites,” Krel says smugly. “It may be slow due to the distance but it should work accurately enough for our purposes."

The spell doesn’t immediately pop up with a location marker like Douxie hoped. Instead, it pulls up a glowing area of several miles of forest. That’s better than not working at all. It glitches and flickers and shorts out the screen every few moments, but it doesn’t disappear. Steve lets out an elated laugh.

“They must have aura-hiding spells,” he says, “but he’s alive. This means he’s still alive.”

“Thank the gods,” Douxie whispers as tears start to blur his vision again, relief this time, hot-burning relief deep in his chest and swallowing whole. Alex is alive. His Alex is still alive.

“A lot to search but at least we know the area,” says Krel. “So much for hiding our modern technology. We’ll probably need to show Lance this.”

“Well – oh, well,” Douxie manages. “I don’t care about the timeline. I want my husband back.”

“Lancelot and Arthur and no one else,” Steve warns. “We know Arthur’s going to die and I’m pretty sure Lancelot dies sooner than later too. We don’t want to risk showing this to people who might live for another half a century.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Krel.

Steve ruffles his hair and pats Douxie’s shoulder. “You two get some sleep. We want all the energy we can get. Lots of ground to cover tomorrow.”

“I’ll set an alarm for sunrise,” mumbles Krel, already swiping away at his phone.

Douxie sits back on the bed, unable to tear his eyes away from the map. He’s going to bring his husband home and then he’s going to apologise a million times for the fight and then he’s never, ever going to let go of him again. They have to find Alex. Douxie doesn’t know what he’ll do if they don’t.

 

 

They start their first search at dawn. They show Lancelot the map and he’s clearly baffled by the phones, but he helps them transfer it to a couple of paper maps to pass on to any knights who want to search. A good handful join them, even ones Douxie hasn’t met. The searches aren’t new, but this is the most exact search area they’ve ever been able to get. Arthur is hopeful that they might find Bedivere too if they find Alex. Douxie finds himself hoping the same – if Sir Bedivere is alive after weeks, then that bodes well for Alex staying alive until they can find him. He sends quiet prayers to his husband – hang in there. Wait for Douxie. He hopes Alex knows Douxie is coming for him. Douxie will never, ever leave him behind

They search for days. The number of knights that join them outside of their patrol times dwindles and dwindles until the only ones still searching are Alex’s friends, Aunt Ikram and Tristan and Lamorak and Dinadan. Lancelot still joins them when he can get away, but he has responsibilities, so he isn’t always able to.

“Alex is a strong guy,” Tristan says during one search. His voice shakes as he says it. Douxie knows he and Alex have gotten pretty close. “We’ll find him. He knows we will, he’ll hang in there.”

“Yeah,” Douxie agrees faintly.

“Probably driving the fae up the wall,” Tristan adds. “You know how he is. Total smartass.”

This gets a small laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, he is. Maybe he can bore them into letting him go by talking about physics or something.”

“Hey!” Steve exclaims. “Physics is cool! I love physics!”

“STEM majors,” Douxie grumbles.

“Oh, hush, you’re the only – uh, Tarron – who wasn’t a STEM major,” says Steve.

“Dad wasn’t a STEM major.”

“Hm. Good point. Uncle could be pretty bad at math sometimes.”

It’s nice to feel something other than crushing fear. Douxie keeps clinging to the desperate, heady hope he’s had since the spell worked, since the spell’s kept working. Alex is out there and they’re going to bring him home.

“Gonna have to fill me in, guys,” says Tristan. “Not Arcadian. What’s a major stem?”

“It’s – a long story,” says Steve. “Science and math people like Krel and Alex.”

“And Steve,” Douxie says.

“And me, kind of,” agrees Steve. “I’m, like, very specifically astronomy. And healing, that kind of counts as science? It’s medicine. I’ve had to learn the basics of mundane medicine.”

“I don’t think magic healing counts as science, no,” says Douxie dryly.

“There’s science in magic,” says Steve. “When we get Alex back I’ll tell him you implied otherwise. He’ll talk your ear off.”

“Gods, he will,” Douxie groans then laughs, a little weaker than normal, eyes pricking with tears again. “I won’t even care. I’d do anything to hear his voice. Even if it means listening to him ramble about magical theory and physics again.”

“Yeah,” Steve admits. “Me too.”

“Yep,” says Tristan with a heavy sigh. “This is miserable. All the other knights that disappeared I didn’t know, you know? This is like losing Iseult all – I mean, uh, probably more like that for you, Douxie. But. Still, Lex has become a good friend.”

“We’ll get him back,” Douxie says. “We have to.”

But as the days go on the hope is starting to stretch thin. Alex is still alive, but Douxie doesn’t know how much longer it will last. Less knights search, more people start giving him condolences, acting like Alex is already gone. Even Merlin is hesitant around him, and easily lets him out of training and research to go search. The sad glances, the hushed whispers, the apologies and the gentle voices, they’re all starting to weigh on him.

Douxie hasn’t seen Mordred once since the ambush, either, and that’s weighing on him too. It’s pretty clear he’s avoiding him. The guilt sits heavy and cold on Douxie’s core. He shouldn’t have yelled at him. Yes, Mordred was reckless running off but Douxie’s been in his shoes before. Douxie’s been the reckless one who got people he cared about hurt or killed. Mordred would have felt bad whether Douxie yelled at him or not, so all Douxie did was worsen the self-blame complex he knows Mordred has. Mort hid it well, but he had a lot that he never forgave himself for.

He wonders if losing Alex was one of them, even until his death. Now he knows Mort never put the pieces together. He would have done something, warned them, because if there’s one thing Mort would never let happen, it’s one of them getting hurt or taken or killed–

Not killed. No, they’ll get Alex back. They have to. So they keep searching and marking off areas of the map and sometimes covering the same area twice or three times in case they missed something. Douxie doesn’t check his phone in front of the others, but every chance he gets alone he reassures himself. Alex is alive. He’s still alive. Douxie has no idea what shape he’s in, but he’s still alive.

It’s been almost a week already. They still haven’t found him. This morning he’s out with Lancelot, Dinadan, and Ikram, so he hasn’t had a real chance to check his phone since they left. Jim and Toby are out looking in another part of the search area with Lamorak and Tristan. Krel and Claire both had to stay behind because Merlin had something crawl up his ass this morning and Steve was needed with the healers. Douxie wishes he could stop the whole world to search for Alex, but he knows it doesn’t work that way.

There’s a faint rustle in the trees around them. Ikram and Lancelot both rest a hand on their swords. Dinadan puts one of his hands on Douxie’s shoulder, frowning and scanning the surrounding forest. Douxie doesn’t know whether to hope for fae or not. It might mean they’re close. It might also mean a fight and he doesn’t want a fight before they actually reach Alex.

A shadow portal opens in front of them. At first Douxie wonders if it’s Claire, but then his great-aunt flies out with a smirk on her face and one arm behind her back. A couple of fae emerge from the bushes around them. Ikram and Lancelot both draw their swords and Dinadan follows suit soon after. Douxie flares focusers. This is not good. Fae maybe they could handle. Morgana? Not a chance.

“Lancelot,” Morgana says.

“Morgana,” Lancelot replies tersely. “To what do we owe this unfortunate meeting?”

Morgana laughs and gives him what can only be described as a pout. “Can’t a woman drop by to visit an old friend?”

“Cut the crap, Morgana,” Lancelot says. “I’m in no mood for it today. What do you want?”

Morgana sighs and shakes her head. “Very well, I see you have no time for pleasantries. Truly I thought it would be kind of me to come personally.”

Lancelot’s brow sets lower over his eyes. “Explain.”

“I heard you were fond of that new knight of yours,” she says. Douxie’s heart nearly stops. “Sir Alexander, was it? A brave soul. I’m told he refused to betray you.”

“Where is he?” Douxie demands, hands shaking in a way he can’t allow his voice to, not facing down this version of his aunt. “Where is he!?”

Morgana brings her hand out from behind her back. She’s holding several locks of dark hair, still twisted in the dreadlocks that Alex prefers. No. No, no, no. Morgana smiles, apologetic and sharp at the same time.

“I would have brought you back more,” she says, “but our trollish allies do need to eat, you know.”

“You’re lying,” Douxie whispers hoarsely, eyes locked on the dreadlocks. “You’re – you’re lying. Our spells wouldn’t work if he was – if he was – you’re lying!”

Her smile grows sharper and crueller. “And how long has it been since you checked your spells? Oh, but go on. Ask any of the fae here.”

Douxie shakes his head and pulls out his phone. Fuck the timeline, he has to check, he has to prove that she’s lying. But even as he refreshes the map, even as he pours magic into it to strengthen the spell, the screen remains blank and empty, not even a wide area like before. No. No, this can’t – they must have stronger spells up, that’s all. He and Steve will need to tweak the spell, get Claire’s help, find something. She’s lying. Morgana has to be lying.

Lancelot takes a shaking breath and points his sword at a random fae. “You. What happened to Sir Alexander?”

The fae eyes the sword warily. “He was killed earlier today. He wasn’t giving us information and it didn’t look like he was going to. So we got rid of him. No point keeping him around and wasting manpower on interrogation any longer.”

“No, no, no, you’re lying,” Douxie pleads.

“Fae can’t lie, boy,” Morgana says. Douxie likes Morgana back home, they get along well, but this version of her is cold and cruel and smiles as his heart starts breaking. He always thought he’d be able to feel it. That somehow he would instinctively know, and since he didn’t feel anything, Alex must still be okay, must still be out there waiting to be rescued. Morgana tosses the locks into the snow between them. A closer look reveals drying blood staining the hair, not more than a few hours old, more damning proof.

Douxie sees red.

He lets out a broken roar as his grief shifts to fury, launching forward with darkness swirling around him as he tackles Morgana. She yelps in alarm and tries to wrangle the darkness into her own control, but she taught Douxie all her tricks in the future. She manages to kick him off her and her eyes glow black and gold. Douxie snarls and raises shards of darkness to disrupt the attack she sent his way, then melts those and grabs her by the feet to throw her into a tree nearby. He’s vaguely aware of the others in battle with the fae now, too lost in his anger and pain.

He flies at her and she raises a shield to stop him, but he slams his hands into it and melts it away with an angry yell. She looks alarmed – why? She taught him that trick. Maybe some part of him would have stepped in by now if he wasn’t so heartbroken, but he is and all dark magic has ever done is accentuate those feelings. He raises a blade of dripping dark tar over his head and brings it down towards her. Her eyes widen and she raises an arm to defend herself.

The blade goes straight through it.

Morgana lets out an agonised shriek. The sound of it is enough to shock Douxie back to reality as the severed hand falls to the forest floor. Gloved hands pull him off and away from her and Douxie feels sick at the blood on his own hands. The fae around them look startled as she raises into the air, what’s left of her arm gushing blood, her face pulled into a pained, furious scowl.

She’s smart enough not to fight in this condition. She opens another portal and with a final glare back at Douxie, she and the fae disappear through it. Douxie’s hands tremble as they vanish. Morgana’s hand is still staining the snow of the forest floor red. He never knew how she lost it. He never in his worst nightmare dreamt it would be his doing.

Dinadan comes forward and very, very carefully offers the locks of hair to Douxie. Douxie gingerly takes them in his bloody hands. A simple identification spell confirms it: Alex. Douxie falls numbly to his knees before an anguished scream rips from his throat. He curls inward around the locks that are all he has left of his husband, forehead resting in the bloody snow and sobs wracking his form.

“We should get home,” whispers Ikram.

“Come on, lad,” murmurs Dinadan, pulling him to his feet. Douxie leans heavily on him, still clutching the hair to his chest. Ikram’s right. There’s no point in searching anymore. Fae can’t lie. A hand and some hair are all they got of the last guy. All Douxie gets is some hair.

Dinadan and Lancelot both support him as they walk. Douxie can barely manage to put one foot in front of the other. He wishes Krel were here. He wishes that he would wake up, that this would all be a dream. A horrible, cruel dream, but just a dream. He doesn’t wake. Alex is really gone.

The last thing they ever really did was fight.

Douxie will never forgive himself for that.

He’s barely aware that he’s fallen back into the haze from before until they’re back at the castle already and he didn’t even notice. He didn’t notice the tears dripping down his cheeks either or that Dinadan is too and Lancelot is trying hard not to and Ikram’s face is stony and tense. As they enter the castle’s courtyard, he sees Krel running towards them, Claire on his heels. They must have seen them from the windows.

“Douxie!” Krel calls as they reach them. His voice trails off as he looks over them. “Any… news…”

“Oh, no,” whispers Claire. What gave it away? Does Douxie look as broken as he feels right now? “Oh, Douxie…”

“He’s gone,” Douxie chokes out. “He’s gone.”

His legs give out and he falls to his knees on the rough stone. Krel stumbles to the ground and pulls him into a hug as he sobs. His core hasn’t ached like this since Mort died and his heart is in such deep agony that it feels like it’s literally been broken into a thousand pieces. He always knew he’d lose Alex one day. He thought he had decades to prepare himself.

Lancelot rests a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go inform Arthur. We’ll – we’ll spare no expense to lay him to rest, however you see fit.”

“Okay,” Douxie gasps out. He doesn’t want to lay his Alex to rest, hundreds of miles and years out of place. He wants to bring him back to Arcadia, to his parents, to his home. But he can’t. He doesn’t even have a body. They wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him. They weren’t supposed to die here. Alex wasn’t supposed to die.

What is he going to tell the Swifts? He got their son killed. What is he going to do now? He never got to apologise. The last real sentence he ever said to Alex was “Oh, fuck off.” He told his husband to fuck off and now his husband is dead.

“Come on,” Claire says softly. “We should get you cleaned up.”

And then what? How can he recover from this?

He lets her and Krel pull him to his feet anyway. As his sobs fade back to hiccups he can feel the numbness set back in. That’s fine. Numb is better than the agony that’s settled deep in his chest. He closes his eyes and tries to pretend today never happened.

He can’t.

 

 

Douxie can’t bury him here, but he can’t bring himself to hold onto bloodied locks of hair either. He tells Arthur he wants to burn them. At least that way he can bring the ashes back to Arcadia. In some small way he can bring Alex home. They gather Alex’s surcoat from their room to burn too. The armour stays hanging. It won’t burn, so they won’t burn it.

The pyre is ready by sunset. Arthur says they don’t have to use it today, but Douxie won’t be able to sleep if they don’t. Aren’t there tales that if you don’t lay the dead to rest in enough time they’ll be trapped wandering the Earth? Douxie doesn’t think he believes those but… well, he already feels haunted.

So they gather at sundown. Jim and Toby have been told already. Douxie’s been with Krel since, so he didn’t tell them, but Toby pulls him into a hug as soon as he sees him and Jim joins a moment later. They don’t say anything and Douxie’s glad. He doesn’t want to hear apologies right now. He spots Mordred with Lancelot and Arthur, eyes red and still crying. He won’t look at Douxie. A lot of the knights came and a few others Douxie doesn’t recognise. Even Merlin shows up, head bowed, and Douxie doesn’t trust that the emotion is real but he almost appreciates the support. Almost.

He reluctantly steps forward and lays the locks of hair on top of Alex’s surcoat, dark against the bright, light blue. He backs up a few steps. Someone hands him a torch. He almost drops it. Arthur comes forward, laying a hand on Douxie’s shoulder.

“I may have only known Sir Alexander for a short time, but he was a brave, kind young man,” he says solemnly. Douxie blinks back more tears. “He died a true knight of Camelot. We won’t let his sacrifice be in vain.”

Douxie has to light the pyre. Gods, he doesn’t want to. He wants Alex to step out of the crowd and yell, “Surprise! I’m not dead! Sorry I scared you!” But he doesn’t. All Douxie has left is a few locks of hair and now he has to burn them. His core buzzes in his ears and his heart burns as he steps back forward, close to the pyre. He feels fresh out of tears but more still fall, staining drops onto Alex’s surcoat.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice too choked to produce any more sound. “I love you. I’ll always love you, my Alex.”

He lights the pyre. He only manages a few steps back before he falls to his knees before the blazing fire, watching the red and orange light up the night around them and the black smoke curl into the air. He can't watch anymore, closing his eyes and crying in the heat of the flames.

He prays to whoever will listen that Alex is happy now. That Alex is warm and loved and that maybe, maybe he forgives Douxie, because Douxie will never be able to forgive himself.

His Alex is gone. And it’s all his fault.

Notes:

Angst!

I completely forgot Morgana's hand was used to make the amulet. I do have something I'll slip in later to make it not a TOTAL retcon but... I do apologise for the retcon. I just. Really REALLY wanted that scene.

Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed!

Chapter 16: The Killahead Bridge

Jim has woken up the past couple of mornings wishing he were dreaming, thinking maybe this time he’s woken up for real. Maybe this time, Alex isn’t dead. Jim didn’t even know Alex quite as well as Krel and Douxie and even Toby, but training to be knights together definitely brought them closer. And now he’s gone. Jim didn’t expect any of them to die here. Suddenly the very real weight of the war is crashing on their shoulders even worse than when they found what was left of Sir Owain. One of his friends is dead, his body was probably literally eaten, and now they have to make sure none of the rest of them follows in his footsteps.

Douxie is pretty much unresponsive. He knows Krel and Steve have been coaxing him into eating and sleeping, but he hasn’t left Krel’s room and he won’t talk to anyone. They’ve all tried. Jim can’t blame him. He can’t begin to imagine being in Douxie’s place. Claire says she’s barely seen Mordred either, and when she has he’s either with Merlin or one of his dads and he won’t look at her or Krel.

This morning is the same. That brief hope crushed by forlorn faces around him and the recognition that this isn’t a nightmare. He’s going to have to give up eventually. He kisses Claire good morning and she whispers pleas for him to be careful, especially now, and he promises he’ll do his best and tells her he loves her. His best might not be good enough. He could die today too. He wants the last thing he told her to be that he loves her.

He and Toby meet up in Toby’s room to help each other into their armour. Claire likes to sleep in some, so they’ve made this a routine. Before, they didn’t put on their armour unless they knew they’d need it soon. It’s heavy and unwieldy and hard to wear. Jim’s not naïve enough to think wearing armour would have saved Alex, but… well, they wear it more now anyway.

“Lancelot dropped by a few minutes ago,” says Toby.

“He did?”

“Yeah, I think he knows we do this ‘cause he told me to pass the message.” Toby tightens the straps on Jim’s cuirass. “I guess Arthur wants all the knights at the Round Table this morning. Something about a war meeting, I guess.”

“The Round Table?” Jim repeats. “The Round Table? Like, the Knights of the Round Table. That Round Table?”

“Yes, Jimbo,” says Toby, clearly amused. “Don’t know how to tell you this but I think we are Knights of the Round Table.”

“I dunno,” says Jim. “I feel like that was the elite ones. Lancelot is definitely a Knight of the Round Table. Ikram. Maybe Lamorak. Hey, who were they in the myths you read for class? Any of our friends?”

“Uh, well, Ikram obviously wasn’t mentioned at all,” says Toby. “That class sucked. We did actually spend a whole unit on Tristan, though.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yep, there’s a whole thing, the, uh, the Prose Tristan,” says Toby. “It’s all about him and Iseult. Do not think it’s the real story 'cause not at all the vibes I’ve gotten from our Tristan.”

“Well, look at how they treat Mort,” Jim reasons.

“Yeah,” Toby says with a wince. “Anyway, Tristan was on the Round Table roster. So were Dinadan and Lamorak. They were both in Prose Tristan too and I think they were friends so they got one thing right?”

“Any mention of the handsome duo, Sir Jim and Sir Toby?” Jim teases.

Toby snorts. “Yeah, right. We don’t want that anyway, you kidding? I don’t want to imagine what they’d say about all of us. They’d make Douxie a girl.”

“You think?”

“I know it,” says Toby. “And you’d die.”

“What?”

“You’d definitely die.”

“I would not!”

“No, you would. Claire too. It’d be a tragic romance. And I’d live, like Horatio.”

“That’s not at all Arthurian myth, that’s from Hamlet.”

“I make a killer Horatio that one year you bullied me into it,” says Toby. He swoons jokingly. “Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince: And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!”

Jim rolls his eyes as dramatically as he can in response. “Never, ever make fun of me doing Shakespeare again.”

“Again, you bullied me into it!”

“You fuckin’ loved it, don’t lie.”

Toby chuckles and adjusts one of Jim’s pauldrons with a smile. “Alright, Jimbo, you’re all set.”

“Thanks, Tobes,” Jim says. “Turn around, I need to fix your cuirass.”

Toby snorts. “Stop calling it that.”

“That’s what it’s called!”

“Well, it sounds like you said you want to fix my queer ass–”

“I’m gonna kick your queer ass is what I’m going to do.”

Toby cackles. Jim rolls his eyes and shoves him until he turns around so that he can adjust his cuirass, the actual term for his breastplate and the back piece of his armour together. Yes, Jim can be a bit of a nerd when he wants to and learned the actual names of things. To be fair, Toby also would have laughed if he called it a breastplate because Toby is a child.

Once they’re both all armoured up, they step into the hallway to make their way to the meeting. Jim catches sight of Tristan standing in Krel’s doorway and waves to Toby to wait a second for their friend.

“Just let me know if you need anything, okay?” Tristan is saying.

“We know, Tristan, thank you,” Jim hears Krel say. He knows Douxie’s in there too, but he doesn’t expect Douxie to say anything when from what he knows not even Krel can get a word out of him.

“Okay, just, I’m here to help,” Tristan insists. “I’ll bring by some food later. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Krel says.

Tristan nods and steps back out, closing the door. He glances back at them and manages a tight smile. “Morning, lads, off to the meeting?”

“Yep,” says Toby. “How’s Douxie looking today?”

“Pretending to be asleep,” says Tristan. “Pretty sure he’s not but, hey, I get it. Just trying to make sure he’s okay. You know? I – I dunno, feels like I owe that much to Lex.”

“He’d appreciate it,” Jim says softly.

“Well, we best go see what the king wants.” Tristan stretches his arms above his head. “It’s too early for this. Why can’t we ever do these meetings in the afternoon?”

“I know, right?” agrees Toby. “I haven’t had to consistently get up this early since high school. College spoiled me, man. Afternoon classes all the way, slept right through Jimbo’s alarm.”

“And your own,” Jim teases.

“Morning people don’t get to talk!” says Toby.

Tristan chuckles and shakes his head. “Sometimes you two talk and I swear you’re speaking an entirely different language.”

They exchange glances. Jim’s honestly not sure they are speaking the same language, but none of their wizards have a translation spell going so it must have been something with whatever nonsense sent them back in time. Jim’s given up trying to understand. He’ll leave that to their wizards. Claire hasn’t made any progress finding a way home in her research, though, and it looks like Douxie’s going to be down for the count for a while now. Jim and Toby need to focus on surviving.

The three of them arrive and get settled, gravitating towards Dinadan and Lamorak who are already there. Lamorak shoulder-bumps Tristan and Dinadan greets Jim with a hair ruffle. It’s staggering how small their force really is when they’re all gathered in one room. No wonder the loss of six – seven knights is so significant. Arthur’s army is dwindling. They’re losing this war. Arthur is already there with Anna and – ugh – Merlin. Jim hasn’t had to deal with him much so far, but seeing him turns his stomach and sets his nerves on end.

“Good morning, knights of Camelot!” Arthur greets with a smile. “Thank you all for joining us. I hope everyone is well-rested?”

Mumbles of agreement. Jim tries not to yawn. He may be a morning person but this is still really early and he hasn’t slept well lately. He doesn’t think any of his friends have.

“Excellent,” says Arthur. “In that case, we’ll get started. Our fae enemies are getting bolder and bolder, and when the sun goes down, no place outside the city walls is safe. We must start trying to go more on the offensive than just patrols and guards for trade and messengers. My advisor Merlin has made a list of possible fae or Gumm-Gumm strongholds for us to investigate. Places filled with magic, so I'll want a wizard on every reconnaissance team.”

“Knowledge is power,” Lancelot says with a nod. “Reconnaissance is not a bad idea. Merlin, can you mark down which places on your list are troll-related? If we send teams during the day, we'll need smaller ones for those than we will the ones related to the fae. Those I want larger forces in case we walk into a trap.”

“Certainly,” says Merlin. “Additionally, I have a number of ideas on how to end this war and a number of sites well-suited to the task.”

“Care to share with the class?” says Lamorak, crossing his arms. Merlin tends to get on everyone’s nerves, but Lamorak really seems to hate him as much as Jim does. That’s a feat. He needs to find out the story behind it.

“If we can seal both Morgana and Gunmar away, that should take care of most of our problem,” says Merlin simply. “The faction of human-hating fae is small enough that with their trollish allies out of the way, they should retreat back into the shadows.”

“We'll put emphasis on those sites, then,” says Arthur. “Any suggestions for our first expedition?”

“Killahead Bridge is close,” says Merlin. Jim’s whole body tenses up at the mention of that bridge. “Ruins left from an ancient trollish civilization. There is magic in such significance.”

“There is magic in such significance,” Toby murmurs mockingly to Jim. Jim tries very hard not to laugh. Tobes always knows when to try to diffuse some tension.

“Sir Jim, Sir Tobias,” says Lancelot, voice more amused than scolding but they both straighten anyway. “Anything you’d like to share with the table?”

“Uh, sorry, sir,” Jim says sheepishly.

“I'll consider it volunteering for the mission, then,” says Lancelot. Toby groans. “Oh, chin up, it will be good to take your minds off things. Lamorak, Tristan, Dinadan, I want all three of you on the mission too.”

Oh. Oh. Yeah, with those three also singled out it’s clear Lancelot wants to distract them from Alex’s death. Okay, Jim doesn’t blame him for that. And besides, Lancelot may not know it, but Jim and Toby are perfect for scoping out Killahead. Jim doesn’t want to brag but they’re practically experts. Well, maybe Toby more so, since he actually helped rebuild it, but still.

“Excellent,” says Arthur. “And Merlin shall accompany you!”

“What!?” Jim exclaims at the same time as Merlin. He glares at him and Merlin glares right back.

“I think Merlin would rather see me dead than go on a mission with me,” Jim says, trying not to let his anger at the man show too much.

“You can’t expect me to go on a mission with a changeling, Arthur!” Merlin exclaims. “He’ll stab me in my sleep!”

Arthur rubs his forehead. “You won’t be gone long enough to sleep, Merlin. It’s only a few hours’ walk from here according to your maps. You are both adults and I expect you to act like it and at least pretend to tolerate each other for half a day.”

Jim huffs and crosses his arms. He doesn’t really have a choice here, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about having to spend the day with the crazy asshole who tried to destroy the world and ruin his life. Will try to. This Merlin hasn’t done any of that yet, but Jim still doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him.

“I will start delegating other missions as well,” says Arthur. He hums pensively. “Actually, I might have people volunteer for the ones they want each week between patrols. That may work.”

“Oh, the others get to choose their missions,” Lamorak mutters under his breath.

“For now, I want those on the Killahead mission to go pack lunch and head out so you can be back for lunch. Hm, Sir Gawain, Sir Ailith, you’re both on the mission as well.”

“Yes, your majesty,” two voices echo from the crowd. Jim can’t catch sight of the other two knights and they aren’t names he recognises. He tries to be positive. New friends, maybe?

Arthur dismisses them and Jim and Toby beeline for Merlin’s library to let Claire know where they’re going. She’s lying on one of the seats with her legs dangling and a book floating over her head while she snacks on what look to be walnuts. She glances up as they enter and waves her wrapped and splinted arm. He feels a pang of guilt like he always does when one of his friends gets hurt worse than him in a fight and quickly pushes it to the back of his mind again.

“Arthur’s sending us on a mission today,” Toby says. He steals a walnut and pops it in his mouth. “Killahead Bridge. And when you think it can’t get worse than that, he’s sending us with Merlin.”

“Trust me, the sentiment is returned.” Jim shoves Toby behind him in a single motion at Merlin’s voice, turning defensively towards him. Of course he’s here this is his study. Merlin just raises an eyebrow and picks out a book from one of his shelves. “Lady Claire, I will thank you not to get walnut shells all over my floor.”

“They’re already shelled, I won’t make a mess,” she says, subtly rolling her eyes while his back is turned.

“Anyway,” says Toby awkwardly. “Just wanted to let you know where we’re going. We’ll be back by sundown, barring anything going wrong.”

Jim elbows him in the side that’s not still healing. “Don’t say that!”

“Yeah, yeah, Murphy’s law loves you, I know,” Toby says.

“Anyway, we gotta go pack lunch so, uh, enjoy your reading,” Jim says. “Love you!”

Claire laughs lightly, though the worry in her eyes proves that she sees right through him. “Love you too, Jim. You too, Toby.”

Toby grins and gives her finger-guns. Jim waves and they both leave. Jim runs a hand down his face as they walk towards the kitchen. Merlin puts his nerves on edge. He has no idea how he’s going to handle this mission. He just hopes the asshole doesn’t try anything.

 

 

The group of them meet at the city gates, which is pretty typical of missions and patrols as far as Jim has seen. The two knights Jim doesn’t recognise must be Gawain and Ailith. Toby’s face falls into a scowl at the sight of them.

“Uh, dude?” Jim mumbles.

“Red Knight,” Toby manages, eyes locked on the one that’s probably Gawain. “Or at least he will be.”

Oh. Oh. Ikram was here, why wouldn’t the other two knights that spent that summer trying to kill Toby and Steve and Krel be here too? The Red Knight... that was the one that killed Seamus, wasn’t it? The last of the knights standing. Jim vaguely recognises him now. His memories of that time are fuzzy to missing from being under Merlin’s control.

Gawain and Ailith seem to notice them staring because, of course, they come over to introduce themselves. Gawain’s smile looks sharp, but Jim might be seeing things. Ailith’s is kinder.

“We haven’t had the chance to meet yet,” she says. “I’m Ailith. This is my brother, Gawain. We have another brother who’s a knight too, but he’s been out delivering messengers back and forth.”

“Lovely to meet you, Sir Ailith,” Toby says. Then, after a pointedly long pause, he adds, “Sir Gawain.”

“We’ve heard many a tale of the lot of you,” says Gawain. “Not sure all of them are true. It is true that you’re a changeling, though, isn’t it, Sir James?”

“Jim,” he corrects automatically. “And yeah. Got a problem?”

“Not as long as you’re on our side,” Gawain says with a shrug.

“We were very sorry to hear of Sir Alexander’s passing,” says Ailith. “I wish we’d had the chance to meet him too.”

Jim swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, he was... a good man.”

“Gotta admit, I’m curious what tall tales they’re spreading about us,” says Toby.

“Some say at least half of you are secretly fae,” says Ailith. “Others are trying to figure out where Arcadia is.”

“It’s in Greece!” Gawain insists. “It’s an island in Greece or something! Μιλάτε Ελληνικά? That’s all I know. I know yes and no. So if you answer, I’ll understand.”

“Uh, not from Greece,” says Jim. “I think our kingdom is named after the Greek place though. So, uh, maybe Greek roots?”

“I was close,” says Gawain, crossing his arms.

“Besides, I heard that Alexander and Claire speak – spoke – a weird version of Spanish,” says Ailish.

“It’s way in the middle of nowhere,” says Toby. “I doubt you’ll ever be able to visit. Nice place though. Warmer than here.”

“If everyone is quite done lazing about and chatting, I would like to be on our way,” Merlin says loudly, drawing their attention back to him. Yep, Jim’s already fed-up.

He keeps one hand on his sword as they begin walking, falling in closer with Tristan, Dinadan, and Lamorak. Toby seems especially uneasy in the presence of the future Red Knight and Jim doesn’t blame him. He reminds himself that Gawain hasn’t done anything yet. As far as he knows, anyway. In fact, he’s almost nice.

Jim, regrettably, knows very little about the actual history of the Killahead Bridge. He knows Blinky’s told him more than he remembers, but even then it isn’t that much. It was more about the present, about how the Killahead bridge was a portal to the Darklands and therefore it was a problem. He knows some about the Battle of Killahead Bridge but he doesn’t know exactly when it was and as far as he could tell from Blinky’s stories and the memory Merlin showed them, Camelot and its knights weren’t really involved. In other words, they are hopefully not walking into a fight right now. Jim shouldn’t think about that. Toby’s right about Murphy’s law.

Man, he really misses Blinky. His Blinky, the one that actually knows him, not the stranger down in Dwoza that regards him with wary curiosity. He misses Aaarrrgghh!!! too, his comforting, balancing presence. Jim hasn’t even seen him yet. Is this before he switched sides? Jim prays he never has to face Aaarrrgghh!!! in a fight. He could never fight Aaarrrgghh!!!.

They spend the entire trip on high alert without much conversation. None of them wants to be the, what, eighth victim of the fae? Maybe the ninth, since Arthur refuses to believe Sir Bedivere is gone without concrete proof. Steve had offered to try a tracking spell for him with the guy’s brother’s help, but it came up empty. Not proof, but still discouraging. The fae creep Jim out. At least the Gumm-Gumms are a familiar threat. He knows they eat people so reports of missing people from villages aren’t shocking. He knows how to fight them because he has before. It’s been a while, granted, but the old muscle memories are still there. He’s heard from a lot of other knights about the same thing. The war with the Gumm-Gumms is old. The war with the fae is new and terrifying.

After a while, Merlin stops and holds his staff out in front of them. Lamorak steps up beside him, eyes narrowed. Tristan nudges him. “Lamorak likes to play dad to all of us. So he’s gonna be a step between everyone and Merlin.”

“Not complaining,” mutters Jim. “That guy puts me off.”

“We’re getting close,” says Merlin gravely. “We should be safe from trolls. It’s a very sunny day. But stay alert regardless.”

“No need to worry about that,” Toby says.

They enter a clearing, slowly and carefully. Jim recognises the bridge immediately, even though here it's covered with moss and flowers, even though it's been nearly a decade. His hands curl into clenched fists as he eyes it. How does this seemingly normal bridge become a portal to the Darklands, anyway? The others seem mostly worried about traps or ambushes. Tristan glares around at the thick bushes around the clearing. Lamorak keeps one hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Woah,” mumbles Dinadan. “What a magnificent bridge. Look at the carvings!”

“Magnificent it may be,” Merlin acknowledges, “but the Killhead Bridge hides the home of the Gumm-Gumms.”

Lamorak draws his sword in an instant, pointing it at Merlin with narrowed eyes. “What?”

“It’s a portal like the one to Dwoza,” Toby breathes. So it’s already a portal to the Darklands, then. Which means Merlin flat lied to Arthur during the meeting, or at least twisted the truth. Anna would have called him out on it if he lied.

“This is the portal to the Darklands!?” Lamorak barks. “You old coot! This is going to be the most defended place they’ve got! Why did you really bring us here?”

“Calm down, Lamorak,” says Gawain. “I don’t see any defences. You’re making a scene, as usual.”

“Does King Arthur knows you brought us to the entrance of the Darklands?” Toby challenges.

Merlin scoffs. “Of course not. Arthur is too soft-hearted to understand the importance of this mission.”

He ignores Lamorak’s sword still pointed at him to walk closer to the bridge, running a hand along the carvings. Tristan puts a hand on Lamorak’s shoulder to try to ease his friend. Jim draws his own sword to be safe.

“As I thought,” Merlin mumbles. “Many, many spells protecting this. And Morgana… hm. Yes, she’s put her own enchantments here. No matter, I have a way around that.”

“What are we really doing here, Merlin?” Jim asks.

“Reconnaissance,” says Merlin simply, climbing on top of the bridge to continue examining it. “Just of the more magical variety. Truthfully, I would have liked to have my apprentice with me, but Arthur has been overprotective of him as of late. Originally I wanted knights sent to see if it was guarded but, well, what can you do?”

“Necessary sacrifices and all that,” grumbles Lamorak. “Knights! Be on high alert. If anywhere we’re to be attacked, it will be here. I’m only willing to lose one person today, and he shares a name with a bird.”

“Your sense of humour truly astounds me,” Merlin says sarcastically.

Lamorak sheathes his sword. “I wasn’t joking.”

He makes a gesture and they split up to patrol the general area. Jim still doesn’t trust Merlin at all, but one of the few good things he’s done was getting the Gumm-Gumms locked up in the Darklands, so just this once Jim’s going to let him do his thing. He and Toby fall in line with a still scowling Lamorak, who does spare them both a brief smile.

“So,” says Toby, “what’s your deal with Merlin?”

“Where do I even start?” huffs Lamorak. “Half the knights think I’m crazy when I bring up most of my issues with him, anyway.”

“We won’t,” Jim says. “It’s not like we like him either.”

“He’s been a total ass the whole time I’ve known him,” says Lamorak. “Morgana was his last apprentice and we all know how she turned out, but she wasn’t always… like this. She was a sweet kid. And of course, her older sister, Morgause…”

“Anna and Mordred’s mom,” Toby says.

Lamorak nods. “Closer to my age than Arthur’s. An arranged marriage, but at least they were friends. Arthur doesn’t believe me but… I suspect Merlin had something to do with her untimely death.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. Toby looks marginally less surprised. Maybe Mort suspected the same thing, or Morgana herself. Toby hangs out far more with Morgana than Jim can ever really stomach, even if he owes her the semi-normal life he gets to have as a changeling.

“What makes you say that?” he asks carefully.

“When he found out she was half-fae after Uther died, he was furious,” says Lamorak. “With her and Morgana. Merlin has never liked the fae, and the fact that they were living right under his nose? He was pissed. When word came of Morgause’s death… well, let’s just say Merlin wasn’t remotely surprised. And then when Morgana started blaming Queen Guinevere out of the blue? It all smelled fishy to me. I’ve been keeping a close eye on him since. It wouldn’t shock me if Lancelot is next, given his own relation to the fae.”

“Yeah, that… wouldn’t shock me either,” Jim admits. “So, what, you think he killed her?”

“Or had a hand in it,” says Lamorak. “I doubt he would bloody his own. He’s a coward as well as a snake. But I just… when I asked him what he thought, after everything went down with Morgana, he lied to my face.”

Jim and Toby exchange looks.

“How do you know he lied?” Toby says.

Lamorak winces and glances around before lowering his voice. “I know he lied because I’m part fae. He doesn’t know that. There’s spells out there for disguising your aura, spells Douxie and Krel clearly don’t know.”

Jim laughs awkwardly. “Ahaha, you… noticed that. Well, don’t worry. We won’t tell him.”

“I figured not,” Lamorak says. “Trist and Din know. So do Arthur and Lancelot. I’m not a risk to Camelot.”

Toby pats his arm. “Never doubted you, buddy.”

“So were you, like, friends with Morgause?” Jim asks. “You said she was close to your age.”

Lamorak’s cheeks dust with pink. “Ah, well…”

“Oh. Oh, I see,” says Toby. He winces. “Oh, boy. That really sucks.”

“Arthur knows that, too,” Lamorak admits. “Like I said, they were a marriage of convenience, what Uther wanted for Arthur. It’s always been Lancelot and Guinevere for him.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim says softly. “That you lost her.”

Lamorak smiles sadly. “Yeah. Me too.”

There’s a brief rustle in the trees. Jim draws his sword and Toby activates his war-hammer. Lamorak narrows his eyes. Luckily, all that jumps out is a rabbit. Toby grins and kneels, offering his hand to it. It doesn’t come to him but he doesn’t seem to care.

“The woods never used to scare me,” murmurs Lamorak. “I hate that they do now.”

“Yeah, back home we used to play in the woods all the time as kids,” says Toby. “Really sad that Camelot kids can’t. Maybe that’s why Mordred snuck off the other night.”

“Mordred snuck off?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear, then,” Jim winces. “Yeah. That’s when Alex got… taken.”

“Gotta feel bad for him,” says Toby. “At his age we were… well, I guess at his age we were newly joining the… knight program equivalent. So maybe not too different.”

By that he definitely means the whole Trollhunting stuff. Yeah, Jim supposes he was fifteen when it started, wasn’t he? Mort’s birthday was what, September? So Mordred is still younger than he was when he became the Trollhunter, if only by a few months.

“Most squires join a little younger than Mordred,” says Lamorak. “You’ve heard it before, a lot of people are baffled by the fact he didn’t. Princess Anna used to train with the knights, though. That’s how she and Lot met.”

“I didn’t peg her for a warrior,” says Jim.

Lamorak snorts. “Most people who first meet her don’t because she’s small and soft-spoken most of the time around strangers. The only reason she hasn’t been patrolling and whatnot lately is Gaheris. She figured at least one of his parents ought to stay on the safer side and she has plenty of responsibilities as Crown Princess anyway.”

“Yeah, fair,” agrees Toby. “No one wants to be an orphan. Speaking as an orphan. I mean, my Nana raised me great but…”

“I’m sorry to hear of your loss,” says Lamorak. “Were they warriors?”

Toby shakes his head. “Nah. They were… lost at sea.”

Lamorak nods and pats his shoulder comfortingly. There’s another rustle. No rabbit runs out this time, but they aren’t ambushed either. Lamorak scans the branches above them and the noon sun through the clouds, a frown carving into his face.

“We’re wearing out our welcome,” he murmurs. “Be on guard. We should start trying to talk the old wizard into leaving.”

“And if there is a fight?” Jim says.

“I meant what I said,” Lamorak says. “As senior knight on this mission it’s my responsibility to get all of you home. Merlin I could not care less about.”

Jim wants to say he doesn’t either, but for the sake of the timeline Merlin kinda can’t die here. Unfortunately. He nods anyway. “Let’s try to convince him, then. If we’re gonna have to fight I want to be as far from this place as possible.”

It looks like the others have had the same idea, because they all end up back by the bridge at the same time. Tristan beelines for Jim and Toby and rests his forehead on one of Jim’s pauldrons.

“Kill me now,” he groans.

“He doesn’t get along with Gawain,” explains Dinadan.

“Kill. Me. Now!”

“Maybe if he took anything seriously ever he’d be easier to get along with,” grumbles Gawain.

Tristan turns to glare at him but Lamorak sighs and puts a hand on his arm. “Let it go, Tristan. Gawain, please don’t antagonise him.”

Gawain nods shortly. Ailith crosses her arms. “Who’s gonna get our wizard down? I don’t like the way the shadows are acting.”

“Me neither,” mutters Dinadan.

Lamorak cups his hands around his mouth. “Merlin! It’s time to go! Now, or we’re leaving you behind!”

Merlin huffs but does jump down from the bridge, annoyingly agile for a man his age. “Fine. I have what I needed. Don’t dally now, I have other things to do this afternoon.”

Jim and Lamorak exchange eye rolls. Merlin glances around at the sharp shadows and rustling leaves and extends a shimmering green shield over them. It disappears a second later, but Jim can oh-so-faintly pick up the light buzz of magic still around him. Well. At least he’s not a complete dick.

“I shan’t be able to keep this shield up all day,” says Merlin impatiently.

“Come on, knights,” says Lamorak. “Let’s go home.”

Jim glances back one last time at the Killahead Bridge. It still looks normal, harmless, coated in a light dusting of snow and unremarkable in its environment. Jim knows too well the nightmarish hell that hides beneath. He turns his head away.

He hopes he can avoid ever seeing it again.

Notes:

Listen I do know that plate armour was more common later but I think it looks cool and this is ToA so I'm entitled to some historical incorrectness. Actually a lot of it. Because what and when I decide to research is random, as you can probably tell by how unlike real Arthuriana this is.

Speaking of that, Red Knight! Before he became the Red Knight anyway. Ailith is made up entirely but oh well.

The Greek translation should be: "Do you speak Greek?" (formal)

Also, very sorry for the long wait. I'm currently sick so I haven't written as much. Also this chapter gave me hell.

Hope you enjoyed!

Chapter 17: The King's Dusk

Notes:

TW: past dismemberment, discussion of torture

When Krel first came to Earth, he was awed by the stars. That seems weird for a boy from another planet, but Akiridion-5’s light pollution made the stars a distant memory for his people. He tries to limit light pollution on New Akiridion as much as he can. The stars will always hold a special place in his core, will always make him feel more connected to the universe around him. Here, centuries before the industrial revolution and electric lighting, the stars are even brighter than they were in Arcadia. Krel finds himself staring out the window on clear nights, trying to find familiar patterns, the constellations he knows. The sky is different, from a different place and a different time.

Tonight they have the window open to let some cool air in. Douxie is sleeping again. He’s been alternating between being terrified to close his eyes and sleeping all day. Krel has never seen him this despondent. Well, when Mort died he was like this for a few days, but… that was different. He wasn’t this numb and silent and utterly shell-shocked. And Krel gets it. Losing his parents hurt, losing Uncle Mort hurt, but losing Seamus was a different hurt, losing Alex is a different hurt. Most people expect to outlive their parents. No one considers outliving their best friends or, in Douxie’s case, his husband. Not that different, really. Alex was Douxie’s best friend too.

Krel steps away from the window and briefly glances at his sleeping brother. He readjusts the blanket and then goes to sit at the desk on the other wall, lighting a candle and opening the book he’d been reading earlier. He’s been trying to read up on magical theory because the more he knows about how magic works, the better he can fake it. Part of him regrets not looking into it before now. It’s actually pretty interesting. He’s taking notes with a quill and ink which is the biggest pain in the ass he’s ever had to deal with, but it’s also pretty much what he has available. The books he’s reading don’t make any connections to modern science, obviously, but he’s finding those on his own. There’s a surprising connection to physics specifically that Krel didn’t actually expect. He should have. He knows Seamus mentioned it off-hand a few times, but at the time he didn’t care enough to try to dive deeper. The laws of conservation of energy and matter do hold true despite the way magic seems to flaunt them. Magical energy is just a type of energy most physicists haven’t accounted for. Even Akiridion physicists often dismissed it. Krel knew that spells had to be tied to a magic source, usually the wizard casting the spells, but he didn’t realise how constantly that spell would have to be fed. So if those laws hold true, thankfully, what other laws translate to magic?

Without thinking, Krel makes a quick aside in his notes: “Show Alex theories for fresh eyes.”

The quill he’s writing with snaps in his fingers when he realises what he wrote. He stares at it. No, he won’t be able to show Alex anything. He forgot again. He did that a lot after Seamus died, too. Alex is gone and they won’t be able to compare notes on tech or physics or anything ever again. Seklos, Alex would have loved this. He was always more fascinated by magic than Krel was, always reading about it. He probably had so many theories, if Krel had bothered to ask him. He swallows and bites the inside of his cheek to keep the welling tears at bay. He doesn’t have time to mourn when Douxie still needs him. He crosses out that note with a new quill, violently, ink splotching and quill scratching into the paper, until he can't read the words, can't read Alex's name.

He hears Douxie start tossing and turning and he closes his book. Probably a nightmare again. His mind hasn’t been kind to him, but so far they’ve all been nightmares.

So far.

Douxie starts screaming. Krel hurries over to the bed, hesitating before whispering his brother’s name. It’s not great to wake him but Krel hates to see him thrashing and crying like this. Finally, Douxie shoots into a sitting position, eyes wide, breathing heavily, awake once again.

“Breathe, breathe,” Krel murmurs, sitting and rubbing his back. “It was just a nightmare.”

“If it was a nightmare my brain is cruel,” Douxie gasps out, hands shaking in front of him. “But if it was a vision, my magic is crueller.”

Krel’s hands still in surprise. It’s the first words he’s heard out of Douxie since the funeral, and while it’s not exactly the most positive thing, it’s more than the numb silence he’s gotten used to from his brother.

“What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“A-alex,” Douxie chokes out. Most of his nightmares have surely been about Alex, so Krel is a little scared what makes him fear this one was a vision. “I saw – I saw him. They were – they were torturing him. They were torturing him, they were – were dumping him in the water and – and he was so cold and – and – and they – I–”

He cuts off with a broken sob. Krel lets out a soft breath. “Oh.”

“He died alone,” Douxie whispers. “He died cold and broken and tortured and alone. God – gods–”

“Stop.” Krel turns Douxie to face him then pulls him into a tight hug. “Stop. You’ll only drive yourself insane. He wouldn’t – he wouldn’t want us to remember him like that.”

And maybe it’s a bit selfish too, as he holds his sobbing brother close and feels tears burn down his own cheeks, but Krel doesn’t want to know. He figured it wasn’t quick. He figured it wasn’t a kind death, that he suffered, that the fae would want information, would do anything to give it, and Alex would never in a million years risk their safety. But Krel doesn’t want that confirmed because at least he can pretend and fool himself into thinking the fae had some mercy.

“I miss him so much,” Douxie says through his sobs.

“Yeah,” Krel murmurs, “me too.”

Douxie eventually falls back asleep, but Krel spends the rest of the night staring out the window and wishing he could memorialise all the people he’s lost into the stars.

 

 

Somehow, despite the traumatising nature of his nightmare or vision of the past, last night seems to have snapped some life back into Douxie. Angry, heartbroken, hurting life, but it’s more than Krel can say for the last few days when Douxie might as well have been as dead to the world as his husband. Krel and Steve are even able to convince him to join them for breakfast. Douxie’s shoulders stay hunched and defensive in the boisterous mess hall, but he’s out of his room. It’s a start.

“Douxie! Krel!” Tristan’s voice rings out before the man himself is sitting across from them at the table. He gives them a small smile. “Good to see you out and about.”

“Hi, Tristan,” Douxie manages softly. Tristan’s eyes light up. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t elaborate but Tristan nods and reaches over to put a hand on his forearm. “Anytime, Douxie. I mean it.”

Jim, Toby, and Claire join them only moments later. Toby greets Douxie with a side-hug before sitting and Claire ruffles his hair. They’re all as visibly relieved as Krel feels. It’s the first time in a while all of them from the future have been able to eat together. Well, almost all of them. Tristan’s other two knight friends join them as well, Lamorak and Dinadan if Krel remembers right. They helped a lot with searching.

“Been a while, lads,” says Lamorak gently. “How are you feeling?”

Douxie shrugs and takes a small bite of his breakfast. Lamorak nods. It’s almost strange to be out here again when he’s been spending almost all of his time supporting Douxie. He spots Mordred across the room. He glances over and meets Krel’s eyes. There’s a brief moment of recognisable panic before he ducks his head and hurries out of the mess hall. Yeah, Krel expected that. Mordred’s been avoiding all of them since Alex was taken. Uncle Mort has always been so much like Douxie and like Krel himself that Krel isn’t surprised by the avoidance. He blames himself, just like Krel would in his place, just like a part of Krel tries to find a way to even now, even when there’s no way to spin it into his fault.

It isn’t long before another face joins them. King Arthur himself sits with a plate of food and a kind smile and Krel sees the tiny flinch from his brother out of the corner of his eye. They both haven’t spent much time with Arthur, partially because they’re usually busy and partially because sometimes it’s harder to be in the same room with him than it is to be with Mordred. Arthur looks too much like Mort.

“Hisirdoux, it’s good to see you,” he says. “We’ve missed you and Krel around.”

Krel waves shyly. He’s been out more than Douxie, but he doesn’t like leaving Douxie by himself so it’s mostly been just to get food or books or stuff like that. Douxie doesn’t quite meet Arthur’s eyes but he nods.

“Good to see you too, your majesty,” he murmurs.

Arthur chuckles. “What have I told you, lad? Just Arthur.”

“Arthur, then,” Douxie says, glancing up with a ghost of a smile, gone as soon as it came.

“Aye, he’s never been one for formalities,” laughs Lamorak. “What brings you to our table, old friend?”

“Can’t a king come sit with his knights and wizards every once in a while?” Arthur says. “I did want to check on Douxie, though. I remember how hard it was after Gwen… well, I hope you know I’m here to support you, lad. Whatever you need.”

Douxie nods again, glassy-eyed. “Thank you.”

Arthur gives him a tight, sad smile, then returns his attention to the knights. “I did also want to drop by to let you all know there’s another war meeting today. Merlin tells me the mission to Killahead Bridge was a success, so we want to plan our next steps.”

“If he says so,” mumbles Lamorak.

“We’ll be there,” Douxie says softly. Krel glances at him in surprise and he sees the others doing the same, but Douxie is still staring down at his food. “This is personal now.”

“Yeah,” Krel agrees. “It is.”

It’s the fae’s mistake they killed Alex. Krel doesn’t want to be on the other side of Douxie’s anger, and he can feel his own starting to brew underneath the grief. Krel knows what he’s capable of when he’s angry and grieving and scared, knows he can destroy fleets of ships in seconds, destruction at his fingertips. He doesn’t want to unleash that side of himself but he does want to make them pay for taking his brother-in-law.

“Camelot will be forever grateful for you and your kingdom,” Arthur says, looking between them. “If Arcadia ever needs aid, we’ll be the first to respond to your call.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Jim chokes out. They all know Camelot’s fate. Krel has never seen the ruins that might be left and he knows Douxie hasn’t either. Now that he’s been here for a bit he understands how close they must have come visiting Nan, but… well, he doesn’t blame Mort for never taking them to the ruins of his home. Krel sometimes can’t look into the sky of New Akiridion, to the dust that’s left over from its creation and from Akiridion-5’s destruction. And now? No, Krel doesn’t think he’ll be able to see it when they get home. Camelot has been… a lot… but this kingdom has been kind to them. Krel can’t see its corpse.

Arthur and the knights, both Jim and Toby and the Camelot knights, turn the conversation elsewhere for the rest of breakfast. Douxie doesn’t really join in but he doesn’t shut down again either. Krel isn’t super hungry, picking absently at his own breakfast. Arthur doesn’t seem to be in a rush, so at least this meeting isn’t something urgent. They all finish their plates and follow Arthur to the meeting room, mostly empty aside from banners on the wall and a huge, circular table in the middle of the room. Oh, duh. The Round Table.

Unfortunately, Merlin is already there when they arrive. He eyes Krel and Douxie with a frown. Seriously, he can’t still think they’re evil fae spies, right? Surely he can’t believe that after they lost Alex, after Douxie completely closed off to the world. Well, there’s not as much disdain in his eyes right now, so maybe he does have a heart under all the malice.

“Fashionably late as usual,” Merlin says coolly to Arthur.

Arthur chuckles and pats his shoulder. “Ah, I don’t think we’ll have any missions set out today. It’s no rush.”

Merlin sighs. It’s a few more minutes before enough knights filter in that Arthur waves a hand for the meeting to start, but Merlin takes over immediately, green fog settling on the table in the form of a map.

“There are a number of sites that still need investigating,” says Merlin. “I’ll highlight the ones we do not already have teams planned for. I think we should put some more focus on magical sites, and perhaps a few larger expeditions.”

“Do you have any specific recommendations?” Arthur asks.

Merlin uses his staff to point to a spot on the map. “The Ruins of Camlann.”

Krel hears Toby suck in a sharp breath next to him. Douxie’s eyes widen and he goes completely still. Okay. Those two know something that Krel does not. Krel should have read the damn books. He didn’t want to, they made him angry. They were inaccurate at best and insulting at worst, but apparently there were enough shreds of accuracy that reading them would have helped Krel out.

“Scholars disagree on whether the ruins are from a fae or human civilisation, but either way, the site is rife with magical energy,” Merlin continues. “I will need magical manpower as well as mundane defences.”

Arthur nods and looks directly at them. “Krel, Claire, Hisirdoux. Are any of you up for the journey?”

“We can go,” Douxie manages, still wide-eyed. Claire glances at him and then nods in agreement.

“Excellent,” says Arthur. “I think I will join you for this mission, and we will need a handful of knights as well. More than the last few missions, since this may be the ruins of a fae civilisation. Perhaps a healer or two.”

“And Mordred,” Merlin cuts in. Toby pales further. Ah, Krel really doesn’t like that. Arthur frowns. “I want my apprentice there.”

“Mordred is only fifteen,” says Arthur. “I don’t want him out in the field yet, you know that. I won’t put my son in harm’s way.”

“It will be a good learning experience,” argues Merlin. “I don’t expect a fight, but if there were to be one, there will be multiple skilled wizards and the knights of your choosing.”

Nope, Krel is all sorts of wary. He doesn’t like Merlin’s insistence and he especially doesn’t like the look on Toby’s face. Arthur frowns deeper and scans his eyes over the knights in the room. Krel can tell some of them don’t like the way Arthur protects his son – there’s mumbles and judging expressions and Krel has pieced together that by Mordred’s age, princes were expected to have combat experience. At the very least, combat training. Krel supposes he’s more like Mort than he thought. As prince he was definitely supposed to have had combat training by his coronation as king-in-waiting, but Mama and Papa knew he was never going to be a warrior like them, just like Mordred will never be a warrior like his fathers.

“If my son gets hurt, it will be on your head, Merlin,” Arthur finally says. “I expect you to protect him with your very life.”

Merlin lowers his head. “You have my word.”

Yeah, right. Krel knows Merlin well enough to know better than to trust his word. Unfortunately, Arthur accepts that. He raises a hand. “I will accept volunteers for the mission, but I will choose ultimately who is coming. Don’t take my choice as indicative of trust or skill or strength. I need my trusted and skilled and strong warriors both with me and protecting our home.”

Smart. Krel figures he’ll also be careful to leave behind some of the knights it’s obvious he favours, just for the sake of appearances. Camelot is pretty safe, after all, but Krel understands the argument to have trusted warriors at home.

“We will leave at dawn tomorrow,” says Arthur. “Camlann is not close and I do not want to be out past dark. For now, let’s go over some smaller targets and teams for that.”

Krel tunes back out as they talk business again, letting his eyes drift back to Douxie and Toby, pale in the face and tense, Toby’s fists clenched white at his side and Douxie’s brow pulled tight over his eyes. They need to talk. Krel needs to know what’s going on.

He has a very bad feeling about this Camlann.

 

 

Krel desperately wants to debrief with the others after the meeting. Specifically about why the hell Douxie and Toby are so scared of Camlann, but also because it’s been a bit since they’ve really talked as a team about their plans going forward, not since Alex died. Unfortunately, Merlin catches his shoulder before he and the others can leave. Krel finds himself immediately tensing up. Douxie frowns deeply and stops as well.

“It’s good to see you both interacting with the world again,” he says, which is… almost nice of him. Krel waits for the catch, but Merlin seems to be waiting for a response from them first.

“Alex wouldn’t want me to waste away without him,” Douxie murmurs. “He’d want me to be happy. I can’t… I can’t do that yet, but the least I can do is be alive for him.”

Merlin nods. “A noble sentiment. Are you up to aid me with something?”

Ah, yep, the catch.

“I suppose that depends,” Krel says for his brother. “What do you need help with?”

“I am making some necessary updates to the Trollhunter amulet,” says Merlin. “I am confident in the process, of course, but I fear one of the ingredients may react explosively. I would like to have more wizards there.”

“The great Merlin, asking for help,” says Claire. She and Jim glance at each other, then mumble something between them and she nods. “Alright, we’ll help.”

“Will Mordred be there?” Douxie blurts.

“No,” says Merlin. “He is not ready for this type of spell.”

“And yet you want him on a dangerous mission,” Krel mutters.

Merlin raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “It should not be dangerous and it will be good experience. My apprentice is very valuable to me. I would not put him in danger.”

Krel meets his eyes unflinchingly. He doesn’t believe that for a moment, and he hates the way he says valuable, like an object or a tool, the way he won’t use Mordred’s name, the way Krel knows Camlann must be dangerous and Merlin probably knows it. He wants to challenge him, but the last thing they need right now is trouble with Merlin, so he turns away to face his friends.

“We’ll see you guys later tonight,” says Jim.

“Don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone,” Krel says. He points to Toby. “Especially you.”

Toby sticks his tongue out at him. “Right back at ya, Krelito.”

They wave to their friends and follow Merlin back to his study. Mordred’s not in there, just like Merlin said, and Krel can’t help but worry about and miss him, too. He wishes Mort were here, because if anyone could have helped Douxie more than Krel was able, it was Uncle Mort. He wishes they weren’t alone here, the seven of them – the six of them. He keeps forgetting. There’s six of them now.

Krel’s been into the room Merlin leads them into once or twice, some sort of mix between a potion lab and a forge. He’s abysmal at potions even though Douxie says that not all potions have to be made by a wizard. The amulet has been taken apart on one of the tables, tools around it as well as a variety of raw materials, including–

“Oh my gods,” Claire whispers, eyes widening.

“Is that a hand!?” Krel blurts.

Merlin picks up the severed hand and holds it up. “None other than Morgana’s. I retrieved it shortly after your battle with her, Hisirdoux.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Douxie says, covering his mouth. “Why do you have that?”

“I thought it might be useful,” says Merlin. “And I was right. Morgana’s enchantments on the Killahead Bridge are deep and tangled. I wouldn’t be able to undo them, but if I use her arm to enhance the amulet then my plans should work.”

Claire furrows her brow. “You want to seal the Gumm-Gumms in the Darklands.”

“Clever, Lady Claire,” Merlin says, setting the hand back down and gathering the pieces of the amulet. “Yes. With the updated amulet, the Trollhunter should be able to seal the Gumm-Gumms away. If we then destroy the Bridge and scatter its pieces, we shan’t have to worry about them ever escaping.”

“I sense a but,” says Douxie. Obviously there’s a but, considering Krel was there when the Gumm-Gumms definitely escaped and definitely wreaked havoc on Arcadia. Merlin nods grimly.

“I suspect it will not be so easy,” he says. “But at least our problems will have been pushed to the future, somewhat. Morgana… well, that is a separate problem entirely.”

He dumps the metal into a cauldron. The stone is left out, glowing faintly in the dim lighting of the room. Krel walks closer to the table and recognises a mould of the amulet’s pieces. So he’ll be melting it down and reforging it, then. Krel’s never heard of someone mixing metal with biological matter like a hand, but at the end of the day it’s, what? Mostly carbon, right? Some calcium from the bones, iron in the blood, right, and phosphates and trace minerals. Krel thinks. Biology is the scientific field he’s shakiest on. He does think it’s kinda fucked up to use someone’s hand in something like this.

Merlin waves a hand and starts the fire within the forge. He uses a pole to hang the cauldron inside so the metal can melt. Claire is still pale, eyes glued on Morgana’s hand. Douxie taps his arms anxiously.

“What do you even need us here for, again?” Douxie says.

“Powerful sorcerers and sorceresses have magic deep in their blood,” says Merlin. “Hence why her hand is so useful. Arthur gets queasy at the idea of using even fae parts in potions and spells, so I do know he wouldn’t approve of this. Foolish, if you ask me.”

“Sane, if you ask me,” mumbles Krel faintly.

“Even humans are animals, Krel,” says Merlin. Krel tries not to let it show how his skin crawls at his name in the bastard’s mouth. “And all animals can be used for potions and spells. And the more magical the animal, the more valuable it is.”

“It’s taboo to use sapient creatures,” Douxie finally manages. “It’s downright – some would even call it dark magic.”

Merlin stares at him for a long moment, icy eyes sharp. “Yes, you would know about dark magic, wouldn’t you?”

Douxie stares back at him. “I’m not the one using someone’s hand as an ingredient.”

“And I’m not the one that cut the hand off,” Merlin counters. “Everything I do, I do for the greater good of humanity.”

Krel wishes he was fae. Does Merlin actually believe that now? Does he excuse all his actions as for a greater good? Or has the greed, the hunger for power long since seeped into his being and corrupted him? Was there ever a Merlin that wasn’t corrupt, that wasn’t content to be the bad guy, to destroy the world for more and more and more power? Steve told Krel everything Merlin had told him when he was captured. It didn’t paint the picture of a man working for the greater good of humanity. Then again, maybe he thought ruling the world himself was the greater good. Or maybe he hadn’t fallen so far yet.

“Now,” says Merlin, “as I was saying, using parts from magical creatures, including sorceresses like Morgana, can end… explosively.”

Oh, Krel would love to watch Merlin get blown up. Why do they have to be here to prevent that? Krel should have found a way to make popcorn.

“Extra hands will also be necessary for crafting the amulet,” continues Merlin. “Mordred helped me last time, but unfortunately, he is far too much like his father and I don’t want to deal with his incessant complaints about morals.”

“Morals are kind of important,” Krel says.

Merlin scoffs. “Not in war.”

He levitates the hand over to the cauldron and carefully lowers it in. A horrible, familiar shriek fills the air as it burns, a phantom scream from Morgana herself. Claire’s hands fly to cover her ears as she curls in on herself. Douxie flinches away, eyes squeezed shut, but Krel can only watch with a deep, angry nausea as the hand goes up in flame and smoke. The acrid smell of burning flesh fills the room and one of Krel’s hands goes to cover the burns on his own skin, the odour flinging him into the past, the future, red armour standing over him and fire, fire, fire.

“Prepare me some cool water,” Merlin says, as if all three of them aren’t caught in their own, separate traumas. When none of them move, Merlin snaps his fingers. “Now, please.”

Douxie is surprisingly the first to snap out of it. Krel can’t help but watch the flames, scared they will leap from the forge to consume him. It’s been nearly a decade. Krel is starting to wonder if the fear will ever go away.  He’s gotten better but it turns out after enough time in transduction, Akiridion skin burns the same as human skin and the smell sends him right back to his fifteen-year-old self.

The fire begins spitting and sparking. Merlin’s eyes widen. “Shields!”

He throws one in front of the fire. Claire and Douxie augment it with their own magic. The flames fight against the green and blue and purple and Krel throws his own shield over theirs, unable to really merge his powers with the magic but at least providing an extra layer of protection. He holds his breath, waiting for the angry flames to die down. When they finally do, the wizards drop their shields and Krel drops his.

“And this,” says Merlin, “is why I wanted you all here.”

He cautiously steps forward and removes the cauldron. Douxie and Claire stand tense and ready to shield if it starts exploding again. Merlin brings it to pour into the mould. Krel watches the molten metal spill through the crevices, forces himself to trace each recognisable piece, forces himself to preemptively pick up a hammer from the workbench. Tinkering always helps him. This is different, medieval, crude, and he has never forged anything. The processes he’s always used are closer to 3D printing than to this. Still, it will keep his shaking hands busy and distract his pounding heart.

He follows Merlin’s lead. Focus on the metal, on the shapes he vaguely recognises, on the tiny details that have to come out of the mould just right. Drop each piece in the cool water, watch the steam rise. Krel may not have magic but he knows how to make things. Isn’t that what Gaylen said? They are both creators. And creating has always cleared Krel’s mind. He helps Merlin arrange the parts, watches Douxie gently pick up the stone and pass it to Merlin as the wizard raises the other pieces above the table. Merlin places the stone down, raising his hands and bringing to life a sphere of energy.

“Ad lucem gloria mea,” he says softly, bringing the pieces together, then repeats the Latin as he cups his hands over the amulet. Krel can’t help his awe at the rebuilding of the amulet. He has no idea what Merlin said, doesn’t speak a lick of Latin, so he should maybe be more concerned about it, but the fact is that this magical crafting is fascinating. Merlin repeats the Latin one more time and the amulet glows brighter for a second before dying down.

“I’ve seen this before,” Claire whispers, thankfully soft enough that Merlin doesn’t seem to have heard. “And that means Morgana has seen this. She knows.”

Douxie’s lips pull into a deeper frown. “Do you think she’ll try something?”

“I don’t know,” Claire admits.

“We’ll have to burn that bridge when we get to it,” Krel murmurs.

“You keep saying that,” Douxie sighs, “and that is not the saying.”

Krel waves a hand. “Close enough.”

“It is complete,” says Merlin. Complete, good, that means no more chance for explosions. “Now, help me clean up this mess!”

All three of them groan. Krel regrets agreeing to help.

 

 

After they’ve cleaned up what Krel would argue is Merlin’s mess, they go looking for the others. Unfortunately it looks like Jim and Toby have been pulled for patrol so they have to wait until that evening to meet up in Jim and Claire’s room. Douxie puts up privacy spells as they get settled. He looks exhausted, his first time socialising in days having drained him. He leans against Krel when he sits down, and Krel is happy to let him.

“Okay, spill,” says Jim.

“Yeah,” says Steve, “why did both of you look like you’d seen a ghost at that meeting?”

“Camlann,” Toby manages. “I didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

“The myths aren’t always right,” Douxie cautions, hands trembling as he rests them on his legs, voice trembling with them, “but the Battle of Camlann is… it’s where King Arthur is said to have died. It’s… pretty consistent on that one.”

“Kleb,” Krel whispers. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but not this. Not Arthur’s death, not when Krel is only just started getting to know the man. “What do we do?”

“We can’t stop it,” Jim says numbly. “It’s destiny. There’s nothing we can do.”

“What, so you want us to just sit by and let Merlin kill our grandfather!?” Krel exclaims. Claire reaches over to put a hand on his shoulder, a comfort, a reminder. He runs both hands down his face. “Seklos. No, you’re right, I – fuck.”

“We don’t even know if we can change things,” Toby points out. He looks as guilty as Krel feels. Seklos and Gaylen, they have to let Arthur die. They have to let Merlin kill him. “And even if we can, we don’t know what that would do to the timeline. To us, to you guys especially. If Arthur lived would Mort ever have become Mort? It’s too risky to try.”

“Gods,” mumbles Douxie, pulling his knees to his chest. Another loss, so soon after Alex. Krel’s core already aches. He’s torn between wishing he had kept more distance and regretting that he didn’t spend more time with his adoptive grandfather. If he knew him less, maybe it wouldn’t hurt. If he knew him more, maybe he’d feel less like he’d wasted the gift of time he’d been given.

“We do need to be careful,” says Steve. “Or, well, you guys do. I don’t know if I’ll be invited. But if Merlin’s planning to kill Arthur, then you need to be ready for one hell of a fight.”

“And we have to protect baby Mort,” says Douxie, hugging his knees tighter. “Maybe we can’t change things but we know Mordred doesn’t die here.”

“That, we can definitely do,” agrees Jim.

Toby wraps his arms around his torso, face flooded with miserable guilt that only gets worse at the mention of Mordred. Yeah. Yeah, Krel gets it. Oh, fuck, Mordred is going to be there. Mort had to watch his father die. And there’s nothing they can do about that. Krel hates this, hates the time travel, hates destiny and fate and a past that’s written in stone. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He hates feeling so goddamn helpless.

Notes:

>:3 Soon.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter! I am still sick so writing it was like pulling teeth, so hopefully it's decent. Thank you as always for reading! Love yall!

Chapter 18: Disarming Rescue

Notes:

TW: dismemberment/amputation, discussion of death
also fanfic-style bad medicine probably

Bedivere is singing quietly in his corner of the cave, something in Welsh that Alex can’t help but hum along with. It’s hard to keep their spirits up here. That fae has mostly let up on the torture, although he still drops by the question Alex and gets pissy when Alex doesn’t say a word back. He doesn’t believe them when they say they’ll cure him, and besides, he doesn’t think he has much information to give, so it’s a final fuck you to the fae and a way to die knowing he did everything he could to protect Douxie and the others.

He’s not being healed anymore, either, so he’s left cold and coughing through the night. The poison is progressing with agonising slowness. It’s past his elbow, now, maybe halfway up his upper arm. Every time the stone creeps up his arm is a sharp stab of pain followed by scary numbness. It doesn’t seem to be heavier or anything, the same amount of mass and the same density, which is a little scary cause that’s probably pretty fragile stone he’s being turned into. That’s such a stupid thing to worry about. Oh, no! He’s dying and turning into a statue and he’s gonna be breakable! That’s so dumb. He can’t help but think about it anyway. He blames the fever he’s certain he has. He hopes Douxie will forgive him for dying here, for leaving so soon. He misses Douxie so much.

Bedivere’s song comes to an end. Alex makes out the man looking over at him from the shadows. “Hanging in there, kid?”

Alex coughs out a laugh. “The joke isn’t going to get funnier just because you keep using it, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t have any new material for you,” he says.

“All this time to brainstorm and you got nothing?” Alex says. “What about – what about – okay, okay, there are ten types of people in this world.”

“And what types are they?”

“Those who can understand binary, and those who can’t!”

“That’s – Alex, that’s two. Two, Alex!”

Alex cracks himself up. Bedivere is clearly less amused, so maybe he should explain it. “Cause – cause binary, like binary numbers, like – oh, god, yeah, you don’t have computers. God, it’s sad here. It’s so sad here. I promise I’m funny back home.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Bedivere says. He lets out a long string of coughs. Alex’s smile falls some as the silence returns, as Bedivere regains his breath and a cool breeze filters through the cave. There’s another sharp pain from his arm and he lets out a strangled noise despite himself. He doesn’t bother to look right now. More stone. Woo.

“You’re a braver lad than most, son, you know that?” rasps Bedivere. “Well, or stupider, but since you’re dying, I’ll give ya brave.”

“Thanks, I think,” says Alex.

Bedivere sighs. “Got anyone waiting for you on the other side? I got my dear ol’ pa. It’ll be nice to see him again.”

“No,” Alex murmurs. “I’ll be the first.”

His family hasn’t even been born yet. He’s going to die nine hundred or so years in the past. His parents won’t even have a body to bury. Alex doubts once the poison has killed him that he’ll be returned to Douxie. Maybe that’s for the best. He doesn’t want Douxie to see him like this,

“Leaving a lot behind, then,” says Bedivere.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

Another breeze drifts in. Alex flinches. It’s so cold. He’s probably got all sorts of scary frostbite, hypothermia, all that fun stuff. Maybe the cold will kill him before the poison does. He can’t decide if that would be better or worse.

“How old are you, Alex?” asks Bedivere.

“Huh?” says Alex. “Oh. I’m twenty-seven.”

Bedivere coughs and sighs again. “Too young to die. Leaving behind any kids with that husband of yours?”

Alex swallows, parched, water-damaged throat burning. He shakes his head. “I – no. No kids. We, um… we actually got into a fight about that. Right before I was captured. I didn’t mean to hurt him but… I dunno, maybe now that I’m… well, maybe it’s better this way.”

“You wanted kids and he didn’t?” Bedivere guesses.

“No,” Alex murmurs. “He wanted kids and – and so did I. But I was… I was scared. He’s, uh, he’s going to live for a long time. He’s not like me, I’m just a mundane human. I… I didn’t want to give him more people to mourn.”

“You’re too young to live like you’re dying,” Bedivere says. Alex can’t see his face well but he can hear the sadness in his voice. He glances up at his arm, the stone paler than his skin and slowly consuming him.

“I am dying, Bedivere,” he points out softly.

“I meant before you were dying.” Bedivere grunts as he painfully shifts positions. He's too weak to fight now so they've let him down, laying on the cold stone floor as if that’s a mercy. Alex is still dangling, the arm that's not turning to stone killing him. It's got to be dislocated by now. “I guess it doesn't matter now.”

“No,” Alex agrees. “I guess not.”

He hates that he’s dying with regrets. He hates that his last real interaction with Douxie was a fight. If he could go back, if he could find a way to explain things better or maybe just find a way to stop himself from opening his big mouth in the first place – but here he is. Dying. His husband is probably already mourning him. Douxie doesn’t deserve this. Alex promised himself when they got married that he’d do everything he could to stay with Douxie as long as he could, as long as Douxie would have him, but…

Promises. Has he ever kept a single promise?

“Can we sing some more?” he asks, voice meeker than it should be. He needs the distraction, he needs the chance to pretend that everything is okay. He squeezes his eyes shut as tears well again.

“Yeah,” says Bedivere. “Yeah. Sing me something from your home, Alex.”

So Alex does, even though his voice is hoarse and his throat is sore, Mami’s favourite songs rolling off his tongue in familiar, soothing Spanish, tears dripping onto the stone below him as he yearns for a home he knows he will never see again. How fitting, that he’ll spend his last days singing. They didn’t break him. He can still sing.

 

 

He falls asleep eventually. Before this, days or weeks or years ago (how can he tell in this dark, cold cave?), he couldn’t have fathomed sleeping in this position, in this pain, but desperate times and necessity have taught him that some rest is better than none. He still fights it every time for fear he won’t wake again, for fear his dreams will fade and he’ll be gone and he won’t even know it. Sleep always comes.

He does wake again, though, to the sound of a distant commotion. As he struggles to open his eyes he can see Bedivere forcing himself into a sitting position, more alert than he’s been for a while.

“What’s going on?” Alex manages groggily. Bedivere shakes his head and shushes him to listen. The commotion grows closer and closer. Alex strains to understand the sounds. A fight? He’s about to ask again when there’s a crashing noise.

And then people rush in, humans, and their eyes light up at the sight of them. One of them shouts Bedivere’s name and Alex’s friend laughs, a real, actual joy like neither of them have had here.

“My village!” he exclaims. “They’re from my village! A rescue! You crazy bastards!”

“Damn right it’s a rescue!” one of the men yells. Two rush to Bedivere to help him up. Another two rush to Alex, cutting him down and easing him onto his feet. His limbs tremble and his stone arm hangs limply at his side, but the humans support him with an arm each around his back.

“We got you, buddy, come on,” says one of them.

“We’re getting you both out of here,” promises the other. She scans over him quickly. “Can you walk?”

“Gonna have to,” Alex chokes out, a relieved laugh following. They’re being rescued. He hasn’t used his legs in so long, but the adrenaline is starting to kick in. “Give me a sword.”

“You’re not well,” she says.

“I’m a knight of Camelot,” he insists. “Give me a sword!”

“You heard the man!” Bedivere calls. “While you’re at it, get me one too!”

A couple of their rescuers exchange looks and nod, and finally Alex finds a sword being pressed into his left hand. The man on that side pokes his injured shoulder. “Dislocated. You’re not fighting unless I pop that in.”

“Then pop it in,” Alex says. “Trust me, I think I’ve had worse.”

The man nods and doesn’t bother counting. Alex bites back a yelp, but the sharpness of the pain in that shoulder fades quickly. He knows from his mom that he really shouldn’t use it but, well, he’ll just rest it after they get the hell out of here. His left hand is his non-dominant one, but Lancelot insisted on training them ambidextrously, so he should manage.

The group of them stumble back out to the fight, still in the caves but away from those accursed pools of water. One of the men waves a hand. “We got Bedivere! Time to go!”

“Aye!” yells another.

And then they’re jumping into the fray. The fight is a blur. Alex is cold and coughing and weak, but he can’t let himself be deadweight if he wants to get out of here. He sticks close to the other humans and lets adrenaline take over. A heady sort of hope is flooding his body. He could get out of this. He could make it back to Douxie. He has to fight for Douxie, for Douxie, for his Douxie. Slash, parry, dodge. Cough, stumble, try not to scream because everything hurts. Fight for his Douxie. He has to get home to Douxie.

A hand grabs his arm and pulls him back. He whips around in alarm. The fae, Alex’s captor and tormenter, is snarling and angry, a growl rumbling like an angry lion as he yanks Alex away from the other humans.

“I’m not done with you yet, Alexander!” he roars.

“Wanna fucking bet?” Alex hisses back. He flails with the sword, swinging it around and towards the fae’s face. He lets out a yowl as the sword slices across his cheek and nose, gold-tinted scarlet blood pouring from the wound. He lets go of Alex’s arm to cover the wound. Alex manages to stumble away, but the yowl turns into an angry screech and suddenly Alex is lifted off the ground by vines around his neck. He panics and drops his sword, reaching with his only functional hand to try to pry the vines away. He’s so close! He’s so close to escaping! He can’t die now!

“Alex!” he hears Bedivere yell.

“I got him!” shouts one of the other humans. She darts forward and cuts through the vine, hauling Alex up a second later and booking it. Alex stumbles along with her, gasping for air, blood pounding in his ears.

They make it out.

Somehow, against all the odds, they make it out.

Alex stumbles and trips and collapses face-first in the fresh snow. He manages to turn himself over and laugh in weak relief, staring up at the treetops and the clear sky for the first time in what feels like forever, vision blurring with tears as his laughter breaks into a coughing fit.

“Hang in there, kid!” Bedivere’s voice is murky and underwater. Is Alex underwater again? No. No, he’s free. He’s finally, finally out of that hell, and maybe he is still going to die, but at least he can die free. His vision blurs more until finally, everything goes black.

 

 

Alex thinks he’s floating. Well, floating is better than sinking. He’s cold, shivering, and hot and sweating at the same time. There are voices around him but he can only barely make out what they’re saying.

“…talking about an antidote.”

“I’ve been trying but without the poison on hand–”

There’s a sharp stab of pain that he vaguely pinpoints to his arm and he groans despite himself, not really awake enough to bother to try to open his eyes.

“Shh, shh.” There are hands brushing his hair aside and a cloth dabbing his forehead. The pain has faded again.

“It’s killing him! You have to do something!”

“I know we have to do something, I...”

Alex is floating farther away from the voices, even though he wants to know what they’re saying. They’ve got accents like Douxie’s. Alex misses Douxie.

He fades back into darkness thinking of his husband’s face.

 

 

Alex is warm.

He hasn’t been warm in so long. Nothing even hurts. It’s so nice. He feels a cool hand on his forehead and almost flinches away from it. Something cold and wet is rested in its place. No, he wants to be warm. He’s missed warmth so much.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” says a voice. She says something else he can’t make out behind the muddled fog. A small hand takes his own and he hears singing, a child’s voice. The woman says something else and the child giggles but keeps singing, tiny little hand squeezing his own.

He falls back asleep, warm and safe.

 

 

The next time he wakes, for real this time, he’s able to make out the sound of a crackling fire. He’s still warm and he’s resting on something soft and comfortable. A few moments later he registers he’s on a bed and covered with blankets. Then, finally, he processes that he’s somehow, somehow still alive.

He opens his eyes reluctantly to find himself staring up at a wooden ceiling, bathed in orange light from the fire that he turns his head to see, a fireplace in a house, a far cry from the cold, unforgiving cave he’s been trapped in for who knows how long. The room looks loved. There’s a couple chairs by the fire, wooden toys on the floor, blankets folded by the stairs that he can just barely see if he cranes his head. There are footsteps and then a woman comes into view. In Alex’s half-awake state, she looks like Mami, but as she gets closer her skin is darker and his hair has tighter coils. She gasps at the sight of him.

“You’re awake!” she says, rushing over, relief in her voice. “That’s good. That’s good, the worst has passed.”

“Where – where am I?” he manages, voice hoarse and cracked from disuse. The woman rushes over to scoop something out of the pot he now sees on the fire. She murmurs soft words and the steam above it disappears as she walks back over to him. She gently tilts his head and puts the cup to his lips. Cool water. He drinks it greedily.

“You’re safe, in our village,” she says. “Do you remember being rescued?”

“Bedivere’s village,” Alex realises aloud. It was real. It wasn’t a dream. “We’re – we’re safe?”

“You’re safe,” she promises. “And you’re on the road to recovery. You caught horribly ill. It’s no surprise from what Bedivere has told us of your treatment. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Alex admits, “but alive. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sir Knight,” she says. He starts carefully pushing himself to sit up and she helps him. “Easy, easy.”

He closes his eyes for a moment because he’s dizzy and off-balance. His whole right side feels lighter somehow, and he can’t help but wonder why. The stone seemed to be the same mass. He’d been complaining about that in his head, hadn’t he? He forces his eyes back open to look down and–

Oh.

“My arm,” he blurts, staring down at empty space, at barely a stump wrapped in bandages. “What – where–”

“I’m sorry,” the woman says softly. “The poison was spreading, and we do not know the antidote. If it had spread much longer, I fear we could have done nothing to stop it, so… we made the choice to remove the arm to spare your life.”

“I… I get it,” Alex says shakily, bringing his other hand up to ghost over the bandages, to wave around the air where there should be arm attached to shoulder. He’s lucky, he supposes. He lost an arm but not his life. His good arm, too. He tries to stay optimistic about it. He’s alive. He’s alive and if they hadn’t cut off his arm, he wouldn’t be. He can get used to being an amputee.

“My name is Elaine,” the woman says. “I’m one of the healers here in town. They left you in my care. Well, I volunteered. I figured my magic would be useful in helping you. You’ve been here for nearly two weeks.”

“Two weeks!?” Alex repeats in shock.

“You were very ill,” Elaine says. “The cold and the water did you no favours. Losing an arm didn’t help either, but… well. There was little choice there.”

“I guess I couldn’t expect to recover from torture in a couple of hours,” he jokes weakly. He runs his hand down his face. “I need to – get home. Back to Camelot. I – thank you so much, but I have to get home.”

“You are in no condition to travel,” she says firmly. “When our messenger returns, we can send a letter to your husband in Camelot that you live, but you will not be going anywhere yet, Sir Alexander.”

“Bedivere told you about him?” Alex guesses.

She laughs and nods. “He had to! Broke many a girl’s heart, Sir Knight, they all would have been after the mysterious, handsome hero.”

Alex blushes. “Um, well, thanks?”

“We’ll get you home to your husband soon,” Elaine says. “But you need to heal and that means you need to rest. You certainly don’t need to walk several days to Camelot.”

Alex didn’t expect to be that far from Camelot, from Douxie. Several days… okay, he can understand why he’s not allowed to travel yet. He’s still dizzy and fatigued and reeling from losing an entire arm. He doesn’t like it, though. The sooner he can get home the better. He misses Douxie. God, he gets to go home to Douxie. He’s alive.

“I’ve put a soup on for dinner,” Elaine says. “Something mild that will suit your stomach. In the meantime, I have bread upstairs. Emergency nourishment spells are well and good but actual food will do you better.”

“Thank you,” Alex manages. “I owe you my life.”

“Think nothing of it,” she says gently. “You were in need, and a healer always helps those in need.”

“Still,” Alex says. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

She shakes her head. “You were willing to give your life to protect this kingdom. Consider us more than even, Sir Alexander.”

Alex does not consider them even but he chuckles anyway. “Alright, Lady Elaine.”

“Just Elaine!” she corrects with a laugh. “I’m certainly no Lady.”

“Then just Alex,” he says.

“Very well, Alex.” She stands and brushes off her dress. “Let me go get some of that bread for you. Fresh-baked this morning by one of my neighbours. Bread isn’t my strong suit.”

“Thank you,” he says again. She smiles and disappears up the stairs. After she’s gone he lets out a shaky breath. It’s hard to believe he’s safe again, that he’s going to survive this after all. A part of him wants to leave to find Douxie again as soon as he can manage to stand, but if Elaine is a healer anything like Steve, she’d sooner literally tie him to the bed than let him risk his health trying to leave too early.

His eyes draw back to the bandaged stump that’s left of his arm. He presses his fingers against it and hisses quietly at the sparks of pain. Yeah, okay, that was dumb. He figured that would hurt. He must have some pain potions in him for it not to hurt more. Elaine used magic to cool the boiled water so she must have used magic to help his healing – it’s probably the only reason he’s still alive. Pneumonia, probably, as well as the hypothermia should have done him in. His other hand is fine, and when he wriggles his toes he can feel them all move, so the frostbite, bad as it must have been, didn’t need other amputations or anything. In medieval times, that definitely means magic.

He moves his shoulder up and down, but that’s about the range of motion he has left. There’s not enough left to move around, really, and he’s not even sure if he can call what he has a stump. It’s strange that he didn’t even notice at first when he woke up. Then again, most of it had gone numb anyway thanks to the poison, so it wasn’t that big of a change until he sat up and felt his balance was all off. He should have expected this. He didn’t expect to live. He waves his left hand in the empty space again and lets out another breath he didn’t realise he was holding. It’s really gone.

“It’s just an arm, Alex,” he mumbles to himself. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

He hears footsteps on the stairs again and swallows his emotions, too many of them at once for him to accurately place and name. Elaine is followed down the stairs by a second set of footsteps, smaller, and when they come into view Alex sees a little girl, no older than five or six if he had to guess. Elaine is carrying a few slices of bread on a plate for him.

“You’re awake!” exclaims the little girl, running over to his bedside. “You’re awake, Sir Knight!”

Elaine laughs sheepishly. “I apologise, Alex. This is my daughter, Hildegard. She’s been quite impatient to properly meet you.”

“I helped Mama fix you,” she says proudly. “I sang to you! Mama says that helps!”

Alex blinks at her and feels his expression soften. He does remember that, hearing a child singing. He can’t help the smile that forms. “It did help. Thank you.”

Hildegard beams at the praise. Elaine gives him a fondly exasperated look that he roughly translates as thanks for indulging her daughter as she passes him the plate. He rests it on his lap and picks up one of the slices to take a bite. She didn’t bring utensils so, well, hopefully he’s not expected to use them. Couldn’t cut with a knife and fork anyway. No one cuts bread with a knife and a fork. Alex doesn’t know what he’s thinking. He’s still stuck on the missing an arm thing. He gets the feeling he’s going to be stuck on that for a while.

“I should let Bedivere know you’re awake,” says Elaine. “Oh, and check on dinner, too. But Bedivere first, the man’s been checking on you every day.”

“He - he has?” Alex says, kind of touched. “I figured he’d have better things to do. Like catching up with family.”

She laughs. “He’s taken to you. Do you mind watching Hilde while I go find him? He’s probably at his mother’s house if he’s not on his way here.”

“I’d be happy for the company,” Alex says.

“Good man,” Elaine says, patting his uninjured shoulder. “I’ll send Bedivere right down when he gets here. The soup will be a while yet. There’s chicken in it, you need meat on your bones, Sir Alex.”

Alex scratches his cheeks shyly. “Thank you, Elaine. Really.”

She smiles warmly and shakes her head. “Truly, think nothing of it. Rest. Hilde, fy mach i, you make sure our guest doesn’t get up and exert himself. I’m counting on you.”

“Yes, Mama!” Hilde says brightly. Elaine ruffles her hair before heading back upstairs. Hilde rocks back and forth on her heels and beams at him. “Mama said you’re a knight!”

Alex nods. “That’s right! I’m one of King Arthur’s knights.”

“Wow,” she whispers. Her beam widens even more. “I’m gonna be a knight someday too! Just like you and Sir Bedivere.”

“A good dream,” he tells her, trying not to wince. It’s not a dream he thinks she’ll be able to achieve, at least not in Camelot, because Alex knows Mort was young when Camelot fell and so it will fall long before this little girl ever gets to try to become a knight. He keeps his smile up anyway. “How old are you, Hilde?”

“I’m five and three-quarters,” she says.

“Three-quarters!” he repeats, fondly reminded of Lillie at this age. “Almost six then! Exciting age, six, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” she says, puffing her cheeks, but then she gives him a big-eyed glance. “You think so?”

“Well, in my kingdom, kids start first grade at six,” he says. “School! That’s pretty exciting! And maybe things are different around here, but I bet there’s exciting stuff for six-year-olds in Camelot too.”

“Maybe Mama will give me a practice sword,” she muses, eyes lighting up. “Maybe you can teach me to fight with a sword!”

Alex laughs and shrugs his right shoulder. He winces a bit when that tugs at the wound under all the bandages, but keeps his smile up for the child regardless. “Unfortunately, I may not be the best teacher right now. I have to learn again myself.”

“Then we can learn together!” she exclaims.

“If you want, kiddo, but you’ll have to ask your mom,” Alex says. He pokes at the bandages again. He could definitely use some ibuprofen right now. At least it doesn’t feel hot or anything, so no onset of infection. Magic has probably helped in that regard. It’s a little sobering to think that without magic, he’d almost definitely be dead right now. Pneumonia and hypothermia and losing an arm all at once? In the Middle Ages? Yeah, no, he would be so dead. Not for the first time, he is incredibly grateful for magic.

“You gotta stop messing with it,” Hilde says. Alex blinks at her. “Your ouchie! When I fell and scraped my knee Mama said I had to quit messing with it all the time. It’s gotta be the same.”

“Alright, you’re right,” Alex concedes with a chuckle.

“Alex!” Bedivere’s voice calls from the stairs. Alex manages to turn his head in time to see his friend practically jump over the last three steps to hurry into the room. “You’re awake! Finally! I was beginning to worry, kid.”

“Sorry,” Alex says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How are you feeling, lad?” Bedivere asks.

“Tired,” Alex admits. “Sore. But happy to be alive, thanks to Elaine and Miss Hilde here.”

“I told him about how I helped,” Hilde says proudly.

Bedivere pats her head fondly. “You sure did, lassie. Alex, Elaine told me you’re already restless, huh?”

Alex blushes. “I just want to see Douxie.”

“I know, but we’re a couple days from Camelot,” says Bedivere. “You’re not in any state to travel that far. And between us three, Elaine would poison my soup if I said anything different.”

Hilde giggles. “Mama would not!”

“I knew your mama when she was your age, lass,” Bedivere says. “She woulda poisoned me then and she’d poison me now.”

“Talking bad about me to my own daughter, Sir Bedivere?” Elaine teases, standing at the top of the stairs. Hilde waves to her and she laughs. “Hi, baby! Is Sir Alex behaving?”

“Hmm, mostly,” says Hilde.

“Mostly?” Alex asks with a smile. “I’ve been a perfect patient.”

Hilde giggles. “He keeps touching his bandages!”

“Sir Alex,” Elaine admonishes teasingly. “You leave your bandages alone, you hear?”

“Yes, Doc,” Alex replies. It’s nice to feel safe again. Bedivere looks so much healthier than he ever did in the shadows of the cave, clean-shaven and no longer coughing and weak. It’s actually Alex’s first real look at the man he’s come to see as a friend, and in a way, he’s glad about that. This way, the image he’ll associate with Bedivere is smiling and healthy and not actively dying. He sounds better too, the rasp mostly gone from his voice.

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to catching up,” Elaine says. “Let me know if you need Hilde to come back upstairs.”

“Nah, she’s an angel,” Alex says. “We’ll keep it PG.”

He definitely needs to stop doing that. He can see the question marks around her head, but she still smiles and disappears back upstairs. Bedivere shakes his head. “Aye, so it wasn’t just that cave making you sound crazy.”

“Sorry, slipped in some Arcadian slang,” he says, which is close enough to the truth.

“Will you tell me a story?” Hilde asks excitedly. “About being knights?”

“I bet I can think of something,” says Bedivere. Hilde clambers onto Alex’s bed before remembering it’s polite to ask first and giving him the puppy-dog eyes the way only a five-year-old can. Alex laughs and lets her sit next to him as Bedivere starts spinning some tale about a mission that probably didn’t actually happen but will sound cool to a kid. His laughter fades to a soft smile, bittersweet in a way. Hilde reminds him a lot of Lillie when she was younger, and it makes him miss home even more than usual. It makes him miss Douxie even more than that. Douxie and his baby fever and Alex should have figured out a way to have that conversation better, but it’s okay now, because he has a chance to go home and make things right with his husband. He’s not a dying man anymore.

So he lets himself lean back against the pillows and enjoy Bedivere’s tall tale as the warm smell of chicken soup wafts from upstairs. If he closes his eyes he can almost feel like he’s home again. It’s real. He’s safe.

He can’t wait to see his Douxie again.

Notes:

No, I am not sorry for the title. Yes, I spent fifteen minutes googling for the binary joke. No, I am not sorry for that either. Anyway, welcome to the chapter that truly fucked up the timeline! Several of the upcoming chapters happen during the almost two weeks Alex was out. Also, I'm very sorry for the OC-centric stuff, there will be more. My bad.

I am very sad I could not get the Christmas chapters done for Christmas. HOWEVER, excited to have this one up and who knows, maybe I can speed write 19? We'll see. If not, Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and a belated Happy Hannukah to those who celebrate! Forgot to say that last time.

Hope you all enjoyed! Love you! <3

Chapter 19: Le Morte D'Arthur

Notes:

TW: death, brief mentions of torture

Douxie doesn’t have any dreams the night before Camlann. He can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse. After his last dream – or vision – he welcomes the peaceful sleep, but a little bit more forewarning of what lies ahead would have been nice. It feels just as likely that he would have dreamt of Alex again. He can’t get the images out of his mind, even if Krel’s right, Alex wouldn’t want to be remembered like that.

He and Krel are some of the first to arrive at the gates, but it isn’t long before the others start arriving as well. Toby beelines straight for them, running ahead of the group. He seems worried about something. Well, more worried than expected, anyway.

“Okay, Krel, need you to not freak out,” he says.

“That’s a horrible start,” grumbles Krel. “What am I not freaking out about?”

“One of the knights coming with us,” Toby says. “We, uh, we kinda know him. And you’re not gonna be happy about it, ‘cause I am definitely not happy about it.”

“I don’t have a problem with any of the knights I’ve met,” Krel dismisses.

Douxie scans the knights as they arrive. He recognises only a handful – Jim, obviously, Lamorak, Aunt Ikram, Dinadan. He knows Tristan isn’t coming because Tristan whined about it at breakfast and he knows Lancelot is staying behind as well. Part of Douxie is glad for that, because if this is the Camlann... well, Douxie supposes he and Lancelot are going to have something in common after today.

He glances at Krel, looking around at the knights too, and catches the exact second Krel realises whatever it is Toby’s talking about. His expression freezes and then turns murderous, eyes flashing red. Toby’s hand is already on his shoulder but Douxie quickly grabs one of his arms as well. The knight he’s staring at is vaguely familiar, but Douxie doesn’t know what he’s done to earn this level of anger.

“We talked about this, don’t freak out,” Toby says hurriedly.

“That’s him,” Krel snarls. “The Red Knight. That’s the man that killed Seamus.”

Douxie sucks in a sharp breath. Oh. That’s why he’s familiar. Because one fateful summer, nine hundred years from now, that knight is going to burn Douxie’s home to the ground and Krel with it, is going to murder Douxie’s childhood friend, and is going to do it all with no remorse. Krel told him the Red and Black Knights weren’t controlled like Ikram was.

“I could kill him.” Krel’s voice breaks but he doesn’t fight harder to break free of their hold. Douxie wonders if he’d actually try to stop him. “I could kill him right now, and then maybe – maybe Seamus would live.”

“We can’t,” Toby says softly. “We can’t change the future. We can’t do anything.”

Not about the Red Knight, not about Douxie’s grandfather. Douxie can’t pretend he hasn’t thought about trying to change things, about telling Mordred the truth and warning him of everything to come, about testing to see what they can do here. Are they really constrained by fate, or is it only their unwillingness to try that’s preventing them from changing things? Douxie doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know.

Krel pulls his arms free and hugs himself. “I know. I know.”

"We’ve managed not to fight Merlin so far,” Jim offers. Oh, Douxie didn’t realise he and Claire had joined them.

“Yeah,” Krel agrees, cracking a bit of a smile. “I guess we have.”

Toby reaches over and grabs Krel’s hand to ground him and Krel gives him a warmer smile. Douxie tears his eyes away from the future Red Knight to find Arthur a bit away with Mordred and there his eyes linger. Mordred seems to have perked up, clearly giddy to be included in a mission with his father. Enaid is perched cheerfully on his shoulder. Douxie thinks of himself at that age and knows he would have been just as excited in Mordred’s place, but he wishes he weren’t coming. If Arthur is going to die on this mission, he doesn’t want Mordred to see it. But Mort was always haunted by his father’s death. Maybe it is fate, after all.

They set off once everyone has arrived. There’s only, like, ten knights, plus the rest makes around sixteen people. Well, fifteen. Douxie doesn’t count Merlin because he knows for sure that Merlin took credit for Arthur’s death. Well, sixteen, he forgot to count Enaid. Archie likes to be counted as people too. Douxie zones out a bit as they walk, watching the snowy forest around them. It’s officially December today, which back home usually meant busting out the Christmas decorations and going ham. Douxie can’t find it in himself to feel festive without Alex.

“I’ve been to Camlann before with my father,” Lamorak says. Douxie almost jumps because he didn’t realise he had fallen into step with them. Lamorak laughs. “It’s a beautiful place, ruins of ancient times.”

“Was your dad the, y’know?” asks Toby.

“The you know?” Krel repeats, baffled.

“Oh, whoops,” mumbles Toby.

Lamorak laughs. “I’m fine with them knowing. And yes, my father is where I get my fae blood.”

“Oh, that makes a lot of sense,” Douxie admits quietly. He assumes Arthur and Lancelot both know. He vaguely remembers when they first got here how Lancelot kept looking to Lamorak during their story. Ah, boy, that could have ended terribly since they didn’t know there was someone there who could hear lies.

“But my father loves the ancients and magic regardless,” Lamorak says.

“Like you,” teases Dinadan. “You ramble to me and Trist all the time.”

“As if you don’t have your own things to ramble about,” Lamorak shoots back, amused. “But, yes, Camlann. I can see why Merlin wants to investigate it. Tad suspects it was an old fae stronghold before Camelot ever existed. We don’t live too far from there, actually, I pass by whenever I visit home.”

“Not that far from Camelot, either,” Krel says. “Arthur said a few hours, right?”

“Aye,” says Lamorak. “And if we make good time, my village is another hour past Camlann.”

A few hours of walking is still more than most people could do on a regular basis, or, well, more than Douxie would like. It’s weird to think that it’s probably barely an hour by car, depending on the roads. In the twenty-first century, Lamorak probably could have commuted from his village to Camelot daily. Thinking about home just makes Douxie think about Alex, though, so he pushes it to the back of his mind.

His eyes are drawn back to Mordred as the others continue talking. He’s chattering to his father up front, hands moving animatedly in front of him while Arthur listens with an indulgent smile. Enaid has moved her perch to the top of his head, preening his hair. If he blinks, it’s like looking into the past, looking at himself chattering to Mort and Mort always indulging him, even when he was talking about stuff like that BBC Merlin show that, looking back, he should not have forced Mort to watch. Mort always said Douxie was a lot like him, but Douxie had never been able to imagine it, could never picture that Mordred would be reckless and impulsive and oh-so-eager to prove himself. Douxie still needs to apologise for yelling at him. It’s not Mordred’s fault that Alex is gone. Douxie shouldn’t have yelled.

But he can’t apologise right now. He fears if he talks to Mordred everything else will come spilling out, all the horrible things to come. Douxie knows the pain of losing his father and he doesn’t want that for Mordred. He doesn’t want to see Mordred’s sunshine go out. He can’t let himself try to stop it, so he hangs back and tunes back into the conversation about the ruins and tries to pretend he’s not terrified for what’s to come.

 

 

The sun is high overhead by the time they arrive to the ruins. They’re clearly old and not kept up well, frosted vines curling around the weathered stone, but Douxie can practically taste the magic with how strongly it radiates off this place. He rests a hand on one of the stone pillars and lets out a soft breath, closing his eyes as the magic floods his system and warms him like a hot chocolate on a bitterly cold day. There’s still enough snow on the ground for their feet to sink into it as they walk, but the glittering icicles hanging from the ruins are melting in the bright winter sun. It’s a beautiful place. He catches sight of Claire and Mordred and Lamorak, too, basking in the magic like cats in the sun. It’s strange to him that Merlin isn’t. How could any magic user not feel drawn to a place like this?

If anything, it just makes him warier. Merlin is going to pull something, but Douxie doesn’t know what and he doubts it will be obvious. If Merlin led a clear, violent coup, the books would have certainly spoken of him differently. Maybe Arthur would have been painted as a villain – history is always written by the victor – but in the stories, Douxie usually hears of them both as positive figures. Whatever is happening today will be discreet, or at least it will try to be.

“Alright, my friends,” says Arthur. “Split up and take in the area. Wizards, I want you on especially high alert.”

How could they not be, in a place like this? Douxie reluctantly splits from his friends, since the “wizards” are the ones that really need to split up and look around. The magic here rings so loudly in his ears that he’s not sure he’d be able to detect suspicious anomalies if he tried. Alex would have loved this place. Thinking of him hurts, still, a jagged, Alex-shaped hole in his heart that Douxie doubts will ever heal. Douxie doesn’t think he’ll ever move on, but he owes it to Alex to try to be… something other than numbly depressed. But not happy. Not yet.

“Mind if I join you, Sir Wizard?” Douxie startles, both at the term of address and being addressed out of the blue. The future Red Knight gives him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Hisirdoux, was it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” Douxie says warily.

“Sir Gawain,” he says. “I was very sorry to hear about your husband. Sir Alexander seemed a fine knight.”

Douxie swallows. “He was a better man than – many.”

He reminds himself that Sir Gawain hasn’t done anything yet. He hasn’t even said anything wrong. Douxie shouldn’t judge a man on his future actions but, well… the Red Knight was a cruel bastard. He thinks he has a bit of a right to be uneasy around him now. It would look too suspicious to avoid him, though, so Douxie doesn’t bother trying to get away.

“So, picking up anything?”

“It’s very magical,” Douxie admits. “But that could be just as true of ruins that once belonged to human magic users as fae. Nothing seems out of the ordinary for magical ruins, at least according to all my dad’s books.”

“More powerful than most ruins,” Gawain says. “Even a mundane like me can feel the magic here. Gives me the shivers.”

Douxie frowns. “Yeah. I wouldn’t be shocked if these were fae ruins. I don’t like it. I don’t know what Merlin’s looking for.”

“Do you think we’re in danger?” Gawain asks.

“Of course we are,” Douxie says. “We’re out of the city walls. But if you’re asking if I think we’ll get ambushed? I don’t know.”

“There’s a lot of rumours about you, Hisirdoux,” Gawain says. “You and your brother. They say you’re fae in disguise.”

Douxie groans. “We’ve disproven that. My husband was killed by the fae, Sir Gawain, so I’ll thank you not to accuse me of working with his murderers.”

“I never said that,” Gawain says. “I only mentioned the main rumour. Protest too much and you’ll look… suspicious.”

Douxie’s frown deepens, but before he can say anything there’s a rustle in the trees followed by a gust of wind that nearly knocks them al over, howling in the forest and kicking up the snow into a cloud around them. The knights are all drawing their weapons. Douxie flares focusers. The winds have been still all morning, so a gust like that on an otherwise calm day can only mean trouble.

“Well, well, well!” There it is. There it fucking is. Another gust of wind materialises into a fae in the middle of the ruins, and when Douxie looks around at the forest he finds that they’re completely surrounded by fae. Outnumbered, too. Fuck. “If it isn’t the King of Camelot, out of his little castle.”

Another fae walks to the centre as well, vines curled around his arms and legs, a jagged, fresh scar ripped from his cheek across his nose. There’s something familiar about him but Douxie can’t place it. “A little birdie told us we’d find you here. Good thing, too, considering the last knight we had wouldn’t give us shit.”

Douxie’s breath catches in his throat. Alex. He’s talking about Alex. Gods, of course Alex didn’t give them anything, and it cost him his life. But that means there’s a traitor among them. Douxie’s eyes dart immediately to Merlin. He hates the fae, but if they were a means to an end, he might have passed along the information to allow this ambush. Arthur must have realised the implications of treachery too, if the glower on his face is anything to go by.

The fae don’t waste any more time talking. Douxie shoots into the sky as the fae begin attacking, which is honestly his mistake because it immediately draws attention to himself. Oh, well. He can help more from the sky. He hopes. He quickly surveys the fight on the ground. Toby’s holding his own against two fae right now and Jim and Claire are fighting back-to-back. Dinadan is cornered so Douxie swoops down and forms his staff, hooking it around the front of one of the fae and pulling them backwards with it.

“Thanks!” Dinadan grunts, using the opening to stab forward and catch the other fae off guard.

The fae Douxie’s pulled back manages to pull himself free. Douxie leaps back into the sky and the fae follows. Crap, he forgot they could do that. He dodges a blast of unformed magic and brings up a shield against the arc of electricity that follows. Fan-fucking-tastic. Well, at least if Douxie dies, he gets to see Alex again. If that makes him reckless… oh, well.

He should get the electric fae away from all the people in full-body metal armour. That would be the smart thing to do. So Douxie wraps a half-assed shield around his skin and tackles the fae into the woods. The fae hisses, claws digging into Douxie’s arms as Douxie slams him into a tree.

“You want to give up or are you gonna make me kill you?” Douxie hisses right back.

“I’ll come back,” the fae says. “You won’t.”

“Yeah, don’t really care,” says Douxie. He forms his battle-staff again and presses it across the fae’s throat. He tries not to feel bad for actively attempting to kill this guy, especially because the fae is right. He will come back if he’s not killed the right way, and Douxie doesn’t have any iron on him, a habit because Mort was horribly allergic for obvious reasons. He’s pretty sure there’s other ways, too, but none Douxie knows off the top of his head.

He has to divert some of his focus and energy to fighting off the jolts of electricity the fae is trying to flood his body with. He’s got his claws dug deep into Douxie’s arms. Douxie meant it when he said he didn’t care, not that much, not with Alex waiting for him, but he does kind of want to eliminate this threat to his friends. Finally the fae goes limp, dead or unconscious, Douxie doesn’t care to check. He tosses the fae aside and rushes back to the battle. He does a quick headcount. There’s Toby – Jim – Krel – Claire – okay, good. He spots Arthur and Mordred too, then Lamorak and then Dinadan, and that’s all the people he gives a damn about so he jumps back into the fight.

“Hanging in there?” Claire calls when he gets close.

“For now!” he says. “What about – woah!”

He cuts himself off as he gets tackled away from her. He manages to kick the fae off him in mid-air. A second later he recognises the scar – the fae from before, clearly one of the leaders of this group. Or something. The fae grins, hovering only a few feet away.

“Oh, I’ve been eager to meet you,” says the fae. “Hisirdoux, isn’t it? Or do you prefer Douxie?”

Douxie’s grip tightens on his battle-staff. Well, that’s not a good sign. It’s not the end of the world that this guy knows his names, since he sure wasn’t given them, but it is a little scary. “How do you know those names?”

“I did my research,” he says with a shrug. His lips curl into a cruel smile. “Besides that, your husband used to cry for you. His Douxie – oh, he said he did it all for you.”

Douxie’s eyes widen. That’s where he recognises this fae from – his vision. The fae torturing Alex. His hands tremble and his heartbeat roars in his ears. This is the man that killed his Alex and enjoyed it. He’s the reason Alex was broken and alone and sobbing in a cave somewhere out of Douxie’s reach, the reason Douxie will never see his husband again. Something must show on his face because in the split second before he tackles him the fae’s smirk falls into a frown. Doesn’t matter. Douxie drives him straight into the snowy ground, heedless of the way the snow bursts up around them from the force. Vines rip from the ground to pull Douxie’s hands off the fae. Douxie snarls and feels the familiar tug of dark magic as the shadows liquefy and curve under the fae.

“The rumours are true!” the fae exclaims.

Douxie raises a hand and seconds later curls his fingers around a sharp, black dagger, dripping tar onto the snow. The fae dodges his head sideways when Douxie brings it down. Vines wrap around his waist and toss him to the side. Douxie grits his teeth and pushes himself back up into the air, diving for the fae again, willing the liquid shadows to sharpen and shoot out at him. The fae yelps as one grazes his side. More vines grab his ankles and throw him hard into the stone which cracks and crumbles with the force. Douxie pushes himself up, one arm going around his bruised at best ribs.

He’s about to attack again but he hears Mordred let out a yelp and his attention is immediately taken. He looks like he’s stumbled and fallen to the ground, and Arthur is over him, defending him from the attacking fae. Douxie almost leaves it at that for now. Arthur can protect his son, Arthur would – might – die protecting his son. But then he sees Mordred’s eyes go wide and something changes. He starts to stand, stiff and wrong, everything screams wrong. Douxie catches a glimpse of his eyes again.

No.

Oh, no.

Instead of the warm honey-green that Douxie has always known, Mordred’s eyes have taken on a sharp, acidic hue. Merlin’s green. If Douxie didn’t know him so well, he wouldn’t even notice. He would only see the way those familiar dual swords form of bronze magic, the way Mordred turns to face his father instead of the fae around them, the way Enaid shrieks and takes to the air, away from her wizard, the way Arthur’s eyes narrow in confusion before widening in realisation.

Douxie starts running, then leaps into the sky and dives forward as Mordred attacks. Vines rip him to the ground again, slamming him into the snow and rocks. Arthur is fighting back, but only barely. He could beat Mordred easily in any fight, but he won’t risk hurting his son. Douxie knows this more than he’s known almost anything, just like he knows that if he were in Mordred’s shoes Mort would have sooner died than hurt him. Douxie claws at the vines holding him back, but he knows he’ll never be able to make it in time. Arthur is saying something. Douxie can’t hear him over the roar of battle, over his heart pounding in his ears.

And then one of Mordred’s swords is sinking into Arthur’s chest, the chest plate of his armour no match for the magical weapon. Horror spreads out in a ripple around the battlefield. Douxie chokes on a shocked gasp, frozen to the ground, watching the light fade from Arthur’s eyes just as Merlin’s green fades from Mordred’s. The battle has come to a standstill. As Mordred comes back to himself it seems he can only stare.

“Dad…?” he hears Mordred whisper in the lull. Then he lets go of the sword like it’s burned him and the weapon vanishes. Arthur drops. Mordred lets out a strangled cry. “Dad!”

“The king is dead!” crows one of the fae triumphantly.

The ruins of Camlann break into chaos. Mordred stumbles backwards, hands shaking, then changes his mind and rushes forward and falls to his knees, alternating between shaking Arthur and trying to stem the bleeding. The fae are celebrating, loud and joyful. Jim covers his mouth in horror and Toby just looks away. Lamorak looks stunned but his eyes are watching merlin – did he realise?

“Kingkiller!” yells Gawain. There’s something sharp in his voice that Douxie doesn’t like. The knights charge – at Mordred, fuck. Douxie finally manages to get his legs free and shoot back in the air, diving past the knights to tackle Mordred out of the way of their swords.

“We need to go!” he tells him.

“But – but Dad!” Mordred chokes out, tears already streaking his cheeks and dripping off his chin. Douxie tugs him to his feet as Krel lands beside them and throws up a shield against a blast of magic from Merlin.

“No time!” Enaid exclaims, circling down them and tugging on Mordred’s hair.

“Douxie’s right!” Krel exclaims. “We have to get out of here before someone kills you!”

Douxie finds Jim and Toby again in the crowd and manages eye contact with Jim, who nods. Alright. Okay. They’ll keep their cover, somehow, Douxie and Krel need to focus on getting Mordred out of here.

“Come on!” he says, pulling Mordred along as they start to run for the tree line. The knights are hot on their heels – well, most of them. Douxie doesn’t see Lamorak or Dinadan among them, and maybe that’s a good sign or maybe they’re in trouble but he doesn’t have time to worry about that right now. They need to get Mordred out of here before–

Mordred lets out a sharp cry of pain and stumbles to the ground as Enaid cries out his name. Before that, whatever that is, and Douxie throws up a shield to figure it out. It’s immediately obvious when he turns to look that, oh, there’s a crossbow bolt sticking out of Mordred’s thigh. Oh, fuck, there’s a crossbow bolt sticking out of Mordred’s thigh.

“Okay, running was a bad idea!” he exclaims. He’s not fully confident he can carry Mordred, but it turns out adrenaline does crazy things to a person because he scoops him up with ease and takes to the sky. Krel follows suit, keeping a shield around them as they flee into the forest. The angry shouts of the knights follow them, cries of “Traitor!” and “Kingkiller!”, and Mordred is sobbing into his chest, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and all Douxie can do is hold him tight as they try to get as far away as possible.

He knew Arthur was going to die today. He could have never imagined this would be how.

They fly until Douxie is sure they won’t be followed. He stumbles to a landing and carefully lays Mordred down on the fresh snow. Aside from the bolt in his leg, Mordred doesn’t look too injured. Douxie’s ribs throb and he’s sure one of his ankles is sprained at best. Krel has blue dripping from his forehead, but he’s conscious so it can’t be that bad. Enaid lands on Mordred’s shoulder again and nuzzles against his cheek. Mordred doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Okay, okay, we better take care of that,” Douxie manages. He looks closer at the bolt and feels sick to his stomach. “Oh, gods, where’s Steve when you need him? I am not fucking qualified to deal with this.”

“I know some first aid,” Krel offers shakily.

“For a crossbow bolt through his leg?”

“Well… no,” Krel admits. “No, not… Un- Dad always said if it was this bad to come to him.”

“That’s useful, as always,” Douxie mumbles, dragging a hand down his face. Mordred is shaking like a leaf, hand pressed tight over his mouth to stifle the broken sobs that still wrack his small form. Gods, does he even notice the arrow? He just lost his dad.

“Hey, hey, Mordred, look at me,” he says softly.

“I – I killed him,” Mordred chokes out. “I killed my dad, I – I–”

“Look at me, that wasn’t you,” Douxie says. “That wasn’t you, Mordred, you didn’t–”

Mordred shakes his head, breaths coming in frantic, erratic bursts. “He’s gone, it’s all my fault.”

“Breathe, Mordred, breathe.” Douxie takes his hands, squeezing them comfortingly. “Breathe with me, okay? Mimic me.”

He exaggerates his breathing to get Mordred to regulate his own, to help him calm down some and maybe stave off the impending panic attack. It takes a few moments but it does eventually work, his sobs reduced to hiccups and his breathing even again. His face has gone slack, shock and numbness taking over. Just like Douxie, huh? That haze of loss…

“This wasn’t your fault,” Douxie whispers. He brushes Mordred’s hair out of his face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Mordred finally says, voice small and scared. “I don’t re-remember.”

“Your eyes…” Douxie trails off, trying to find a gentle way to explain it, to explain that he’d been betrayed by his mentor, used as a weapon. Mordred trusted Merlin, that much was obvious.

“Mind control,” Krel says bluntly, grimly. “It looked like mind control.”

“Krel is right,” Enaid agrees, voice laced with worried. “I couldn’t feel you almost at all. It was like you were completely muffled.”

“But who – why – the fae?” It’s almost hopeful. Almost like Mordred already knows. Then again, he would have been able to recognise Merlin’s magic washing over him. “It – it was the fae, it must have… it must have been…”

“It was Merlin’s green,” Krel says. Douxie shoots him a look and he shakes his head. “He deserves to know the truth, Douxie. I’m not going to pretend.”

“Merlin – he wouldn’t,” Mordred whimpers. “Why – why would he… I trusted him. Dad trusted him, he’s my mentor, he – he wouldn’t–”

“We need to get somewhere safe,” Douxie says softly. “We can talk more about this later, but we need to get you healed and we need to not be found by the knights.”

How easily they turned on Mordred. Surrounded by fae, by magic, surely they should have doubted even a little that it was Mordred’s own volition, right? But then, they all trust Merlin, and Merlin turned on him immediately, because now that Mordred’s served his purpose Merlin must want him out of the picture.

“Why are you doing this?” Mordred asks, staring up at them with glassy eyes. “Why are you risking your lives for me? They’ll label you as traitors, you – you’re throwing everything away.”

Douxie shakes his head. “We know. But you’re our friend. You’re worth the risk.”

Mordred’s lips tremble and he collapses against Douxie, almost a hug so Douxie wraps his arms around him and rubs his back comfortingly. His own hands are shaking too, but he tries to keep them steady for Mordred, tries to pretend he didn’t just see his grandfather die at the hands of the teenage version of his father.

“Douxie’s right, though,” Krel says. “We need to find shelter and figure out how to treat your leg.”

“We probably need to avoid towns,” Douxie murmurs. “I don’t know how fast word will travel, but, well… it’s better safe than sorry.”

Mordred sniffles and finally catches sight of his leg. He lets out a strangled gasp and then moves like he’s going to grab the bolt. Douxie grabs his hands instead. Mordred gives him a wide-eyed look. “Douxie–“

“Leave it,” Douxie says. “It’s acting as a plug right now. We need to get you somewhere safe first.”

“Surely it’s a bad idea to leave it!” Enaid exclaims. “It’s hurting my human!”

“And if it comes out, he might bleed to death,” Douxie says, a bit harsher than he meant so he dials his tone back. “We have to find somewhere hidden and sheltered and then we can actually treat all of our injuries.”

“I…” Mordred visibly swallows and lets out a shaky breath. Enaid chirps softly and nuzzles his cheek. He nods. “I know a place.”

“Then we’ll have you tell us the way,” Douxie says softly. “I’m going to pick you up again. Hopefully.”

“You wanna tell us this place in case you pass out?” Krel says. His probably-concussion seems to be making him grumpy, combined with, well, the sinking horror at everything that’s just happened.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Mordred says. His eyes linger on the cut on Krel’s forehead. “Or… maybe… never mind. I know the way and if I pass out, Enaid knows too. Just trust me.”

“Okay,” Douxie says, gently pressing their foreheads together like Mort used to sometimes, what he knows now is a very Akiridion form of affection. Mordred blinks up at him, something new in his still broken expression that Douxie can’t place. “We trust you. Lead the way.”

Notes:

Y'all knew this was coming >:3

Sorry I couldn't get this up yesterday, but I hope y'all enjoyed! Fight scenes are always a pain in my ass. Big RIP to Mordred whose tragic backstory is now well underway fjsdjfd

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 20: The Queen's Court

As Douxie and Krel disappear into the forest with Mordred, the fae seem to decide now is a good time to stop celebrating and start attacking again. Jim sticks close to Toby and Claire – the other knights keep stealing looks at them as if they’re going to suddenly switch sides. They’re going to need to be careful. Of course Jim supports Douxie and Krel getting Mordred the hell out of here, but it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. The rest of them need to not look like traitors – which they aren’t so that shouldn’t be too hard. Why can’t things ever be easy?

Jim throws himself into the fight, pretending that his hands aren’t shaking and he isn’t terrified of being controlled again. He should have expected this. Merlin wouldn’t do his own dirty work, and Jim knew that he was good at mind control. There seems almost no point in stressing about it – he couldn’t, shouldn’t have changed things even if he did know. But to see that horrible green in Mordred’s eyes has left him shaken. Is that how he had looked…?

“How the fuck are we gonna get out of this?” mumbles Toby.

Jim throws up his sword to parry an attack from a nearby fae from getting Toby. “Focus, Tobes!”

“You’re not going to like this idea,” says Claire, back to his. “But I’m going to go talk to Merlin about opening a portal and getting us through.”

“You’re right, I don’t like it,” Jim says. He finally shoves the fae away from the three of them.

Claire drops the fae through a small shadow portal and deposits them somewhere in the woods. “Best idea we’ve got, babe. I’ll be right back!”

She runs off in Merlin’s direction. Jim groans but doesn’t have time to really complain before he has to parry an attack from another fae. Toby uses his war-hammer to lift in the air now that their main air support is gone. Jim hates the idea of Claire anywhere near Merlin after what just happened, with Arthur lying dead in the battlefield and the knights defending his body. He tries to keep one eye on their conversation while also focusing on the fight. His distraction costs him. He snarls as a nearby fae as his spear glances off his armour a little too close to his neck. Toby swoops down to knock the guy out with a well-placed smack of the hammer to the back of the head. Another fae dives in to replace him, so Jim has to quickly raise his sword again. They need to hurry or Arthur won't be the only death today.

Luckily, Merlin must realise it’s a good idea to get the hell out because a few moments later a shadow portal opens, Claire’s familiar purple augmented with Merlin’s green. Toby grabs Jim’s arm and tugs him along.

“Knights!” yells Merlin.

This spurs the others into running as well. Jim sees Lamorak stop and pick up Arthur’s body before he and Toby make it to the portal with the other knights. The fae are surging after them, and Merlin and Claire are holding them off with blasts of magic.

“Hurry!” Claire shouts.

When Jim jumps through it, the portal feels just wrong enough that he shudders and nearly stumbles to his knees, but Dinadan catches him and steadies him. Claire and Merlin follow last and immediately close the portal. Claire falls to her knees and Merlin puts a hand on her shoulder. Jim tries to school his expression so he’s not caught glaring daggers.

“We should be safe,” calls Merlin. “We must get back to Camelot.”

“And what of the traitors?” says Sir Gawain, eyes turned to glare between Jim and Toby and Claire. “We can’t bring these foreigners back to our home after two of their own showed their true nature!”

Merlin’s scowl deepens, although he thankfully doesn’t go straight to the attack. “What say you three?”

“We – we had no idea,” Claire chokes out. She was always the best actor of them. “We – Douxie’s husband was killed by the fae, I can’t – I can’t believe he would…”

“We didn’t know,” Jim reiterates. He doesn’t even have to force the tremble and shock into his voice. It’s true, they didn’t know Mordred’s hands would be the ones to fell the king. Lamorak’s face is grim as he holds Arthur’s body, blood dripping down his own forehead.

“I believe them,” he says firmly. He gives Merlin a long, calculating look. “But if you don’t, Sir Wizard, we need only bring them to Princess – to Queen Anna. She’s part fae. She should be able to hear any lies.”

“He’s right,” agrees Ikram. “Sir Jim and Sir Tobias have been nothing but loyal. Sir Alexander gave his life for Camelot. Just because your wizards turned on you does not mean our knights will do the same.”

There’s a few murmurs from the other knights. Merlin’s face sets a little and he helps Claire up, keeping a hand on her shoulder. “Not all of my wizards, Sir Ikram. And I’ll remind you that I was suspicious of Krel and Hisirdoux.”

Good play, Ikram. He’s not going to want to admit that so much slipped under his nose, not that anything slipped under his nose since he orchestrated the whole thing. Toby sniffles and rubs his eye. Dinadan shifts with a wince, clearly keeping his weight off one of his legs. Lamorak’s shoulders fall.

“We need to get back,” he says softly.

Merlin sighs and waves a hand. A stretcher of magic forms and he nods to Lamorak to lay Arthur on it. He’s a good actor, Jim will give him that. His face is grave and his eyes are dark and he looks more tired than Jim has ever seen him. If Jim didn’t know better, he could believe Merlin was mourning for an old friend lost. The knights around them all look stunned and shell-shocked still. Jim thought knowing ahead of time would make it easier, but his heart still aches for the king he could practically call a friend. Arthur was nothing but kind to him, regardless of his species, and it hurts to lose him. Mordred didn’t deserve this either, and Jim understands Mort’s hatred for Merlin even more than before. He has no idea what to do next, with Douxie and Krel who knows where, but they need to regroup with Steve to make a plan.

Claire got them close to Camelot, but it was smart not to portal inside with the dead king. Even still, the unavoidable walk through town is sombre. Someone pulled Arthur’s cloak over his body to cover him, but everyone knows who they carry, who’s missing. Merlin leads them in, head held high, while the rest of them bow their heads and avoid the gazes and the horrified gasps. They failed to protect their king and they managed to lose the prince at the same time. Jim still feels sick to his stomach about how easily the others turned on Mordred. How could they honestly believe Mordred would do that? He’s just a kid. From what Jim has seen, he’s nothing but a good kid either, mischievous but kind, so how could they all turn on him? Jim, Toby, and Claire stick close to Lamorak, Ikram, and Dinadan to be safe, the few who Jim didn’t see attacking. Jim’s confident they won’t fall for any of Merlin’s tricks. He saw the look in Lamorak’s eyes when Arthur fell. He knows something’s up, whether he knows exactly what or not.

By the time they’ve made it to the castle some of the chatter must have already spread. Lancelot and Anna are waiting for them in the courtyard. Anna gasps and covers her mouth, sinking to her knees and Lot steadies her with wide eyes. Lancelot lets out a weak cry and stumbles forward to Arthur’s body, lifting the cloak off his face. He cups his face and leans his forehead in, tears falling.

“No, no, please,” he whispers.

“I’m so sorry, old friend,” Lamorak says, voice thick.

Lancelot raises his head, scanning the group. His eyes harden. “Where is Mordred? Where is my son!?”

“Sir Lancelot…” Dinadan starts hesitantly, taking a step forward and then nearly crumpling. Jim catches him and holds him up.

“You bring me back my husband dead and my son missing!” Lancelot exclaims, the words ripping from his throat in a way that sounds physically painful. “Where is Mordred?”

“Your son, Sir Lancelot, is the one that killed King Arthur,” Merlin bites out. Lancelot’s lips part in shock. Anna chokes out a horrified sob. “Then he fled with Hisirdoux and Krel. I warned you they were fae spies but you refused to listen.”

“Mordred wouldn’t,” Lancelot manages. “He – he would never. You’re lying!”

“He’s not,” Anna whispers. “I hear his words, Lancelot, he is not lying.”

“We all saw it,” Gawain says, soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry, your graces.”

“I don’t understand,” says Lancelot.

“Whether you understand or not is irrelevant,” says Merlin. “We must prepare King Arthur for his funeral, and Crown Princess Anna… you must prepare for your coronation post haste. Wasted time is a sign of weakness.”

Anna’s face hardens. “I – yes. We… we will prepare for the coronation tonight.”

“Tonight?” Lancelot repeats.

“Merlin is right, Lancelot,” she says, pressing her lips into a thin line and turning away. “I don’t know what happened to Mordred, but he was our father’s weakness and he was used against him. We must not show any more weakness.”

“My lady,” says Merlin carefully. “The traitor prince fled with Hisirdoux and Krel, the ones I warned your family about. What do you wish to do with their fellow Arcadians?”

She pauses, not turning to face them again, head held high and shoulders stiff. “I don’t know. I heard Hisirdoux and Krel promise they meant no harm to Camelot and I detected no lie, but I’m only part fae… the only thing I can think of is a binding oath.”

“We’re telling the truth when we say we don’t mean harm to Camelot,” Toby says. “And when we say we had no idea Douxie and Krel would… do this.”

“Merlin?” Anna says, turning her face ever so slightly so they can see the red of her hair again peeking out from her veil.

“I can perform the spell,” he says.

Jim and Claire exchange wary looks. The last thing Jim wants is Merlin performing a spell on him, but… it might be their only choice. He steps forward. “Will you accept my word for all of my friends? That way you only have to do one spell.”

“You realise that if they betray us, you will suffer the consequences, Sir Jim,” Anna says. “A binding oath won’t just cover the past, but the future as well. Are you truly willing to risk that?”

“I know Toby and Claire and Steve better than I knew Douxie and Krel.” A truth, if only barely, because he has become good friends with Douxie and Krel over the years. But Toby he’s known since they were kids and he was friends with Steve and Claire before he ever met Douxie and Krel. “I know they won’t betray me.”

“Very well,” says Anna, even as Claire grabs his hand and gives him a worried look. “I’ll accept your word. Merlin?”

Merlin nods and taps his staff on the ground. A glowing circle of runes extends around it and he steps back. “Kneel within the circle and state your oaths. Be very clear and do not leave loopholes, changeling.”

Jim swallows and does as told. He tries not to flinch at the cold of Merlin’s magic, the burning in his throat. He can’t be controlled again. Toby tries to take a step forward, but Claire stops him. There’s the faintest glow in Lamorak’s eyes and Jim’s tension eases just a bit. Lamorak’s looking out for him. He’s certain his friend is looking for spells within the spell. Or, at least, he hopes.

“I, Sir James Lake Jr, swear that I and my friends, Tobias Domzalski, Claire Nuñez, and Steve Tarron, have not betrayed and will not betray Camelot.” That’s probably not enough. What else? “We don’t wish harm upon the kingdom and we will do what we can to protect it. We didn’t know that Hisirdoux Swift and Krel Tarron would – would betray the kingdom. Um… am I missing anything?”

“That will do, Sir Jim,” says Anna softly. “I accept your Oath.”

Merlin taps his staff on the ground again and nods. “The Oath is made. For your own good, see that none of you break it.”

“We won’t,” says Claire. Jim winces as he stands and walks back over to her, well aware of the subtle disapproval and frustration in her voice. “Are we dismissed? We’d like to tell Steve about Douxie and Krel.”

“Yes,” says Anna. “Someone will fetch you if you’re needed.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she says. “And… we’re sorry for your loss.”

Anna inclines her head and turns away again. Claire grabs Jim and Toby’s wrists and starts dragging them back to their rooms. Toby is side-eyeing Jim. Yep, his friends are not happy with him, but Jim doesn’t trust Merlin and didn’t want to risk any more of them in danger than had to be. He’s made deals with this specific devil in the past so he can do it again.

Steve is waiting outside Jim and Claire’s room when they arrive. His face is grim. “We were right?”

“Yep,” says Toby.

“Shit,” mutters Steve. He looks between them and his frown deepens. “Where are Krel and Douxie?”

“In the room, first, Steve,” says Claire. They duck inside and follow typical protocols of privacy spells and locking the door. Jim sits on the bed with a sigh and Steve’s anxious energy starts immediately translating to checking all of them for injuries. Now that they’re finally safe again, or, well, as safe as they’ll get, Jim can feel the stings and aches of his cuts and bruises. He did manage to avoid anything major, but he notices Claire favouring her right leg and Toby nursing a wound on his side and directs Steve their way first.

“I’ll heal, you talk,” says Steve. “Where are Krel and Douxie?”

“With Mordred,” Jim says.

“And where’s Mordred?”

“Great question,” says Jim. “Probably hiding so he doesn’t get found and killed for killing the king.”

“What?” Steve snaps his head to stare at him. “Please tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

“Mordred was mind-controlled,” Toby says softly. “Merlin used him to kill Arthur.”

“Oh, god,” manages Steve, suddenly very green in the face. “Oh my god.”

“And then the knights all turned on him!” Jim fumes. “They shot at him with crossbows! Thank god Douxie and Krel were able to get him out of there, they were going to kill him! He’s – he’s just a kid.”

“A kid that killed the king,” Claire reminds grimly.

God, but a kid, nevertheless, a kid younger than Jim was when he became the Trollhunter and, honestly, looking back, Jim was far too young for the amount of trauma that came with that. Poor Mordred. Poor Mort.

“If we’d known…” Steve murmurs.

“We couldn’t change it,” Toby says softly, looking away. “Trust me, I tried to find a way – Mort, um… before he died, he – he did tell me. What happened. I never brought it up cause, well… if he’d wanted that story told to others, he would have told it himself. Wasn’t my place. And before the battle… I knew Douxie would do something stupid. We couldn’t change it.”

“God, I hate this,” Jim whispers, dragging his hands down his face. “Okay. Okay. We have to be careful. Lamorak and Ikram vouched for us, and I swore an oath–”

“You what!?” Steve yelps.

“Yeah, he’s a fucking dumbass,” says Toby, crossing his arms and ignoring Steve’s pointed look and grumbles about aggravating his wounds. “We could have vouched for ourselves, Jimbo.”

“I don’t want the rest of you anywhere near Merlin’s magic,” says Jim. “I know you’re mad at me, but – this way if things go wrong, I’m the only one out of commission.”

“Damn right we’re mad at you!” Toby snaps. “We’ve talked about this, Jim, remember? Self-sacrifice bad! Bad!”

“Lamorak was watching the spell,” Jim protests. “I’m sure it’s fine. And I’m sorry, but I won’t risk the rest of you. We already lost Alex, and now Douxie and Krel are labelled as traitors. I’m not risking you three.”

Toby lets out a frustrated huff. “Ever think that we don’t want to risk you, either?”

“What Toby’s trying to say is that we understand where you’re coming from, but we’re a team and we should work together,” Claire says. “You can’t make decisions for us because you’re trying to protect us. We can protect ourselves.”

Jim opens his mouth to argue – they shouldn’t have to protect themselves when he can protect them – but a sharp look from Steve stops him in his tracks. He glances between Toby and Claire again, the worry underneath Toby’s anger, and he sighs. “Okay. Yeah. Trollhunters not Trollhunter.”

“Don’t you forget it,” Toby says, poking him roughly in the shoulder.

“So we gotta be careful not to get Jim in trouble,” says Steve. “And hope that Krel and Douxie aren’t being stupid. Or dead. Seklos and Gaylen I hope they aren’t dead.”

Jim sighs and runs a hand down his face, then reaches back to undo his messy ponytail. “They’re strong, Steve. They’re okay, wherever they are.”

Steve looks like he’s going to say something else, but he’s stopped by urgent knocking at the door. Claire frowns and walks over to it. She must drop one of the spells because she calls, “Who is it?”

“Just us, Claire,” says Lamorak’s voice.

She opens the door. “Just us” turns out to be more people than Jim actually expected, because alongside Lamorak, Tristan, and Dinadan are Ikram and Lancelot. Poor Lancelot’s eyes are still red and misty and Lamorak is supporting him with a gentle hand on his back.

“Sir Lancelot!” Jim exclaims, half-standing. “Um, can we – can we help you?”

“No time for pleasantries, lad,” says Lamorak, leading Lancelot in to sit in a free chair. The other three follow and Lamorak turns to start casting privacy wards as soon as the door is closed. Claire and Steve shrug at each other and reinforce their own. Tristan sits next to Jim, fiddling with the edge of his surcoat. Dinadan sits on his other side.

“So, uh, what’s up?” Jim asks.

“Merlin already has Anna’s ear and she’s too busy preparing for the coronation, but Lancelot is willing to hear the truth,” Lamorak says.

“The truth,” Toby repeats carefully. “Explain.”

“I know you saw it too,” says Lamorak, though he looks a little more hesitant now. If Lamorak did see the same thing they saw, it’s a hefty accusation to just be throwing around. “Mordred’s eyes were green.”

“Mordred’s eyes are always green,” says Ikram.

“No, Lamorak is right,” says Jim softly, fists clenching in his lap. “They weren’t the right green. And they were definitely glowing. Changeling eyesight, trust me, I noticed.”

“And it was Merlin’s green,” Lamorak adds.

“Lamorak,” says Lancelot, voice barely above a whisper, “I know you don’t trust Merlin, but–"

“I am more serious about this than I have been about anything in my entire life, Lancelot,” says Lamorak. “I think Mordred was being controlled and I think it was Merlin doing the controlling. You know your son.”

Lancelot runs a hand down his face. “Mordred wouldn’t have – he would never have killed Arthur. But what motivation does Merlin have?”

“Uh, power?” says Steve. “Lamorak said it, he has Anna’s ear. He can manipulate her. Easier than he could Arthur. And Mordred’s too much of a wild card to keep around, so he’s the perfect scapegoat.”

“Steve is correct,” says Dinadan, crossing his arms. “With Arthur out of the way, he can mould Anna the way he pleases. She'll listen to him while she's vulnerable if he's spouting evil fae and assassination plots."

“I... I’ll talk with her,” says Lancelot.

“I know you don’t want to believe you put your trust in Merlin and he betrayed you like this,” Claire murmurs. “Trust me, we’ve been burned before too.”

Yeah, by Merlin. Jim refrains from saying that out loud and instead wraps his arms around his aching torso. Dinadan puts a hand on his shoulder, comforting or steadying or both at the same time.

“It’s a lot to take in,” admits Ikram. “There’s no love lost for Merlin in this room, but killing the king... that’s a huge accusation, Lamorak.”

Lamorak sighs. “I know. But I’m not the only one who saw it. And I’ve known Prince Mordred since he was a baby. That boy could never willingly kill anyone, let alone his father.”

“Mordred,” whispers Lancelot. “Douxie and Krel – they're not really traitors, are they? They... is Mordred safe with them?”

“They’ll protect him with their lives,” says Toby. “He couldn’t be in better hands right now.”

“He could be with a healer or someone with common sense,” mumbles Steve.

“Definitely better off than here,” Jim says bitterly. “All the other knights went straight for the kill. Ever heard of a fair trial?”

Lancelot’s face twists. “They tried to kill my son?”

“Douxie and Krel got him away,” Ikram says. “Hopefully they know somewhere safe to go. And how to find food. Neither of them seem the most...”

“Resourceful in the wilderness?” Toby offers. “I’m sure they’ll be okay. Maybe they’ll find their way to the Lady of the Lake or something.”

“I hope so,” mumbles Lancelot. “Gods. Okay. Okay, I have to – I have to talk to Anna. And I have to find Mordred. And I have to prepare for Arthur’s – for Arthur’s funeral – and – and if you’re right, I need to – I need to do something about Merlin before he hurts Anna.”

“We’ve got your back, man,” says Steve gently. Lancelot looks up at him and flinches. Steve winces. “Sorry. I know I... look like him.”

“For what it’s worth,” says Toby, that horribly guilty look returning to his face, “I’m sorry we couldn’t save them.”

“There was likely nothing you could have hoped to have done,” Lancelot sighs. “But thank you, Toby.”

Except that they knew, except that Toby knew even more than the rest of them, except that the timeline is the only reason they couldn’t save Arthur’s life and spare Mordred the pain of killing his own father. Jim feels guilty just having known Arthur would die at Camlann. Maybe it’s for the best that Mort is long dead in the future. If Jim were in Toby’s place, he would never again be able to meet the man’s eyes.

Lancelot stands on shaking legs. Lamorak stands to steady him. The two of them leave the room together, after a brief, quiet bow from Lancelot – thanks, maybe, or just being polite. Tristan buries his face in his hands.

“Y’know, I told myself I would look out for Douxie now that Lex is gone,” he mumbles. “Shit job, Tristan, well done.”

“Nothing you could’ve done, even if you were there,” Dinadan says. “By the time we all realised Mordred was fighting the king, it was pretty much over. We were surrounded and outnumbered. It’s a miracle more of us aren’t dead.”

“The worst is yet to come,” Toby says grimly. “Legends say that when King – when good kings fall, their kingdoms suffer. Famines and stuff.”

“Never took you for the type to believe those kinds of legends,” says Dinadan.

Toby shrugs. “Yeah, well.”

Jim knows Toby got that one from his class. He even remembers him asking Mort about it, citing something about scholars’ ideas for the timeline and historicity for the Arthurian legends. Mort has flat out denied the years Toby’d asked about, which, yeah, Jim knows that now, but he’d admitted to not knowing much about Camelot’s fate after he left. Jim hopes there aren’t famines to come, on top of the war, on top of the kingdom falling one day. The people of Camelot deserve better than that. Jim has made friends here. He doesn’t want his friends to suffer.

“Don’t worry about Queen Anna or Merlin,” says Ikram. “All of us will vouch for you.”

“Thank you, Ikram,” Toby says, voice choked, just enough that only Jim can tell. He wants to ask. The books were right, and Arthur died at Camlann. What did they say about Lamorak and Tristan and Dinadan? Should Jim watch for dates or names or even weather events – but maybe then he’d just be scared every time it rained.

“We should get ready for the coronation,” says Dinadan. “You’ll need to dig out the good ol’ old ceremonial armour.”

“Great,” mumbles Jim.

“We’ll let you be, then,” says Tristan. He stands, briefly resting a hand on Toby’s shoulder with a tight smile. Then the three of them leave. Steve sighs and leans against the door as it closes. Jim rubs his forehead.

“This is such a mess,” he says.

Toby mimes raising a glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

 

 

The coronation starts at sunset. Jim kind of expected them to wait until Arthur’s funeral, but it turns out the Middle Ages can be kind of creepy and it’s expected that his body be on display for... some amount of time. Jim tuned out after he got distracted thinking about how disturbing it’d be to walk past King Arthur’s corpse and plotting how to avoid that area of the castle.

Anna holds herself well, for a woman who just lost her father and brother in one fell swoop. She’s dressed in armour rather than her normal dresses. Her crimson curls peek out from under her black veil, a shock of red like blood in an otherwise dreary ensemble. Even in a dark cloak Jim feels like he sticks out in bright armour, but most of the other knights do, too. They do their best to blend into the crowd. Lamorak and Ikram are closer to the front, to Anna and Lancelot, but Tristan and Dinadan hang back with them. Merlin is still standing tall and proud on her other side. Jim wants to punch him in the face. Toby takes his hands as if he knows if he doesn’t Jim’s going to go up there and start a fight, especially as Merlin steps forward to speak.

“Today we have lost a great king,” he says gravely, “felled by his own traitorous son.”

Jim sees Dinadan visibly bristle and reaches out to take his hand too. Dinadan glances at him in surprise, but the contact does its job of steadying him. Tristan takes Dinadan’s other hand. When Jim looks back Claire is holding Toby’s loose hand and Steve is holding Claire’s. Jim lets out a soft breath. Trollhunters, not Trollhunter. There’s strength in numbers, even in the tension of being the only ones who seem to know the truth of King Arthur’s death.

He ignores Merlin’s words to focus on Anna and Lancelot. Even from back here, Jim can feel the tension between Anna and Lancelot. If they did talk, it didn’t go well. Lancelot looks ashy and drawn, tired and older than he should be. Anna’s face is a porcelain mask, pale but firm, lips pursed tight and eyes staring straight ahead, above the crowd. She wouldn’t want to hear it right now but she’s a lot like her brother, like her future nephew, her many times great-grandson. Masks of all kinds, Jim thinks, are a Pendragon speciality. He wonders if Arthur’s cheer was one, too.

He finally tunes back into Merlin’s speech. “…as we welcome our new leader, Queen Anna of Camelot.”

Anna kneels, back to the crowd. Merlin lifts the crown of Camelot above his head, staring up at it, something almost unreadable in his expression. He knows better than to try anything right now, not when Camelot is reeling from Arthur’s murder, not when he must suspect Lancelot’s distrust towards him has to do with the king’s death. Instead, he places the crown on Anna’s head and motions for her to rise and face her subjects.

“Long live the queen!” calls Gawain.

“Long live the queen!” the crowd echoes. In a ripple, people begin to kneel. Jim doesn’t let go of the hands he’s holding as he kneels too, as they kneel with him. When he glances up again, Lancelot is already slipping away. Anna’s eyes draw to him and her gaze hardens.

“Citizens of Camelot,” she says loudly as the crowd settles back down. “I know you’re afraid. Rest assured, I will be doing everything in my power to end this war sooner rather than later. The fae have killed my father and twisted my brother against us. We have been too lenient, too reckless. From this day forth, we will be cutting off alliances and communications with faekind. They are too dangerous to be reckoned with. We cannot take the risks of spies among us.”

Murmurs through the crowd. Everyone is wary of this decision, Jim can hear it in their voices and see it in their faces. Lamorak’s face sets tight. What does that mean for his future here, as a part-fae himself? Anna is part-fae. It’s a dangerous game she’s playing, a game that’s going to spread fear and distrust. Merlin’s lips have ever-so-subtly curled into a smirk. He must be behind this, but Jim would have hoped she would have listened to Lancelot. But where is he now? Lancelot, the son of a fae, the one who tried to convince her not to trust Merlin – leaving, Jim fears, only serves to force Anna further into her budding paranoia. How long until she turns on the trolls too? She abandoned her brother so quickly…

Jim has a bad feeling about the coming weeks in the queen’s court.

Notes:

This chapter gave me hell so I apologise if it's not quite up to par but at least it's done. Sorry for the long wait! Thanks for sticking with me! <3 Love y'all! Next chapter will be fun uwu

See you next time! <3!

Chapter 21: A Family Reunion

Notes:

TW: very bad medical science but graphic-ish depictions of treating a wound

They’ve been trudging through the forest for a couple of hours now, if Krel had to guess. Mordred is hanging in there admirably for a fifteen-year-old with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his leg, though that might be owed to the numbing spell Douxie put in place and the fact that they’ve been very careful not to knock the bolt loose and let him bleed. He’s still hiding his face in Douxie’s chest, numb shock in the way his shoulders remain lax and his eyes remain wide and glassy. Enaid has taken over giving them directions and flying above to keep a keen eye out for any threats.

“We’re almost there,” she calls down. “This is a different direction than we usually come from, but bird’s eye view, right?”

“Be nice to know where we’re going,” mumbles Krel, but they keep walking anyway. Krel can see a bit of light ahead, a clearing in the forest, and as they get closer he starts to hear something. Deep humming, mechanical – an engine, maybe, the hum of a ship resting on the forest floor. Nothing like he’s heard the entire time he’s been here in the past. As they walk into the clearing, the source is revealed and Krel gasps. He can’t help the wide smile that splits his face.

“Sweet technology!” he cried, darting forward to hug the Akiridion ship and rest his cheek on the cold metal. He sighs and closes his eyes with a smile. “How I’ve missed you!”

“Is he… okay?”

Krel startles and stands up straight again, eyes wide as they land on an Akiridion standing next to the ship, looking just as startled to see him as he is to see her. She looks like Papa, the same marking on her forehead and the tall crests, straight in the Ventis style. It only takes a second more for him to put things together, a second before Mordred confirms it.

“Iros,” Mordred calls, voice still choked. Iros’s eyes widen as she takes him in, as she sees the injury and blood on his hands, and she rushes over to him and Douxie, two of her hands hovering near the crossbow bolt.

“Bring him inside, quickly,” she orders.

Enaid watches the two of them as they follow Iros into her ship. Yeah, they should have probably at least pretended to be shocked, but right now, they don’t have time to waste acting. Mordred needs help. Krel’s pretty confident he’ll be fine – didn’t Uncle Mort have a limp on that side? Just a slight one, but this must be the injury that caused it. Iros’s ship is a pretty standard one, small enough that it’s really only meant for a small crew but large enough to be fit for deep-space travel. She’s probably supposed to have a crew, but Krel doesn’t see any other Akiridions around. It’s old and outdated compared to modern Akiridion ships, but still light-years ahead of anything modern humans have that he didn’t personally help on. It is so good to be back on an Akiridion ship.

They bring Mordred to the small med-bay she has on the ship and lay him down on the nearest cot. Krel catches sight of a regeneration stasis pod in the corner and relaxes even more. That’s good. It won’t help Mordred but if he or Douxie ever get badly injured, it’s good to know there’s a pod that can fix them.

“What happened?” Iros demands.

“There was an ambush,” Douxie says grimly. “He was hurt when we escaped. He said he knew somewhere we could go and Enaid led us to you.”

“He’s dead,” Mordred sniffles. “He’s dead, my dad – I – I killed my dad.”

Iros’s brow furrows. “What?”

“Mind-control,” Krel says shortly. “Merlin.”

Iros nods and moves on. “I don’t know very much about human physiology, so I’m going to need your help.”

“Yeah, we don’t know much either,” Douxie admits. Krel nods. Steve is their healer. Krel knows the basics of first aid but like he told Douxie, both Mort and Steve always made it clear that for something this bad they get professional help immediately. He knows how to not die in the meantime, but not how to actually fix it.

“The bolt has to come out,” Krel says. “But we have to be careful because humans really need blood to stay inside their body.”

“Noted,” Iros says. Her eyes trail both of them, resting longer on Krel. Krel brushes the loose strands of hair on his face back and hisses as his fingers brush a wound and come back sticky. Oh, shit. Well. It’ll be fine.

“I know some first aid,” Krel continues. “I can do my best. I blow stuff up a lot when I tinker and because of – well, anyway, Douxie has a numbing spell on him already but we’re probably gonna want to knock him out with some kind of anaesthetic.”

“I have some in stock,” she says. “In case I need a transduction, which can make me more physiologically like you.”

“Yeah, trust me, I know,” says Krel. “Good, okay, let’s get that and then we can get to fixing him up.”

Krel tries to remember everything Steve taught him and everything he’s had to deal with in the past. The anaesthetic kicks in quickly and Mordred falls asleep holding Douxie’s hand. Poor Douxie is trembling, refusing to look as they set to work. Krel tries to keep his own hands steady as he pulls out the crossbow bolt, trying to avoid further damage. They cut off the leg of his pants above the wound to work easier. He wishes they carried potions with them. He knows that would fix this in an instant. Wound-closing and then blood-replenishing and then they’d be all set. Unfortunately, they only have an Akiridion tool to scan his injuries and mundane tools to close it. It looks like the bow avoided any major blood vessels at least, but it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.

“I think the best bet will be to cauterise it,” says Krel. “I don’t think it’s ideal for stitches and we don’t have any potions.”

“Alright, we have a tool for that,” says Iros. Krel grabs a towel to keep pressure on the wound. Is this what should be done for deep puncture wounds? Probably not. Steve’s gonna yell at him when they reunite. If they reunite. Krel knows they’ve put their friends in a very tricky spot right now. He and Douxie have definitely been labelled traitors with Mordred by now and their friends are going to have to face the fallout of that.

Iros returns with the tool and they carefully burn the wound shut. Krel has to look away, sickness rising in his throat at the smell of burning flesh, but he’s not there, he’s not there, and this is a controlled burn to keep Mordred alive. After almost a decade he wishes he was over this. He doubts he ever will be.

“Douxie,” he says, forcing the nausea down, “do you know any healing spells? Stuff to protect against infections at the very least?”

“A couple,” Douxie confirms softly.

After the cauterisation Krel and Iros move out of the way so Douxie can do his thing, murmuring softly under his breath, hands glowing blue as they hover over the wound. Krel takes the time to grab bandages.

“Alright,” says Douxie, backing up. “I did what I could for the internal damage and I put some spells to prevent infection. He’s going to need to stay off of it.”

Krel nods and carefully wraps Mordred’s leg in bandages. He’ll have to find or make crutches for him somehow. Once he’s done he hurries over to the sink. Douxie is finishing washing his hands and Krel does the same right after him, watching the water run red with human blood. He swallows another wave of nausea.

“You’re hurt too,” Douxie murmurs, touching his own forehead to show Krel. “Let me clean you up?”

“Okay,” Krel agrees. He sits and lets Douxie carefully dab the wound clean and bandage it. “You next. I just have… probably a concussion, but it’s not bad. Give me some headache pills or something.”

“I think I know a spell for that,” Douxie says. His hands glow just out of Krel’s line of vision and the pounding in Krel’s head eases some. “Okay. You hurt anywhere else?”

“Don’t think so,” says Krel. He stands. “Sit.”

Douxie nods and practically collapses into the chair. Krel sets to work treating his wounds as best he can. Seklos, they need Steve. He does scan Douxie and finds pretty badly bruised ribs as well as visible burns and cuts on his arms. Looks like electricity. Krel manages to get Douxie to let him wrap his ribs and stitch up his arms. Not much he can do for the burns besides bandaging those too.

That done, Krel sighs and leans against the wall. He’s exhausted. He has half a mind to sleep like Mordred, who thankfully won’t wake until the anaesthesia wears off which means he should get some uninterrupted rest. He’s going to need it. Krel foresees nightmares for the poor kid in the future.

“I didn’t get the chance for introductions,” says Iros. The look in her eyes tells Krel she knows damn well they aren’t who they say they are, or at least that Krel isn’t the species he says he is. Well, he supposes it doesn’t hurt to admit he’s an Akiridion. Heh, maybe they could even convince them Douxie is too. That would help explain why Mort never put the dots together.

“Not the best first meeting,” Krel agrees. “My name is Krel, and this is my brother, Douxie.”

“I am Princess Iros of House Ventis,” she says, voice calm but calculated in her careful introduction. “I hail from a planet known as Akiridion-5, many, many light-keltons from here. You must be very trusted friends of Mordred’s for him to bring you to me.”

“It was also life or death,” Douxie admits. “We can’t go back to Camelot. Merlin will paint us all as traitors.”

“It’s really nice to be here,” Krel says. “You have no idea how crazy I’ve been going. They don’t have electricity. I’ve been going insane.”

Douxie’s lips twitch into a barely-there smile. “Electricity is nice, yeah.”

Iros’s eyebrows have shot up in surprise, but she doesn’t say anything about that yet. “I don’t have very much human food aboard, but I do have a synthesiser. That–“

“–makes food, yes,” Douxie says. “Man, I hope I remember the codes for a hamburger. I would kill for a hamburger.”

“You’re telling me,” Krel says. “I want ice cream.”

“It’s December.”

“There is never a wrong time for ice cream, Mr. Hot Chocolate in the Summer.”

“Touché.”

Iros narrows her eyes as she looks between them, but before she can say anything Mordred groans. Krel curses under his breath as he and Douxie both hurry back to his side. He forgot that mundane anaesthetics can sometimes wear off faster in magic users, and that’s assuming he even got the dosage anywhere close to correct. His leg should at least still be numbed thanks to Douxie.

“Mordred,” Iros says in relief, reaching out to brush his hair out of his face. “How are you feeling, little one?”

“Can’t feel m’leg,” mumbles Mordred, scrunching up his face.

“Don’t worry, it’s just numbed,” Douxie says softly. “Otherwise?”

“Just groggy,” Mordred admits. Iros gently helps him sit up, propped up against the wall with a pillow behind his back. He gives Krel and Douxie a meek look. “Um, surprise? This is where I was going when I snuck out. I haven’t had much chance to see Aunt Iros. Um, she’s not really my aunt, but she’s – well. It’s a long story.”

“Your friends are… interesting,” says Iros, gaze falling back on them, calculating. “I did not know any humans knew of electricity and synthesisers.”

Douxie laughs awkwardly. Krel shrugs and pulls out his serrator, glad he brought it with him for backup. There’s no point in hiding it now – well, no point in hiding the whole Akiridion thing.

“Well, Mordred, I’m afraid we haven’t been completely honest with you,” Krel admits. “We aren’t fae, we were truthful about that, but…”

He releases the transduction, sighing as he settles back into his four limbs. Douxie’s eyes are revealed again as well and he waves sheepishly. Maybe they can get Douxie his own serrator here so they don’t have to worry about having connected transductions.

Mordred’s jaw drops.  “You’re both Akiridion too? That’s why your auras are so weird! They’re like Iros’s! Iros, they’re like you!”

“By those crests, I would say you’re of House Akraohm,” she says in surprise. Her eyes narrow once again. “I was not aware they were sending people to Earth.”

“Ahaha, no, no, we’re here on accident,” Krel says. Objectively true, so it should pass the Mort lie-detector test. Thankfully, it is also objectively true that Krel is technically of House Akraohm. Just… also House Ventis. “And yes, House Akraohm. I know House Ventis and House Akraohm aren’t exactly friends, but…”

Iros’s face softens. “Any friend of Mordred’s is a friend of mine. Besides, we aren’t on Akiridion-5 now, are we? I don’t see why we can’t get along on Earth.”

Krel sighs in relief and offers her a smile. He didn’t think about that, about how much he and Aja have both grown to look like their mother, about how this is long before the unification of their parents’ houses. Even in the future there are still older council members who don’t like it. Oh, well. Nothing to be done about it now.

“This is amazing!” Mordred exclaims. It’s a relief to see him smiling, distracted by this new revelation. “I can see why you didn’t tell me, since, well, you didn’t know I knew about Akiridions, but still this is so – how did Toby say it? This is awesome-sauce!”

Krel coughs out a surprised laugh at hearing Mordred say awesome-sauce. Douxie snorts. “Well, to be fair, we did tell you the truth about being adopted by a quarter-fae.”

“Isn’t that funny?” Iros says with a fond smile. “Two Akiridions adopted by a quarter-fae, and a quarter-fae adopted by an Akiridion.”

Krel knew Iros had adopted Morded – how could he not when Mort always went out of his way to make sure Krel knew her history, his family’s history? – but he makes himself feign surprise regardless. “You’ve claimed him as your chosen son?”

“Not traditional, is it?” she agrees. “Ah, but the advisors can deal with it. He has a core-mark and everything, so he’s a legitimate Ventis. Perhaps it’s especially good now that Camelot seems to have turned its back on him.”

Mordred’s smile falls and he wraps his arms around himself. “They – they didn’t even doubt that I’d… they blame me. For Dad.”

“We’ll figure this out,” Douxie promises. “You’re going to be okay, Mordred.”

At least that part is a promise they can make, sort of. Mordred will be okay, to a point, but then Krel wonders if Mort was ever actually okay. How could he be after something like this? Krel has barely recovered from all his parents’ deaths and none of them were at his own hands.

“The young Akraohm is correct,” says Iros. She leans her forehead to bump against Mordred’s. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

He’s not sure these are the comforts Mordred needs or wants right now, but there’s little they can do otherwise that he wouldn’t know was a lie to try to help. Krel instead goes to the supply closet to find a way to make an approximation of crutches. If the best they can do isn’t good enough, they’ll just have to find a way to do better.

 

 

Krel eventually finds a way to make crutches with what Iros has on the ship. It takes more work and a very, very carefully programmed transduction of sorts on what may or may not be brooms – don’t ask – but he and Douxie spend the next hour or so teaching Mordred how to use the crutches and not hurt himself more. They all get a change of clothes. All Iros has are Akiridion suits, but that’s fine. Krel wishes he had one more like the ones he wears back home, the ones that hide his core instead of showing it off in typical royal fashion. He feels far too exposed this way.

Iros’s ship is definitely supposed to be crewed judging by the multiple sleeping quarters aboard the ship. Krel’s not going to complain, nor is he going to ask, but he and Douxie silently agree to share anyway. Douxie’s mask has started to go back up over the past couple of days, which means at night he’s liable to crack again. Iros hasn’t mentioned why she’s on Earth or why she was so alarmed by House Akraohm’s presence, but Krel won’t push.

Iros has them setting up for dinner now. Douxie is showing Mordred potato chips, which is going to entirely ruin his appetite but it’s got Mordred smiling once again so Krel will let it slide. He and Iros are figuring out what to eat properly for dinner. Ideally, something medieval, but Krel only knows the codes for modern foods. Like hamburgers. And ice cream.

“I’m not much of a human cook,” Iros admits, which means she’ll be no help. “The synthesiser is best for that. Akiridions – well, you’re Akiridion, so you know.”

“Haha, yeah,” Douxie says awkwardly.

“Why don’t you drop your disguise, Douxie?” Mordred asks. “We all know now. It’s probably more comfortable to be yourself.”

“Yes, my disguise,” Douxie says with a tight smile. “One moment. Krel, can I borrow you?”

Krel lets himself be pulled out of the room, baffled because he honestly expected Douxie to just admit how he got the eyes and move on that way. Douxie does tend to overthink things though.

“What’s up?” Krel says. “I figured you’d just tell them the truth.”

“The truth, yeah, sure,” says Douxie. “You mean how I got my core by getting blown up fighting in a war? Oh, why haven’t you heard of the war, Aunt Iros? Because we’re from the future! Yeah, that’ll go over swell!”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Krel mumbles.

“And of course mini-Mort will hear it if I say any lies,” Douxie continues. “Maybe I could call it an accident? Except it was definitely not an accident, because the bad guys were aiming to kill and I purposefully got in the way, so I’m not so sure that will pass as a truth.”

“Well,” Krel says carefully, “I do have an idea. It sounds a little crazy.”

“Crazy how?” Douxie asks.

“Well, we both think it’s absurd Mort didn’t connect this to us,” Krel says. “Or, well, I guess it’s the epitome of like father, like son.”

“Less insulting me, more explaining your idea,” says Douxie.

Krel takes out his serrator again and starts adjusting it as he speaks. “Well, hear me out. Mort would never guess that his totally human son would grow up to be an entirely different species.”

“You’re right, he wouldn’t think that, because that is crazy,” Douxie says flatly. “I don’t think I could hold up an illusion for that long.”

“You do have a core,” Krel points out. “And the transduction works to some degree on humans anyway. It might work fully on you, or at least close enough to fully… hm, we’ll need to pass you off as an Akraohm too. We can pass as brothers since we were formed or whatever. It’s not a lie to say we’re brothers and I doubt anyone would question us to the point we need to lie.”

“I just don’t think it’ll work,” Douxie says. “I’m still human.”

“Worth a shot,” Krel says. He hands the serrator to Douxie. “Just try it. If it doesn’t work, we’ll just tell them you got a little blown up and leave it there.”

Douxie lets out a shaky breath and nods. Krel feels a little bad. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed for this. He knows Douxie has mixed feelings about his core, and if this works… well, Krel will apologise later. Douxie hits the button on the serrator and a second later glows bright white. Krel rubs his eyes and when he opens them, sure enough, the transduction worked and Douxie is replaced with an Akiridion with nearly white hair and crests similar to Krel’s own. Douxie yelps and holds out all four arms, seemingly alarmed that he can move all of them with ease.

“Huh,” Krel says. “What do you know?”

“It worked,” Douxie breathes. “How did it work!?”

“Like I said, you do have a core,” Krel points out, trying not to sound just as surprised and startled. This was his idea, after all. “I disconnected my own transduction so this one is all yours. And it is a transduction, which means you’ll need to renew it every twelve hours. Got it?”

“Got it,” Douxie says, pocketing the serrator. “Okay. Okay. Let’s head back then.”

Iros and Mordred both look curious when they return, but Mordred lights up as Douxie sits next to him. He lifts one of Douxie’s new lower arms with a bright grin. Douxie looks a little weirded out but he’s handling suddenly having four arms better than Krel handled suddenly having two so… success?

“You guys look so much more alike in your normal forms,” Mordred says. Krel is relieved to see that the whole Akiridion revelation is keeping him distracted. He knows Mordred will crash again later, but for now, they can keep his mind off the horrors of a few hours ago.

“Our forms were chosen to blend in, not to look alike,” Krel says, thinking firmly of Aja so his words register fully truthful. Maybe they should have thought about that, but no one actually questioned them beyond Eli so it wasn’t really a problem.

He goes back to the synthesisers and just settles on hamburgers because he’s too tired right now to figure out what else to make. He comes back to the table with all four of them. Douxie lights up.

“Aw, you remembered my favourite,” he says.

“Yes, the whole… pineapple thing,” Krel says. “Here you go, Mordred, and for you to try too, Au- Iros.”

“Thank you…?” she says.

“Is this what you said you’d trade Douxie for?” Mordred asks.

“Yep.” Krel sets and takes a big bite. He sighs. “Mm, tastes like home.”

Iros prods her burger warily, not yet taking a bite. “What accident brought you to Earth? It is some forty thousand light-keltons from Akiridion-5 after all.”

“Well,” Douxie says very carefully, “we were – Krel, tell her.”

“Um.” Krel swallows his next bite of hamburger. “Well, I don’t know what Douxie was doing but I know a strange energy signal was detected from this area. So Douxie dragged me into checking it out. We crashed though.”

“Yep,” Douxie says.

“How long have you been here?” Mordred asks. “Are the others also Akiridions? Their auras look human… and Jim is a changeling.”

“No, the others are human,” says Krel. At least he can talk about himself and Aja and Mordred shouldn’t know the difference. Krel has to actively think about it though, tell himself he’s answering the question about that and not about Douxie at all. “It’s been… oh, about eight years ago? That we landed on Earth.”

Mordred nods. “That’s longer than Iros!”

“I haven’t heard of any Akraohms gone missing, but I suppose they wouldn’t share that with their enemies,” says Iros. “Nor, I see, did they share the fact that magic has not been lost to them.”

Ah, shit.

“I’ve been doing magic since I can remember,” Douxie admits. “Krel developed his powers shortly after coming to Earth.”

“I see,” she says. “I’m surprised it hasn’t been used against House Ventis.”

“We were only kids when we came to Earth,” says Krel. Think of Aja, think of Aja. “We knew some of the political landscape, but perhaps not as much as we should have. It doesn’t matter now.”

It doesn’t matter now – the loss of Akiridion-5 threw the political landscape into total upheaval between the drastic reduction in their population and the sudden need for a new home. Krel didn’t have to start from scratch, but Iros would not recognise New Akiridion any more than Krel thinks he’d recognise the Akiridion-5 of this time. Knowing it’s out there, whole and thriving, does send a pang to his core regardless.

“Are you ever planning to return to Akiridion-5?” Mordred asks. “I know you plan to return to Arcadia, but what about your planet?”

“No,” Krel says softly. “We will never go back to Akiridion-5.”

Iros’s gaze is hard to read, but whatever conclusions she’s drawn, she seems satisfied with them. “Well, then, I am glad you have found homes on Earth. And I am glad you have been looking out for my Mordred. Just don’t think of stealing him for the Akraohms.”

Douxie laughs lightly. “He’s a Ventis through and through, Princess Iros.”

She nods approvingly. The conversation for the rest of dinner thankfully feels a lot less like an interrogation. Iros seems to have the same idea as them to distract poor Mordred, but as dinner goes on they can see him sagging again, the long, devastating day catching up with him. By the time they’re done, he’s sniffling and falling asleep at the table. They try to cheer him up again with dessert, but it’s clear he needs to go to bed when he faceplants into his bowl of strawberry ice cream without eating a bite.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles drowsily, trying to wipe the ice cream off his face.

Iros laughs softly and goes over to pick him up. “I think it’s time for you to sleep, little star.”

“Want my dad,” murmurs Mordred. Iros’s smile falls back into sadness. Krel winces.

“I know,” whispers Iros. She glances back at Douxie and Krel. “You two make yourselves at home. I’m not sure how much I trust you yet, but this ship is busted enough that I can’t even reach Akiridion-5 on the comms, so I doubt you can do anything.”

“I could probably fix it,” Krel mutters to himself. Douxie elbows him. “I mean, don’t worry. We won’t do anything.”

She manages a small smile, before carrying Mordred out of the room. Douxie lets himself slump on the table. Krel takes a big spoonful of his chocolate ice cream and leans back in his chair.

“Now what?” Douxie says.

Krel shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

 

 

Krel and Douxie end up going to bed shortly after Mordred. The beds here are more familiar than the ones back at the castle, to both of them, the same kind they had on the ship looking for Ultios. There’s two beds but they end up sharing tonight anyway. They don’t talk about it, but Krel knows watching Mordred kill his father was just as hard on Douxie as it was on him. Even Krel sleeps fitfully.

And then alarms blare.

Krel falls out of bed and is up an instant later, forming a sword and darting out of the bedroom. Douxie isn’t far behind him. Iros appears out of her room, brow furrowed. Krel’s core is buzzing loud in his ears as the red lights fill his vision.

There’s no Ultios. He’s on Earth.

Seklos and Gaylen, he hates the colour red.

“What’s going on?” Douxie asks.

“Proximity alarm,” Iros says, frowning. “It just means a lifeform is close. Probably a human, but could be a troll or fae. I’ve set it not to react to non-sapient creatures like deer.”

“I’ll go check it out,” Krel says, hands shaking. “I need some fresh air.”

“I’ll come with you,” says Iros. “Douxie, you stay with Mordred.”

“Be careful,” Douxie says.

Krel nods, then follows Iros out of the ship. She grabs her own serrator and forms it into a spear so familiar that Krel almost flinches – just like Papa. That’s right, because she was Papa’s aunt. It’s bitingly cold outside, and Krel doesn’t see anything at first but a few moments later he hears a familiar voice calling Mordred’s name. His shoulders relax.

“It’s Lancelot,” he says. “Mordred’s other dad.”

“Can we trust him?” Iros asks, hushed.

“Of course,” Krel says. He raises his voice and hopes he’s right. “Sir Lancelot! Over here!”

There’s rustling from the forest until Lancelot runs into the clearing. His eyes widen at the sight of them and one hand goes to his sheathed sword. Iros’s lips curl into a threatening snarl. Krel darts between them.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Lancelot’s eyebrows raise at the sound of his voice. “It’s me, Krel! Um, so, not human, actually, lied about that, told the truth about not being fae. Long story.”

“Where is my son?” Lancelot demands tensely, not moving his hand from the sword.

“He’s inside, he’s okay,” says Krel. “Well… okay as he can be. Come on. He’ll want to see you.”

Iros points her spear at him, eyes narrowed. “One wrong move and I will separate your head from your body, human. You may be his father, but given his kingdom betrayed him today, I don’t yet trust you with my chosen son.”

Lancelot bristles at this. “Excuse me?”

“Another long story, I’m sure,” Krel says. He hasn’t actually gotten that long story yet. “Ask Mordred for details.”

They lead Lancelot back into the ship. Krel wonders how much he knows about what happened, why he came here all along in the dark, if the others are safe in Camelot. Is it a good or bad sign that Lancelot is here? They bring him back to Iros’s room where Mordred is. His eyes widen at the sight of his father. 

“Papa!” he cries, shooting to his feet before immediately crumpling with a yelp because he knows damn well he’s not supposed to put weight on that leg yet. Lancelot runs to him, skidding to his knees and pulling Mordred into his arms.

“Mordred, thank all the gods,” he chokes out, before pulling back and cupping Mordred’s face. “Are you okay? You’re hurt. What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Mordred sniffles, before collapsing back into full-blown sobs. “I’m so-o-orry! It’s all my fault!”

“Shh, shh, it’s not your fault, it’s not,” whispers Lancelot, voice choked. “I believe you. Lamorak accused Merlin, I…”

“Always knew Lamorak was a smart man,” says Douxie softly. “It was definitely mind control and definitely Merlin.”

“Our friends,” Krel says. “Are they okay?”

“Safe,” Lancelot manages. “Anna made them swear a binding oath. Well, Jim did, anyway. You and Hisirdoux have both been labelled traitors… I presume that’s you, Hisirdoux. Merlin otherwise has her ear. She even cut off my mother.”

“We need to get him away from Anna,” Douxie says. Even as he says it, Krel knows it won’t be that easy. He doesn’t even think it will be possible. “Before he gets fed up just being an advisor and pulls something on her, too.”

“We will,” Lancelot says, pulling Mordred closer. “We will save our home.”

Krel and Douxie exchange solemn looks. No, they won’t save their home. Mort always said he considered his sister’s death the true fall of Camelot. How long until that happens? After Arthur’s death, it’s all downhill from here. Krel has to turn his head away, unable to watch Mordred sob for a home that Krel knows is doomed, unable to watch because he knows if he does he will break every rule he can to try to change things for the boy who will grow into Uncle Mort.

Notes:

I very much spent a long time debating if Douxie would be able to use the transduction of not before settling on yes. The Akiridion form is very much just a disguise like Krel's human form is, perhaps even more than Krel's human form is, but hey! Still fun, and helps explain why Mort never put two and two together. Why would you assume your totally human son would grow up to have an Akiridion core?

Anyway, IROS! I hope you guys enjoyed meeting her! I love her very dearly.

Thank you for reading! I love y'all!

Chapter 22: The Village by the Sea

Elaine finally lets Alex out of bed the next morning. He tries to offer to help with breakfast, but she won’t hear it and makes him sit at the table with Hilde and Bedivere – no, Alex doesn’t know when Bedivere got here this morning – while she cooks some eggs over a fire.

“If I knew you were to darken my doorstep this morning, Sir Bedivere, I would have gathered more eggs,” she jokes, glancing back at them.

Bedivere laughs. “Don’t worry, lass, I’ll survive without them.”

“Are we gonna show Sir Alex the village today?” asks Hilde, kicking her feet happily in her chair.

“If he’s up to it,” Elaine says.

“I’d love to see your home,” Alex says. “Besides, if I’m going to be here for a few days yet, I should learn my way around.”

“More than a few days, lad,” reminds Bedivere. “I know you want to get home to your husband, but you need to heal up.”

Elaine sets a plate full of eggs in front of him. “Eat! You need it, you’re practically skin and bones.”

“Hey, I know I lost weight, but it was mostly the arm,” Alex jokes. He does start eating the eggs anyway because his mother raised him to be polite and eat the food put in front of him at someone else’s house. Also he is hungry, even if he’s not usually much of a breakfast eater. Douxie’s the morning person who is a big breakfast eater, which also means Alex woke up to the fire alarm… multiple times.

Bedivere manages a tight, worried smile. “I’m glad you’re handling your injury well.”

Alex shrugs. “Well, the other option is to mope about it, and what good will that do me?”

“A good outlook, I suppose,” admits Bedivere, but he narrows his eyes anyway. He doesn’t press it. Alex is glad, because he doesn’t want to think too long about his arm or lack thereof. The more he ignores it, the better he deals with it. Is that healthy? Probably not. Is Alex going to keep doing it? Yep.

“Sir Alex, what’s your village like?” Hilde asks eagerly, mouth full of her own breakfast.

“Arcadia is nice,” Alex says fondly. “I miss it. It’s… very different from here. A lot bigger, too. I don’t really know how to describe it besides, well, home… Douxie’s the words guy.”

“You’ll like it here,” Hilde decides. “I like it here. We have the ocean one way and mountains the other!”

“I used to live in the mountains,” Alex says. “Not these ones, obviously, but... it’ll be nice to see them again.”

“I always miss the mountains when I’m in Camelot,” agrees Bedivere. “I told Arthur if I’m to die in this war he better lay me to rest in the mountains.”

“No talk of that at my table, Sir Bedivere,” says Elaine.

“Arthur will be glad to see you,” Alex tells him. “He’s been doing his best to find you.”

“I’m sure he’s done the same for you, lad,” Bedivere says. He laughs lightly. “I remember when our king was but a wee lad like Hilde here. Sir Lamorak and I both used to babysit him.”

“I don’t believe you,” says Hild, leaning forward. “He’s the king!”

“And once he was the prince, and he was shorter than you,” Bedivere says with a grin.

Hilde gasps. “The king was shorterer than me?”

“Shorter,” Elaine corrects amusedly.

“That’s what I said, Mama.” Hilde actually rolls her eyes at her mom, overexaggerated. She looks back to Bedivere. “Was he really?”

“Yep,” says Bedivere. “He only really shot up in his twenties. Bet Prince Mordred will be the same.”

Alex hides a smile by taking another bite of eggs. “I’d put money on that bet.”

As they finish up breakfast, Alex’s mind wanders back to Douxie and the others. He hopes they’re doing okay. He hopes Douxie isn’t wallowing still. He wishes he had his phone. He’s not sure texting would work but if it works in deep space, why not in the past? Then he could at least try to tell Douxie he’s alive and in... one slightly smaller piece.

Elaine makes him walk around the house a couple of times before deeming him well enough to get a tour of the village. Alex still feels off-centre from his missing arm, his whole balance thrown off, but most of his injuries are healed now so the only things he has to contend with besides that are the lingering weakness from being unconscious for nearly two weeks and the residual cough from his probably pneumonia. Elaine and Bedivere team up to bundle him in warm clothes and a heavy cloak. Alex should have seen that one coming.

Bedivere’s village is small, quaint, and in the snow it looks like something Alex could picture on a Christmas card. There’s a fence around the perimeter as opposed to the wall around Camelot. Bedivere catches him looking at it and chuckles.

“Not as grand as the capital,” he acknowledges, “but we do have a lot of wards. They hold.”

“They hold,” Elaine agrees, lips pursed. “But the fae and the trolls grow bolder. We don’t have that many wizards here… one of our most recent missives was actually asking the king for magical aid. Just in strengthening our wards.”

“Douxie could manage it,” Alex muses. “If Arthur doesn’t send someone with the messenger, I’ll see if Douxie can swing by with me.”

Elaine chuckles. “Thank you, Sir Alexander, it’s appreciated.”

“Just Alex,” he says, again.

“Alright, just Alex,” she teases. “Let’s introduce you around. Most people have heard of you, because all Bedivere ever does is gossip.”

“I do not gossip,” grumbles Bedivere. “Hey, I spent weeks in a cave with no one to talk to, so forgive me for wanting to catch up with old friends.”

Elaine pats his arm then beckons them both forward. “Come on, boys, Hilde, we’re burning daylight.”

Hilde tugs on her mother’s cloak. “Can we show Alex the beach first? Pretty please?”

“Okay, okay, but it’s too cold to swim,” Elaine says. Hilde nods and latches onto Alex’s arm, grinning up at him. Alex smiles back and moves to ruffle her hair, only to remember once again he can’t do that since he only has the one arm. Okay, yep, this is going to take a lot more getting used to than he expected. Krel never had major issues in his human form, as far as Alex knows, and that was also losing half his arms. Why can’t Alex have it that easy?

They walk around the outer edge of town, still inside the fence and the warding. It’s so calm here and the crisp, cool air wakes Alex up and brings a smile to his face despite everything. It’s sunny and there’s a light breeze, so it’s all around a perfect day. Hilde is rambling about how much she loves the beach and he exchanges a fond, amused look with Elaine. Lillie used to ramble like this all the time about just about anything.

It isn’t until they reach the beach that Alex realises that he has other issues besides the physical to deal with after his time with the fae. He freezes as they step onto the rocky shore, eyes locked on the waves lapping at the stones and sand. The wind froths the water like snow and ice, and Alex’s chest tightens and he can’t take another step forward, another step closer to drowning again and again.

Hilde tugs his arm. “Sir Alex…?”

“I, um,” he manages, unable to tear his eyes away from the cold, unforgiving water.

“Oh,” Bedivere realises in a heavy breath. He feels hands on his shoulders and suddenly he is turned away from the ocean. “Water, bad idea. Come on, buddy, let’s get back into town.”

“Sorry,” Alex chokes out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t–”

“Don’t,” says Bedivere. “Don’t apologise for this. It’s okay, happens to the best of us.”

Hilde is still clinging to his arm. When he’s able to glance down she’s staring up at him with big, worried eyes, too young to understand like Alex knows her mother does, judging by the way he feels Elaine’s pity burning into him through her gaze. Alex can’t bring himself to look back at the ocean. He used to love water and swimming and the ocean but now…

“Should we go back to the house?” Elaine asks, gently resting a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes his head. “I’m – I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sure,” she says.

Alex nods. He lets himself be led back into the village proper, eyes trailing up to the open sky, the sunny day, the safety of freedom. He isn’t there anymore, and he won’t ever be there again if he can help it. He squeezes Hilde’s hand to reassure her, and her bright smile helps his mood a bit too.

He offers Elaine a smile. “I’m sure. Where to next?”

 

 

Elaine and Bedivere drag him to probably every house in the village, or at least that’s what it seems. It’s very, very small. He’s introduced to a bunch of people whose names he’s having a hard time remembering. Was Thomas the carpenter or the blacksmith? Idalia was the baker’s wife, he thinks, and the baker’s name might have been Peter or Paul but he’s not sure. The miller was a woman named Mary but so was the carpenter’s wife and so was the old widow soothsayer that lives next to Elaine. Alex is not going to remember all these names, so maybe he should default to Mary if he’s not sure? Everyone seems welcoming and it helps that whatever gossiping Bedivere has done about him has been positive.

Alex settles in without too much trouble. As soon as Elaine clears him for it, he goes out to find a way to make himself useful in the village, helping out wherever help is needed. He’s a bit limited in what he can do while he’s still learning to operate with one hand, but he adapts. Paul – it was Paul, not Peter – asks him to deliver bread around town, he’s eager to jump into the daily task. When Thomas the blacksmith, not carpenter, wants to talk shop he’s happy for something that reminds him a bit of tinkering back home. When Mary the carpenter’s wife asks if he can watch her baby for an hour or so at Mary the soothsayer’s house, well, he’s done plenty of babysitting in his life and Mary the soothsayer is always happy for the company from “such a nice young lad”. He distracts himself but doesn’t let himself settle too far in. Every day he watches the forest for the messenger’s return.

He spends the evenings with Elaine and Hilde. Elaine cuts and combs out his locs and retwists them so they look nice again, so that they aren’t uneven and he doesn’t look like he was repeatedly drowned and frozen. He closes his eyes and thinks of his mami back home and misses her with an ache deep in his chest. Little Hilde follows him around like Lillie used to when she was her age. He’s happy for the company, and he thinks Elaine appreciates the free babysitter so she can focus on stocking up on potions.

Today finds him and Bedivere helping out with the village farm. Hilde is with them, though she’s mostly just playing with the chickens. Alex is a little bit out of his element helping Bedivere feed the cows. Okay. A lot out of his element.

“You have never been near a cow before, have you?” Bedivere asks as Alex tries to figure out if he’s even allowed to touch the cows. He withdraws his extended hand sheepishly.

“Well, I mean – I’ve – well – no,” Alex admits. “I have never been on a farm… before… ever.”

Bedivere snorts. “Yeah, I could tell. You don’t seem used to village life. You a noble or something back in Arcadia? Got people to do all this for you?”

“Something like that,” Alex hedges. He grabs another clump of hay or cow feed or maybe those are the same thing. “I bet I could make this go faster. Build an automatic cow-feed dispense or something, something rudimentary with a cart and a bucket or three and some pulleys and levers…”

He dumps the hay down and wanders as he trails off, picking up a bucket and inspecting it. It’s not technically breaking the timeline if he’s using what they have available now, right? He won’t build an engine or anything, it’s just some wood and ropes and stuff. Par for the Middle Ages, right?

“Lad,” Bedivere interrupts, “in the time it takes you to build your contraption, we could be done with this.”

Okay. Good point. Alex grabs more hay and returns to hand-feeding the damn cows like a normal medieval peasant. He was not built to be a farmer. He misses technology. He really misses technology. He got spoiled living in an Akiridion ship and now he’s stuck in the Middle Ages without even his cell phone.

“So… are you planning to go back to being a knight?”

Alex glances at Bedivere, blinking. “Well, yeah. At least until we return to Arcadia. What else could I do?”

“Well, me, I think I’m retiring,” says Bedivere. “No one would think lesser of you if you did the same. What we went through is nothing to scoff at, and you are short an arm now.”

“I can figure it out,” Alex says. “Besides, if I’m not a knight I – I dunno, I’d be useless then.”

Bedivere frowns at this. “Alex, you know you don’t have to be useful.”

“Well, I’ve already caused enough problems,” mumbles Alex. “Getting kidnapped again wasn’t in the plan, and poor Douxie must be heartbroken thinking I’m dead. I can’t just go back and sit around all day. I’m not a wizard, I’m no healer – maybe I could pull off scholar, but I was just getting used to this knight thing. It’s a way I can do something. I dunno.”

“You have a lot of uncertainty,” Bedivere notes. “I get it. I’ve been there. But, Alex, if you’re going to be a knight, do it because you want to, not because you feel the need to be useful.”

He hears Hilde’s bright laughter as she runs after a chicken and trips forward. He shoots his arm out to catch her before she tumbles into the cows’ trough. “Careful, kiddo!”

“Sorry, Alex!” she says. She runs back after the chicken and Alex can’t help but laugh fondly.

“You’re good with kids,” says Bedivere.

“My sister is a lot younger than me,” Alex says. “And I’ve babysat cousins. You pick up some things.”

Bedivere glances over at him. “I meant what I said, you know. You’re too young to live like you’re dying, now that you aren’t dying again.”

“I… I know,” Alex murmurs. He gives in and reaches out to pet the nearest cow, who doesn’t even acknowledge him. “I just… I worry about Douxie.”

“That's Douxie's choice to make, lad,” Bedivere says. He puts a hand on Alex’s shoulder and smiles gently. “You can worry, but you can't decide for him whether it's worth it to love only to lose one day or not. Only he can make that decision.”

Alex swallows. That’s… a fair point, one he didn’t think about. He got so caught up trying to protect his husband from heartbreak, but… if the roles were reversed, Alex knows he would still want a family with Douxie. It would be worth it to him. It’s up to Douxie if it’s worth it to him.

God, no wonder Douxie got so mad.

“Okay, you’re right about that,” Alex admits. He gives Bedivere a small smile. “Thanks. You’ve got good advice sometimes.”

“Only sometimes!” chirps Hilde. “Not about cooking.”

Bedivere laughs heartily. “No, not about cooking, lass, you got me there.”

“Starting to think Elaine specifically teaches her to make fun of you,” Alex mumbles to him amusedly. Speaking of Elaine, he sees her appear at the entrance to the barn and waves to her. Bedivere looks over and grins.

“Elaine, lass, your daughter is bullying me again!” he says.

“Is she?” Elaine says, hiding a smile. “Well, keep up the good work, Hilde, dearest.”

Hilde giggles wildly as Bedivere fakes an offended expression then grabs her and messes up her hair. Alex shakes his head fondly and directs his attention to Elaine. “Is it dinner already?”

“Not yet, but I do have good news for you!” she says. “The town messenger has returned from Camelot!”

Which means Alex can go home soon, or at least send a message to Douxie that he’s still alive. He lets out a relieved laugh. “What are we waiting for?”

Bedivere picks Hilde up and puts her on his shoulders and the group of them follow Elaine back out to the town square. Alex sees the messenger on horseback first, but as they approach he also sees the familiar knight with him and his grin grows even wider. He’s about to call out to him, but–

“The king is dead!” the messenger yells. A sudden hush falls over the gathered crowd. Alex’s smile falls as he and Bedivere exchange horrified looks. “King Arthur is dead!”

Another beat of silence, then the village bursts into noise and chatter as the crowd swarms the messenger, demanding answers. Alex is as shocked as everyone else. He knew King Arthur was doomed to die, but this soon? Are the others okay, are they still safe? If Merlin made his move who knows what things are like in Camelot right now? Claire and Krel and Douxie especially could be in danger from him. Alex pushes through the crowd, beelining for his friend rather than the messenger like everyone else.

“Tristan!” he exclaims, grabbing his arms.

Tristan startles to look at him and promptly whitens like he’s seen a ghost.

“Lex?” he gasps out. “But – but you’re dead!”

Oh. Yeah. Right.

“Let’s get out of this crowd,” he says instead of explaining. He catches Bedivere’s eye and jerks his head towards Elaine’s house, then starts pulling Tristan in that direction. Tristan is too stunned to do anything but follow.

Elaine is the last one in, and she closes the front door behind her, muting the panic outside. Hilde is hugging Bedivere’s head, clearly anxious. “Mama? Mama, why did he say that?”

“Come here, baby,” she mumbles as Bedivere lets Hilde down and the girl runs to her mother. Elaine pulls her into a protective hug. Bedivere meanwhile comes to slap a hand onto one of Tristan’s pauldrons.

“Good to see you, Sir Tristan,” he says.

“Good to – good to see me?” Tristan stammers, looking between Bedivere and Alex with wide eyes. “Good to see you! You’re both alive! This is – this is a miracle!”

“Not a miracle, just a lucky rescue,” Alex says. He glances back at Elaine. “This is one of my fellow knights and friends, Sir Tristan. Trist, this is Elaine Duguid and her daughter Hildegard. They nursed me back to health after… everything.”

Hilde looks exceedingly pleased to be included. Tristan manages a shaky smile and bows to them. “Then I owe you both my thanks for healing my friend.”

“We were happy to help,” says Elaine.

“I’m just… wow,” says Tristan, shaking his head. His eyes linger on Alex’s missing arm, but he thankfully doesn’t mention it. “We – we thought you were dead, Lex. Held a funeral and everything.”

Alex winces. “I would have sent word sooner if I could have. I only woke up a week or so again. I… figured. They’d tell you I was dead. They said you were getting too close to finding us.”

Tristan pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m just so glad you’re alive.”

Alex closes his eyes and hugs back, relieved to have confirmation that at least one friend is okay. When he pulls back, he can see that Bedivere’s face has returned to seriousness. Right, Arthur. God, Alex can’t believe Arthur is gone.

“So what happened?” Bedivere asks grimly. “Arthur… how did he die?”

Tristan presses his lips into a thin line. “You’re not gonna believe me.”

“Try us,” says Bedivere. Alex supposes it would be hard to believe that Merlin turned on Arthur so suddenly, but in the few times the bastard’s been brought up, Bedivere hasn’t expressed anything but vague distaste for him, so maybe it won’t be too shocking.

Tristan sighs. “Prince Mordred killed him during an ambush.”

Alex can’t help but gasp. That is not at all what he thought Tristan was going to say, and he’s right that Alex doesn’t believe it. Alex knows Mort. He would never have killed his own father, certainly not kind, gentle Arthur.

“Mordred wouldn’t hurt a fly,” he manages. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Tristan agrees. “Lamorak, though, said he thinks Mordred was mind-controlled. Jim backed him up, said his eyes were glowing the wrong green.”

“Merlin,” Alex concludes faintly. “He’s got green magic. Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed,” mumbles Bedivere.

“Lancelot tried to talk to Queen Anna, but I can only guess it went poorly,” Tristan says. “He disappeared during her coronation. Probably went after Mordred.”

“Douxie,” Alex says, eyes wide. “Is Douxie okay?”

“I’m sorry, Lex, I don’t know,” Tristan admits. “He and Krel fled with Mordred after the king died. You’re going to have to be careful when you get home. Anna labelled them and Mordred traitors to the crown.”

Alex groans and puts his hand to his head as if that could stop the budding headache. Of fucking course. Of course Douxie got himself labelled a traitor to the crown. He’d do worse to protect Mordred. God, it’s never easy, is it?

“Great, now I have to convince the queen I’m not in the league with the evil fae that tortured me,” mutters Alex.

“It shouldn’t be too hard,” says Tristan. “You obviously didn’t know this would happen, so it’s not a lie to say that.”

“I can vouch for you, too,” Bedivere agrees. “Jesus Christ. This is a mess. So much for retirement.”

“What does this mean for the kingdom?” whispers Elaine.

“Anna loves this kingdom as much as Arthur did,” says Tristan, but he looks more concerned than these words suggest. “With Merlin in her ear, though… I don’t know. Bedivere is right, it’s a mess.”

Hilde looks up at them with glassy eyes. “Are you going back to Camelot, Alex? Bedivere?”

“Afraid so, little lady,” says Bedivere.

“But not for a couple days,” says Tristan. “Bit of a trek to do back to back.”

“You’re welcome to rest here, Sir Tristan, provided you don’t mind sharing a room with Sir Alex,” says Elaine.

“Only if you call me Tristan, sweetheart,” he says with a wink. Elaine raises an eyebrow and he laughs. “But, yes, thank you for your hospitality, Lady Duguid.”

“You boys take some time to catch up,” says Elaine. “Hilde and I will go prep the guest room downstairs.”

“Thanks, Elaine,” Alex says. She kisses his cheek, motherly in the motion even though she can’t be more than a couple of years older than him, then ushers Hilde downstairs. Bedivere sits at the table and sighs, face lined with age in a way Alex hasn’t seen since the cave.

“Alright, Sir Tristan,” he says. “Catch us up on what we’ve missed.”

 

 

After Tristan catches them up on how things were going in Camelot when he left, they settle back into routine. Alex doesn’t have much to pack so he just continues helping out around town, saying his goodbyes to the kind villagers he doubts he’ll see again, not with the unrest back at the castle. He’s restless to get back to his husband. Elaine isn’t exactly pleased to send him travelling, which is part of why they’re waiting so long to leave, but she understands that Alex misses Douxie.

“After all,” she told him one night, “if I could see my husband again, I’d do anything to make it so.”

Hilde is the saddest to know they’re leaving, and Alex feels especially bad when he promises to visit her and suffers Bedivere’s knowing gaze, the lie burning his tongue and leaving the taste of ash in his mouth. He hopes she grows up and lives a happy life, regardless of Camelot’s fate.

The night before they’re meant to leave, Alex wakes to the sound of screams. He worries about it in a groggy, half-asleep way for a few minutes, grumpy to have been woken up and burrowing deeper into his blankets. A second later he realises screams are not a good thing and he shoots out of bed.

“Tristan, wake up!” he yells, stumbling to grab a cloak and throw it over his shoulders. He doesn’t have a sword here, but he’ll find his way to the village armoury and in the meantime, he’ll steal a kitchen knife or something. Sorry, Elaine.

“What’s goin’ on?” Tristan slurs blearily.

“We’re under attack!” Alex exclaims, already halfway up the stairs. He almost runs straight into Elaine, holding a sleepy Hilde bundled in her arms.

“We have a warded building near here for the children and elderly,” she says. “We need to get Hilde there.”

“I’ll make sure you get there,” he promises. No time for the knife, so he grabs the fire poker and hopes it will do. Tristan is stumbling up the stairs as they leave the house. Alex just has to trust that he’ll figure it out.

Stepping out of the house reveals that the attackers seem to be exclusively Gumm-Gumms. Alex can’t help but be relieved. Somehow, those seem a lot easier to deal with than fae. Elaine throws a shield around them. It’s shaky, but it’ll do for now. They run for the building Elaine mentioned as she yells out a description to him over the sounds of battle.

“In case we get split up!” she says.

“Don’t say that!” he shoots back. "What happened to the wards around town?"

"I don't know!" she says.

Unfortunately, they’ve already tempted Murphy’s Law, and a second after he speaks a Gumm-Gumm spear shatters Elaine’s shield. Hilde screams as several trolls charge towards them. Alex steps in between them and the nearest Gumm-Gumm, raising his fire poker threateningly. The Gumm-Gumm looks almost insulted. Alex’s makeshift weapon is bent in two in half a second and Alex is hit in the stomach and sent flying, skidding roughly on the ground.

He scrambles back to his feet to run back to Elaine and Hilde. His bare hands – hand – isn’t going to do anything to creatures made of rock. Elaine’s expression hardens as she deflects an attack with unformed magic, Hilde standing on the ground hugging her legs.

“There’s too many!” she says. She shoves Hilde towards him. “Get her to safety, promise me you’ll keep her safe!”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you!”

“You are weaponless, I have magic!” she snaps. “Go!”

She throws them away with magic and Alex lets out a shaky breath before taking off, keeping Hilde close and trying to skirt the edges of the battle. He prays Elaine can keep herself safe too, and promises in his head that he won’t let anything happen to Hilde. He knows the building she described, right next to Idalia and Paul’s house, so he at least knows where he’s going.

He’s not successful in avoiding the battle. He runs face first into a Gumm-Gumm. Two of them turn and snarl at them. Hilde shrieks. Alex backs up, but a third circles around back and they’re surrounded. As the trolls approach, he drops into a crouch and hugs Hilde close to his chest, shielding her with his body. He doesn’t want to die here, so close to being able to return to Douxie and yet so, so far. He can’t let Hilde die here, this sweet, innocent child who’s been such a ray of sunshine, who he promised he would protect. But he’s mundane, defenceless. Hilde is sobbing in his arms. There’s nothing he can do–

–except there is.

He hears the metallic woosh of a sword coming down and he squeezes his eyes shut, pleading in his head that this works, because he can’t fail Hilde. He feels a rush of cold wash over him as he focuses, focuses, hot tears burning down his cheeks.

The sword never makes contact. Instead, he hears the sound of crumbling rocks. He looks up. They're surrounded by glass-like shards of darkness and the rubble of dead Gumm-Gumms. As his breathing evens out the shards crumble into sand and disappear into the snow.

It worked.

Douxie is going to kill him.

He doesn’t take a second longer to marvel at his success with the dark magic, instead tugging Hilde back to her feet and running for the safe house. He sees it, glittering with wards, and dives inside. The small group inside looks up as he enters. Mary, the soothsayer, rushes over and cups his cheek, then Hilde’s.

“Are either of you hurt?” she asks.

“No,” Alex says. “I made sure of it.”

Her eyes search his and she nods. “I suppose you’re going back out there?”

“I have to,” he says.

“Try to find a sword,” she says. “You’re mundane. Unconventional methods won’t last you long.”

He understands the hidden meaning. Dark magic is even dangerous for magic users, so he really shouldn’t play with a fire like that. He nods, then kneels and brushes Hilde’s hair back. She stares up at him with red eyes.

“Alex,” she whimpers.

“You’ll be safe here,” he murmurs. “I have to go back out to help. Your mom and I will be here to pick you up when the Gumm-Gumms are gone, okay?”

She sniffles and wipes her eyes. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he says, kissing her forehead. He hopes it isn’t a lie. Hilde takes Mary’s hand and Alex stands again. He nods to Mary and runs out the door, back into the fray, praying that he can keep a promise for once.

Notes:

Heehoo cliffhanger time! Now that everyone's separated they last longer too!

I did SO much research for this chapter that I didn't need to do but here we are. Sorry for the waits, they're going to be a little longer for the next bit because my carpal tunnel is bad again.

Hope you enjoyed another OC-centric chapter! Love ya!

Chapter 23: Fate and Free Will

Douxie is home.

There’s music ringing from the record player in the living room, some old songs in Spanish that Alex likes to mumble along to. He’s sitting at the bar in the kitchen, two human arms folded in front of him as he watches Alex make pancakes with the help of a little girl. Douxie doesn’t recognise her but does at the same time. His mind calls her his daughter. Their daughter. Soft curls and freckles on dark skin. She’s everything Douxie could ever hope for, pray for, dream of.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough mixing, mija,” Alex tells her with a smile.

“There’s still lumps!” she says.

“That’s okay with pancakes,” Alex says. “You don’t want to overwork the flour, it’ll make the pancakes too dense.”

She nods very seriously. Douxie laughs. “Careful, make her love cooking too much and we’ll lose her to her uncle Jim.”

“I’ll make sure she loves tech more,” Alex shoots back.

“Then we’ll lose her to Krel!” Douxie says.

The little girl giggles. “Don’t worry, Daddy, you and Papi will always be my favourites.”

Alex beams and ruffles her hair. “Alright, goofball, go run and finish packing your backpack! Pancakes will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Okay!” she says.

“Don’t forget your crayons!” Douxie calls after her as she runs off. “And the gluesticks we got for the classroom!”

“Yes, Daddy!” she calls back from the hallway.

“Relax, love,” Alex says, pouring batter onto the skillet Douxie didn’t know they had. “It’s just elementary school. She’ll be fine.”

“What if she doesn’t make friends?” Douxie frets. “What if she doesn’t like her teacher? What if she falls on the playground and gets hurt?”

Alex leans across the counter to give him a quick peck. “She’s going to be fine, Doux. She’ll make friends because she’s spirited like you.”

“Children can be so mean, though,” Douxie points out.

“Douxie.” Alex reaches out to gently brush his bangs back. “She’s gonna do great.”

He gives him another quick kiss then goes to flip the pancakes. Douxie watches him, smile falling ever so slightly as he’s hit by a wave of something not being right. Wasn’t he somewhere else? Wasn’t Alex not with him?

He blinks and the little girl is standing at the front door now. Alex is kneeling beside her adjusting the butterfly clips in her braids. He did her hair special for today and she picked out the clips herself. Douxie wants to make a joke about early 2000s vibes, 'cause he remembers all the girls in elementary school having those exact clips.

“Okay, okay, picture time!” says Alex, standing up and fishing out his cell phone. “Stand by the door with your backpack, ardillita!”

Little squirrel. Aw, that’s cute. She straightens up her backpack and beams as Alex takes several pictures. Douxie makes a couple of funny faces to get her to laugh too, and Alex glares at him but clearly doesn’t mean it. He pockets his phone and goes to scoop the girl up again, kissing her cheek with an over-the-top mwah! noise. Douxie is suddenly hit with such a wave of longing that it hurts. He can feel tears track down his cheeks as he watches Alex dote on this sweet little girl that his brain is calling their own. Alex looks over at him and smiles oh-so-lovingly.

And Douxie wakes up.

He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, tears wet on his cheek, before curling up on his side and dissolving into shoulder-wracking sobs. He tries to keep as quiet as he can. Krel’s still asleep.

A dream. Of course it was just a dream. A dream of everything he could want for his future, of his Alex whole and alive and happy, of a daughter, their daughter, of a future he can’t have anymore all because he fucked up and touched some glowing rock in the middle of the forest. Somehow, that dream was worse than any vision he’s ever had, than even the dream where he saw some of Alex’s last days alone and tortured. How cruel for his mind to taunt him with something he can never have.

He cries silently until he falls back to sleep, Alex’s smile haunting him until he loses awareness again.

 

 

Douxie doesn’t mention the dream to Krel in the morning. Instead, he tells his brother he’ll meet him and the others for breakfast and migrates to the washroom to freshen up, throw some water on his face to get more awake. He shakes his head and feels around with closed eyes to find a towel to dry his face off. When he opens his eyes, he’s once again greeted with his Akiridion reflection. To be on the safe side, he’s even sleeping in the transduction. It’s hard to get used to. He brings a hand up to trail the crests on his head, curved like Krel’s, shivering at the coldness of his fingers on the skin there. It doesn’t feel like skin, far smoother and harder than anything a human would have. He shouldn’t feel anything in the crests. Then again, he shouldn’t feel anything in the lower pair of arms, but when he knocked one of them into the doorframe on the way into the washroom it had stung like a bitch. Illusions can’t feel. Apparently, transductions can. He knew that, logically, but…

He traces the open circle of the Akiridion suit above his core. He’s seen medical images of it before, but it’s disconcerting to see it glowing in his chest, even more disconcerting to realise that it’s changed him more than he thought. The transduction shouldn’t have worked this well, but here he is. He’s still not used to it, but after several days now he’s starting to recognise himself in the mirror instead of a complete stranger. That honestly scares him even more than the rest of it.

There’s a knock at the doorframe. Douxie looks over and startles a bit to see Iros.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Um, hi,” he says. He flounders for something else to say, ask if he can help her or what she wants, but she beats him to the punch.

“Your brother sent me to find you,” she says. “He and Mordred are showing Lancelot how to work the synthesisers.”

“That’s a disaster waiting to happen,” Douxie mumbles. “I’ll be out soon. Just... out of it this morning.”

She nods, then visibly hesitates. “You are... missing your husband?”

Well, that’s as good an excuse as any. He nods. It’s not even a lie. When isn’t he missing Alex? Especially after last night’s dream. He was human in the dream. Two arms without any trace of blue glow. Maybe that’s part of why he’s so disconcerted by his reflection this morning, because this was never part of the future he once dreamt of.

“It is hard to lose a loved one,” she acknowledges. “Grief is not linear.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, “I know that too well.”

“I worry about Mordred,” she admits. “This is hitting him... maybe not harder, but in very different way than losing his mother did.”

“He didn’t kill his mother,” Douxie points out bluntly.

“No,” she agrees. “No, he did not. I wish I could convince him he didn’t kill his father, either.”

“He would blame himself regardless,” Douxie says. “I may not have known Mordred as long as you, but he’s... a lot like me. A lot like Krel. We don’t forgive ourselves easily.”

If at all. He doubts Mort ever forgave himself for anything, let alone for his father’s death. The weight settles on Douxie’s core. Couldn’t he have done something, if he’d bothered to try? Are they as responsible as Merlin is? They knew and warned no one. Shouldn’t Douxie take Mordred aside and warn him of the deaths to come? He doesn’t know when or how anyone in Camelot dies, but what about past that? What about his own parents? What about Seamus? What about Mort himself?

“Then let us not dwell on the things we cannot bring ourselves to forgive,” murmurs Iros. “Shall we go to eat with the others?”

“Probably should stop Krel from going nuts with the synthesisers, yeah,” Douxie jokes weakly.

He takes one last glance at his reflection before following her away. What would Alex think of this? Douxie has always had many insecurities but he is sure that no matter how human or inhuman he is now, Alex would love him all the same. Douxie wishes he were here.

“Douxie, there you are!” Krel exclaims as they walk in. “I’m showing them how to make breakfast burritos!”

“Of course you are,” Douxie says, managing what he hopes looks like an amused smile. It is a genuine miracle that Mort never put the pieces together considering how much future food they’ve been feeding him. He can’t believe Mort ever teased him about not knowing the whole Mordred thing. Douxie thinks that was much less obvious. Lancelot waves to him. Mordred picks at his burrito with less enthusiasm than Douxie honestly expected.

He’s been healing well over the past few days, but only physically. Douxie has noticed him drawing into himself, shutting down and going quiet as everything sinks in. He can tell Lancelot and Iros – who despite their rocky first meeting get along swimmingly now – are worried about him too. Douxie knows Uncle Mort well enough to recognise the same kind of shutdown he saw around this time every year, hidden beneath a mask of Christmas cheer, the way he always frowned when he thought Douxie wasn't looking and flinched when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Douxie never understood the last one until now, until realising how much Mort resembled his father, until seeing Merlin’s green magic in Mordred’s green eyes. 

Douxie sits beside him. “Morning, Mordred, Enaid.”

“Morning,” he mumbles. Enaid chirps at him and then goes back to preening Mordred’s hair.

It becomes quickly apparent that’s all Douxie is going to get out of him, which is becoming pretty usual. He’s still not coping as badly as Douxie was, those first days after Alex died. If Douxie thinks too long about that he might shut down again himself so instead he waves for Krel to get him a burrito.

“Get your own burrito,” says Krel.

“But I just sat down,” he says, trying to give him the puppy-dog eyes that always worked on Alex. Unfortunately, little brothers don’t give a shit when their older brothers are tired and hungry, so Douxie reluctantly stands up to go figure out the damn machine himself.

“Stuart showed me the synthesiser codes for the Diablo Maximus,” says Krel.

“You know damn well I can’t tolerate spice.”

“Yeah, but it’d be funny.”

Douxie shoves him and rolls his eyes as Krel laughs and goes to sit down. Douxie reclaims his own seat a few minutes later, having given up on the burrito but at least he remembered how to make scrambled eggs. Sort of. They’re the shitty rubbery kind he sometimes got in the dining hall in college, but they’re still eggs.

They make light conversation. There’s not much to talk about beyond Lancelot’s curiosity about Akiridion-5. Douxie leaves that to Krel and Iros because he knows very little himself. He could talk about New Akiridion but, well, that planet doesn’t exist yet. He keeps a careful eye on Mordred as the boy grows increasingly and visibly fed up.

“What are we going to do about Merlin?” he finally blurts, stopping the main conversation in its tracks.

“We aren’t going to do anything,” Lancelot says firmly. “You are a child. It’s not your responsibility to clean up this mess.”

Ah. Oh, boy. If Mordred is anything like Douxie, and he very much is, this argument is not going to be pretty. He meets Krel’s eyes across the table and Krel winces back at him. Mordred’s expression cycles between disbelief and anger and frustration.

“So, what, you just want me to sit here and do nothing?” he snaps.

“Mordred,” Enaid says softly, soothingly.

“I know you want to help,” Lancelot says, “but Merlin has proven himself to be far too dangerous to take risks with. He’s already controlled you once.”

Wrong move. Mordred flinches and his brow sets deeper. “And I’ll be prepared this time!”

“The adults will handle it, Mordred, end of conversation,” Lancelot says.

“Oh, you’ve done a fine job handling it,” Mordred bites out. “We’ve been doing nothing but sitting her like Dad isn’t dead and Anna isn’t in danger of being next – you left her alone with him!”

“There are four of us–“

“Five.”

“Four of us and Merlin essentially has all of Camelot’s knights at his disposal, on top of his powerful magic. If we just ran in without a plan, we wouldn’t stand a chance. It’s too risky for any of us right now, let alone you.”

“You’re just worried I’ll mess everything up,” Mordred grumbles.

“Mordred, that’s not true,” Douxie tries to add, although he should have known better than to get involved.

“Yes, it is!” Mordred exclaims. “Just like I got Dad killed, just like I got Alex killed! You all don’t want me fucking up again!”

He stands and flees out of the room before Douxie can even regain his bearings, not bothering to take the cane Krel fashioned for him to help his recovery. Enaid follows after him, calling his name. Iros drags a hand down her face and mumbles something about children. Lancelot sighs.

“I’ll go talk to him,” he says softly.

“No,” says Douxie. “I think I’m long overdue for a conversation with Mordred. I’ll go.”

He follows the direction Mordred ran and tries to think – if he were in Mordred’s shoes right now, he’d probably go outside to vent his anger somehow. Sure enough, when he steps out of the ship he sees Mordred a little ways away, still within the wards but throwing unformed magic at the poor trees. Douxie watches him for a moment, lets him get out some of his stress and anxiety. Gods know he probably needs it. Enaid spots him and flies over to land on his shoulder.

“He’s not angry at you, if you’re worried,” she says.

“I know,” Douxie says. “He’s angry at himself. Trust me, I know.”

Mordred finally lets out a furious, hurting shout and lashes out with a sharp, spiking blast of magic that chars the tree it hits and blows the needles off the ones nearby. Douxie narrows his eyes. It was still bronze, but he swears… well, that’s for later. Mordred collapses to his knees in the snow, sobbing, shoulders shaking, and Douxie comes over to gently kneel and rest two hands on his shoulders. Mordred looks up at him then gasps out and hugs him, hiding his face in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry!”

“Shh, it’s okay,” mumbles Douxie. He carefully manouvres them over to a snow-dusted log, brushing the snow off so they can sit down. Easier to do with four hands, so that’s a perk, he supposes. Mordred curls close and Douxie rubs his back. Enaid relocates to her wizard’s shoulder, nuzzling his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Mordred manages yet again.

“It’s not your fault,” Douxie whispers. “None of it is your fault. I’m sorry for yelling at you, back then. Alex made his choice to save you. I would have done the same. It isn’t your fault he’s gone, and it’s not your fault your dad is gone, either.”

“He could have beat me.” Mordred’s voice is muffled and shaking. Douxie holds him closer. “He could have easily killed me, but he didn’t. Why didn’t he?”

“Because you’re his son,” Douxie says simply. “And he loved you and Anna more than anything else in the world.”

Because one day, Mordred will choose his kids, too, because sometimes love means sacrifices and Douxie understands what it is to be the one sacrificed for. Will the cycle continue one day with Douxie? Is that part of what Alex was scared of, that one day Douxie would follow in his father's footsteps, in his grandfather's footsteps, and give his life for their child? Is that why he hesitated to have kids, for fear of losing Douxie? He supposes it doesn't matter now, doesn’t matter that in that dream that lasted an eternity and a few seconds all at once, Douxie did love a child of theirs, enough to sacrifice. It doesn’t matter because Alex is gone, and with him, that future, that dream, is gone too. Douxie can't imagine what the future even is without his Alex.

Mordred’s tears eventually slow to sniffles and he pulls away to wipe his eyes and lean up against him. Douxie finds himself once again struck by how much he wishes he could change things. Is it worth the risk to try it? They’ve talked about it before but… Douxie doesn’t know.

“I understand you want to help,” Douxie says. “Trust me, I understand. But Lancelot wants to protect you, because you’re his son. You’ll understand it one day when you’re a father.”

“I doubt that will ever happen,” mumbles Mordred.

“You never know,” Douxie says, a small smile forming despite himself because it will happen, and Mordred will grow up into the best father Douxie could ever ask for.

Mordred doesn’t seem to notice. Her rubs his eyes. “I’m scared, Douxie.”

Douxie swallows and lets his smile fall. “I know. I know.”

He wishes more than anything he could reassure him, but Mordred would hear it if he lied and any reassurance he could offer would be a lie. Will it be okay? He’s not sure. Not for a long time, at least. He knows Mordred won’t be welcomed back to Camelot because Mort told him so in the future. He knows one day Mordred will lose Lancelot and Iros and even Enaid. He knows Mordred will lose his home. He wishes he could give him happy memories instead of sad ones, but unfortunately, he doesn’t think that’s possible.

Instead, he just lets Mordred cry and offers silent comfort instead. He can at least make things bearable right now, even if he can’t change Mordred’s tragic future.

 

 

They eventually head back inside when it starts snowing again. Mordred seems to be in slightly better spirits, though he’s nowhere near the bright, happy boy Douxie had gotten to know before Arthur died. He migrates to go hug Lancelot and Douxie migrates back to Krel’s side.

“We didn’t really get anything planned, if you’re wondering,” Krel says.

“Didn’t figure,” Douxie admits. “Finally apologised to Mordred, at least.”

“That’s good,” says Krel. “He’s just like you, you know.”

“Yeah,” Douxie murmurs, “I know.”

“Come help me with some repairs,” Krel says, abrupt and already gesturing for Douxie to follow as he walks. Douxie blinks a couple of times before shrugging and following him. Iros’s ship isn’t too different from the ship they spent months on trying to find Ultios, albeit smaller. Douxie supposes it helps their story that he knows his way around so well thanks to those months. It would look a little weird for an Akiridion to be confused by Akiridion technology, after all.

Krel sits and pops open a panel on the wall. Douxie leans up against the wall, knowing full well that “help me with repairs” probably just means Krel wants company. Douxie’s never been good with tech like Alex was.

“You look tired,” says Krel.

Douxie shrugs. “I had a dream last night. Took me a while to fall back to sleep.”

Krel’s head snaps up in alarm. “A vision?”

“No,” Douxie says softly. “Just a dream.”

“A bad one?”

“No. Yes. A painful one.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 “No.” Douxie plops onto the cold metal of the floor next to the open panel in the wall. “How’s the ship looking? I know Iros says she hasn’t been able to get it anywhere near space-worthy.”

“Yeah, no, this thing is never going to space again,” says Krel, accepting the subject change for what it is. “I’d be surprised if it ever gets off the ground period. It’s busted. I might be able to get communications to Akiridion-5 up and running, but…”

“But we both know how this story ends,” mumbles Douxie. “Is it worth trying anyway?”

“No harm in it, I don’t think,” says Krel. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t. And, frankly, it serves our purposes to get connected to Akiridion-5’s networks too. They might have resources that could help our problem.”

“I guess, yeah,” says Douxie. He taps his fingers on the floor. “Do you wish you could warn them?”

“Hm?” Krel says, barely glancing over from his work.

“Akiridion-5. Your parents.”

“Oh.” Krel leans back and sighs. “Yes. Of course I do. Knowing Mama and Papa are alive and well forty thousand lightyears from here is killing me. But Toby’s right. We can’t change things.”

“I wish I could make things easier for Mordred,” mumbles Douxie. “And I wish I could beg him not to do it.”

Krel’s lips press into a thin line. “Yeah. Me too.”

“My visions always let me warn people.” Douxie hugs his torso with his new, lower arms. “Usually vaguely but I could do something about them. This… I keep wanting to reach out a change things and…”

“We can’t,” Krel says.

“I wish we knew if the future was set in stone,” Douxie admits. “Maybe then it wouldn’t feel so much like our fault. A bit freeing, maybe, to know things that are meant to be will be.”

“Is it?” Krel asks. “It feels more like prison, to know your choices were made long before you made them.”

“I keep making the wrong choices.”

“But at least they’re your own.”

They both fall back into silence. Krel resumes working on the panel in the wall. Douxie summons a better light for him. Maybe Krel has some kind of a point. Maybe it’s the coward’s way out, to say it’s not his fault, that the universe had pre-destined it to be so. Wouldn’t that make for a cruel universe? But then again, part of Douxie thinks a cruel universe is still kinder than one that doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t know.

“Are you… okay?” Krel finally says softly. He still doesn’t look up but Douxie can read the worry in his furrowed eyebrows and the creases near his mouth. Has Douxie really been okay since Alex died? He doesn’t think so. “You seemed more upset than usual this morning. I guess from your dream. And… well, I can tell you’re put off. By the transduction.”

“Weren’t you by yours?” Douxie says. “You still make comments about it sometimes.”

Joking, mostly, complaints about bones and blood to lose and how fragile the human form is. Douxie feels more fragile like this, with his core visible for all the world to see, and he suddenly understands why Krel never wears his own visible anymore, against tradition, a bone-deep trauma from death itself.

“Yeah,” Krel admits. “It was all squishy and gross. And breakable. It didn’t look like me, it didn’t even look like Aja’s human form. And I was two arms short! So it was off-putting, but… it became who I was, y’know?”

“I’m not Akiridion,” Douxie says automatically.

“And I have never been human, not really,” says Krel. He glances over at him and smiles sadly. “Is it so bad to live between worlds?”

Douxie hugs himself with all four arms. “I just want to go home.”

Krel looks away. “Yeah. Me too.”

He closes the panel and pushes himself to his feet. Douxie stands as well, stretching all four arms, still completely put off by the lower two but at the same time, moving them is already second nature, like he’s had them all his life and like they’re really, truly a part of him. He never asked to live between two worlds. He was content being a very weird human. Is that still what he is?

He shakes his head and pushes it out of his mind. “Alright, Krel. Let’s get this ship as fixed up as we can.”

 

 

Later that night, after the sun has set, Krel figures out how to make marshmallows with the synthesisers and insists they take a break to roast them. Are they probably being reckless with giving Lancelot and Iros and especially Mordred all this future food? Yeah. But, to be fair, Mort definitely never put the pieces together. He would have said something. Douxie is sure he would have said something.

The marshmallows do seem to cheer Mordred up some. It’s hard not to cheer up with gooey, toasted sugar on a stick. He’s already picked up the same tendency he’ll have as an adult to let the marshmallow fully catch on fire and char before blowing it out. Douxie got that from him, or who knows, maybe Mort got it from Douxie, here and now. Nope, that gives Douxie a headache again. Lancelot seems more hesitant about the marshmallows, but he’s been that way about all the future food. Douxie had to talk Krel out of showing him some of the more… unnatural modern foods. He’s a little afraid he’s gonna turn around one day and see Lancelot drinking a Monster thanks to Krel. That sounds like a recipe for genuine disaster.

Speaking of Lancelot, he seems to have calmed down some. As they settle down around the campfire, he sighs and looks around at them. “Mordred is right. We should begin making a plan to deal with Merlin.”

Mordred looks just shy of smug.

“He still didn’t say you could go and I stand by him on that,” Iros says before he can speak him. His half-smirk falls back into a pout. “But this wizard is dangerous.”

“I tried to talk to Anna about my concerns, but she didn’t want to hear them,” Lancelot admits. “Maybe Merlin did something, but regardless, I think it stings to think we could have put our faith and trust in someone only to have them stab us in the back.”

Iros visibly bristles. “So she’d rather believe her own brother a traitor? Her fifteen-kelton-old brother?”

“She’d rather believe her brother a pawn to the fae than anything else, I think,” Lancelot says grimly. “That’s what she told me, anyway, that it was our enemies that got into his head. And now that I’ve left as well, I… am not sure that helped.”

“No kidding,” Krel says bluntly. “I get that Mordred’s a kid and definitely needed you, yes, but it’s not a good look. Anna’s your kid too. You don’t want to pick favourites.”

Lancelot winces. “I know. I just… I do not know what to do. I don’t know how to convince her.”

“Let me talk to her,” Mordred says softly, eyes pleading. “Maybe she’ll listen to me. Maybe she’ll at least hear me out. We could have Steve or Sir Lamorak or someone scan me for signs of – of his control. Or at least of proof the fae haven’t done anything to me. She – surely she’d hear me out.”

Douxie and Krel exchange glances. Douxie tries to school his face. They both know she won’t hear him out, or even if she does, it won’t end well. Part of Douxie wants to try to persuade him not to even try, to save him from the hurt when she doesn’t believe him. But whether it’s freeing or a prison, what’s meant to be will be. Douxie doesn’t think they can change this, not in the long run, not in a way that matters.

“Mordred does have a point,” Iros admits. “We will have to think carefully. I don’t want any risks taken. But… I would listen to my brother, in her position, and I know he’d listen to me.”

Lancelot sighs. “Perhaps. Very well, we will try to arrange a meeting with Anna. We have allies in the castle, a handful of knights I would trust with my life and more importantly Mordred’s.”

“Steve and Claire too,” Krel says.

“I like to think most of the knights would listen to me,” Lancelot says, “but if Anna has declared me a traitor, then I am not so sure. They are loyal to the crown. Her word is law, even if they did believe it misguided.”

“So we need to get in contact with the people we do trust and go from there,” Krel reasons. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe Iros and I can go in disguise. We should be able to program transductions to let us blend in. Uh, Douxie should stay and help you train with Mordred, though, just to be safe.”

Nice save. Douxie doesn’t want to know if the transduction could make him a fake human form. That’s too much. It’s bad enough to have this Akiridion disguise. He fears what it would mean if it could change him that way, too.

“Alright,” says Lancelot. “That’s as good a start as any. How soon do we want to do this?”

“Give us a week to work out transductions and a smoother plan,” says Iros. Mordred opens his mouth to protest and Iros holds up a hand. “I know you fear we’re wasting time. But we must proceed with caution.”

Mordred deflates. “Fine.”

Douxie doesn’t want to do this. He hates knowing that in the end, all this will serve is to hurt Mordred more. He tries to imagine himself in Mordred’s place, his hands stained with his father’s blood – they aren’t, but sometimes, here in the past where maybe, maybe he could prevent it, they glisten red in the sunset and he thinks they are – and his brother placing the blame on his shoulders when he’s already placed all the blame there himself… no. He does not want to do this. But it’s up to fate, now.

Krel was right earlier. Douxie has always hated fate.

Notes:

WELL this chapter gave me HELL! Also my wrist is still bad and my old computer's keyboard stopped working and I got a new one so. There's that. But I hope you enjoyed it regardless! Thank you as always for reading and I'm so sorry for the long wait <3

"ardillita" is supposed to mean little squirrel and I thought it was adorable. I don't speak Spanish though so hopefully didn't mess it up

Chapter 24: Death and Destiny

Notes:

TW: death

Things have been tense since Camlann. It’s been about a week and it’s clear a lot of people are wary about them now that Douxie and Krel have been marked traitors. Dinadan and Lamorak stick with them all the time. Tristan would, except he volunteered to escort a messenger out to some village a couple of days ago, so it’ll be a while before he gets back. Probably not till after Christmas, with the way the weather’s going. Anna trusts them, tenuously, thanks to Jim’s oath, but they still have to be careful. Claire is having Steve scan here every night after she has to work with Merlin for any trace of control spells. Jim is very glad she’s taking that extra precaution.

He hasn’t been this angry at the world in a long time. He knows what it’s like to be controlled by Merlin, he knows how terrifying it is to wake up from it and not know how much damage you caused, how many people you killed, be it none or dozens. He suddenly understands why Mort, a man he barely knew at the time, kept checking in on him afterward, kept reassuring him that it wasn’t his fault. He’s angry at Merlin for doing this to a kid – he’s angry that this isn’t the last kid Merlin will hurt, because that’s what Jim was, a kid in a horrible position who felt like he had no choice. He’s angry at Anna for falling for Merlin’s lies, for turning her back on her little brother. He’s angry at Camelot for turning against their prince. He’s angry at destiny for putting them here, for forcing them to live out a tragedy like actors on stage, knowing how it ends but unable to do anything but recite their lines.

But Jim has become a good actor over the years. He’ll play his part. Destiny is a gift, right? They’re here for a reason.

Right?

Queen Anna has the knights training and patrolling double-time. It’s clear she’s paranoid about an attack while Camelot is still in a time of mourning and transition. It gives them something to do, Jim supposes, even if it’s getting a bit old walking around the forest and rarely running into trouble. There have been a few skirmishes – one notable patrol Jim wasn’t in that lost two knights – but otherwise, things have been largely calm. At least today Jim’s on patrol with Toby and Dinadan. Unfortunately, Gawain is also on their patrol. Jim doesn’t have any issues with Gawain beyond the things he’ll do in the future and how quickly he accused them of being traitors after Arthur died. Toby hates him, and Gawain has taken Toby’s seemingly unwarranted hatred as a personal affront and seems to hate him right back. It makes for a tense patrol, no matter how much Jim and Dinadan try to keep the peace.

“This is beginning to get boring,” Dinadan mutters as they walk, rotating the shoulder he injured on his last patrol a few days ago. “Next time they need a knight escort somewhere, I’m taking a page out of Tristan’s book and volunteering.”

“You and me both, man,” Toby mutters. He yawns and readjusts his eyepatch.

“How did you lose your eye, Tobias?” Gawain asks.

“Long story,” Toby says shortly. When he sees Dinadan also looking curious he relents. “TL;DR, there was this evil guy and I was trying to save Douxie’s ass and the bad guy got me in the eye.”

“Ti-ehl-di-ehr?” Dinadan repeats, mystified.

“It’s truly a shame about your former friends,” says Gawain. “They certainly seemed nice enough when I spoke to them. Do you think Sir Alexander knew?”

“Hey now,” says Dinadan warningly. “You know better than to speak ill of the dead.”

“I remember they weren’t talking beforehand,” Gawain continues. “Maybe he found out. Maybe that’s why he was taken.”

“Shut the fuck up before I punch you in the face,” growls Toby.

Gawain raises his hands innocently. “I’m just speculating.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t speculate about our dead friend,” Jim bites out. “You didn’t know him. You didn’t know Douxie. Don’t act like you did.”

“And traitor or not, Douxie loved Alex,” Toby snaps. “He wouldn’t have let him die.”

“It appears you didn’t know Hisirdoux or Krel as well as you think you did, either,” Gawain says evenly.

Toby huffs. “We know that much.”

“Enough of this,” says Dinadan firmly. “As senior knight here I’m shutting this whole conversation down. Gawain, don’t antagonise them. Toby, don’t let him antagonise you.”

Both of them grumble about it but drop the whole conversation. Jim sighs and runs a hand through his currently-loose hair.

“So, uh, Gawain,” he says awkwardly. “How did you decide to become a knight?”

Gawain blinks at him and then smiles, friendlier. “My siblings and I wanted to protect our home. We want to make this world a better place, you understand. Gareth and I joined first, but Ailith followed once we confirmed the rumours were true that King Arthur was accepting lady knights.”

“I haven’t met Gareth,” says Jim.

“He’s been away, visiting our old mother back home,” says Gawain. “I’m sure you’d like him. I don’t know what certain people have against me, but Gareth is even more likeable.”

Toby harrumphs and crosses his arms. Jim winces. “Um, well. I’m sure we would.”

“Tell me more about Arcadia,” Gawain says brightly. “What is it like? Is it very different from here?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’d say so,” Jim admits. Toby shoots him a look that says he’d rather Jim not tell the Red Knight anything about their home, but there’s not much harm in it. At least, Jim can’t figure out much harm, if he’s careful. “It’s… smaller and bigger at the same time. Not as big as the whole kingdom but bigger than the city, here, and more people.”

“Doesn’t sound all too pleasant, smaller but more people,” Dinadan admits.

“Well, I’m guesstimating,” says Jim, which earns him a pair of slightly puzzled looks so that must not have translated very well. He’s fairly confident they aren’t speaking English here, or at the very least not modern English, given no one would pronounce the letter R as air or whatever Dinadan said earlier. Jim isn’t the one that took any linguistics classes in college. He’s just going to lean on the magic for this one.

“It’s nice, really,” says Toby. “I dunno if I’d say Arcadia has more people than all of Camelot but, yeah, it – what is the population of Arcadia again?”

“Are we counting trolls?” Jim asks. “I know Ophelia has been trying to figure that out.”

“Still can’t believe you call her Ophelia,” mumbles Toby. “And no, just say humans.”

“I dunno, fifty thousand?” says Jim. “Maybe?”

“There’s definitely more people in the whole kingdom here,” says Toby. “Dude, it’s the twelfth century, not the Bronze Age.”

“You’ve lost me,” admits Gawain.

“Sorry,” says Jim. “I don’t really know how to describe Arcadia, I guess. It’s a lot warmer than here. Uh… I dunno. It’s home.”

Well, he doesn’t know how to describe Arcadia in a way that will make sense to two twelfth-century knights, but they accept this answer anyway.  Jim shivers in the cooling evening air an pulls his cloak tighter around his body. Dinadan scans the forest around them, eyes trailing up to the darkening sky above them.

“It’s getting late,” he says. “We should head back before nightfall.”

“What’s the hurry?” says a familiar voice from behind them. They whip around. Jim has his sword drawn in an instant because there’s no way he couldn’t recognise Morgana’s voice. Toby activates his war-hammer.

“Morgana,” Jim growls.

“Changeling,” she says. Jim’s grip tightens on his sword. “Yes, I do recognise you, or at least, my own magic on you. Tell me, changeling, why do you rebel against your creator?”

“Just because you made me what I am,” Jim says softly, “does not mean I owe you any loyalty, witch.”

“Sorceress,” she corrects. It’s just their luck to run into Morgana of all people. Jim doesn’t like the fact that she’s alone. While she’s definitely the type of believe she could take on four knights by herself with ease – and she may be right about it – he can’t shake the feeling that something’s fishy. Gawain is tense on one of his sides, Toby scowling on the other.

“What do you want, sorceress?” Dinadan demands.

“I heard about Arthur, not that I particularly care,” she says. “But I do care to hear that my dear nephew was the one to deal the killing blow!”

“We don’t know where the brat is if that’s what you’re asking,” Gawain says. “He ran off with a couple of fae.”

“I doubt he’d join you, anyway,” says Toby. “You killed his mom, dude.”

“Guinevere was not his mother!” Morgana snaps. “My sister was his mother!”

“You can’t just kill a kid’s mom and expect him to be cool with you,” Toby continues, pointedly ignoring Morgana’s anger. “Besides, he’s probably not even really on your side.”

“Careful,” murmurs Dinadan.

Jim glances warily at the setting sun through the trees, then back to Morgana, who despite her anger seems no closer to attacking than she was when she first arrived. There’s a rustle behind them and his eyes widen in realisation. “She’s stalling… you’re stalling!”

Morgana’s scowl twists back into a cruel smirk. “Oh, I’d also like whichever of you survives to take a message back to my niece. I will gladly welcome her to my side if she chooses to join me, but if not…”

The threat hangs in the air, even as Morgana opens a shadow portal behind her and vanishes through it, just in time for Gumm-Gumms to pour out of the trees and bushes surrounding them. Dinadan curses loudly.

“Oh, we’re done for,” Toby breathes in horror.

As if being surrounded and outnumbered wasn’t bad enough, two more trolls step out of the trees and Jim’s breath catches in his chest. Gunmar towers over all of them, human and troll alike, Decimaar blade dragging on the ground beside him. Bular is beside him, a smug smirk plastered on his ugly face.

They’re fucked.

They are so fucked.

“Well, lads, it was a pleasure knowing you,” mumbles Dinadan grimly.

The Gumm-Gumms attack. As Dinadan meets swords with one troll and Toby launches into the air, Jim locks eyes with Gunmar and growls, deep in his chest and more troll than human.

“I’ve got Gunmar,” he snarls.

Toby looks down at him in alarm. “Jimbo, wait–”

Jim shifts into troll form and charges towards the bastard with his sword drawn and a war cry on his lips. Gunmar has the gall to laugh. Jim knows he can’t kill him. That may be his destiny, but it’s a destiny centuries in the future and years in the past. Still, he can hold him off to protect the others.

“You think you can best me, impure?” Gunmar roars.

“I don’t think, I know!” Jim has, in fact, bested Gunmar before. But this is Gunmar at the height of his power and Jim hasn’t fought him in almost a decade. Jim uses his smaller size to his advantage, dodging and diving away from Gunmar’s sword. He tunes out the rest of the fight. They’re all trained knights of Camelot. They can hold their own. Jim hopes.

It’s not a good situation. They’re heavily outnumbered. Jim doesn’t know if the Gumm-Gumms have orders to leave one of them alive to bring Morgana’s message back to Anna, but that’s still three of them they can kill just fine. Jim has to keep Gunmar off their backs.

“Why do you fight against us, impure?” Gunmar demands. “I am bringing the world we deserve!”

“Yeah, right,” Jim scoffs. “Feed your propaganda to someone else, asshole!”

“Your human insults are pitiful!”

“Your face is pitiful!” Jim retorts, like a child. Yeah, okay, not his best. He rolls to dodge a blow and hisses when he moves just too slow. No time to focus on that, he has to dodge again. He really wishes he got Draal to teach him his rolling trick, never mind that he couldn’t have done it as a human.

“Dinadan!” he hears Toby call out in tandem with Dinadan’s yelp of alarm. Jim whirls around, eyes wide and searching until they land on Dinadan pinned to the ground by Bular. Fuck, Jim didn’t pay attention to Bular! He barely manages to jerk forward before Bular brings his sword down on Dinadan’s neck.

“NO!” Jim screams as Toby lets out a furious war cry. He doesn’t have time to process anything else before a blow to his chest makes him drop his sword and sends him flying into a tree. He falls forward, dazed, eyes searching for Dinadan again in the fight, but Gunmar kicks him over onto his back and levels his sword at his face.

“You bow to me, impure,” he growls.

Jim gasps at the familiar feeling of the Decimaar blade, the cold magic warring against his will to keep control of his own body. He doesn’t have a helmet to protect him this time. He hears Toby calling out for him as he struggles – no – no – he can’t be controlled again – he can’t be used as a pawn again – he grits his teeth and reaches around for his sword or something he can use as a weapon.

“I bow – to – no one!” he grinds out, managing to wrap his hand around a fallen Gumm-Gumm’s sword and drive it into Gunmar’s side. Gunmar roars in pain and Jim barely dodges to the side, a touch too slow, the blade slicing straight through his cheek and ear. Gunmar stumbles backwards. Someone – Gawain – helps Jim up, but Jim is dizzy from the effects of the Decimaar blade. He looks around for Dinadan. Surely – surely he dodged too – right? They’re running – he’s trying to run–

There’s a flash of green in his vision. He flinches so hard he falls to the ground and the pain in his side from the earlier hit flares sharply. Hands reach down to pull him back up, but the world goes dark around him long before he can dream of standing.

 

 

Jim comes to in the healing wing, Steve’s relieved face hovering over him. Toby and Claire are sitting next to the bed, talking in hushed voices, muffled in one ear for some reason. On his other side, he sees Lamorak, face grim.

“Easy, easy,” Steve murmurs as Jim groans and tries to sit up. He gently pushes him back down. “You’re hurt, stay down.”

“What – what happened?” he slurs. He reaches up to rub his head, wincing at the pain in his side from the motion. Ooh, damn, he definitely got hit.

“How much do you remember?” Toby asks carefully.

“We were… attacked in the woods,” Jim says slowly. His eyes widen. “Dinadan–”

Lamorak puts a hand on his shoulder, face grim and sad. “He’s gone, my friend. I’m sorry.”

Jim knew that. He didn’t want to, but he did. He saw the sword come down, saw the blood, saw his friend die. He hoped against hope that he saw it wrong, it was so fast, in the midst of battle, anything could have happened. Jim completely forgot about Bular, too focused on fighting his father, and Dinadan paid the price. He rubs his eyes and swallows harshly. Another person he’s failed. Vendel, Draal, Alex, Dinadan. The list keeps growing.

“You’re gonna hate this,” says Toby, “but Merlin showed up with Deya and a couple of trolls and saved our asses.”

Jim takes the distraction. “Nooo. Merlin?”

“Yep,” says Toby. “I guess he’d been making changes to the amulet and had been returning it. They happened across us or something.”

“And thank god he did!” Claire exclaims. “If he didn’t you’d both be dead too! I don’t care if it had been Morgana that saved you, just as long as you’re safe.”

“I guess,” Jim mumbles. “How – how long have I been out?”

“You’ve been out a few days, lad,” Lamorak says gently.

“A few days!?”

Steve flicks his forehead. “That’s what happens when you get stabbed in the side, buttsnack!”

“I got stabbed in the side?” Jim says, hoping he doesn’t sound as dumb to the others as to himself. By the unimpressed looks around him, he definitely does.

“We didn’t notice until you passed out on Gawain,” says Toby. “I’m not surprised you didn’t notice either with the adrenaline from fighting fucking Gunmar by yourself.”

Ah. Yes, that would make them mad, wouldn’t it?

He tries to reason with them. “It’s my responsibility–"

“Not here it isn’t!”’ Toby exclaims. “Not anymore, either. I don’t care what anyone says about destiny or fate. Your only responsibility was keeping yourself and your fellow knights safe.”

Jim flinches and looks away with a harsh swallow. “I - you’re right. I shouldn’t have been distracted and lost track of Bular. Maybe – maybe I could have saved Dinadan.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Toby says, wincing and lowering his tone apologetically. “What happened to Dinadan isn’t your fault. Not any more than it is mine and Gawain’s.”

“All of us knights know the risks we take,” Lamorak says softly. “We’re all free to stop being knights, Queen Anna wouldn’t forbid us that.”

“But I’m the–" Jim presses his lips together to stop himself from finishing the sentence. He’s not the Trollhunter, not here and now, when that’s the Great Deya the Deliverer who apparently saved their asses, like the Trollhunter is supposed to. He shakes his head. “That’s two people I’ve let die because of Bular. First Alex, now Dinadan.”

Claire takes his hand. “Jim. You don’t have to take everything on your shoulders.”

“Isn’t that Atlas’s duty?” mumbles Jim, wiping his wet eyes.

“You aren’t meant to be Atlas,” Toby says firmly. “Okay? Not everything is your fault. Sometimes these things happen and they suck but we did all that we could.”

Lamorak sighs and rests a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Toby is right, lad. Dinadan wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

“Well, Dinadan isn’t here anymore,” Jim mumbles, turning his head away.

There’s a long silence. Steve is the first to get uncomfortable enough to break it, coming over and giving him a tight smile that tells Jim he’s going to change the subject entirely.

"I need to see how your face is healing,” he says softly. “I don’t think the damage was bad enough to result in any hearing loss, but you tell me if things are still weird after I take off the wrappings, okay?”

“Okay,” Jim says. Hearing loss? Well, at least he has confirmation the muffled sound is from wrappings over his ear. Right, that’s right, he remembers, Gunmar got him, right before they escaped. Well, right before Jim passed out.

Thankfully, as the bandages come off, his hearing returns to normal. He gives Steve a thumbs-up and Steve smiles, a little more genuine this time.

“Well, it’s healing nicely,” says Steve. “It’ll scar, though.”

“What’s one more?” Jim brings a hand up to gently prod at the injury and Steve slaps it back down with an unimpressed frown. “Thanks for patching me up, Steve.”

“Let’s stop making a habit of it, Lake,” Steve says.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Jim asks Toby, glancing over him for any sign of injury. He can’t see anything right now, but he could be hiding something under his clothes. He’s worried about the trolls that helped rescue them too. He does not give a single fuck about Merlin.

“You were the worst, besides, well… y’know,” says Toby. “Like him or not, Merlin and his magic saved our asses.”

Jim groans. “Great.”

“We passed on Morgana’s message,” says Toby. “Anna was furious, but I do think she finally believes us when we say we’re on her side. Actually, she said when you woke she wanted–”

“–to personally apologise.”

All four of them snap to attention as Queen Anna glides into the room, followed by Lot and baby Gaheris in his arms. She gives them a small smile.

“Sir Jim, it’s good to see you finally awake,” she says. “Sir Tobias and Sir Gawain both told me of your bravery against Gunmar the Black.”

“Ah, well, um,” Jim says, glancing at Toby. He’s surprised that Toby described it as bravery and not utter stupidity. He’s also surprised Gawain brought it up as well. “Someone had to do it.”

“Regardless, as your queen, I do ask that you be more careful in the future,” she says.

“We have already lost too many good men,” Lot murmurs. “We don’t wish to lose another.”

“We’ll keep him out of trouble,” Toby promises.

She nods and her expression shifts, more regretful. “Sir Jim, Sir Tobias, Lady Claire, and Healer Steve. I fear I have been treating all of you with more distrust than you deserve. Sir Jim’s oath and the truth in your words should have been enough for me, but… forgive me, for I have been wary.”

“You have to protect your kingdom,” Claire says. “We understand.”

“Still,” she says. “This must be hard on you. So soon after losing Sir Alexander, to find out that Hisirdoux and Krel were working with the very enemies that killed him…”

Jim swallows. Best to play along. He schools his face into sadness. It isn’t hard, in the wake of losing yet another friend. “It’s… been hard, yeah. I can’t believe Douxie would choose to side with them after losing Alex.”

Truth – he can’t believe it because Douxie wouldn’t choose to side with them, even before losing Alex.

“I wanted to thank you, as well, for continuing to serve Camelot,” Anna says softly. “It means a lot to know that foreigners like you care about our home.”

“You welcomed us here,” says Steve. “It’s the least we could do.”

“I hope you’ll find the rest of your stay here more comfortable without eyes of scrutiny,” she says. She gives a shallow bow. “I will leave you to your healing. Let me know if you need anything.”

Lot offers them a small smile and motions like he’d wave if he wasn’t holding a baby. The little family leaves the room and Steve and Claire both visibly relax. Toby sighs. Jim’s glad they seem to have somehow regained Anna’s full trust, or as close as they’re going to get, but he’s still wary. There’s no chance Merlin will ever trust them, and Jim needs to be careful with his oath. They’ll have to get Douxie and Krel back somehow too, but Jim would rather not all of them get labelled traitors just yet.

They just need to lay low and keep proving their loyalty until they can figure out a way home.

 

 

Steve doesn’t let him out of bed for another couple of days, but when he finally does, Jim goes straight to the kitchens. He knows Dinadan lived with his family in town. He missed the funeral being unconscious, but he does want to show some kind of support for them. Baking is what he does best when he’s stressed, so he makes them a couple of dishes and then balances them on a wooden tray to bring to their home. Jim almost starts crying when he gets there. He hadn’t gotten the chance to meet Dinadan’s family, aside from his two younger brothers, both knights-in-training, but Dinadan’s talked about them, his long-dead father, his mother and sisters, his nieces and nephews. Lady Lenoir insists he come in and sit down, smiling to mask the sadness in her eyes.

“Dinadan told us about you,” she says. “He was quite fond. You seem a good lad.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim chokes out. “I failed him.”

She cups his scarring cheek and shakes her head. “My son knew the risks. He would be glad that the rest of you survived.”

“I, um, I brought food,” Jim finally manages. “I know the last thing you probably want to be doing right now is cooking. Unless you like it like I do. I dunno, Steve said his mom said you’re practically required to bring food for mourning and stuff, but she’s from – never mind, that doesn’t matter.”

“You’re very kind, Sir Jim,” she says. “Stay for dinner.”

It sounds like an order, so Jim does. He’s never had a big family. It’s more subdued right now than he normally expects it would be, and it breaks his heart to see how losing the eldest son has affected the family. No one seems to blame him. Part of Jim still thinks they should.

It’s only just getting dark when he leaves, so he doesn’t feel too bad sneaking out of the city to patrol around the wall. As long as he’s close, he’s safe, right? He even sticks to troll form. He holds his amulet in hands, tracing the golden carvings. This one has as much of Mort’s magic on it as it does Morgana’s, because he never truly trusted her and insisted on looking over the amulet with a careful eye. It’s a wonder Merlin hasn’t noticed it, but then again, maybe it’s part of his suspicion. He sometimes forgets that he doesn't use the original anymore – that the original, despite everything it gave to him, despite the destiny it gave him, was a tool to control him.

“I’m the Trollhunter,” he whispers to himself. “That wasn’t just a lie. I’ve done good.”

And yet today his destiny sits bitter on his tongue, and his fingers close tightly around the amulet and tuck it to his chest as he closes his eyes against tears. Destiny is what got Dinadan killed. Has Jim really gotten so lost in being the Trollhunter that he’s forgotten how to be anyone else? He thought he had moved on, in peaceful times, opening his restaurant, settling down. War has only brought back the worst of him, the stubborn, self-sacrificing hero.

To think, a part of him missed it.

“It’s not easy, is it?”

Jim yelps and quickly tries to hide his amulet. Oh, no, especially from her.

“Deya!” he exclaims. “You’re – you’re a long way from Dwoza, hi, uh… hi.”

Deya, in normal clothing rather than her Trollhunter armour, comes over and takes his hands, unfolding his fingers from the amulet as he stares at her in petrified horror. Claire’s gonna kill him. Steve’s gonna kill him. Steve is his healer so he’s super fucked.

“I knew there was something strange about you, Sir Jim,” she murmurs, stone brows furrowed. “My amulet has never reacted to anyone the way it did to you, like it knew you. And here you have a replica.”

“I – I – um,” he stammers out. “I can explain.”

“Can you?” she asks.

Jim winces. “Well, I can but I shouldn’t?”

“The magic of the amulet has never been bound by the rules of the universe that I understand,” she says, meeting his eyes. “Even time.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” Jim whispers. “Please don’t tell Merlin.”

She hums quietly, nodding after a moment, even as she continues to scrutinise him. “I won’t. Merlin has done much for us, but I wouldn’t trust him not to meddle where he shouldn’t.”

“Thank you.” Jim curls the amulet back to his chest as she lets go.

They fall silent for a moment. Jim leans against Camelot’s wall, then slides down it to sit in the dirt. Deya sits beside him, pulling out her own amulet and turning it over in her hands. She’s smarter than Jim gave her credit for. He itches to tell her everything, because surely if anyone is wise enough to use the information carefully, it’s Deya the Deliverer. But even Deya would probably be tempted, wouldn’t she?

“How do you handle it?” he asks instead. “When you fail to save people?”

She hums quietly. “We try as hard as we can, but we can’t save everyone. Especially against the likes of Gunmar. He and his son have no mercy, even for their own warriors. They take glee in their cruelty.”

“I should have been looking out for the others,” Jim says. “Instead I got so focused on Gunmar I – what do you do if your destiny starts causing you more harm than good? When you start causing more harm than good?”

“I dunno if I believe in destiny,” she admits. “I forge my own path in life. So if your destiny is hurting you… make yourself a new one.”

She says it as if it’s simple, as if time travel doesn’t practically erase the worldview she follows, as if Jim doesn’t know how her story ends and what her destiny is. Hers is set in stone, isn’t it? So why wouldn’t his be the same?

“Destiny doesn’t usually come with a gift receipt,” he says wryly, instead of voicing his real thoughts.

She shakes her head, amused and befuddled. “I’m not sure what that means, but just think about it. You have your life ahead of you if you’re lucky. Only person who can decide what that life will be is you. Not Merlin, not some abstract concept of fate. Just you, Jim Lake.”

Jim leans his head back against the wall and sighs. Deya puts a hand on his shoulder and he glances back over at her. She gives him a gentle smile, eyes sympathetic, and he recognises that maybe she does understand as much as he thought she did.

“For what it’s worth,” she says, “I think you cause more good than harm. You’re a brave man, Jim, and whatever destiny you choose is going to be a great one.”

He swallows and pretends that doesn’t bring tears to his eyes. “Thank you, Deya.”

“You should head back into the city,” she says. “Get some rest. And come by Dwoza more often! Draal misses you.”

Jim wipes his cheeks and nods. He’s still not sure that he’s doing things right, that he’s not to blame even when no one else seems to blame him, but at the very least, he can try to keep doing good to outweigh the harm and make his destiny worth it after all.

Notes:

SO sorry Dinadan. I love you but you had to go. Oops!

I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I tried to make Jim's struggles slightly different than rehashing Unbecoming like ROTT did :/ He's got destiny issues and this time travel sure isn't helping him yet efhsdheflksad
Deya finding out was unexpected but y'know what, why not, I think she can handle it, even if she's curious.

Thank you for reading! <3

Chapter 25: Ventis Adventures

As is incredibly typical of their luck, it starts snowing as soon as they have some kind of a plan. Lancelot immediately makes the call to postpone the plan until the storm passes, much to Mordred’s chagrin. Krel doesn’t argue. He doesn’t want to be out walking in all that snow. At the same time, he does desperately want to touch base with his friends back in Camelot. All of them only get antsier as days pass and the storm continues, but at least today it seems to be stopping.

“Alright,” Krel says, patting the dashboard in the cockpit of Iros’s ship and gesturing to the display he has pulled up. “According to this radar system that I have finally got hooked up correctly, the storm should be past later today.”

“Finally!” Mordred exclaims.

“I’ve missed tinkering,” Krel says wistfully. “You have no idea.”

“It must have been strange going from a world filled with things like this to, well, Camelot,” Lancelot admits, leaning forward to watch the blues of the snow pass on the screen. Yeah, Krel’s proud of this one, it wasn’t easy to figure out. He’s never made a weather radar before. He’s made other types of radar and technically Iros’s ship had a radar system built in, but repurposing it to detect precipitation and display it in a way that’s user-friendly wasn’t quite as simple as he’d originally thought it’d be. Akiridion-5 didn’t really have weather in the way Earth does, so they certainly didn’t use weather radar. They do now since Krel had the bright idea to make New Akiridion more natural and therefore prone to things like rain and thunderstorms and snow. Including the severe stuff. Yeah, Krel forgot about the severe stuff when he was making New Akiridion.

“It has been a bit weird,” Douxie says. “Alex – Alex was going as crazy as Krel. He loved tech. He would have been ecstatic to find this…”

“Yeah,” Krel murmurs in agreement.

“So he did know you guys are aliens?” Lancelot asks.

“All our friends know,” says Krel. “Steve really is my brother-in-law, you know. He’s married to my sister.”

“Our sister,” Douxie corrects with half a cough. “Just cause she likes you more–”

“Debatable,” Krel says, trying not to wince at his slip. Mordred doesn’t appear to notice Douxie’s lie either, which is good. “Anyway, she and Eli – that’s their husband – couldn’t come with us.”

“Are you going to be returning to Arcadia soon?” Mordred asks. His face betrays him, lips tugging into a frown, and Krel feels bad that they can’t even promise to visit once they leave. He doesn’t know a lot about Mort’s life between Camelot and meeting Douxie’s parents, but he knows it was lonely.

“Eventually,” says Douxie. “But we’ll help you first.”

Mordred nods and fiddles with his sleeve. Krel glances at Douxie – no harm in it, he said so himself, but is it going to hurt them both more to try to help? Krel doesn’t know. He returns his attention to the radar. “Well, since the snow is going to clear out, Iros and I need to get our disguises figured out. Something no one will blink twice at.”

“So in England a white person,” says Douxie. “Make sure to be an ugly white person!”

“Like you?” Krel shoots back. Douxie sticks his tongue out at him.

“I do not know what that means, but we do need to be inconspicuous,” Iros says. “Lancelot, you know the castle best.”

“I would suggest disguising yourself as castle staff,” he says pensively. “Perhaps kitchen staff specifically. The kitchens are easy to get in and out of – Arthur and I used to sneak out that way all the time as kids – so I can draw you a depiction of the uniforms.”

“Sounds good,” says Krel. “Actually, our first transductions were created so that no one in Arcadia would pay attention to us. My sister was, well, a girl, our bodyguard was an old man, I was Latino.”

“And I have blue hair and pronouns,” Douxie jokes. Krel punches his arm and he laughs. “What?”

“You have white hair now, anyway,” Krel grumbles.

“Everyone has pronouns,” Lancelot says, clearly baffled. “That’s just how language works!”

“Alright, Lancelot, can you draw us what the uniforms look like or something?” Krel asks. “The more detailed the better. We don’t want to be caught because we’re not wearing the right clothes.”

“I can probably do that,” says Lancelot. “Give me an hour to get everything perfect, I think. That should give time for the snow to stop.”

“Are you sure I can’t go?” Mordred asks, bordering on a complete teenager whine. Krel almost laughs at that just because he remembers Uncle Mort grumbling about teenagers all the time. Turns out he was exactly the type of teenager he complained about. Douxie really takes after him.

“I’m sure,” says Lancelot flatly. “Besides, you’re still not fully healed. You are not going anywhere near the castle until you’re healed.”

“Anna wouldn’t let them hurt me,” says Mordred. “You’ll see. Even if she doesn’t believe me at first, she’s still my sister.”

Krel winces and returns his attention to the radar he has pulled up. Douxie pulls at the sleeves of his jumpsuit.

“Alright, then,” Krel murmurs. “I’ll get two serrators fixed up for easy transduction.”

“Handy, to add that as a feature to serrators,” Iros praises. “I wonder why no one’s thought of it before…”

Krel has his theories, the leading among them being the Akiridion superiority complex he’s been fighting against since he became king. That might insult Iros so he doesn’t say that out loud. She’s clearly never even attempted a transduction in the two years she’s been here. Krel might have been that way, once upon a time, if necessity hadn’t forced disguises upon them. He remembers how much he judged Earth, how primitive it seemed, how surely there wasn’t much to value in a backwards, biological world like Earth. He knows better now. Some part of him will always consider Earth home, or at least his childhood home, in a way he’s not sure he considers Akiridion-5. Was it really a childhood when it was so full of expectations?

“I’ll have to patent it,” he jokes instead, even though that won’t make any sense because while Akiridions have a similar concept they don’t call it that. “Alright, I’ll be in here if anyone needs me. Shoo! I need space to work.”

The others disperse – not before Douxie stops to purposefully mess up his hair in typical older sibling fashion – and Krel sighs and leans back in his chair.

He has a bad feeling about this.

 

 

 

Later that morning, they meet at the transduction chamber on the ship. Krel’s relieved it even has one, though any ship worthy of travelling to another planet usually does just to be safe. Lancelot has sketched out a rough drawing of the kitchen uniforms, pulled up on a holoscreen. He’s adapted remarkably well to the Akiridion technology so far. He barely even asks that many questions. They show him once how to use something and he figures it out from there. Krel knew there was a reason he liked Lancelot.

“Are you ready?” Iros asks.

Krel nods. “Yep. Be sure it’s programmed to hide my scars. Those are pretty distinct.”

“Yes, good idea,” she agrees, making a few adjustments before they step into the chamber. Krel hasn’t used a separate transduction in years, not since the disguise to hide from the knights in Arcadia all those years ago. The energy washing over him is familiar, but the hands he’s left with are a much lighter tan and the height is a couple of inches taller than he’s used to. Iros, too, looks virtually unfamiliar, even lighter skinned than he is but with dark hair and eyes.

“Freaky,” Douxie says, reaching over to nab his phone. Krel lets him, figuring he has some kind of plan.

“Tell me about it,” he says instead. The transduction doesn’t change their voices, so he at least sounds the same. He knows his accent is distinct enough in modern English so he tries to course correct it into a fake British accent that he hopes translates. “How about this? I sound like Douxie now.”

Douxie bursts out laughing. “No, you sound like a dumbass. Do us all a favour and drop the accent, mate.”

“I’m in disguise, mate,” Krel shoots back teasingly.

“Oh, never say that again,” Douxie groans.

“Well, the outfits look good,” says Lancelot, tactfully not mentioning the accent. “And you don’t look anything like yourself, Krel, so you should be fine. Largely nondescript.”

“Perfect,” says Krel. “We’ll head out then so we can try to be back before it gets too dark.”

“Be careful,” Mordred says, wringing his hands in front of him. “If you think there’s trouble try to hide or get out. Just don’t… just be safe.”

Krel bends down to briefly touch foreheads with him. “Don’t worry, Mordred. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Douxie hands him back his phone. “I set it up to track Steve’s aura. Easy enough, should bring you right to Camelot.”

“Thanks, Doux,” Krel says, giving him a side hug. Douxie grips his arm as they separate and Krel nods in understanding. Any kind of travel seems to be risky here, with the fae running about. They need to get home before dark. Worst come to worst, though, Krel will make sure to grab Iros and escape to the skies. He hopes.

The two of them set off for Camelot. They spend the first part of the walk in comfortable silence. Iros is clearly more anxious than she lets on. Krel gets it – she’s probably only interacted with Mordred, Lancelot, and Douxie when it comes to humans, and she doesn’t even know that Douxie is human.

“So,” she finally says at some point, “remind me. How long have you and Hisirdoux been on Earth?”

“Probably, what? Eight years or so now?” Krel says. At least he doesn’t have to worry about any lies being heard when it’s just the two of them. “Something like that. I had just turned fifteen when we crashed here. But me and Douxie both really fell in love with the planet, so…”

“So you stayed,” she completes with a fond smile. “I understand that. Earth is something special. I’ve been thinking of staying myself, but if things don’t go as Mordred hopes, well… I would rather he be safe on Akiridion-5 with me.”

Krel wonders how different things might have been if that was the case if Iros had fled home with Mordred. Krel would have surely known him growing up. Wouldn’t that have been strange? He can’t help but wonder what it might have been like – surely Mort would have been a positive influence, encouraging Krel and Aja both to be themselves rather than another voice trying to stifle them. Then again, maybe Akiridion-5 would have crushed Mort just as much as it could have crushed Krel himself, if the coup hadn’t happened, if he hadn’t come to Earth.

“You’ve known Mordred how long again?” Krel asks, forcing himself away from what-ifs.

“Two keltons, give or take,” she says. “I met him shortly after the death of his mother. He was helping me patch up my ship, and I suppose I came to help patch the cracks in his core left by his mother’s death. Well. Humans do not have cores, but… you know what I mean.”

“You really care for him,” Krel notes.

“How could I not?” she says with a small smile. “He has a way of sneaking his way into your heart, doesn’t he?”

“I suppose he does,” Krel says. He wonders if Mort recognised the similarities between them, how he become to Krel what Iros was to him. “Did you have any kids on Akiridion-5?”

She laughs. “Oh, no. No, I didn’t. My brother does, a boy named Fialkov. He’s close to Mordred’s age. I like to think that they’d get along.”

“What’s he like?” Krel can’t help but ask. Most of what he knows about Papa’s childhood is framed as a comparison where Krel failed to live up to his standards. It would be nice to know more about Papa from someone who won’t simply compare them, who knew him from a lens of family and not as just the prince at the time.

“Stubborn and headstrong!” she exclaims. “And very spirited. I think he fancies one of yours. Coranda, I believe her name is? My brother is talking about a possible arranged marriage.”

That, Krel did know. He laughs awkwardly. “Yes, Coranda, we know her. She’s out… cousin… second cousin. Actually. Twice removed.”

Does that make sense? He hopes so. Krel doesn’t know how cousins work. Iros doesn’t seem to notice, smile slipping a little, something more wistful.

“I do hope my brother isn’t being too hard on Fialkov,” she says softly. “I know he can goof off some, spend too much time on his tinkering and too little on his studies, but he is a child still.”

“Fialkov… goofing off?” Krel murmurs in shock, brow furrowing.

She waves a hand. “Yes, he and his friends Val and Varvatos. Those three get into so much mischief and I know it irks my brother to no end. It’s as if he’s forgotten what we were like as children.”

“You got into trouble as kids?” Krel is trying very hard not to sound as surprised as he feels. Iros, from Mort’s stories, he can believe, but Grandfather? Krel never met the man, but Papa always made him out to be a proper king. Nothing like Krel, nothing like Aja who was named for him. Then again, he would have been a child once. Papa would have been a child once. Maybe even back then, children were children.

“Oh, so much!” Iros laughs, oblivious to Krel’s complete bafflement about a side of his father and grandfather he never considered existed. “Ajavor – my brother – he’s always wanted to travel. He’s mellowed out but I think he was quite jealous I got to and he did not. When we were kids, he would steal strikers to explore the satellites.”

“Really?” Krel gasps. “Your parents must not have been pleased.”

“Oh, they were always furious,” she says. She pitches her voice, probably to imitate one of her parents. “Prince Ajavor, you are the future of House Ventis, you cannot be constantly sneaking out and causing trouble. Satellite 5 is Akraohm territory!”

Krel hides a laugh. “He snuck into Akraohm territory?”

“I think he enjoyed testing his boundaries,” Iros says, amused. “Not unlike Fialkov, which is why I think they don’t get along most of the time. Even a week before I left, my nephew was in trouble for experimenting on a ship and flying it around the planet with his friends.”

“Experimenting?”

“Oh, something with the engine,” she says, gesturing non-specifically. “Dangerous, but Fialkov and Val are always very confident in their tech and Varvatos… has a worrying love for danger.”

“So he just randomly took an experimental engine for a test drive?” Krel says in surprise. “That doesn’t sound like him at all...”

Iros raises an eyebrow. “You’ve met him?”

“Oh, um,” Krel manages eloquently.

“It’s interesting,” she says with a hum. “Generally, we know the names of the members of House Akraohm. Knowledge is power and all. But I’ve never heard of a Krel Akraohm, and certainly never a Hisirdoux.”

Ahaha. Busted. Krel should have known she wouldn’t fall for it, Hisirdoux is so far from an Akiridion name that it’s not even funny. Krel shouldn’t have said anything. He’d like to go back to the somewhat unbelievable stories of his father’s childhood now.

“It’s a long story,” he admits. “One I can’t tell you. I hope you understand.”

“I understand,” she says. “Mordred would have heard if you lied, and you’re both quite clearly Akiridion, so I believe you are who you say you are. I won’t pretend I’m not curious or that I don’t have my theories, but I’ll let it be.”

“Thank you, Iros,” Krel says softly.

“But, to answer your question, yes, he did just that,” Iros says. “I don’t know where you’ve heard of my nephew, but you’ve heard wrong. Unfortunately for Ajavor’s stress levels, that sounds exactly like Fialkov.”

“My sister used to run away a lot,” Krel admits. “She gets to travel now. She always wanted to, too. I never realised… well. It just surprises me, I guess. To… hear that the Ventis heir is reckless like that. To hear that… King Ajavor was like that.”

Aja won’t believe him when he gets home. If he gets home. Maybe, in a different world, Grandfather would have been an explorer and Papa an inventor and Mama a warrior and Krel and Aja free to be whatever they wanted as well.

“I know you probably don’t plan to return to Akiridion-5, but I do wish you could meet Fialkov,” she says. She gives him a small smile. “I think he’d admire you.”

Krel stares at her. “Admire… me?”

“You’ve certainly proven your skill with technology,” she says. “You remind me of him. But I think you’re a lot of what he’d like the chance to be. You left. You chose your own path.”

He wonders if he ever really knew Papa as anything other than the king. He wonders if Papa ever knew his own father either. It never occurred to him that Papa was hard on him because he once was him. Papa never got to be free, to choose his own path, and he buckled to centuries of tradition that Krel has chosen and fought to upend and forge anew.

“I never thought of it like that,” he murmurs, voice choked despite himself. “I wish I could meet him, too.”

She glances over at him. “I did not mean to upset him.”

“You didn’t,” he promises. “It just… made me think. Thank you.”

She watches him a second longer before nodding. “Well, it’s a while yet before we reach Camelot. Why don’t you tell me more about this Arcadia that made you fall in love with the planet Earth?”

Krel takes the subject change for what it is and starts telling her a slightly edited account of Arcadia and his arrival to Earth, but his mind continues to wander. How much doesn’t he know about Mama and Papa? Before they came to Earth they didn’t even know Mama was a warrior. Before this, Krel didn’t know Papa was just as into technology as a teenager as Krel himself was. It seems Mort isn’t the only parent Krel is gaining a new understanding of with this time travel.

He always thought Papa would be disappointed in him for that, frustrated that Krel couldn’t respect the old ways even when the old ways were stifling their people, stifling him and his sister, but maybe… maybe Iros is right. Maybe Papa would be proud that Krel had the courage to change. Krel never wants to have kids of his own, but he promises himself he’ll continue to change for any nieces and nephews he ever has. If he can change centuries of tradition, then maybe he can change generations of conformity and make sure their futures are open to whatever paths they choose.

 

 

 

They reach the castle early afternoon, which still gives them less time than Krel would like since it’s the dead of winter right now. Nobody blinks at them as they enter the city, two totally normal humans. Well, that’s a lie. They pass by Lamorak and a couple of knights and Lamorak’s eyes follow them suspiciously. Krel’s ninety percent sure the man has aura sight. He really, really hopes he won’t say anything. He hates Merlin so hopefully they have that going for them.

Lancelot told them where to find the kitchen entrance, so they sneak around that way and then act as confident as possible. The kitchens are busy right now so no one pays them much mind as they walk through. Iros looks around in wonder.

“Alright,” Krel mumbles in Akiridion, “now to get to Steve and the others. I’d rather not have tech out in the open so we’ll have to check the healers first. Steve should be there.”

“You’ll have to lead the way,” she says.

“Hm, we don’t want to be suspicious…” Krel looks around the kitchen, anxiously biting his lip. His eyes land on one of the nearby primitive ovens and he sighs and mentally prepares himself for Steve to yell at him and Douxie to yell at him and everyone to yell at him before walking over and sticking his hand in to grab hold of the hot iron handle of one of the pots. He grits his teeth and holds on long enough to get an angry burn blossoming. Why did he think this was a good idea? He blinks and there’s fire and he lets go and shakes his head.

Iros startles forward. “What in Gaylen’s name–“

“Yep, okay, healers now,” says Krel, wincing and waving his burnt hand in front of him.

“Of all the irresponsible–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll get the lecture from Steve,” Krel says. “Don’t tell Douxie. C’mon.”

He leads Iros out of the kitchens and towards the healing wing. No one will question a kitchen staff member coming to the healers with a burn. Even Jim burns himself sometimes and he’s actually good at cooking. Douxie burns himself every time he tries to cook. Krel’s pretty sure it’s an occupational hazard.

Krel spots Steve right away and beelines that way. Iros follows, grumbling about bad decisions. Mort must have gotten that from her because she sounds exactly like him. As they get closer, Krel sees Jim laid out on one of the beds. That’s fantastic. What happened to Jim?

“Um, excuse me?” Iros tries as they get close.

Steve looks up at them and smiles professionally. “Oh! Hi, sorry, I can help you out. What have we got? Nasty looking burn there, but we have a salve for that.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Krel. Steve stops halfway through opening a cabinet and whips his head around. “Yes, hi, Steve.”

“Did you burn your hand on purpose?” Steve accuses right away. Damn, he knows Krel well.

“Maybe, but that is not important,” Krel says.

“Oh, it’s not, is it?”

“Also, hi, Jim,” Krel continues, ignoring Steve for right now. “How did you end up in the healing wing?”

“Got a little bit stabbed which apparently means I’m still not allowed to sleep in my own bed,” says Jim. His brow furrows worriedly. “What are you doing here? They’ll kill you if they catch you!”

“Big deal, I’ll come back,” he says. Steve’s eyes narrow. Krel should not have said that in front of him. “Anyway, no, so, this is Iros. She’s like me. We need to talk to you guys, but we don’t have much time.”

“Should we get Claire and Toby?” Jim asks.

“As much as I’d like to see them, you can probably pass on the message,” Krel admits. He misses his friends here, especially Toby, but they don’t have time to hang out and catch up. “Mo- Mort thinks Anna will listen to him if he can just talk to her in person. We’re trying to find a way to make that happen.”

Iros gives him a curious look but doesn’t say anything about the name. A little safer in case of listening ears. Steve and Jim will definitely know who he means.

“Are we sure that’s a good idea?” Jim asks warily. “Anna’s pissed. We’re lucky she trusts us at all, and I think that’s only because Gawain got his head out of his ass and vouched for us too.”

“He did?” Krel says incredulously. “Ugh. He’s not supposed to be helpful.”

“He is her little brother,” says Iros. “Surely that means something.”

“Maybe,” says Steve unsurely, even as Krel winces and knows better. “Alright, we’ll see what we can do. We have Lamorak and Ikram in on everything, Tristan too when he gets back from wherever he went with that messenger. Somewhere on the coast.”

“Here, give me your phones,” Krel says.

“Only got mine,” says Steve, but he does hand it to Krel.

“Okay, well, then, pay very close attention,” he says, beckoning Steve over so he can show him how to hook the phone up to the faraway Akiridion satellites. Steve is passable with tech nowadays and this is pretty simple. Honestly, Krel doesn’t know why he didn’t do it earlier. He supposes it wasn’t needed. They didn’t expect to be separated. Once he’s got it set up, he sends a test message to Douxie, who responds with a thumbs-up a full minute later.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Jim asks.

“Making it possible to talk to you,” Krel says. “This is going to be the slowest texting in the history of ever, but it’s the best I can do on short notice that Steve will understand how to replicate.”

He passes Steve his phone back and Steve grabs his burnt hand. “I’m also fixing this. Dumbass. I hope your brother yells at you.”

“Not if you heal it well enough,” Krel says cheekily.

“I’m telling him,” says Iros. She crosses her arms then frowns deeper. “How can you stand having only two arms so often? This is infuriating. Anyway, that was reckless and stupid.”

“Traitor,” Krel mumbles. He shakes his head and returns his attention to Jim and Steve. “How are things going here? Aside from Jim getting a little bit stabbed. You said Anna trusts you and – ugh – Gawain vouched for you?”

“We ran into Gunmar,” Jim admits. Krel’s eyes widen. He was lucky enough never to run into the fearsome Gunmar during the Eternal Night, but he’s heard enough from Toby. “I guess my stupidly charging him and fighting him won Gawain’s trust or admiration or something. It was a bad idea.”

“No kidding,” says Krel.

Jim’s face sombres further. “Um, Dinadan – Dinadan’s dead. It’s my – I should have been paying better attention. I dunno.”

“Oh.” Krel swallows and runs a hand through his hair. “He was nice. I liked him.”

“We all did,” Jim agrees.

“How are things with you?” says Steve, grabbing Krel’s hand again so he can apply salve to it. “Are Mort and – uh – Grandpa okay?”

Well. Not false. Krel manages a small smile. “Yeah, they’re both okay as they can be. Mort’s pretty antsy though, hence this excursion.”

“And you’re somewhere safe?”

“Safer than here.” Krel flexes his hand as Steve turns to get bandages. “Like I said, Iros is like me so we get heating and my beloved technology again.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a space heater,” Jim says wistfully. “Or the internet.”

“Don’t have that,” Krel says.

“I can’t wait to go home, man,” Jim sighs. “I miss electricity so much. My stand mixer. I want my stand mixer.”

“He made a shit ton of stuff for Dinadan’s family,” says Steve. “And I do think he hand-whipped cream.”

“I did,” Jim says miserably. “I’m never doing it again.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the one that’s in shape,” teases Krel.

“There’s a difference between being in shape and choosing to do unnecessary work,” says Jim. “I’ll never yell at my stand mixer again, even when it sprays flour all over me.”

Krel can’t help but laugh. Iros’s eyes trail back to a window and she rests a hand on his shoulder. “We cannot stay.”

“Oh, right,” says Krel, wincing. “Tell Toby and Claire I said hi. And Steve, if you can’t figure it out, text me, okay? I don’t want you breaking everyone’s phones.”

“You have no faith in me.”

“I have a lot of faith in you,” says Krel. “I’m trusting you to do this! I wouldn’t trust D- my brother to do this.”

“Forget breaking, he’d blow up the phones,” says Steve. He hurries over to a cabinet. “Don’t go anywhere! I have to stock you up on supplies! Concussion potions for sure for you, hm…”

Krel rolls his eyes. He can’t pretend healing potions won’t help, so he indulges Steve and lets him pack them a bag. Iros pats her sides awkwardly, still visibly baffled by the lack of two of her arms. Was Krel that bad? He hopes not.

“Here!” Steve says, shoving the bag at Iros. “And keep an eye on your burns. You don’t need it to get infected and then you have to lose a hand and we are not done with the prosthesis project yet at all.”

“I could rig something up,” Krel dismisses. He does take a moment to hug Steve tight, eyes closed, promising himself this won’t be the last time he sees him, promising himself that the rest of them will get home. They have to.

“Travel safe, little brother,” murmurs Steve. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Krel mumbles back. He pulls back and waves to Jim. “Take it easy, okay? No more stabbings!”

“No promises,” says Jim. Steve hits him on the back of the head. “I mean, uh, nope, no more stabbings.”

They wave and leave, before it gets suspicious and before it gets too late. Krel kicks at twigs and snow in the forest on the way back, arms crossed and feeling significantly less talkative than the trip here. He wishes he was bringing home better news than the death of a friend. Krel didn’t know Dinadan that well, but he knows it’s going to hit Douxie – Dinadan was one of Alex’s good friends, after all. It’ll hit Lancelot even harder. Krel knows war comes with death – knows it too well, knows it in too many losses that he doesn’t like to remember – but he’s sick of it entirely. Is it so much to ask for no more?

He just hopes they can find a way home soon.

 

Notes:

the blue hair and pronouns joke is one of my favourites in the fic and I am not sorry

I am however sorry the updates have been taking so long. Got a lot going on with health and other stuff in my life, so working on it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter despite the wait! <3

Chapter 26: If Only In My Dreams

Notes:

TW: death, injury

The good news is Alex managed to find a sword. The bad news is, as much as Lancelot tried to train them to be ambidextrous, Alex was lucky to be decent with a sword even when he had both his hands. He’s trying to avoid as many Gumm-Gumms as possible while searching for his friends. He’s doing a lot of dodging and running. His chest is aching from the earlier blow and he’s already tired.

He doesn’t want to resort to dark magic again – he has no idea how much would be too much and it isn’t a risk he wants to take. He understands now why Douxie turned to it and kept coming back. There’s a tightness in his chest that can’t just be attributed to the anxiety of the fight. It’s not easy for a baseline, mundane human to fight trolls. Oh, but dark magic would turn the tides, dark magic would even the playing field, and that’s a dangerous thought to have. Dark magic could kill him. It takes and burns and he’s already more tired than he should be from using it before. But it’s tempting. Oh, so tempting.

He finally spots Bedivere fending off a troll over by the baker’s house and rushes that way, as if he’s going to be any help. He arrives just in time to clumsily block an attack from behind, back hitting Bedivere’s as he slides his sword away from the troll’s.

“You’re still alive!” Bedivere exclaims. “Good lad!”

“Douxie’d kill me if I escaped the fae only to die here!” Alex says. “Have you seen Tristan or Elaine?”

“Last I saw Elaine was with you!” he grunts, reaching back to pull Alex down with him by the shoulder to dodge a swing of an axe that goes right over their heads. “Haven’t seen Sir Tristan!”

Alex mumbles a curse under his breath. “How are you at magic?”

“Decent!”

“Do you know any light spells?”

“Some, why?”

“Trolls are vulnerable to ultraviolet radiation!” Alex exclaims. Bedivere glances back at him like he’s gone absolutely mad. “It’s – sunlight! They’re vulnerable to sunlight which is ultraviolet radiation, well other stuff too, but it’s the UV rays that trolls are vulnerable to!”

“Alex, lad, the sun isn’t purple,” Bedivere snaps. He grabs Alex’s arm and manages to pull him behind a wall. “Okay, I need you to talk normal. Yes, trolls are vulnerable to sunlight. And?”

“If you can tune a light spell to be specifically UV – sunlight – then it can be a weapon,” Alex says, gesturing wildly with his sword. “Look, uh, light is in little waves! Visible light is, what was it? Um, four hundred to six hundred nanometres, I think. No, seven. I’m not really a physicist. UV is even shorter, less than four hundred but more than… well, the point is–”

“Alex, you gotta calm down,” Bedivere says, grabbing his wrist. “I don’t know what a… whatever that is. But I can try to do a sunlight-specific light spell, sure.”

“Right, no metric system,” mumbles Alex. How is he supposed to calm down when the village that’s taken him in and treated him so kindly is getting ransacked by trolls and he can’t find Elaine or Tristan? “I gotta look for the others. Use the spell!”

“Be careful!” Bedivere yells after him as he takes off again.

He finds Tristan next, kneeling over a dead body of a woman Alex doesn’t recognise, didn’t get the chance to meet before this. He’s pretty confident Tristan didn’t know her either, but he looks unusually shell-shocked. Alex is about to check on him when he spots the Gumm-Gumm approaching. Tristan is too out of it to defend himself right now, so Alex dashes past him to intercept.

“Back off!” he snaps. The troll growls. It looks injured already, at least, but it’s still about five times Alex’s size and has both limbs intact. Also, and Alex cannot stress this enough, Alex is not good enough with a sword with his right hand which is gone. So it’s no surprise when he’s very quickly disarmed and left dodging instead.

“You know,” he says, as if his big mouth hasn’t consistently gotten him in trouble here, “there’s no reason trolls and humans can’t get along! Maybe we can be friends. I’m Alex, and you are…?”

The troll roars and swings his heavy sword down at him and Alex has to dodge to the side.

“Or not, maybe not,” he says. He dodges the next attack too slowly and the sword slices across his torso, shoulder to hip. He cries out and drops to a knee despite himself, pressing a hand to the bleeding wound. It’s shallow because he dodged some, but ow.

He looks up to see the sword coming down at him again. Before he can react, Tristan has lunged in front of him and blocked the attack with his own sword. He looks back at Alex, straining against the troll. “What are you doing, Lex!?”

“Douxie says I’m very charming!” he blurts. “I was trying to use my words! We’re adults here!”

“Every time you try to use your words you almost get killed!”

“Well, apparently Douxie has very specific taste then!”

He manages to get to his feet and grab his sword off the ground. Tristan jumps backwards and then grabs Alex’s arm to start running. No complaints here. Alex lets adrenaline take over so he can ignore his new injuries. Despite being knights together, this is the first real battle he’s seen Tristan in, and it’s a complete one-eighty from the normal funny, cheerful man he’s come to know. Tristan’s face is set into grim determination as the two of them dodge Gumm-Gumms and look out for anyone else that might need help. They don’t split up again.

Alex is pretty sure the only thing moving him forward right now is adrenaline. His chest aches and stings something awful, and a glance down reveals his tunic saturating with blood. He has to hold out until he’s checked on Elaine, though. By the way Tristan is limping, he could use a healer too. They’ll go there next. Alex meant it when he told Bedivere he couldn’t die here, not when he’s so close to getting back to Douxie. But it’s getting harder and harder to dodge the furious trolls. This is a mess.

The dark night sky is starting to take on the lighter blues and deep oranges of twilight, which means the fight will be over soon, one way or another, as the sun rises and the Gumm-Gumms are forced to flee. But how much damage has already been done? They run by a burning building – oh, that was the cobbler’s house – and past dead livestock that Alex swears he was just feeding yesterday. Right before Christmas, too. God, what a disaster. Right now he just needs to find Elaine. He’s checked in with Bedivere, he has Tristan with him. Hilde is in the safe house. He just needs to find Elaine.

Finally, he spots her, using her magic to fight two Gumm-Gumms at once. He gestures and he and Tristan rush that way. Alex knows better than to distract her by calling for her, as much as he wants to. She looks like she could use a hand. Tristan’s eyes suddenly widen and he opens his mouth–

–too late, as a spear Alex didn’t see pierces straight through Elaine’s body.

“ELAINE!” Alex screams.

The desperation takes over again as he dives forward to catch her as the spear is removed. His knees hit the earth and shards of dark glass erupt from the ground to shatter the surrounding Gumm-Gumms. Tristan skids to a stop seconds away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god, oh god, what – oh god,” Alex manages. His hand presses uselessly against the free-bleeding wound, useless, because there’s a wound in the back too and she’s already lost so much.

“Hilde,” Elaine gasps out. “My Hilde – is she – safe?”

“Yes, she’s fine, she’s safe.” Alex’s eyes dart up to meet Tristan’s. “Help me! She’s dying!”

“Lex…” mumbles Tristan, pale and shaken.

“Alexander.” Elaine takes his hand off her wound, grasping it weakly but desperately, voice barely above a breath and trembling like the last leaves on the winter trees. “Please – please take care of her. Take care of my baby girl. Promise. Promise me.”

Alex’s mother is a doctor. He grew up learning about first aid and reading medical books for fun because they were always what he had lying around the house. He knows there’s no fixing this. Even with magic, there’s no fixing this, not now. If he had been faster, if he had – but he hadn’t.

“I don’t have a good track record with promises,” he whispers, “but – but I promise. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Elaine breathes, squeezing his hand before letting out a shuddering breath and falling still. As dawn begins to filter sunlight into the broken village and the trolls begin to flee, Alex sits curled around the cooling body of the woman who saved his life.

He couldn’t save hers.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up. Tristan, grave-faced, kneels beside him. Alex leans forward before all but falling into his friend, tears falling freely. This isn’t fair. Alex should have been able to save her, he should have been able to do something other than show up too late and hold her while she died. How is he going to tell Hilde? Where will Hilde go? Elaine doesn’t have family left, and after today, Alex doesn’t even know who in the village is left alive.

“You need a healer,” Tristan murmurs.

“I have to tell Hilde,” he chokes out. “I have to – I promised – gods, I hate promises.”

Tristan nods stiffly, then takes Elaine’s body from him and stands. Alex shakily pushes himself to his feet and wipes his eyes. That was smart, now he probably has blood all over his face and he’s gonna upset Hilde even more. The sun is peeking over the trees already. The Gumm-Gumms are fleeing. The village is burning. Alex follows Tristan numbly to the centre of the village, where the dead are being gathered, where too many dead are being gathered. Look, there’s Idalia, the baker’s wife. There’s Thomas, the blacksmith. The reality of war settles deep into Alex’s bones once more; after weeks away from it, resting and recovering, he is plunged back into the deep waters.

He catches Bedivere’s eyes across the way. His friend’s face falls at the sight of them, at Elaine, being laid gently amongst her neighbours. He joins them, resting a hand on Alex’s shoulder, lips pressed in a grim line.

“Aye, just like her husband,” he murmurs. “Poor Hilde.”

“I have to go tell her,” Alex repeats, hoarse. “I – I told Elaine. I promised I’d take care of her.”

Bedivere nods stiffly. He and Tristan both come with Alex to the safe house, as he searches his mind desperately for what he can tell her, how to tell her that he failed, he couldn’t protect her mom. How to tell her that he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to her now, who’s going to take care of her. He promised he’d take care of her.

Mary opens the door when they arrive, “Is it over?”

“It is,” Bedivere says softly, “for now.”

“Good,” she says, stepping aside to let them in. Hilde spots them and runs over, hugging Alex’s legs and looking up at him with wide eyes. Alex kneels, puts himself on her level, brushes her loose hair out of her face. She reminds him so much of Lillie.

“Where’s Mama?” she asks, like he knew she was going to. “You promised! You promised you and her were gonna come pick me up together!”

Alex swallows a fresh round of tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Hilde. She’s – she’s gone.”

She looks between all of them, big brown eyes welling with tears and starting to mouth a question – gone where? What do you mean? She’s only six, does she truly understand? She shouldn’t have to, not this young.

“Like my dad,” she realises finally, voice tiny and scared. Alex manages a nod. She bursts into sobs and launches forward to hug him. Alex winces at the sudden pressure on his wounds, but holds her close regardless, his own tears falling again. This isn’t fair.

They stay like this, kneeling and mourning together, until he’s getting dizzy and Tristan forces him to go to the healer, but Hilde holds his hand the whole way.

 

 

The next several days pass in a blur. Alex is strictly forbidden by the healers to do much heavy lifting in the recovery, so he focuses his time on comforting and caring for Hilde. She clings to him as if the second he’s out of sight, he’ll go away just like her mom did. It’s hard enough to find the chance to ask around town about what’s going to happen to her, but he gets Tristan to babysit while he does. The answer is always the same. Elaine had no family left. As for the rest of the village, those who survived are reeling from the attack, from dozens dead by the time the sun rose, from homes destroyed.

“Elaine asked you to take care of her, lad,” Bedivere tells him one night as they sit by the fire. He’s been re-strengthening the wards and it’s clear he’s exhausted by it. Hilde is curled up next to Alex, her head resting on his lap as she sleeps.

“I don’t know how to take care of a child,” Alex whispers. “I don’t know what Douxie would think if I came home with a child.”

“You’re already taking care of her,” Bedivere says. “And I don’t think she’d let go of you if you tried. She needs you. Your Douxie will understand that.”

Will he? Alex hopes so. The fight is still so fresh in his mind, and Alex is still so scared. Not to mention that he has no idea if Hilde even could come home with them. Would that really be fair? To offer stability, to offer to take her in, and then have to leave her behind? But, then, where else does she have to go in a country on the verge of falling apart – a kingdom he knows is doomed to collapse? They have to make it work. He promised.

“I’ll ask her,” he mumbles. “She should have some say. It’s a lot to take a kid away from the only home she’s ever known.”

“Elaine always wanted to travel.” Bedivere smiles sadly, leaning back as he stares at the flames. “Can’t imagine her daughter being any different. Maybe your Arcadia can offer her a better life than war-torn Camelot.”

“I hope so,” Alex whispers, resting a hand on her head, gently brushing her curls with his fingers. “I sure hope so.”

They leave on Christmas Eve. They need to bring news of the attack back to Camelot, ask for magical aid to be sent, pray it won’t be too late. Bedivere is coming with them for extra protection. He knows enough magic to keep them warm, but Alex packs lots of blankets to be safe. They can’t carry much with them, but Alex makes sure Hilde picks out her favourite toys and clothes. He feels awful, taking her away from the only home she’s ever known, right after losing her mom, but he talked to her about it. She’s been quiet, so she didn’t say much, but she clung to the edge of his tunic and nodded when he asked if she wanted to stay with him.

They’re given a couple of horses. Alex only accepts for Hilde’s sake, sitting her in front of him on the calmest horse as they set off. She’s still quiet and sad this morning, leaning against him and hugging one of her toys to her chest, a little handmade rag doll. Tristan leads their horse, glancing back every now and then to check on them. The messenger, Geoffrey, rides on the other horse. He’s a friendly enough man, another hedgewizard so he can offer some protection from the elements himself. They make small talk as they ride, but not much else.

Thankfully, the day passes peacefully. Alex feels paranoid, constantly checking over his shoulders for the fae to pop out of the bushes, to have somehow found him again, followed him. He’s still healing from the attack – hell, his stump is still not perfectly healed – so he fears what an attack would mean. None comes, but Alex doesn’t dare let down his guard.

They stop an hour or so before sunset to set up camp. Bedivere puts up wards to protect them out here in the forest and Tristan gets a fire started. They have food packed for the journey and Alex finds himself once again desperately grateful for magic because it means he and Geoffrey can put together a hearty stew over the fire using the meat and veggies they packed and preserved. Hilde helps where he’ll let her, the little tasks putting a flicker of light back in her eyes.                                   

“Chin up, lassie, you’ll love Christmastide in Camelot,” says Geoffrey as he cheerfully hacks away at the vegetables Alex dare not try to cut with one arm. “Feasts and celebrations all twelve days! The kids love it.”

“Will they still celebrate even with Arthur…?” Alex asks carefully.

Geoffrey nods. “Her majesty will want to try to keep morale high. And the church happy. They stay out of Camelot’s business usually, but there’s certainly rising pressure. Ah, but we’re not here to talk politics.”

“Besides,” says Bedivere, “the feasts were planned well in advance. Be a shame to let it all go to waste.”

“What’s Christmas like in Arcadia, Lex?” Tristan asks.

“I guess it depends who you ask,” Alex says. “Arcadia is pretty multi-cultural. But my family all gets together for dinner, cousins, grandparents, everyone. Douxie and I always decorate the house as soon as Thanksgiving’s past – uh, that’s another holiday in Arcadia. This – this will be my first Christmas without any of them.”

“At least you’ve got us,” says Tristan, nudging him with his shoulder. “But I get it. I hate spending Christmas without Iseult.”

“And I miss my brother Lucan,” agrees Bedivere. “But we’re all alive and have good company, so that counts for something.”

Geoffrey dumps the veggies in the pot they’d brought and Alex sets it over the fire to simmer. He’s used to cooking with modern electricity, and usually when he makes stew it’s in a crockpot or pressure cooker, but he’s sure it’ll turn out fine. Take a while, but maybe Bedivere can speed it up with magic. It’s only like, what? Three or four in the afternoon? They have time still.

“Alex?” Hilde says softly.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Alex says, patting the ground beside him so she can sit and curl up to his side. He’s relieved to hear her voice. She hasn’t said much since Elaine died.

“Will you tell me more about Arcadia?” she asks.

“Of course,” he says. She deserves to know more, if he’s planning to bring her there, so very far out of her comfort zone that she can’t even imagine it. “What would you like to know?”

“Are there Gumm-Gumms there?”

He winces at the question and gently brushes her hair with his fingers. “No. Arcadia is peaceful. It’s safe to walk around day and night.”

“Wow,” she murmurs, and it breaks his heart that she’s never known peace.

“Must be nice,” says Tristan, leaning back on his hands. That’s right. Tristan hasn’t either – Camelot has been at war since before even Lamorak was born. “Do you worry the war might follow you home? If you piss the fae off enough, which you seem to be good at, Lex…”

Alex sticks his tongue out at him at the teasing tone. Hilde giggles and Tristan full-on laughs.

“No, I’m not worried,” he says truthfully. “They won’t follow us home. The most we have to worry about back home is our friends and parents yelling at us for up and disappearing.”

“Thought you said your kingdom was sending aide,” Tristan says. “Wouldn’t they know where you’ve gone?”

Whoops. Alex grimaces. “Ha. Yeah. Let’s just say coming to help was a bit more spur-of-the-moment than we… suggested. My parents are going to kill me when I get home.”

“For real kill you?” Hilde gasps in horror.

“No, no,” Alex says quickly. “Just probably scold me for hours, that’s all. I’m sure Jim and Claire and Toby will get it too.”

“Not your Douxie?” says Bedivere.

“Ah – no,” Alex admits. “Maybe from my parents, but… his dad died a few years ago. So no.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” says Bedivere. “I’m sure your parents will be happy to see you regardless. Have you been able to send them any communication?”

“No, Arcadia is… too far,” he says.

“Yeesh, yeah, my old man would kill me too,” says Tristan. “

“Mama would be very sad if I went away for a long time,” murmurs Hilde. “I’m very sad she’s gone away.”

“I know, kiddo, I know,” Alex mumbles.

“Why don’t you tell us more about Christmas in Arcadia?” Bedivere prompts.

Hilde perks up a little and looks up at him again, so Alex nods. “Well, uh, I imagine our traditions are… pretty different. We do – I don’t know if you guys do gifts here. We do gifts, there’s actually – that’s a pretty big deal.”

“Presents!” Hilde says excitedly.

“Yep!” Alex says with a smile. Should he tell her about Santa? Kids love Santa. Aw, what the hell? “Actually, there’s this man named Santa Claus that brings kids like you gifts every year, as long as they’re good.”

She gasps. “Really!?”

“Uh-huh,” says Alex, grin widening. “He keeps a list all year of all the kids who are naughty or nice, and then the nice kids get presents on Christmas night. We leave out milk and cookies for him to thank him.”

“What happens to the naughty kids?” she whispers, eyes wide.

Alex chuckles. “They get coal instead.”

“Oh, I definitely would get coal, then,” says Tristan.

Alex laughs. “You’re not a kid, Trist.”

“I am! At heart!”

“Yeah, Tristan should get coal!” Hilde agrees, giggling happily. Alex’s smile softens to see her smiling and laughing again.

“Cheeky!” Tristan retorts jokingly.

“Would I get presents do you think?” Hilde asks.

“Most definitely,” says Alex, ruffling her hair. “You helped me get better. That’s definitely under the nice category.”

“Alex, you’re messing up my hair!” she complains through her giggles. “Tell me more about Christmas in Arcadia!”

“Okay, okay,” he says amusedly. “Well, we have a lot of songs. You want to learn one?”

She squeals happily. “Yes!”

“Aye, Alex, teach us some songs,” says Bedivere. He elbows Geoffrey. “He’s a good singer in a cave being tortured so he’s gotta be even better now.”

Alex shakes his head with a chuckle. Eh, what’s the harm in teaching a couple knights and a messenger a couple songs? “Jingle Bells” isn’t going to break the timeline. Probably. He wishes he had his guitar with him or something similar, but then again, with only one arm, it’d be hard to play anything decently. Instead, he focuses on teaching Hilde and the others the words and melody.

“Here, this is, like, one of the first Christmas songs I learned,” Alex offers. “Or, well, it doesn’t even mention Christmas so maybe it’s more of a winter song? I don’t know, my dad always counted it as one of the songs we weren’t allowed to sing before Thanksgiving – not the point.”

Bedivere laughs. “Don’t mind the lad, Geoffrey, he’s a rambler and we love him for it.”

Alex blushes. “Oh, hush.”

“Don’t be shy, sing us your song, Lex!” Tristan cajoles with a grin. “Bless us with your beautiful voice!”

Alex over-exaggerates rolling his eyes to make Hilde giggle, before clearing his throat and hoping he remembers the words. He always mixes up “bob-tail” and “bucktail” and to this day he’s not sure what’s right. And he can’t even fact-check it!

“Dashing through the snow on a one-horse open sleigh–” He has to try not to laugh when Hilde squeals excitedly. He’d give her a full concert if it kept her smiling like that. “O’er the fields we go laughing all the way!”

He points dramatically to Hilde to cue laughter like his uncle used to when he was a kid. Sure enough, Hilde delivers.

“Bells on bob-tail ring,” he continues, making his best guess on which is correct, “making spirits bright, what fun it is to ride and sing a sleighing song tonight! Oh, jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way! Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh, hey!”

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!” This time Tristan helpfully joins in and Hilde echoes as best she can a second behind. “Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh!”

“Haha! Oh, that’s delightful!” says Geoffrey. “Are sleigh rides associated with Christmas in Arcadia?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” says Alex. “Bells and sleighs are very Christmassy in my, uh, kingdom. It’s – well, I actually don’t know why. I guess the sleigh because winter but I’m not one hundred percent sure on the bells thing.”

Hilde tugs on his sleeve. “Sing another! Sing another!”

Alex laughs. “And what do we say, Miss Hilde?”

She thinks for a second then lights up and gives him the biggest puppy-dog eyes he’s seen since Lillie was her age. “Pleeeeaaase?”

“In that case, absolutely,” Alex says.

They spend the rest of the evening singing and sharing stories until the stew is ready. Hilde seems temporarily distracted and cheered up, and for that, Alex is relieved. He knows it’s going to be a long road for her recovery. He hopes maybe talking to Douxie, Krel, and Toby can help her some, and when they get back to Arcadia, he can get her a therapist to help her adjust. There’s a lot to plan for and a lot that he’s unsure about, but he’s going to do right by this little girl. It’s the least he can do after failing her mom. If she wants to stick with him, then he’s going to give her the best life he can possibly offer.

 

 

 

Later that night, after they’ve eaten and constructed a shelter from the snow, Alex sits with Hilde gently wrapped in his cloak, watching the snowflakes sparkly in the dying firelight. He’s been humming for her quietly, rocking her ever so slightly like he used to for Lillie when she was Hilde’s age and sought him out after a nightmare.

“Alex?” Hilde whispers.

Alex glances down at her. “Yes, kiddo?”

“What will happen to me now?” she asks quietly. “Without Mama?”

“You don’t have to worry, ardillita,” Alex murmurs. It’s a girl’s version old nickname his mom used to use for him, mostly because he loved peanut butter as a kid to the point of hiding jars under his bed. Like a squirrel, she’d say. Silly, but it stuck. “I promised your mama I’d take care of you. You’re going to be okay.”

She sniffles and nods. “What’s that mean?”

“Hm?”

“Ar-dee-yee-ta,” she says.

Alex smiles. “It means little squirrel.”

“Because I’m very good at planning?” she asks hopefully. “I can plan things a lot, like squirrels hide nuts for the winter. Oh, I’m very good at hiding things, too!”

Alex laughs and nods. “Why not? You’re also curious like a squirrel.”

“I am,” she agrees with a giggle. She sobers again, leaning up against him. “Are you going to bring me back to Arcadia?”

Isn’t that a loaded question?

“If you want to stay in Camelot, we can find a place for you,” Alex says carefully, “but if you want to come to Arcadia with me… then yes. I’ll take you. I’ll find a way.”

“Will I like it there?”

“I think so,” he murmurs. “It really is a nice place. “We can get you set up at the elementary school, I’m sure you’ll make friends. And I think you’ll like the town too. Douxie and I run a magic shop together, it belonged to his dad.”

“A magic shop?” she asks excitedly.

“Uh-huh,” says Alex. “Douxie handles most of the hands-on magic stuff, but I do a lot of magical research behind the scenes, plus I help deal with cursed tech.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, we have – we have some pretty incredible stuff back in Arcadia,” says Alex. “I’m afraid I don’t know the best way to explain it. I’ll show you when we get back to Camelot. We have some tech with us.”

“Okay,” she says with a yawn. She stretches and then climbs onto his lap, dragging his cloak with her. He carefully adjusts it so it’s nicely draped over her, then uses his arm to support her as she cuddles up to his chest.

“Sleepy?” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” she murmurs. “Will you sing me a lullaby? One of your Christmas ones?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he says softly. He thinks for a moment, then lets out a sigh. What better song? “I’ll be home for Christmas… you can count on me…”

He watches as her eyelids droop and a small smile curls at her lips, falling asleep to his soft singing and gentle rocking. He doesn’t know what the future will bring for her, but he hopes it brings happiness. He’ll make sure it brings happiness.

His eyes drift back up to the starry sky above, the slivered moon peeking through the trees. The last remnants of the snow clouds hover over the stars and leave dark spots in the sky, but he can still make out constellations.

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” he finishes the song in barely a whisper, “if only in my dreams.”

He carefully manages to drape Hilde, out like a light, over his shoulder so he can bring her back to their shelter and lay her in her makeshift bedding. Tristan, still awake, gives him a sad smile. Alex steps back outside for a moment to watch the moon again. He wonders if Douxie is too.

“Merry Christmas, Douxie,” he whispers, the air of the words puffing like smoke and drifting into the night sky. He wipes his wet eyes and steps back into the shelter to lay down. They have a long walk tomorrow.

He can’t wait to be home.

 

Notes:

I have been SO excited for this chapter! From the Christmassy stuff to the angst to the Papa Alex stuff. Also, I could only include excerpts of "I'll Be Home For Christmas" because copyright, but "Jingle Bells" is public domain babeyyyyy

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Ironic to post the Christmas chap (pt 1) on Easter but oh well!

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 27: To Mourn the Living

Douxie used to love Christmas.

Growing up, it was just him and Uncle Mort. While they never celebrated the religious aspect of it, Mort was partial to the holiday, with its festive music and decorations, and it was one of the few times he would ever talk about his childhood. The combination of the joyous mood and the precious tidbits of his family history made it special to Douxie – and all the harder to celebrate after Mort died.

Now, for the first time in three years, he’s celebrating Christmas with Uncle Mort again. In a way, at least. He’s one of the fond childhood memories now, watching from a distance as Mordred beats both Krel and Iros at some Akiridion board game. He can’t bring himself to summon the Christmas spirit of his youth. He’s been trying to keep his mind off things, helping Krel decorate the ship and distract Mordred. But now, for the first time in a decade, he’s spending Christmas without Alex. How can he celebrate when half of his heart is gone forever?

He stands and hugs his lower arms around his torso. The others don’t seem to notice as he slips out of the ship in the hopes that the chill of the wind and snow will clear his head. The red and green lights Krel set up outside the ship cast the clearing in a quiet, festive glow. He clears snow off a log and sits, resting his upper arms – the ones he’s most used to – on his legs. He’s getting used to the extra arms now, getting used to looking in the mirror to find blue skin and an otherworldly glow. What would Alex have thought of his Akiridion form? If anyone could help him make sense of the weird emotions that have come with it, it would have been Alex. Maybe Douxie is less human now than he thought. Maybe that doesn’t change anything. Maybe it does.

Alex would know.

Alex will never know.

And it isn’t fair. Hasn’t he lost enough? Is the universe not content with taking all three of his parents? Douxie still fears it isn’t done with him, that at the end of this he will be left alone and broken, that he will lose everyone. He doesn’t think he could take more loss.

There are footsteps crunching the snow behind him. He glances up. Lancelot raises a hand. “Good evening, lad. Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest,” Douxie says, wiping off more snow to make room. Lancelot smiles and sits with a quiet sigh. The temperature-regulated Akiridion suit he wears still looks out of place on him, but Douxie supposes it’s unreasonable to expect Lancelot to wear armour all the time and he clearly didn’t pack a thing when he came to find them.

“You would think it would start getting easier soon, huh?” Lancelot murmurs.

“I don’t think it will ever get easier.” Douxie hugs himself tighter. “A month. Tomorrow marks a month since he died and I – I can’t…”

“Trust me, I understand,” Lancelot says, voice raw. Yes, he would understand. He lost Guinevere once and now he has lost Arthur. Douxie wants to ask – how did he survive the loss the first time? How will he survive it now? But he doesn’t.

“We fought,” he admits instead. “Before he died. We – I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have said. I can’t – I – my last words to him were telling him to fuck off. We never made up before he died. I don’t…”

Lancelot seems to hesitate, then opens his arm to offer a side hug. Douxie leans into him, tears welling to the surface. He shouldn’t let himself get attached. Lancelot is going to die too. He doesn’t know when and he doesn’t know how, but – he suspects it’s soon. At the very least, he will be dead when Douxie gets home. How cruel. Douxie has the chance to get to know his grandfather, only to potentially have to watch him die and to definitely be forced to say goodbye forever. More and more and more loss.

“Nothing I can say will make you feel better,” Lancelot says after a moment. “But I do know it will get easier with time. I still miss Guinevere every day, even after two years. That ache of loss will never leave me, but it has gotten easier to bear. Arthur – Arthur’s loss will too. And so will Alexander’s, for you.”

Douxie wipes his eyes with a hand. “I’m sick of mourning. I’m sick of losing people.”

“Yes,” agrees Lancelot softly, “me too.”

“I miss my dad,” Douxie whispers. Lancelot holds him closer and Douxie sucks in a shaky breath. It’s not the same, not in any way. A part of him is happy to see Uncle Mort in any form, but Mordred doesn’t know him and gods, it hurts to even be near him sometimes. When he gets home, Mort will be gone again and it will feel like mourning all over again, except now he’s mourning grandparents he had never gotten to meet and – and Alex. His beautiful Alex. Despite all his visions and future-sight, his future has become cloudy and unclear because he never imagined a future without Alex in it.

“It’s starting to snow more,” Lancelot finally murmurs. “We should head back inside. Make some of that nogged egg you showed me earlier. It was delicious.”

Douxie cracks a tiny smile. “Eggnog. And yeah, we can do that.”

Lancelot helps him up and rests a hand on his back, leading him back to the ship. Douxie leans his head back to watch the stars above in the clear night sky. He hopes wherever Alex is, whatever was waiting for him after, he’s happy.

 

 

Christmas Day dawns bright and early. Douxie has always been a morning person, but on Christmas, Krel is too, so they’re both up early setting up. Krel is hooking up the system to play Christmas music on his phone – apparently, he has some downloaded because Douxie has no idea how else he’d have access to it – and Douxie has finally figured out how to make cinnamon rolls with the synthesiser so he’s getting those ready. He wishes he knew the recipe for Dale’s Christmas casserole, but he settles for bacon and eggs and other breakfast staples. It’s really a wonder they haven’t broken the timeline yet. Also, Douxie feels like all the teasing about not knowing Mort was Mordred was incredibly unfair because somehow Mort never figured out this whole time travel thing.

The others trickle in slowly. Iros and Lancelot set up a table near one of the ship’s many windows. Mordred and Enaid entertain themselves by dancing to the music together, which is kind of adorable and a stark reminder of how young Mordred is. Krel has a holographic tree set up near the table, complete with some of the embarrassing ornaments Douxie made in school as a little kid. If it didn’t clearly delight Mordred, Douxie would strangle his brother.

“Looks like it snowed quite a bit last night!” says Lancelot as they sit down together. The fresh blanket of snow outside is about as festive as it can get. Douxie always loves the snow around this time of year – not as much as Alex did, but still.

“We should go out in it after breakfast!” Krel says cheerily. He's got a Santa hat perched on his head and Douxie has no clue where he got it. “Snowball fights, snowmen, all that fun stuff. We didn't have snow on Akiridion-5.”

“Snowball FIGHT! Snowball FIGHT!” Mordred chants.

Lancelot stifles a laugh. “Eat your breakfast first, lad.”

“What does Arcadia do for Christmas?” Mordred asks, shoving half a cinnamon roll in his mouth at once. “Besides all this, this is fantastic.”

“We usually spent it with Alex’s family,” says Krel. His face falls but he quickly plasters the smile back. Douxie does the same, burying the familiar pang deep in his chest. “It was just me and Douxie and – our adopted dad – so the three of us spent Christmas with them. Otherwise, Douxie would pout about his boyfriend, later fiancé, being away from him.”

“Visiting Alex’s grandparents always meant a white Christmas though,” says Douxie.

“Is that significant in Arcadia?” Lancelot asks curiously.

Douxie shrugs. “I dunno, it’s like – a thing. Everyone – okay, rephrase: every kid always wants a white Christmas. Given how much U- Dad would whine when it did snow in Arcadia, I don’t think adults shared the sentiment.”

“Kids don’t have to drive in it,” Krel says. “I remember the first time we saw snow. I thought it was the end of the world. The rain had frozen over! We got to Earth in the summer so…”

Mordred laughs. “Yeah, Iros did the opposite, she got here in winter so when she saw liquid rain she was alarmed.”

“Not that alarmed,” she refutes. “Mildly alarmed, but Earth has more extreme climates than many life-hosting planets I’ve researched.”

“And it just gets worse,” Douxie mumbles. 

“Does Arcadia do feasts for the Twelve Days of Christmas as well?” Mordred asks curiously.

“Ah, no,” says Douxie. “I’m not even sure if those come before or after Christmas.”

“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,” Krel sings cheerily, then makes a face. “Can we change it to, like, best friend?”

“Is Toby giving you partridges in pear trees?”

“I don’t know what a partridge even is.”

“They come after,” Lancelot says, amused.

“Dad always threw big celebrations for any holiday he could get away with,” says Mordred, which explains where he gets it from. “But even Grandfather Uther held feasts for Christmas!”

“Shocking, considering I think that man hated everything,” grumbles Lancelot.

“Do they have winter holidays on Akiridion-5?” asks Enaid curiously from where she’s been sitting on Mordred’s shoulder getting not-so-sneakily fed little bits of Mordred’s breakfast.

“We don’t exactly have seasons on Akiridion-5 as you do on Earth,” says Iros. “We do have festivals for the end of the kelton – that is, the year. I don’t know if things are done differently on the Akraohm side…”

“No, we had end of kelton festivals too,” says Krel. “And the – hm, religiously, the closest we had to Christmas was Creation Day. When Akiridion-5 was allegedly made.”

Iros nods. “Yes, I suppose that might be the closest analogue. We don’t really have any information on the date of Gaylen’s forming. Did you know, Mordred, that it’s rumoured the great Gaylen came from this planet?”

Mordred’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? That’s crazy. You guys are so different from us.”

Krel laughs. “Not as different as you think. Sure, we aren’t biological, but other than that we’re quite similar.”

“Even Akiridions,” says Douxie, cheekily grabbing another cinnamon roll, “enjoy dessert for breakfast!”

Krel shoves him. “Cinnamon rolls are a breakfast food, not a dessert.”

“It’s got pure sugar as icing!”

“Or cream cheese!”

“More sugar than cream cheese in that, mate.”

“It’s not dessert. It’s breakfast.”

“It can be both! Dessert for breakfast!”

“Boys, boys, settle down,” Lancelot says, clearly amused. “Ah, I remember stupid arguments like that with my cousin. Good to see you perking up.”

Douxie rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, well. Christmas cheer!”

“Let’s finish breakfast so we can go out in the snow!” says Mordred. “We can have a snowball war.”

Douxie and Krel exchange looks. Douxie raises an eyebrow. Krel suggested it. Krel just grins sheepishly. Oh, well. Maybe Douxie can get on Mordred’s team, and then it’ll just be the others that have to worry.

 

 

After breakfast, they all change from pyjamas into the temperature-regulated Akiridion suits. Despite this, Lancelot still forces a cloak onto a whining Mordred. Protective dad instincts and all that, Douxie supposes. Krel has the music rigged to play outside the ship, which is even less inconspicuous than the lights, but they at least have wards and it is the middle of the day.

It’s good to see Mordred being cheerful again. Douxie has been getting worried about him, about the sadness and anger, the way he draws in on himself – the darkness in his magic, but that’s a conversation for another time. He understands – how could he not, when he lost his dad too? – but it still worries him. But right now he’s back to his happy, excited self, bouncing in the snow and chanting about snowball fights.

“Teams!” Krel declares. “And forts! It’s the best way to have a snowball fight, anyway.”

“I can be a referee,” Iros offers innocently.

Lancelot points at her. “I don’t get out of this, you don’t get out of this. Kids versus adults!”

“Krel and I aren’t kids!” Douxie protests.

“Eh, close enough,” teases Lancelot.

“Come on, we can kick their butts!” Mordred exclaims. Aw, that’s adorable. Even teenage Mort won’t say ass. That’s hilarious. He laughs and lets Mordred tug him by an arm away from Lancelot and Iros.

“Fifteen mekrons to build your fort!” Krel calls. Douxie just knows he’s using the Akiridion term just to mess with Lancelot.

“Okay, okay, okay,” says Mordred. “We need tall walls! Lots of snow! I used to build snow forts with Anna when we were little. You have to pack the snow really well.”

“Magic helps,” Douxie says cheekily, already moving snow into place. In his defence, Lancelot is doing the same thing. Douxie and Krel have built snow forts too – they didn’t get much if any snow in Arcadia, but between visiting Alex’s family in Northern California and taking trips into the mountains with Mort, they had plenty of chances.

“You work on the fort,” says Krel, “I’m building a snow gun.”

“Sorry, a what?” Douxie says.

“A snow gun!”

“A snow gun?” Douxie repeats. “How?”

“Sheer fucking determination,” Krel chirps.

Building the snow fort with Mordred is bittersweet. It’s easy to work with him because it’s Mort and Douxie knows how Mort builds a snow fort, knows the way his magic favours the snow and ice, knows his laugh even if the pitch is somewhat higher and the voice is younger. Despite the way it makes his heart and core both ache for his father, long gone in the future, Douxie finds himself laughing and enjoying himself too. It’s nice to just have fun. He hasn’t let himself be happy since Alex died, but… Alex wouldn’t want that.

“TIME!” Krel yells as his phone alarm goes off. “May the best team win! The best team being us!”

And by some miracle of “sheer fucking determination”, Krel has indeed built a working snow gun. Douxie has no idea and he is not going to ask – although by the faintest glow around the snowball-bullets, he suspects it’s not actually a working snow gun but an instrument to use his Gaylen powers with. Oh, well. Douxie isn’t going to spare it further thought, instead ducking down to gather his own snowballs and popping up to pelt them at Lancelot and Iros’s fort.

Mordred peeks over their fort and waves. “You can surrender if you want!”

“A knight of Camelot never surrenders!” Lancelot calls back.

Mordred shrugs. “Then you’ve doomed yourselves!”

Krel is letting loose with the snow gun with a manic grin that would make Vex proud. Enaid, perched on the wall, squawks and hisses every time she’s almost hit.

“You can come down here, you know,” Mordred tells her.

“I am a bird, Mordred,” she says primly. “I should be allowed to perch on any wall that I wish to.”

Mordred laughs. “Then don’t cry to me when Papa hits you with a snowball!”

“He tries it and I will destroy his favourite tunic,” she retorts.

Douxie pops up again to throw more snowballs. He even manages to knock over the silly little watchtower one of them – probably Lancelot by his noise of dismay – constructed on their fort. Unfortunately, he lets himself get distracted by the little victory. One of the enemy snowballs nails him in the face and he falls backwards. Mordred cackles delightedly.

“Douxie!” he wails through laughter.

“Oh, they got me! They got me!” Douxie cries. “Avenge me, Mordred! Avenge meeee!”

“Get your ass off the ground, drama queen!” Krel snaps with a grin. He peers through the window he’s set up for his snow gun. “Their fort has taken damage! I need more ammo!”

Douxie throws a snowball at him just for the fun of it. Krel whirls on him with a betrayed look and he smiles innocently.

“My own brother!” Krel laments. “On Christmas Day!”

“Infighting will only weaken us,” Mordred says, nodding far more grimly than the situation warrants. “Papa is the best knight in Camelot and Iros is surely trained in combat and strategy. It will take us all working together to defeat them.”

“Ah, but Lancelot and Iros don’t have a gun!” Krel exclaims.

“Ah, but Lancelot and Iros are sane,” mumbles Douxie jokingly.

“Maybe you should have been on the adults' team if you wanted to be boring,” says Mordred, helping Krel reload his snow gun. Douxie isn’t being boring. Douxie isn’t boring. For some reason Mordred calling him boring feels very insulting.

“You’re gonna grow up one day too,” he grumbles. “You’re going to be very boring, And embarrassing!”

Krel doesn’t bother trying to hide his laughter. Mordred throws a snowball at him. “I am not!”

One of Iros or Lancelot’s snowballs hits the top of their fort and knocks some snow off of it. All three of them make identical noises of alarm.

“Structural damage!” Krel exclaims. “Douxie, patch that up! Mordred, help me counter-attack!”

Mordred nods eagerly and Douxie laughs and begins patching up their fort. He can’t help but add decorative flourishes to mess with the others. If they get a silly little watchtower he can add gargoyles or something. Actually, not gargoyles, that’s too much work and they’d be targeted and destroyed immediately.

A brief peek over the wall of snow reveals Iros and Lancelot bickering behind their fort held together with ocean-blue magic reparations and a prayer. Douxie’s definitely smug about he and Krel and Mordred’s superior fort construction, and his cheeks sting in the cold and ache from smiling when he hasn’t in so long. Krel is happily showing Mordred how to man the gun, chattering about getting him a serrator and teaching him to use that too. Honestly, that’s a scary thought. There’s a dissonance in it too, because Mort with a space gun isn’t too bad but Mordred with a space gun is going to get someone killed. Possibly himself.

Douxie returns to pelting the other fort with snowballs. He feels like a kid again. It’s easy to almost forget that they’re centuries in the past in the middle of a war. He hopes the others are enjoying Christmas in Camelot, too. Douxie has missed this feeling; it really is nice to just let himself have fun again. It’s what Alex would have wanted.

Douxie would have done anything for Alex. Maybe he can at least try to be happy again for him.

 

 

They won. Obviously. Lancelot and Iros accepted defeat graciously and they move on to building snowmen instead. Iros is clearly fascinated by the idea of sculpting the snow to look by people, and then somewhat disappointed when she discovers how little they look like humans. She does however bring up images of some species in the galaxy that kind of look like the snowmen they built.

Eventually, even despite the Akiridion suits, they get cold enough to head back inside. Mordred has a genuine, unblemished smile for the first time in a while. Douxie can feel that he does too. He lets himself breathe for the first time since Alex died. The rest of the day feels almost – almost – like Christmas back home, the warmth of family and laughter, familiar smells and tastes as Krel tinkers with the synthesiser to make dinner for them, and Douxie can close his eyes for a second and let himself sink into memories.

He takes a moment to pull out his phone and text the group chat with all of them that Krel set up, just to see if the others have a second for a quick call. He wouldn’t feel right not talking to his friends at all on Christmas. A few minutes later he gets an affirmative from Toby, so he waves Krel over.

“Gonna call the others,” he says.

“Oh, lively!” Krel exclaims, plopping down beside him and draping an arm over his shoulder. “I texted Toby and Steve this morning but I haven’t talked to Jim and Claire. Jlaire, that’s what Mary calls them still.”

“I will never understand how you are friends with Mary.”

Krel just leans over and hits Toby’s picture then the call button. Douxie was gonna do that – once he knew they were in a spot he could, not right away. Luckily they must be, because Toby answers.

“Douxie, Krel!” he exclaims cheerfully. “Chag sameach! Did you know Hanukkah is going on at the same time as Christmas this year?”

“Oh, happy Hanukkah, Toby!” Douxie says with a smile. “Are the others there?”

“We’re here!” Claire chirps. “Merry Christmas, guys! Doing okay?”

“We had a snowball war,” Krel says. “I made a snow gun and we won very easily after that.”

“Of course you did,” says Steve fondly. “We’ve been doing a lot of prep here for – what are they calling it? Christmastide.”

“Feels like a waste of time,” Jim admits. “We can’t just pretend the war isn’t going on because it’s Christmas.”

Douxie nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand lands on his shoulder. “Ah, Sir Jim, raising morale is never a waste of time.”

“Sir Lancelot!” Jim and Toby exclaim in unison.

“Hello, lads!” Lancelot says with a smile. “How are you, how’s Camelot and Anna?”

“As good as we can be,” says Jim. “Anna is doing her best, given the circumstances, and she at least seems to believe that we’re not evil. It helps she can hear us being truthful.”

“Look, also, Krel told us about Mordred’s plan,” Steve adds. “If he’s dead-set on it, at least convince him to wait longer. Anna is still… really upset. Seeing Mordred right now isn’t going to help that.”

Lancelot nods grimly, then seems to realise that since he can’t see them there’s a good chance they can’t see him either. “Aye, I will stall him. I like to think my daughter wouldn’t act rashly, but…”

“She’s not gonna want to see you either, man,” Steve says, softer and gentler but still more blunt than Douxie would have been. “You kind of ditched her when she needed you most.”

Douxie winces. Lancelot’s face falls.

“Ah. I… yes, I suppose you’re correct.” He pauses to clear his throat. “Well, lads, Lady Claire, it was nice to speak with you through this… box. Have a wonderful rest of your holiday and stay safe. Make sure we see each other again, yes?”

“You got it, Sir Lance,” says Toby.

Lancelot manages a tight smile, starts to wave then stops halfway through, then heads back over to wear Mordred and Enaid are dancing to Christmas music again. Krel lets out a sigh.

“This is why I’m never going to be a parent,” he grumbles.

Douxie wonders if all parents are fated for some kind of impossible choice that ends up hurting their children. Mort chose to die, didn’t he? To save them, but it still hurts to this day. He doesn’t think he’ll ever know now. He can’t imagine raising a family without Alex.

“Well, on that lovely note, the rest of us probably need to get back to helping prep for the first feast tonight,” says Steve awkwardly. “And I thought Mom’s family was extra on Christmas. It’s nuts here.”

“Ikram and I are starting a club,” says Toby. “I think Lamorak might join too. We’re gonna hide from all the crazies. Oh, but I did find the local synagogue. Not that I spent much time at the synagogue at home, but it’s really cool to see the history, y’know?”

“Yeah,” says Krel, briefly glancing at Iros and smiling, “I think I do, a bit.”

“Stay safe,” Douxie says. “Please stay safe. The rest of us are going home. One day.”

“Right back at you,” says Claire. “Don’t do anything stupid and self-sacrificial you two.”

“No promises,” says Krel.

They say their goodbyes and hang up the phone. Douxie can’t help but feel like they barely had a conversation. He misses the others and not being there with them leaves him anxious that one day one of them won’t text back and he’ll find out the worst. He worries about Krel, too, but he can see Krel. At least he still has his brother.

 

 

Later that night finds Douxie and Krel curled up together in front of a simulated fireplace in their room. Douxie’s back in his real, human form, leaning against Krel and cradling a hot chocolate in his hands. Krel has gotten a guitar from somewhere – again, Douxie is not going to ask – and is softly strumming carols and humming along. The crackle of the fireplace isn’t real, and there’s no warmth coming from it, but Douxie closes his eyes and listens to the buzz of Krel’s core and the soft notes of the guitar and imagines, for a moment, being back home.

The first Christmas Krel spent with them ended kind of like this. Alex taught Krel a couple of these carols on guitar, and they all sat together in the living room of Alex’s grandparents’ house with the fireplace burning down to embers and the soft glow of the Christmas tree painting them all in festive golds. It’s easy to picture it, the gentle smile on Alex’s face and the Santa hat still perched on Mort’s head. They all had hot chocolate – Grandma Swift made the best hot chocolate – and a stash of candy from their stockings. Back then Krel had been mystified by the whole thing, but nonetheless delighted by every new human tradition he learned, including the new songs Alex was teaching him. He remembers curling up next to Mort on the couch and watching them strum chords and he remembers being so happy his new brother got along so well with his beloved boyfriend.

Pretty soon, he feels wetness on his cheeks. Krel doesn’t say anything, mercifully, just keeps quietly playing and letting Douxie cry.

“I miss him so much,” he whispers after a moment.

“Me too,” Krel murmurs.

Douxie turns his face to lean on Krel’s shoulder more. “I miss home.”

“It’s too familiar,” Krel admits. “Missing home.”

“I’m sorry I got us into this mess,” Douxie says, opening his eyes to watch the fake fire again. “I never should have picked up that stupid rock. I never should have even suggested investigating it.”

“It’s not your fault, Douxie,” Krel says. “I think… I think we were meant to come here. This was always going to happen.”

Maybe he’s right. He’s probably right. But Douxie doesn’t feel comforted by this idea, by the idea he was always meant to lose his Alex. The idea that Alex was doomed to die young. It just feels cruel. He swallows more tears and decides to change the subject.

“Heh, you know,” he says, “Mort told me a few times that I’m named after an old friend of his from childhood.”

Krel barks out a laugh despite himself, guitar stopping in his surprise. “You’re named after yourself! Okay, that is very funny.”

“I know! And he made fun of me for not knowing he was Mordred,” Douxie says with his own laugh. His smile falls again. “I miss him. Uncle Mort.”

“Yeah,” Krel says softly, finding his place on the guitar strings again. “It’s not the same.”

“I still can’t believe it’s been three years,” Douxie admits. “Sometimes I still get out my phone to text him or call him – for advice or just to chat. Like he’s just out of town, for now. Like he’ll be back.”

“It’s easy to forget on New Akiridion,” Krel says. “I keep thinking, oh, I’ll go visit Douxie and Uncle Mort on Earth. But…”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” Douxie mumbles. “Not having him around. Alex either. I didn’t realise…”

“Sometimes I forget Mama and Papa are gone, too,” Krel murmurs. “It’s been, what, eight years? Loss is… weird.”

“Yeah,” Douxie agrees.

Krel yawns and stretches two of his arms. He sets the guitar aside, running his fingers down the strings with a sad smile. Douxie sits up, though reluctant, rubbing his eyes. Krel takes a moment to press their foreheads together.

“It’s getting late,” he says. “I should head to bed. You should too.”

“Yeah, I guess,” says Douxie.

Krel helps him up. They leave the simulated fire on, though muted, the gentle orange light dancing on the walls and shifting the cool, sterile Akiridion room into something warm and human. At least, that’s how it feels for Douxie. They split up for their respective beds. Douxie sighs softly as he relaxes into the mattress, the old ache in his left leg easing in the warmth of his blankets.

“Goodnight, little brother,” he murmurs. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, Douxie,” Krel says softly.

Douxie pulls out his phone, turning down the brightness so he doesn’t disturb Krel. His background is still a picture of himself and Alex, happy and alive. Douxie traces his smile with a finger, the way it dimples his right cheek, the way it curls his eyes and rounds his cheeks. He re-memorises every detail because he’ll never see them in person again.

Tomorrow will be a new day, and the next, and the next, and somehow he will trudge through them like he did after losing Mort, like he must after losing Alex. He hopes Alex knew how much Douxie will always love him. He hopes one day the pain will dull. He knows he will never forget.

“Merry Christmas, Alex,” he whispers, before turning off his phone and turning over, burrowing into his pillow and blankets and letting himself drift off to peaceful sleep.

 

Notes:

So it's been a while and I am SO SO sorry. Unfortunately life happened and I had a bit of a depressive episode I guess? Anyway, wasn't able to write for a while. BUT I'M BACK BABY

You may have noticed the chapter count went up! This is because I had to do some restructuring upon thinking about some things so it ended up needing more chapters. So, uh, fun times!!

To everyone still reading this and sticking with me despite my delays and stuff, you're amazing and I love you more than words can say. I hope I can make the rest of this fic something worth your continued reading. Thank you!!!

<333

Chapter 28: Knight of the Living Dead

Jim sits with his legs dangling off the side of the castle. He found this spot ages ago, far away from prying eyes and anyone who might bother him. The Christmas moon is a sliver in the sky, surrounded by so many stars that it looks like someone spilt a bottle of glitter across the night sky. In his entire life, he has never spent Christmas without his mom. It feels weird. He’s never actually been away from her quite this long. He visited in college and besides which he texted her when he could, but now they’re separated by centuries and hundreds of miles.

The city below him is lit only by candles and fireplaces through windows, but even those are sparse this late at night. In troll form, Jim can see Camelot perfectly by the light of stars. It’s peaceful and quiet. Rarely are modern cities so quiet. He takes a deep breath and the spices of the earlier feast still linger in the cold air. If he’s going to miss anything about this time, it will be moments of silence like this.

A shadow opens beside him and Claire steps out, balancing on her toes as she walks over to him and carefully sits down. He offers her a small smile and pulls her to his side.

“Hanging in there?” she murmurs.

“Probably just as much as you are.” He kisses her hair and sighs. “I feel like we’ve barely had any time together lately.”

“We’ve been busy,” she says. “You’ve been busy.”

“Yeah. But I miss this.”

“Me too.”

They sit together quietly for a moment. Jim tilts his head to look at her, the gentle curve of her smile and the curls in her loose hair. He reaches up to gently undo her ponytail and thread his fingers through the strands. He’s jealous – her hair is so naturally soft, even in the Middle Ages. Then again, he also benefits from her soft hair, able to comb it with his fingers and twist it into a loose braid. He drapes it over her shoulder and returns his hand to her waist.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So are you.”

She giggles. “You’re a dork, Jim.”

“Hey, you like that I’m a dork,” he teases. He clears his throat and gestures vaguely out at the night and back to her. “Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.”

“Using Shakespeare against me!” she exclaims. “You are a dork!”

He laughs heartily. “And you love me for it.”

“That I do,” she agrees, tilting his head towards her and leaning up to steal a kiss. Jim smiles against her lips, purr rumbling in his chest. He’s long since stopped being embarrassed by that – though the first time he did it he knows he probably would have turned into a tomato if he’d been in human form. Claire and Toby both find it horribly endearing, so he can live with it. At least he doesn’t have a tail like AAARRRGGHH!!! does. He doesn’t think he could live down wagging a tail when he’s happy.

Claire breaks away and rests her head on his chest. Jim keeps one hand around her waist and reaches the other over to interlock with her fingers.

“Maybe we should move to the countryside,” she says. “Where do you think we could find a sky like this?”

“Alaska,” Jim says wryly. “Definitely not anywhere near Arcadia. LA is too close.”

“Yeah, guess so,” she sighs. “I should get my mom to lobby for some sort of dark skies project.”

“Again, LA,” Jim points out. “Maybe we should move to Alaska.”

“You have been whining about the cold since we got here!”

“Excuse me, who’s been whining? I think you’ve been whining more!”

She laughs, but her smile turns melancholy. “I think I’m going to miss it here. Just a little bit.”

“Yeah?” he says.

“Outside Merlin, people have been really nice,” she says. “And it really is beautiful.”

“I prefer the internet and indoor plumbing, but you do you,” he jokes. She shoots him a mock scolding look and he chuckles. “Yeah, okay. I’ll probably miss it too. Just a little bit.”

Claire squeezes his hand. “We should head in before Toby gets worried.”

“Yeah, probably,” Jim agrees reluctantly. He leans down and kisses her again, gentle and lingering. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she murmurs with a smile. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s go get some rest.”

She opens a portal for them and steps through, waiting just within for him to follow. Jim takes one last look over the peaceful kingdom before following her into the shadows to get a good night’s sleep.

 

 

The next morning is just as busy and buzzing as the previous was. Jim does not have a big family. Growing up, after his dad left, it was just him and his mom and his grandparents for Christmas. Occasionally, Toby and Nana Domzalski would join them for dinner, even though they don’t celebrate the holiday, but that wasn’t always. Eventually, they merged celebrations with Claire’s bigger family, but compared to Camelot’s Christmas celebration that feels like an intimate gathering. Camelot, despite the loss of its king, is having a party.

And, as it’s turning out, it’s

 not just Christmas Day! Camelot celebrates all twelve days of Christmas, apparently, and the day after Christmas is turning out just as festive, with another feast planned for tonight. While the castle is open to the public for the feasts, there’s still tons of leftovers from yesterday that today need to be distributed among the citizens. Magic keeps even the meat fresh. Jim is more than happy to volunteer to pass out the food around town, so he ends up paired off with Lamorak while Toby and Claire are off in the other direction doing the same.

“Enjoying your first Christmastide in Camelot, lad?” Lamorak asks as they walk.

“It’s certainly something,” Jim says. “Nothing like home, that’s for sure, but it’s really nice to see everyone’s spirits lifted. Guess Lancelot had a point – I mean–"

Lamorak raises an eyebrow at his blunder. “I won’t ask, for my own sake, but do be careful where you say that name right now.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jim says with a wince. “But it’s good to raise morale is my point.”

“Aye, it was a good call on Anna’s part to hold the celebrations despite the war,” agrees Lamorak. “I know Merlin was against it, but quite frankly he can go suck a dick.”

Jim chokes on a laugh. “Oh my god. Okay, yeah. Never change, Lamorak, never change.”

Lamorak shoots him a mischievous grin and winks. It’s nice to have allies that also hate Merlin’s guts. Actually, it’s really just nice to have allies. Jim would have gone crazy if they didn’t, if it was them against the whole of Camelot. Not that they have many allies, but Lamorak and Tristan are both trusted knights and that will have some pull if things go sideways.

They stop at another house and offer packages of leftovers to the family there. The matriarch leans up to pat each of their cheeks.

“Such kind boys!” she says. “I hope you’re being careful, Sir Knights.”

“We always are, madame,” says Lamorak fondly. “Thank you for checking on us.”

“You best retire sometime soon, Sir Lamorak,” she teases. “You’ve been at this since I was young and spry.”

“A knight’s duty never ends, my dear,” he laughs. “Do come to the castle for the feasts tonight! I’m sure it will be as wonderful as the last.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she says, patting each of their cheeks again. “Now you go about your business! Keep warm, laddies!”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jim says politely as they leave. He rubs his cheek. “What is it with old women and cheeks?”

Lamorak grins and ruffles his hair. “Careful, there, lad, you’ll make a grandmother very mad.”

“So, are there really going to be feasts every day?” Jim asks.

“Probably,” says Lamorak. “It’s traditional, anyway, and thanks to magic it saves a lot of people a lot of work in the end. These leftovers will keep for weeks.”

“Man, magic makes everything so much better,” Jim mumbles. “Don’t even need a fridge. Crazy.”

Lamorak gives him a bemused look. “Not sure what that means, but yes, magic does make everything better. Less magic-welcoming kingdoms are certainly suffering more than we are when it comes to food and safe water.”

As they reach the edge of town and the end of their current pack of leftovers, Jim can see horses approaching the open gates. His hand finds the hilt of his sword despite himself. He really, really doesn’t want to deal with an attack the day after Christmas. Sure, closing the gates would probably send a weird message but Jim would rather send a weird message than put the city at risk.

“Travellers!” says Lamorak brightly. “We should go greet them. The wards will stop them if they’re dangerous.”

“If you’re sure,” says Jim. He still mentally prepares himself for a fight as they reach the gates, awaiting the travellers’ arrival. As they get closer, though, Jim narrows his eyes. “Wait... is that...?”

Sure enough, as the horses get closer, Alex Swift’s face lights up in a bright, very alive grin, and he raises a hand to wave. “Jim! Lamorak!”

“Alex!” Jim cries. As soon as the horses stop, Alex climbs off his and Jim tackles him in a hug. Alex laughs and wraps an arm around him. Jim laughs too, elated by the reappearance of his friend.

“Look who I found!” Tristan crows as Jim pulls back from the hug.

“I don’t believe it!” Lamorak exclaims. “Lex! Bedivere! You’re alive!”

“We sure are!” says a third person Jim doesn’t recognise. This must be Bedivere – he was also captured by the fae, wasn’t he? The last travellers he doesn’t know well either, one of the messengers and a little girl Jim doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

“How?” he manages to ask, searching Alex’s face for new scars.

“Bedivere’s village rescued us in the nick of time,” says Alex.  “Wouldn’t be here without them. Man, it’s good to see you again, Jim.”

Jim shakes his head, smile threatening to split his face. He keeps scanning over him, trying to make sure he’s in one piece. It’s hard to tell right now with his winter cloak draped over one shoulder and hiding the entire side. He shrugs off the futile search – Steve will scan him with magic later – and goes in for another quick hug.

“The others are going to be stoked,” he says.

“I can’t wait to see them,” Alex says, grin colouring his tone.

Lamorak puts a hand on Jim’s shoulder and motions for him to pull away so he can have his turn for a hug. Jim takes a moment to wave at the little girl who has migrated to hide behind Alex’s legs. He crouches and offers her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Hi, there,” he says. “I’m Sir Jim. What’s your name?”

“Hildegard,” she says softly, eyes round and curious. “You’re Alex’s friend. He told me about you.”

“Good things, I hope!” Jim jokes. She puts a hand up to hide her giggles. Alex gives her a fond, warm smile and Jim shoots him a questioning look.

“We should get back to the castle,” says Lamorak before Jim can ask anything about where, exactly, Hildegard came from. “Oh, and, Lex... I’m not sure how much Tristan told you...”

“I heard what happened with Douxie,” Alex says grimly. He meets Lamorak’s eyes steadily. “And I had no idea.”

Lamorak nods, catching the meaning just as Jim has. Alex knows he has a part to play. Jim’s confident he can play it. He hopes, anyway. He has no idea what to do if Anna decides not to trust Alex, if she marks him a traitor with his husband.

“Alright, good,” says Lamorak. “We will talk more in private. Jim, tell Toby and Lady Claire to meet us at the palace, will you?”

Jim’s face flushes. “Uh, how am I gonna do that? They’re on the other side of town.”

Lamorak gestures vaguely. “Your little box, the Arcadian... thingamabob. I know you use it to talk to the others.”

“Good job, Jim,” says Alex with a grin. “You should have known Lamorak of all people would catch you texting.”

“Shut up,” Jim mutters, but does pull out his phone to text Toby and Claire as they start walking back towards the palace. They pass by a few other groups of knights that all do double-takes at the sight of Alex and Bedivere. Bedivere waves jovially to them, stopping a couple of times for hugs or handshakes. Alex is shyer, but a few of the other knights hug him too and he looks flattered by the warm welcome.

They have to bring Alex straight to Anna. Jim doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to put Alex in that situation, but if they don’t it will look suspicious. At best, she will want to welcome both Alex and Bedivere back to Camelot. At worst...

Well, Jim doesn’t want to think about that.

Anna is with Lot and Gaheris in the throne room when they arrive, happily helping to package leftovers to be delivered. She looks over with a smile as they enter, but her face falls in shock and she immediately strides over to them, cupping a hand around Bedivere’s cheek, then one on Alex’s as well. Lot’s jaw has fully dropped and Gaheris giggles obliviously, making grabbing hands at the new faces entering the room.

“Sir Bedivere? Sir Alexander?” she whispers. “Good knights, is it truly you?”

“’Tis us, my lady,” says Sir Bedivere with a smile. He backs up to bow low and Alex does the same. Jim hopes that gets him some brownie points. He’s not sure – Arthur never cared about formalities and he’s not sure Anna does either.

“Sir Bedivere’s village rescued them!” Tristan says brightly. “I was as shocked and delighted as you are to see them alive and well when I arrived.”

“Tristan told me what happened,” Alex says, smile falling into a troubled frown. He is a good actor; he’s such a STEM guy that Jim forgets he did theatre. “I can’t believe Douxie – I mean, I never even imagined, he seemed to love it here...”

“I’m going to be honest with you, your majesty,” says Bedivere, watching the conflict on her face with narrow eyes. “This man withstood a week of torture from the fae. He nearly gave his life for Camelot without spilling a word. I have no doubt in his loyalty to our kingdom.”

Anna sighs and nods, accepting this. She smiles again and bows to them this time. “It’s good to have you back, Sir Knights. I am sorry about your husband, Alexander.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Alex says softly. “I wish I had known to warn you.”

She shakes her head. “None of us wish to believe evil things of the ones we love. But let us speak of happier things. Who is this little one?”

Alex smiles and beckons the little girl forward. “This is Hildegard Duguid. Her mother... her mother passed in a recent Gumm-Gumm raid. I promised to take care of her.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, as do Lamorak’s. Anna kneels and offers Hildegard a wave. “Welcome to Camelot, Hildegard. I’m sorry about your mother.”

“She was very brave,” Hildegard whispers.

“I’m sure she was,” Anna agrees.

The doors swing open and Toby and Claire rush in, followed by Steve who they must have grabbed because Jim forgot to text him. Whoops. They’re clearly in a hurry, which is probably also Jim’s fault because he didn’t give them any information and he’s prone to getting into… trouble.

“Jimbo, you wanted us to... meet... you...” Toby trails off as his jaw drops and he stares at Alex. Steve covers his mouth in shock.

“Alex!” Claire exclaims, leaping forward to hug him. Alex laughs as Toby and Steve join the hugs seconds later, nearly knocking him to the ground.

“How?” Toby chokes out as they pull away. “The fae confirmed you were dead, they can’t lie.”

“But they can be lied to,” says Bedivere. “Uh, hi there, Sir Bedivere, nice to meet you. Anyway, if a fae is sure something is true, they can spread mistruths just as easily as humans can.”

Claire grabs Alex by his shirt and starts rapidly berating him in Spanish, too fast for Jim to catch everything even if his Spanish has gotten way better over the years. He’s pretty sure it’s something about being reckless and stupid and never scaring her like that again.

“¡Ay, Claire, suenas como mi mamá!” Alex complains, but he’s grinning so Jim’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind.

“Maybe then you’ll actually listen to me!” Claire exclaims.

“Oh my god, your arm,” Steve blurts, drawing all of their attention to where Alex’s cloak has been pushed back to reveal his right side. Claire gasps and covers her mouth. Jim swallows. Where his right arm should be, there’s nothing below the shoulder. His tunic sleeve looks to have been cut and tied off to protect what’s left from the elements.

“Ah, yeah,” Alex says awkwardly. “Some kind of poison. Started turning me to stone.”

“Creeper’s Sun,” Toby says grimly. “There’s an antidote but it’s near impossible to make.”

“That’s it, we’re going to our rooms and I’m scanning you for everything,” decides Steve, grabbing Alex’s remaining arm and starting to drag him off.

Jim shrugs to Anna and Lot. “Guess we’ll see you later.”

“Go catch up with your friend,” Anna says with a smile.

“Good to see you, Alex!” Lot calls.

Alex shrugs like he wanted to wave with an arm that no longer exists. “Good to see you too, Lot!”

The group of them follow Steve back to Jim and Claire’s room, the biggest. Jim is wary when he sees Bedivere following, but Tristan nudges him and mumbles something about him being trustworthy so Jim will trust that. For now.

They settle in and Lamorak throws up privacy wards. Steve forces Alex to sit on the bed, then disappears to his own room to grab supplies. He’s back a second later with a full bag and he has one of those fancy sheets of healer’s paper pulled out before the door even closes behind him.

“Finger,” he says. Alex obliges.

“We should get you caught up,” says Toby, plopping onto the floor and leaning against the wall. “Even you’ve missed a lot, Trist.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Dinadan?” says Tristan. The room falls still. Lamorak doesn’t turn around but Jim can see the tension in his shoulders. Jim and Toby exchange solemn looks. Alex’s face falls into a frown.

“I’m sorry, Tristan,” murmurs Lamorak. “Dinadan is gone.”

“What?” Tristan breathes out in horror. “No - no, how?”

“It was an ambush on patrol,” Jim says, voice choking up. He forces himself to go on. “I’m sorry. I was so focused on fighting Gunmar that I didn’t protect him. I should have protected him.”

Tristan lets out a soft, broken noise and sinks down on the bed next to Alex. Alex pulls him into a side hug, face blank and horrified, before he takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. Jim looks away. What a wonderful welcome back for Alex, huh? His husband is missing and one of his friends is dead.

“I should have been here,” he hears Tristan gasp out. “I should have – I should have been here.”

“Nothing you could have done,” Toby says softly. “Nothing Jim could have done either. It was a shitty situation.”

“Wasn’t going to blame Jim,” says Tristan, wiping his eyes. Alex wipes his own. Little Hildegard hugs his side and he manages a small smile to her.

“Catch us up on the rest,” says Bedivere grimly. “Tristan says you suspect Merlin of killing the king?”

Lamorak nods. “I know you don’t like him, either, old friend.”

“Wouldn’t trust that man for a heartbeat,” says Bedivere. That’s good. They need more anti-Merlin knights. “But I never expected he’d go this far. Poor Mordred...”

Krel’s going to kill him for this, but it isn’t like Lamorak hasn’t already figured out the texting thing so it can’t hurt that bad, right?

“They’re safe,” he confirms. “I saw Krel like a week ago. Uh, he, uh, snuck in. We’ve been keeping in touch. Lancelot is with them.”

“That Krel is a gutsy son of a bitch,” Lamorak says admiringly. “I’m glad to hear they’re all okay.”

Alex also looks visibly relieved. “I’ve been worried about Douxie. Glad to hear he’s safe.”

“Mordred thinks he can convince Anna if he can just talk to her,” says Jim. “Last we talked we did try to tell Lancelot to give it some more time. Figured out chances of making things happen are better with all of us in the know, though.”

“Treason, sounds fun,” says Bedivere, stretching his arms above his head. “I always liked Mordred. Kid’s a bit wild but he has a good head on his shoulders. I’m happy to help him out.”

“Our biggest issue with all of this is Merlin himself,” says Lamorak. “The bastard has wormed his way well into Anna’s good graces. It will take a lot to convince her.”

“We’ll figure it out,” says Toby.

“We should tell Douxie that Alex is alive,” says Steve. “He’s gonna want to know.”

“This isn’t really texting news,” Claire points out.

“Besides, I just want to get to Douxie as soon as I can,” Alex adds. “I’m... hoping he isn’t still mad at me.”

“He’s going to be thrilled to see you, bud,” says Toby. “But, ah, probably better to stay here for a little bit. At least until we can make up an excuse for you to leave. We want Anna to trust you.”

“I guess you’re right,” Alex says glumly.

“Not to mention you have a kid now, Lex,” Tristan points out. “Hilde is going to be safest within the palace walls with all of us looking out for her.”

“But I wanna meet Alex’s Douxie!” Hilde exclaims.

Alex chuckles. “Soon, sweetheart! But they do have a point, you’ll be safest here.”

“I was wondering who little miss was,” says Steve, crouching to smile at Hilde. “Hey, there, Miss Hilde. I’m Steve. Uncle Steve?”

Alex blushes. “Yeah, guess so.”

“You adopted a kid?” Claire asks. “After that whole fight about not wanting kids?”

“Thanks, yes, remind me,” mutters Alex. He shakes his head. “Her mother asked me to take care of her. I owed Elaine my life. The least I can do is keep Hilde safe. Besides, I... it wasn’t kids that worried me, okay?”

“I’m sure Douxie will be happy to have her, too,” Claire says, face softening. “You two will be okay.”

“I hope so,” murmurs Alex.

“Alex is going to take me back to Arcadia,” says Hilde, still hugging Alex around the waist.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is he, now? And we’re sure that will be... possible?”

“We’ll make it possible,” says Alex firmly. “I’m all she has.”

Steve inclines his head and stands, brushing off his pants. “Well, then, we best get you settled back in. You don’t seem urgently in need of healing, I like the way all your injuries are doing right now. We’ll keep an eye on them, though.”

“I’m okay, Steve,” Alex says with a small chuckle. “A little torture isn’t going to keep me down!”

Jim claps a hand on Alex’s shoulder, closer to his neck because he doesn’t know where might be sore or wounded from losing his arm. “It’s good to have you back, Alex.”

Alex smiles. “Good to be back.”

“Anything else big we missed?” Tristan asks.

“The fae and trolls are getting bolder,” says Lamorak. “You know it as well as I – Alex said there was a raid on your village, Bedivere?”

“Aye, a bad one,” confirms Bedivere. “Never used to be this bad. That last raid I remember having so many casualties was Fowydh six years ago.”

Tristan stiffens. “It was as bad as Fowydh?”

“And there have been others,” says Lamorak grimly. “Two other villages reported deadly raids in the past several weeks.”

“Gods,” mumbles Tristan. “That’s not good. That's not good at all.”

“Anna fears a more direct attack sooner than later,” says Toby, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Next week I think she’s going to have us visit the trolls again. I don’t know if she’s gonna have us wait till after Christmastide or what.”

“As much as boosting morale is good and all, I still don’t like just waiting around,” mutters Jim. “Our enemies aren’t going to wait till after Christmastide.”

“Proper patrols start back up tomorrow,” says Lamorak. “Until then the volunteer patrols and many wards will have to protect us.”

Jim whips his head around to glare at him. “You didn’t tell me there were volunteer patrols!”

“You needed a break, Jim,” Lamorak says firmly. “I knew you’d volunteer.”

“I’ve had a break,” Jim dismisses. “Do we need more patrols? I can go. Tobes, you wanna come? It’d be fun.”

Lamorak drags a hand down his face. “Gods give me strength to deal with stubborn youths. Jim, if you’re so desperate, you can be on morning patrol tomorrow. Take today to rest.”

“I’m with Lamorak, buddy,” says Toby. “But if you’re bored why don’t we go help in the kitchens? Yeah?”

Tristan slings an arm over Alex’s shoulders. “Yeah, and me and Lamorak can go parade Lex and Bedivere around! Christmas miracle, two dead knights return!”

“Must we?” Alex says.

“We must!” Tristan grins. “Besides, Hilde needs a tour. Isn’t that right, little lady?”

Hilde giggles. “I do need a tour!”

“It’s settled!” declares Tristan, grabbing Alex’s arm and hauling him to his feet. “Take a break, Jim, or else Lamorak’s gonna force you to.”

Jim crosses his arms and does not pout, though he does grumble, “I don’t need a break. I’m fighting fit! Lamorak needs a break.”

Lamorak shoots him a look before following Tristan and poor Alex out of the room with Hilde. Toby pats Jim’s shoulder.

“Chin up, Jimbo,” he says. “Let’s go bake something. Do you want to bake something? Would that make you feel better?”

“I’m not a five-year-old, Toby,” Jim says.

“You’re pouting like one,” Claire teases, kissing his cheek. “I’m going to go help Anna package up leftovers. If you make anything tasty, bring it by!”

This time Jim does pout, though it’s entirely joking and Claire knows it. “You just want to spend time with the pretty queen.”

“Sue me,” she jokes back. She pauses to kiss Toby’s cheek too before waving. “See you boys later! Don’t cause too much trouble!”

Jim sighs and sits heavily on his bed as the rest of the group filters out of the room. Toby sits next to him and Jim leans against him, resting his head on his shoulder.

“What are we doing, Tobes?” he mumbles.

“Surviving,” Toby says simply. “It’s all we can do here. I know you feel like you have to step up, but you know you don’t right?”

“Gunmar–”

“–will be your fight and was your fight, in 2017, nine centuries from now,” Toby completes. “But here in the twelfth century? No. That’s Deya’s fight. You don’t have to be the Trollhunter here.”

“What am I if I’m not the Trollhunter?” Jim asks morosely. “That’s all I’ve been since tenth grade. I think I’ve forgotten how to be just Jim.”

Toby takes his hand and squeezes it. “Then I’ll help you figure it out again. And then maybe you’ll be happier at home, too.”

Jim isn’t sure what to say to that – Toby has a point. He doesn’t like that point. He was happy at home. Restless, maybe. Bored, even, but happy. Right? But this isn’t the first time he’s had to think about it, had to realise that maybe he’s more Trollhunter than person. Maybe he should have taken it as a sign when he split himself into pieces and the hardest to control was the part of himself that was utterly dedicated to his destiny. Is it normal to have that kind of dedication buried deep within?

He decides to change the subject before he can think too hard on it.

“Do you think we’ve been gone since November back home too?” He hopes not. He hopes whenever they get home that it’s as if they never left, that he didn’t worry his mom out of her mind. Maybe Blinky put things together, with the timing, finally remembered the strange changeling he knew in Camelot. Then again, maybe not. Jim has been avoiding him a bit.

“I don’t know,” Toby admits. “I don’t think there’s much to go off of with time travel. It’s a first. I mean, unless we count that whole thing you had with Unkar. Or Merlin’s tomb.”

“Pretty sure that thing with Unkar wasn’t real,” Jim says. “Not even sure it was Unkar, given Merlin hijacking it at the end. But... I mean, this is entirely different. I dunno.”

“Nana is gonna kill me if we have been gone this long,” Toby mutters. “It’s almost January. She’s gonna kill me and Aja’s gonna kill Krel and Steve and your mom is gonna kill you.”

“Tell me about it,” Jim laments. He sighs and offers Toby a smile. “Still up for baking?”

Toby smiles back. “You know it, Jimbo.”

Jim lets Toby pull him back to his feet and follows him out of the room. He hopes Toby is right, that baking will clear his head. He hopes patrol tomorrow morning will too. He swears he’s going to change and he knows he’s going to go right back to being a puppet of destiny the second he gets the chance, like a good Trollhunter.

It’s what he knows, after all.

Notes:

REUNIONS!
I'm so excited to be writing again, although I may need to take a small break soon to get everything fully squared away for the ending. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter too! Jlaire and Alex's return and Toby and Jim bonding! Fun times!

Thank you again for reading! <33333

Chapter 29: Beware of Black Ice

Mordred’s good mood lasts through the day after Christmas – Boxing Day or something here in the UK, or it will be when the UK is a thing, anyway – before he slowly starts to sink back into his restless anxiety and quiet depression. Krel wishes he could say this was unusual, but Uncle Mort got quiet this time of year every year that Krel knew him. He supposes now he knows why.

Krel understands, a little bit. He imagines himself in Mordred’s shoes – it’s not that hard. He sees Aja a little in Anna, and that’s what worries him the most about the whole situation. Aja – well, he wants to believe Aja would never believe him a murderer. He wants to believe Mordred is right, that Anna will listen to him. Maybe, if he didn’t know what was to come, at least a little, he would have believed it. It makes him question what Aja would do, in this situation. When Krel was Mordred’s age she was ready to sacrifice him for their parents – what might she have done if she believed he had a hand in their murder? He’s ashamed to say that doubt has begun to fester in his mind, even if there’s no point in thinking of it. They are past that now. Still, it’s not pleasant to think about.

So he forces himself to stop thinking about it and try to at least pretend he has faith in Mordred’s idea. He knows Mordred knows better. Damn part-fae lie detector genes. Krel had a much easier time getting away with stuff with his parents than with Uncle Mort. He knows the lack of faith is making Mordred even more anxious, even if he won’t voice it. It shows in the way his leg bounces under the table at lunch and the way he picks at his food without actually eating any of it. He even feeds pieces to Enaid instead of eating them himself.

“So,” Lancelot says awkwardly as they sit. “I was looking at some of the maps Krel managed to get set up, and it looks like my mother’s lake isn’t far from here. I was thinking a few of us could go for a visit.”

“Is now really the time for a friendly visit?” Iros says, crossing her lower arms.

“Well, we need allies,” Lancelot says simply. “Mama alone is a powerful ally, but she has connections with both fae courts and other unaffiliated fae on the continent.”

“And is it safe?” Enaid asks, pausing from where she’s been preening Mordred’s hair. “I don’t very much wish to see my wizard in more danger, thank you very much.”

“Mordred doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to, but I would keep him safe,” Lancelot says.

“I’m going,” Mordred says quietly. “I can’t keep sitting around doing nothing.”

“Don’t you think it will look suspicious?” Krel murmurs, frowning at his food. “I mean, Anna is blaming fae for all of this and you want to bring more fae into it?”

“She may not like it, but more fae are the best allies we can get,” Lancelot says. “We need to be able to fight fire with fire. The enemy fae are powerful, and we need to be more so. Human magic users aren’t going to cut it.”

“He has a good point,” says Iros. “We do need allies. But I will say I do not wish to leave my ship.”

“Only some of us will go,” Lancelot says. “Douxie can stay here for magical aid, while Mordred, Krel, and I venture to Mama’s lake.”

“Aw,” Douxie mumbles.

Iros laughs and punches his shoulder. “So eager to get away from me, are you, Akraohm?”

Krel hides a laugh, then waves his phone in the air. “I’ll hold the map, I guess. No offence, Mordred, not sure I trust you with it. And I’m not sure I trust Lancelot with technology.”

“I’m great at this technology,” Lancelot grumbles. “I’m a fast learner. Just yesterday you told me I was a fast learner.”

“Still not giving you my phone,” says Krel. “We’ll leave after lunch, then. Is it close enough we can get back before lunch?”

“If we walk fast,” Lancelot says.

“I’ll do you one better than walking fast,” says Iros. She stands and rushes out of the room. Mordred, Enaid, and Lancelot turn to Krel and Douxie. They both shrug. Just because Krel’s Akiridion doesn’t mean he knows what his great-aunt is thinking. She comes back with a big grin and two tablets she throws down to expand into hoverboards.

“Oh, that is one better,” Krel concedes, hopping up and onto one of the hoverboards. “Oh, I have missed these things too. It’s like flying! Except it takes more skill. Which I have in abundance, of course.”

“I once saw him hoverboard into a wall,” Douxie says. “Don’t let him fool you.”

“I did not,” Krel protests.

“You did so! I have video too. Hang on…”

Krel lunges and tackles him. Enaid squawks and leaps away from both of them from her position on Mordred’s shoulder. Douxie shrieks and tries to hold his phone out of reach, but Krel wins and grabs it, unlocking it with ease – Alex’s birthday, how incredibly predictable if not a little sad now – and searching through the photos. “Where is this video? I do not see it. All I see is five hundred pictures of your husband.”

“Krel,” whines Douxie. “Give it back!”

Krel floats up to sit near the ceiling. “This must have been years ago. Oh, look, who wants to see video of the drag show Douxie did? He’s so bad at lip-syncing. It’s funny.”

“No one needs to see my bad lip-syncing, thank you!” Douxie shoots up in the air to steal the phone back, swiping away from the video before the first few notes of Britney Spears’s “Toxic” can keep playing. “Oh, but I did rock the make-up and the heels, you’re allowed to see that.”

“Boys, boys, settle down,” Lancelot calls. “Also, get down and finish lunch or we can’t go today.”

“Yes, Lancelot,” they both say, because that laughingly scolding tone was so Uncle Mort that it’s really ingrained in them to obey and look apologetic for acting out, even if they aren’t really. It’s become very clear that Mort took after both his fathers, and it just makes Krel wish he could have met Guinevere too. Was Mort anything like her? Maybe they laughed the same or tutted over injuries the same way. Krel doesn’t know. It sucks he won’t get to know.

Well, at least he gets to know two grandparents a little more.

 

 

As promised, they set out after lunch. Douxie tells Krel about five different times to be careful, as if Krel’s in any danger. Krel doesn’t think he is – he’s died before. He doesn’t want to do it again, but having experienced it does wonders for making him not afraid for his own life. Still, he promises to be careful and look out for the others. Douxie gives him that look, the one he inherited from Uncle Mort and uses when he can see right through Krel, but he doesn’t say anything. Krel’s glad.

It’s a sunny but frigid day, so they all have cloaks pulled over their Akiridion suits. Lancelot has his armour back on as well and Krel is back in a transduction, having reprogrammed himself a serrator after giving Douxie his old one. Mordred is still fairly new to magical weapons, so he too has been equipped with a serrator. He’s very clearly not at all as excited to visit his grandmother as he was last time, quiet and posture tight and closed off despite his early insistence on coming with. They're not hoverboarding yet, saving that for later when they need to go faster, even if Krel thinks it would be funny to watch Lancelot try to hoverboard.

“I hope my mother isn’t too surprised by life on other planets,” muses Lancelot. “Then again, maybe fae already knew. I’m going to be rather cross with her if she knew and didn’t tell me, I think.”

“I’m sure she’s heard weirder,” says Krel, because she has. Krel is the weirder thing he’s heard. Time travel is weird, way weirder than extraterrestrials, given even Akiridions hadn’t proven its existence. He knows Toby and Claire have both mentioned something about Merlin’s tomb and time travel but Krel maintains that is not the same thing as rocketing a bunch of people back in time with no idea how to return. It’s not.

Mordred hugs himself tighter, staring at the snowy, muddy ground. “Do you think she’ll be mad at me?”

“What – mad at you?” says Lancelot. “No, she won’t be mad at you, lad. Why do you think that?”

Mordred shrugs, so Lancelot stops and rests his hands on Mordred’s shoulders. “Mordred. What happened wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

“I mean, I guess,” mumbles Mordred.

Krel gnaws lightly on the inside of his lip before sighing. “You should talk to Toby, maybe.”

“What – Toby?” says Mordred.

“I – how much do you know about Akiridion physiology?” Krel asks.

“As long as your core remains intact, an Akiridion can survive just about anything,” says Mordred. He crinkles his nose – the very same expression Douxie always gets when he’s about to be a nerd about something. “I’ve noticed in Akiridions that your auras seem more or less focused around your cores. Really, I should have realised you and Douxie were Akiridion just from that, but yours is brighter than Iros’s and Douxie’s is less focused. Probably just intraspecies variation, totally normal. Anyway, does that mean Akiridion auras reside in the core?”

“Sure, probably,” Krel says. “What we call core energy you call aura. It’s basically interchangeable, those two terms.”

Mordred nods, but his brow furrows all the same. “But what does that have to do with Toby? He’s not Akiridion... is he?”

“Well,” says Krel carefully. “In the most recent war that we fought, there was this wayward scientist who had it in his head that he could bring peace to the universe through excessive violence.”

“Gee, that’s exactly how peace works,” mumbles Enaid. Mordred laughs a little and reaches up to scratch under her beak.

“Right, well, he had some sort of tech that he could use to control people.” Krel can already feel one of his hands migrating to protect his core from a threat that isn’t there, but he pushes on, much as he’d rather not relive this. “And he used it to control Toby. And, well... under his control, Toby... injured me. Enough that all that was left was my core.”

Not technically a lie. Death is just a really, really bad injury, at least for Krel, who can heal from it. Mordred stares at him with wide eyes.

“Of course, I have never blamed Toby for what happened,” Krel continues. “But while I survived, I know that incident has stayed with Toby. So... maybe you should talk to him. He might have a perspective the rest of us can’t understand.”

Mordred nods slowly, though his arms wrap around his chest again. Krel tries to give him a comforting smile, some form of reassurance.

“Do you think Dad knew...?” he whispers.

Ah. Yeah, Krel should have expected that question. But when he thinks back to that battle, to the look in Arthur’s eyes before he died, he can only find the obvious answer.

“I think he must have,” Krel says softly. “And I think he forgives you, just like I have long forgiven Toby, just like I would have forgiven Toby even if I didn’t make it.”

“You can’t forgive someone if you’re dead,” Mordred mumbles, but he stumbles forward and hugs Krel anyway so it’s clear the words did mean something to him. Krel carefully wraps his arms around him as Enaid relocates to his shoulder instead of her wizard’s. It’s strange, to be on the other side. Usually Uncle Mort was the one comforting him. Krel doesn’t think he’s very good with kids. He’s certainly never going to have his own. But... it’s nice that he can help Mordred, even just a little bit.

Unfortunately, because the universe hates them, the gentle moment can’t last long. Krel hears the whistle of arrows and his eyes fly open just in time for an ocean-blue shield to stop several arrows from skewering the group of them. Lancelot lets the shield fall and pulls out his sword. Mordred’s eyes widen as he activates his serrator and Krel forms a blaster. What? It’s going to help him more than a sword, probably.

“Well, well, well, look what we found!” There’s a soft thud as an ashen-skinned fae jumps out of the tree in front of them, holding their arms out with a wide smile as smoke rises from their form. Several more fae follow suit, surrounding them. “The Pale Lady has been looking for you, little prince.”

Mordred takes a step back and Krel moves in front of him. Enaid flares her wings to look threatening, though Krel doubts the fae are very scared of a bird that weighs less than a pound.

“The Pale Lady?” Lancelot says, brow furrowed.

“Morgana,” Krel whispers. He narrows his eyes. “You can go back to your ‘Pale Lady’ and tell her Mordred wants nothing to do with her!”

“Let the lad speak for himself,” says another fae.

The first fae’s smile sharpens further. “Let’s do this the easy way, shall we? We’ll escort all three of you to the Pale Lady now. No harm to any of you, even if she certainly never specified that we spare the knight and the… wizard. Call if a demonstration of how much we’d like to work with you, Kingkiller.”

Mordred sucks in a sharp breath, face going white. “What did you just call me?”

“You should be honoured,” says the fae. “To get a name-title so young, and such a brave one besides! Kingkiller! You have done us a great service, little prince, and word of your deeds has already begun to spread.”

“Don’t call me that,” Mordred whispers.

“It’s who you are,” the fae says, tilting their head.

“No,” Mordred says, voice shaking, “don’t call me that.”

Krel looks around warily. The snow on the ground is starting to rise into the air around them, the shadows in the trees starting to lengthen. Krel recognises this all too well. Oh, no.

“And if you come with us,” the fae continues as if Mordred didn’t speak, “then we can make you even greater yet. I’m sure the Pale Lady would happily take you on as her protégé, Kingkiller.”

“I said,” Mordred grits out furiously, “don’t call me that!”

His eyes darken, literally, as the sclera turn black as Akiridion eyes and the empty space of the new moon and vivid bronze burns where pupils usually are. Lancelot whips around in alarm as the wind starts to pick up and the snow around Mordred begins to whip into a mini-blizzard. Several of the fae take a step back. The temperature plummets, to the point that the sting of the wind numbs Krel’s cheeks and even his arms through his temperature-regulated suit.

“Look at what you can do with no training, little prince!” the fae exclaims with a laugh. Do they have a death wish? “Think of what you can become on our side!”

“Shut up!” Mordred yells. Shards of darkness erupt from the ground. Krel has to grab Lancelot and pull him out of the way before he gets impaled, and they both end up stumbling several feet backwards. Enaid leaps into the air, above the storm, looking as alarmed as a harrier can get. Dark patterns creep along Mordred's skin and clothes, like frost coating a window or the trunk of a tree but the colour of ash. The other fae seem to at least be somewhat sane, shaking their heads and retreating, but the first one has a crazed glint in their fire-orange eyes and they step forward.

“Mordred!” Lancelot calls. His voice is lost to the wind, now howling and ripping even more snow off the branches of trees and pine needles and dead twigs along with it. He hears Enaid calling for her wizard too, to no avail. Krel and Lancelot both have to trip backwards again as more ice shoots out around Mordred, leaving him surrounded by treacherously sharp shards in all directions.

“Mordred!” Krel tries as well. He has to shield his eyes against the biting wind and snow. “Mordred, snap out of it!”

The fae forces their way through the blizzard, a wild grin plastered on his face. He laughs again, dangerous, eerie, vaporising the snow into steam with each step. “Look at this! Look at you, Kingkiller!”

They reach for Mordred, but Mordred reacts faster, catching their wrist and holding tight, an unfamiliar snarl cutting across his face. Tar-black tears carve through the frost patterns on his face. The fae’s smile finally falls as the same frost starts coating their arm and climbing their skin, their lips blueing from the chill. Lancelot calls for him again. Mordred’s grip only tightens.

“He’s gonna kill them,” Krel whispers, eyes wide as the fear finally starts catching up with the fae. Krel sets his jaw and starts pressing forward through the snow himself. “Mordred! Mordred, please, this isn’t you!”

There’s no response, as if Krel’s voice is being carried away by the wind and Mordred can’t hear him at all. Krel finally managed to land a hand on his shoulder. The cold immediately cuts into him, past his suit and deep into his bones, his whole body aching like a bruise.

“Mordred,” he manages again, “stop.”

Mordred finally turns, snarl still in place, but at the sight of Krel the black in his eyes abruptly retreats and his face shatters into shock. The winds stop. The snow flutters back to the ground, calm as a flurry on a Christmas card. As the grip on their wrist slackens, the fae scurries backwards. Mordred turns back to them and stares at the terror in their expression.

“What…” Mordred chokes out, eyes trailing to the shards of darkness fading into normal ice. “Did I do this…”?”

Lancelot rushes over, biting out a growl at the fae who retreats as fast as their shaking legs will take them. Mordred slowly turns to stare at his father, before his eyes roll up and he drops. Lancelot catches him and lowers to his knees as well. Enaid lands on his forearm, peering worriedly at her unconscious wizard. Krel joins them. Lancelot brushes Mordred’s hair out of his face, hesitating at the streak of white in the otherwise deep blond locks.

“Dark magic,” he says, voice faint and uneasy. “Did Douxie teach him this?”

Krel shakes his head. “Douxie’s wouldn’t. Maybe if he was an adult, but not at this age. Dark magic is dangerous.”

“We need to get him back to the ship,” Lancelot decides. “It’s still too far to Mama’s.”

He gathers Mordred into his arms and stands. Krel stands too, rubbing his arms against the cold and suddenly feeling much more chilled than he thinks he should. Well, at least he is still shivering. It’s a bad sign if not, right? He forces himself to stay on high alert in case of another ambush, which would be especially bad right now. They walk in silence this time, wary of making their position in the forest known to potential attackers. Krel would get out the hoverboards now if he wasn't worried about Mordred getting hurt when Lancelot inevitably wipes out entirely.

Since Krel is the most alert right now, he’s naturally the first to hear the rustling in the nearby foliage. He holds out an arm to signal for Lancelot to stop as well. It could just be an animal. It could be something worse than that. Lancelot’s eyes narrow and his grip on Mordred tightens. Krel forms a sword, then darts forward, grabbing whatever from out of the bushes and throwing it to the ground. Sure enough, it’s a fae, and within less than a second Krel has his sword at their throat.

“Peace, friend!” the fae exclaims, throwing their hands up in surrender. “I come in peace!”

“Oh, hardy har har,” Krel says sarcastically before he remembers this guy would have no clue that’s an interacting with aliens stereotype.

“Lionel!?” Lancelot blurts, rushing forward. “At ease, Krel! I know this man. Lionel, what on Earth – I thought you were still in mainland Europe.”

“I was, up until Aunt Viviane contacted us for help in Camelot’s little war,” says the fae, apparently called Lionel. Wait, Aunt Viviane? Oh, great, more mystery family. Woohoo. Krel’s never heard of him. Krel still doesn’t trust him, not yet. Why should he? He’s never even heard of the guy – which, to be fair, Mort didn’t talk about anyone from his past very much. So that’s not a great indicator of, well, anything. But still.

“It’s good to see you,” Lancelot says. “We could certainly use all the help we could get.”

“Good gods, is Mordred okay?” Lionel asks, stepping forward to brush Mordred’s hair back with a concerned frown. Krel stays wary, though he does ease some when Enaid repositions to the other man’s shoulder. She seems to trust him. Familiars are usually decent judges of characters.

“He will be, I... hope,” says Lancelot with a wince. “There is much going on. Come with us, and we can explain everything.”

Krel leans close to Lancelot and lowers his voice as Lionel catches up with Enaid like an old friend. “Are you certain we can trust him?”

“He’s my cousin,” Lancelot hisses back, almost offended. Krel gives him an unimpressed look and he sighs. “I’ve known Lionel since I can remember, Krel, and I recognise his aura and know it’s him.”

“If you say so,” Krel says.

“And I don’t believe we’ve met,” Lionel cuts in, apparently oblivious to Krel’s distrust. “My name is Lionel. I am Lancelot’s cousin – the handsome one in the family, of course.”

“Very funny,” says Lancelot as they resume walking.

“I was told never to give a fae my name,” Krel says flatly. Lancelot gives him a look, but Lionel just laughs and pats his shoulder.

“Smart lad, that is in general best practice, even among only fae,” he says. “Then will you tell me your name? I can’t do anything with it if you just tell me.”

Krel glances at Lancelot and only when he nods does he relent. “Fine. I will tell you my name is Krel.”

“You’re not human,” Lionel observes. “Not fae, either.”

“No,” Krel says. He doesn’t feel like elaborating, even if Lionel is going to find out soon anyway.

“A mystery, then,” says Lionel. “I like it.”

He turns his attention back to Mordred, waving a hand and letting cool blue magic settle over him. Enaid’s ease is the only thing that holds Krel back. He doesn’t like this stranger doing magic on Mordred. He doesn’t like this whole situation.

“He’s exhausted,” mumbles Lionel. “What are you letting this boy do, Lancey?”

“Make bad decisions, apparently,” says Lancelot with a wince. “We were ambushed. Mordred… didn’t take kindly to what our attackers had to say about him.”

Krel snorts. “Who would?”

“I’ve heard rumours,” says Lionel, sharp eyes looking up to Lancelot’s face, “of the death of the king. Is it true?”

Lancelot looks away and nods shortly.

“I am so sorry, Lancelot.” Lionel puts a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder and offers him a sad smile. “I know how much you loved him."

“Suppose I should have expected to outlive him,” murmurs Lancelot. “I just didn’t expect it’d be so soon…”

Krel pulls out his phone to figure out how far they are from the ship. Not far. They should be coming upon the wards any second now. Krel tries not to smile and doesn’t say anything, since Lionel is in the front, and is pleased to see him walk straight into the invisible barrier. He stumbles back and rubs his head and Krel hides snickers.

“We’re here!” he says innocently.

Lancelot shoots him another look and Krel almost feels bad for antagonising his cousin. Lionel recovers quickly and runs a hand along the wards, nodding with an impressed smile. “You’ve got a powerful wizard on your side, Lancey. This isn’t just your magic.”

“Nope,” says Lancelot. “Will you hold Mordred so I can let us in?”

Krel’s smug smile falls back into a frown as Lancelot passes Mordred’s still unconscious form into Lionel’s arms. He tries to reign it in. He has no reason to distrust Lionel beyond being a stranger to him and a fae, and Krel doesn’t want to sink to Merlin’s level to distrust him on that alone. That isn’t fair to anyone. He lets out a sigh and forces himself to calm down as they walk through the wards. Lionel’s eyes grow wide at the sight of the ship.

“You were correct, of course, to observe that I am neither human nor fae,” Krel says, smug grin falling back into place. It’s very natural for him to brag about superior Akiridion technology. Earth has its merits, and Krel will always love the planet deeply, but there’s no denying it’s behind in the science and technology side of things. “I come from a planet called Akiridion-5, over forty-thousand light keltons from here. In other words, my world would not even be a speck of light in your sky.”

“Impossible,” breathes Lionel, face lighting up. “Life on other planets? And – my gods, that far away? Is every speck of light, every star in our sky, home to a form of life?”

Krel laughs. “Oh, no, not even close. Though many of those stars are hosts to planets with life.”

“This is still incredible,” Lionel exclaims. “This changes everything about how we understand life and the universe. What of the planets that circle ours?”

“Uh, first, they don’t,” Krel says. “Orbit Earth, I mean. That’s – yeah, that is not correct. Please tell me you also know the Earth isn’t flat.”

“Of course I know the Earth isn’t flat,” says Lionel.

“Thank Seklos,” mutters Krel. “Anyway, no, there’s not life that I know of on any of Earth’s neighbouring planets. Well, there may be a bounty hunter base on the moon. And I think Europa has a teeming ocean biome full of life but none of it is intelligent life.”

“I don’t know where that is, but that is amazing,” says Lionel. “You must tell me everything. And this! What is this?”

“This is a spaceship,” says Lancelot, looking quite pleased to contribute. “This is how Krel’s kind traverses the stars. It can also make food out of nothing!”

“Not out of nothing, out of nutrient packs,” Krel says.

“Close enough!”

“No! Not close enough! Matter cannot be created or destroyed!”

“Tell that to the cinnamon rolls you created the other day.”

Lionel laughs again and shakes his head, looking around in awe as they head inside the ship. His clear enthusiasm has Krel’s distrust melting like ice in the springtime. Okay, he seems earnest and trustworthy. Krel will give him a real chance.

“You’re back!” Douxie exclaims as they walk in. He freezes at the sight of Lionel. “And you brought… company?”

“Don’t worry, lad, he’s safe,” promises Lancelot. “Iros, Douxie, meet my cousin, Lionel. Lionel, these are Iros and Hisirdoux of Akiridion-5. Douxie is Krel’s brother.”

“You have four arms!” Lionel blurts.

Douxie crosses his lower arms and rests the other two hands on his hips, unimpressed. “Got a problem with that?”

“No, it’s amazing!” says Lionel. “Life from other planets! Can you even believe it?”

“Considering we are from another planet, yes,” Iros says, clearly amused by his excitement. “Welcome, I suppose. Don’t touch anything without checking with an Akiridion first. And – Mordred!”

She darts forward, hands cupping Mordred’s cheeks before she takes him out of Lionel’s arms and cradles him, brow furrowing into fear and worry. Douxie rushes to her side, hovering his fingers near the streak of white in his hair.

“Dark magic,” he whispers. “What happened?”

“Ambush,” Krel says. “They called him Kingkiller. And he didn’t like that.”

Douxie winces. “That would do it, yeah.”

“Kingkiller,” Lionel repeats, brow furrowing as he turns to Lancelot. “What…?”

“It wasn’t him,” Douxie snaps. “He was mind-controlled. It’s not his fault.”

Lionel raises his hands. “Yes, yes, okay! That makes infinitely more sense. Mordred never struck me as the type to commit patricide.”

Krel sighs and collapses into one of the seats in the cockpit. He stretches all four of his arms as he disables the transduction. Lionel’s eyes widen almost comically at the realisation that Krel, too, has four arms and is very blue. Iros is still preoccupied with Mordred, watching his face for any sign of waking. Enaid lands on her shoulder and nuzzles her face, cooing comfortingly.

“He’ll be okay,” she says. “He’s my wizard, I can tell. I am going to yell at him though.”

As if on cue, Mordred starts to stir. Douxie is back at his side in an instant along with Lancelot, whose lips press into a grim line at the mildly pained, furrowed expression making itself known on Mordred’s face.

“Shh, shh,” murmurs Iros. “You’re safe, little star, it’s okay.”

“Iros…?” Mordred mumbles. “What happened?”

He manages to force his eyes open and Iros lets him down, steadying him as he stumbles and tries to regain his balance. Lancelot aids on his other side. Mordred makes a quiet whining noise, obviously sore, and a shiver runs through him. Krel himself is basking in the warmth of the ship, finally starting to feel the chill retreat from his bones.

“You’re okay,” Lancelot says gently. “You wore yourself out there. You’re okay.”

Mordred rubs his eyes. “I thought we were going to Nan’s.”

“Another day, lad,” Lancelot promises. “For now, we have someone to catch up on current events.”

Mordred blinks and his eyes finally land on Lionel. Lionel waves with a smile and Mordred’s entire face lights up. “Uncle Lionel!”

He lurches forward as if to greet Lionel with a hug but stumbles again. Lionel laughs and catches him before pulling him into a hug and ruffling his hair with his knuckles. Krel trusts him even that much more to see him interacting positively with Mordred like this.

“Hey, there, faeling!” Lionel says brightly. “Look at you! Last time I saw you you weren’t even up to my knees!”

“Uncle Lionel,” Mordred whines. “That is not true.”

“Oh, it’s definitely true,” Lionel teases. He keeps an arm around Mordred’s shoulders when he pulls out of the hug and his face falls into something a little more serious. “But, yes, I do believe I’ve missed much.”

“Come, cousin,” says Lancelot, jerking his head towards the hallway to the dining room area. “We have a lot to tell you.”

Notes:

I'm still working on finishing the plan, but in the meantime here's a chapter!!! Hope y'all enjoyed and, uh, so sorry for adding yet another OC, I hope you like him.

Thank you for reading!!! <3333

Chapter 30: Out of the Frying Pan

Alex would like to say, for the record, that he does not enjoy having to learn how to fight all over again. Sure, Lancelot gave them some training on being ambidextrous when sword fighting, but that’s not the same thing as fighting without his dominant hand at all. His balance is entirely off, several pounds down on his right side, and his sword feels awkward and clunky in his left hand. He’s spent the better part of the morning training with Lamorak and Toby. Hilde has been given a wooden sword, and she’s happily mimicking his clumsy movements.

“It’s all about balance,” Lamorak tells him. He has his own right arm pinned to his side with a strip of fabric. “You have to adjust to the fact that you’re heavier on the left side now, and you’re adding to that with the sword.”

“Yeah, I’m still adjusting to even walking,” Alex admits. He’s heard that losing a limb is difficult, but he expected to have an easier time of it. Krel went from four arms to two and had no issues that he ever mentioned. Logically, Alex shouldn’t either, right? But apparently, no, Alex the boring mundane human can’t magically adjust to having half the arms.

“Am I doing it right?” Hilde asks hopefully.

“Looking good, kiddo!” Toby says, ruffling her hair with a grin. “We’ll make a knight out of you yet. Hey, you can be my squire! Uncle Toby’s gonna teach you everything he knows.”

“Yeah!” she exclaims. “I’m gonna be a knight just like Alex!”

“You’ll be a better knight than me, sweetheart,” he says with a chuckle. There aren’t really knights back home, but he’s sure she’ll find a new dream to follow. He’s going to direct her towards science. He hopes she likes science. She has a brighter future in the twenty-first century than she’d ever have in the Middle Ages. Probably a longer life expectancy, too. Alex wonders if Mort skewed the life expectancy. Well, he’d have to have been counted for that to happen. Still, Alex would love to see what a nine-hundred-year-old outlier would do to those numbers.

“You’ve been training a lot,” Lamorak observes, waving for him to sheath his sword and come sit down for a break.

“Queen Anna won’t let me back in the field if I’m untrained,” Alex says, sitting and rolling his neck. “And I’m sick of just sitting around feeling... I don’t know. I want to get back out there and help.”

“There’s no rush, Lex,” he says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot. No one would fault you for resting.”

“I get that, but I don’t like doing nothing,” says Alex. “I want to help in some way. I’m no use to the healers, I’m certainly no wizard–”

“But you used magic!” Hilde pipes in. Oh, shit. “I saw you! You saved us both with magic, remember?”

Lamorak’s eyebrows raise. Toby’s eyes narrow.  Alex smiles awkwardly.

“That’s not – I don’t have magic, kiddo,” he manages. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“But I saw you,” she says in confusion.

“Well,” Lamorak says carefully, “if you really want to do something in the meantime, why don’t you help Anna as an advisor? You’re a smart lad. I’m sure there’s some ideas in that big brain of yours that could really help us out.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea!” Toby says brightly. “You could help improve, I dunno, infrastructure and stuff.”

“I’m an aerospace engineer, not a civil one,” Alex says.

“You’re an aerospace engineer, sure, but you also do other techy stuff because you’re a nerd,” says Toby. “I’m sure you could figure it out.”

Alex moves to scratch his arm. There’s nothing there. He slowly lowers his hand to his lap.

“Can we keep training?” he asks softly.

Lamorak watches him for a moment before nodding. “Alright, lad. If that’s what you want to do.”

Alex pushes himself to his feet and stretches. Hilde perks up and mimics the stretches, so he does a couple of extra ones that are more just him being goofy than actually useful for anything. It makes her giggle so he considers it a win.

He’ll talk to Anna, maybe. But he still intends to get out there again. There’s only so much he can advise a doomed kingdom, after all. He needs to be ready to fight to protect his friends. He owes them that much.

 

 

Surprisingly, the talk with Anna goes extremely well. He feels a little bad – he brought up a lot of modern ideas that would definitely help the kingdom flourish, but he only did so because he knows Camelot is not long for the world. So he can suggest a city-wide water system run by magic to clean and transport water. He can hint towards electricity and its distribution. He can even vaguely speculate about a way to communicate across the kingdom instantly. None of it matters, in the end, as long as he’s careful to not say too much. Anna is delighted by pretty much every word out of his mouth.

“All your ideas are so wonderful,” she says. “If I’d known you’d have so many I would have told my father to bring you to his council as well!”

Alex rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, well, it’s not all original ideas. A lot of it comes from Arcadia.”

“Still,” she says. “Clean water alone would be revolutionary to have throughout the city. I’ll have wizards looking into that immediately. And the idea of harnessing lightning is simply brilliant, if we could make it work.”

“The way I see it, one day the whole world will run on lightning,” he says, unable to help the smile that forms. So it’s a bit of an inside joke with himself. Sometimes knowing the future is fun. Knowing Camelot will never see it is less fun, but despite that, he has to admit that Lamorak has a point. Even if he knows it’s all for naught, it feels much more fulfilling to think he could be helping the average citizen of Camelot.

“Go freshen up before dinner,” she says. “We can talk more later. I have to go back to things relating to the war. Oh, I am excited. I think it will be nice to bring such things to our kingdom. Raise morale.”

“I look forward to it, my lady,” he says, bowing and smiling to her before leaving. He finds himself in a much better mood than he was before as he heads back up to the room. Does he maybe, just a little bit, still have an issue with being useful? Uh, perhaps. But he thinks this is probably a better way to funnel it. Not that he’s not going to fight. Camelot needs all the knights it can get, and he can’t help but fear that if he’s not there to help his friends, something horrible will happen to one of them.

Unfortunately, his good mood can’t last very long, because the universe hates him. Or, more accurately, a certain bastard of a wizard hates him. Out of nowhere, he finds himself grabbed by green magic and thrown into a nearby room. The door slams shut and locks behind him, much to his immediate alarm. He pushes himself to his feet with some difficulty and turns to find himself face-to-face with the very last person he wants to see right now.

“Sir Alexander,” Merlin says, disdain dripping from his voice.

“Oh, it’s you,” Alex blurts before he can stop himself. He tries not to let his face fall into a scowl. “What do you want?”

“I want to protect humanity and this kingdom,” says Merlin coolly, “and I do not believe having you around facilitates that.”

“You think I’m fae now?” Alex scoffs. “Now your paranoia has become stupidity. I’m as human as they come. The fae wouldn’t have tortured me if I was one of them. Do I have to prove it to you? I’ve got the scars for it.”

“Perhaps not a fae,” Merlin agrees. He steps closer to Alex and reaches a hand out to pull one of his locs forward. Alex cringes back, creeped out and far too reminded of Morgana. “But in the league with darkness nonetheless, if the white in your hair is any indication.”

Alex sucks in a breath. So he did do it enough for it to show. He was really, really hoping it would take a much more significant amount of dark magic usage before his appearance was affected. He searches for an excuse. “Uh, stress. Stress turns your hair grey, and torture causes stress. Because. Torture.”

“Yes,” Merlin says dryly, unimpressed. “Your ward seems convinced you did magic, yet I seem to remember you being mundane. So tell me, Sir Alexander, how long have you been practising dark magic?”

Alex sighs and looks away, brows furrowing as he glares at the floor. Lying seems to be out of the question, so maybe honesty will win him a few brownie points? “I wouldn’t call it that. Practicing. I’ve used it twice and both times it was an emergency, okay? Did you miss the part where Hilde’s village got raided and her mom got killed?”

“I don’t trust you,” Merlin says.

“And I don’t trust you, either, creepy old man,” Alex says bluntly. Merlin looks offended. “So let’s just part ways and never speak to each other again, deal?”

“I don’t trust any of you,” Merlin continues, scowling even deeper than before now that Alex has made the mistake of insulting him to his face. “From your faraway kingdom that I’ve never heard of, with your suspicious auras. A changeling, two... whatever Hisirdoux and Krel are. Three of you are touched by dark magic. You arrive shortly before the death of the king, you weasel your way into the royals’ good graces... it’s suspicious.”

Oh, very bold of him, after he killed the king. It makes Alex wonder if he timed the murder to make them look suspicious, to try to pin it on Douxie and Krel as well as Mordred. Maybe he knew he’d have an easier time convincing Anna that her brother was manipulated than that her brother was just plain evil. Either way, she’s fallen for it, and he’s clearly sticking to his guns.

“We’re very likeable,” Alex says with a shrug. “Look, I don’t really care what you think. I’m loyal to Camelot. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have been literally tortured. Grow up and get your head out of your ass.”

Merlin’s scowl deepens even further and Alex is sure he’s about to get turned into a toad or something, but much to his relief he hears Toby in the hallway: “Alex? Alex, I know I heard you.”

“Now, uh, if you don’t mind, I’d rather be anywhere else right now,” Alex says, taking a few steps backwards. “So... bye.”

To his relief, the door opens when he tries it and Merlin doesn’t make any move to stop him. Alex may have pissed him off but he doesn’t think the man will try anything. He hopes. He waves to Toby and strides over to him, grabbing his arm and starting to pull him away.

“My room, now,” he mumbles.

Toby’s eyebrows shoot up but he nods and follows Alex down the hall. Thankfully, they don’t run into anybody, and they make it with no trouble. Alex should brief everyone, and he will, later, but right now Jim is out on patrol and Claire and Steve are both up with the healers with Hilde. Alex didn’t like letting her leave his side but he does trust them. Toby plops down on Alex’s bed as Alex closes the door behind them, locking it to be safe.

“So, what’s up?” Toby asks worriedly.

“Merlin doesn’t trust us,” Alex says.

“What else is new?” Toby scoffs, before he frowns and furrows his eyebrows. “Wait, did he corner you or something?”

“Yep,” Alex confirms. “Tried to accuse me of being evil because – uh – well, no real reason, he’s just a dick–"

“–because he knows you used dark magic.” Toby levels him with an unimpressed glare and Alex can’t help but wince. “Uh-huh, the magic Hilde insisted you used. I’m not stupid, Alex.”

“Look, it was an emergency,” Alex says. “If I hadn’t used it I’d be dead right now. Would you rather I have a few early grey hairs or be dead? Huh? Yeah, grey hairs, what I thought.”

Toby raises his hands. “Hey, I’m not gonna yell at you. But I will warn you to be careful. I know how hard dark magic is on wizards, so I can’t imagine how it might be for one of us. I mean, you know.”

Alex does know. He remembers the toll it took on Douxie when he first started using it, how it would knock him clean out and leave him exhausted afterwards. Even now, when he’s undeniably learned how to control it and even starting to master it, it doesn’t come as easily and painlessly as normal magic. As much as it’s alluring, as much as Alex would kill to have some kind of magic of his own, he knows better than to risk it outside of an emergency. Douxie would never forgive him if he died because he was being stupid about dark magic.

“I miss him,” he mumbles before he can stop himself, before remembering, duh, Toby can’t hear his thought process. “Douxie. God, he still thinks I’m dead.”

Toby leans forward thoughtfully. “If Merlin is that suspicious of you, maybe it’d be better if you did go find Douxie and them. Steve can go with you, ‘cause frankly I think Merlin is getting suspicious of him too. If we frame it like scouting a village or something, Anna won’t question it.”

“Maybe,” Alex says. He likes the idea of visiting Douxie, but there’s still one problem. “Hilde. I can’t put her in danger. And I – I can’t leave her, I won’t leave her.”

“Krel said they aren’t too far from us, really,” Toby says. “You can make the walk in daylight and take her with you. Maybe bring a knight. Tristan or Lamorak or Bedivere. Probably Tristan, he could do with the time away.”

“Yeah... maybe, yeah,” Alex agrees. “We’ll talk about it as a group tonight.”

“In the meantime want to go bother Steve and Claire?” Toby asks with a grin.

Alex laughs. “Sure, bud, let’s go do that.”

 

 

In the end, they do decide to leave. Alex desperately misses his husband, and he can tell Steve has been getting antsy to check on Krel – and above all it’s very clear when Merlin glares at them through dinner that they’re pushing their luck staying anywhere near him.

Tristan agrees to come with them, and it works out better than Alex expected because he cheerfully pitches the idea the next morning to Anna that it would be nice to visit Iseult and his parents and make sure things are still going smoothly back home. Anna is happy to give them her blessing to go, so they spend the rest of the day packing to leave in the morning. Hilde seems excited the whole time, especially when Bedivere gifts her a wooden figurine of a cat that he carved himself. She’s currently tracing the smooth wood with her fingers as he gently works on moisturising her hair. He enlisted the help of Lamorak’s sister Dindrane to give her a bath earlier, partially because he’s still not one hundred percent solid on what exactly medieval people use to wash their hair, partially because he knew he would freeze up as soon as the wooden tub was filled with water. He’s relieved that Dindrane also brings oils and other supplies. He knows the rest of the steps, so once Hilde is dry and clean Dindrane leaves with an assurance she’s always happy to help.

He would love to braid Hilde’s hair for her, like he used to do with Lillie, but with one hand the task is so daunting it seems impossible, so he sticks to the basics. Her curls are looser than his and Lillie’s near-identical coils, but only just, so it’s a familiar and calming process. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend he’s a teenager again, helping his little sister.

“You know,” Alex says to Hilde as she keeps petting the toy, “Douxie’s familiar is a cat.”

“Really?” she asks, eyes lighting up. “Do I get to meet him?”

“You will,” Alex promises. “Archie isn’t in Camelot, though, he’s back home in Arcadia.”

“I hope I get a familiar one day,” she murmurs. “I want a... um... a cow!”

“A cow, huh?” he asks.

“Or a shark, ‘cept they can’t follow me on land,” she says. “So a cow will do, I suppose.”

He laughs lightly. “I’m told the familiar choose the wizard.”

“Well, I’m very choose-able,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’ll wear spots so all the cows will want to be my familiar.”

“Whatever you familiar is, I’m sure it will be wonderful,” he says.

She hums an agreement and keeps petting the wooden cat. She holds it out in front of her to admire it again and then brings it back to hug it to her chest. “Alex?”

“Yes, ardillita?”

“Do you think your Douxie will like me?”

He pauses to get a bit more oil in his palms before continuing to gently work it into her hair. “He’s going to adore you. I hope you like him too. I hear he’s more fun than me.”

She giggles. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah, I’m the boring one,” Alex says with a grin. “I’ll make you eat your vegetables and go to bed on time and Douxie will give you ice cream for dinner and let you stay up late.”

“I don’t know what ice cream is,” she says.

“It’s delicious is what it is,” says Alex. “I hope you’ll like the food we have back home. Some of it’s not so different. I think you’ll like the sweets and the junk food.”

“Junk food?”

“The good stuff,” he says jokingly. “I guess most of it… hasn’t really become a thing here. You’re gonna love chips, I think. And popcorn. Well, who doesn’t love popcorn?”

“I dunno what that is too,” she says.

“Also delicious,” he says. “There’s a lot I think you’ll love in Arcadia. I know it’s… far.”

“S’okay.” She returns to petting the toy’s head. “Are there Gumm-Gumms in Arcadia?”

“No, there aren’t,” Alex says. “You’ll be safe there. You won’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“That’s good,” she decides. “I don’t like being afraid.”

At least in Arcadia she won’t grow up with war. Alex can’t imagine what it must be like, to be born into a kingdom at war and to have never known peace – to never know peace, because Dinadan certainly never did in all thirty-odd years he was alive. Sure, Arcadia faced a couple apocalypse events over that one singular summer, but at Hilde’s age Alex’s biggest concern was quicksand, which has yet to be a problem, and whether or not they’d have chocolate milk at lunch at school. He hopes that she adjusts well, he hopes that she likes the future, and more than anything, he hopes that she can live the rest of her life without fear.

“Alex,” she says, softer, her voice significantly more nervous than before. “Are you my dad now?”

His hands still. He swallows, unsure what to say to that, because he doesn’t know the answer. Is he? He doesn’t want to replace Elaine or her biological father. But at the same time, he’s taken on the role, hasn’t he?

“I’m whatever you want me to be, mija,” he says carefully, gently, the last word slipping into place as naturally as breathing.

“Is it okay if I don’t know yet?” she whispers.

“Take as much time as you need,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She sniffles and raises a hand to wipe her eyes. Moments later her shoulders are shaking with little sobs. “I miss Mama.”

“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, putting the oil aside and wiping his hand on some fabric he has set aside so he can embrace her as she turns and buries her face in his chest, arms wrapping around his torso and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. He rests his cheek on the top of her head, rubbing her back as comfortingly as he can. It’s not even been two weeks since the poor girl lost her mother. He wishes that they could get home sooner than later, that he could offer her stability to heal in. He wonders if they shouldn’t leave, after all, if staying in Camelot would be safest for her. Except when will Camelot fall? And what might Merlin do if he distrusts Alex enough? It feels like a lose-lose situation.

When he was little, his dad used to sing him to sleep every night – he would refuse to go to bed without the calming soundtrack of his dad’s voice and the soft strums of guitar strings. He doesn’t have a guitar here, but he can hum quietly, and as her sobs slow into hiccups he can transition into a gentle song, one of his favourites that he insisted his dad sing every night.

“Such a feeling’s coming over me,” he sings. “There is wonder in most everything I see.”

Hilde curls up more to him as he sings, yawning and sighing. She wipes her eyes and sniffles again, but he can see the smile forming at the cheerful tune. It always made Alex feel better too, just to have the comfort of his father’s voice and smile nearby. It almost didn’t matter the song, and it rarely mattered how upset he was. He got his love of music from both parents but especially his father and it’s something he cherishes to this day. His heart aches to see them again. Do they know he’s missing? Do they think he’s dead? They don’t deserve that. Alex never wanted to do that to them.

He lays Hilde down in the bed and climbs in next to her, letting her cuddle up to him as he finishes the song. “Your love’s put me on the top of the world.”

“Goodnight, Alex,” she mumbles. “Love you.”

He melts and kisses her curls. He’s not her dad yet, but he is someone she can trust. It’s a great honour. “Love you too, mija.”

 

 

They set off bright and early the next morning. Hilde is full of happy energy. Alex is not. To think he’d hoped maybe, just maybe she wouldn’t be a morning person like Douxie. He forgot all children rise with the goddamn sun.

Hilde insists on skipping for the first solid thirty minutes of the walk, but she gets bored of that fast. Alex does his best to entertain her, but “I Spy” becomes dull quickly when there’s mostly just trees around, and he can’t think of much else beyond answering her various “What’s that?” questions as they arise. It’s a warm enough day that the snow on the ground is more slushy than fluffy and there are some puddles on the well-worn path they travel for most of the time. Hilde jumps in every one she can see. Alex supposes kids really will be kids, no matter what time period they’re born in. At some point in the journey, Steve crouches to invite Hilde to climb onto his shoulders and she’s more than happy to do so.

“Look how tall I am, Alex!” she exclaims.

“You’re even taller than me!” he says indulgently, before yawning despite himself. She giggles. “Sorry, sweetie, Alex is not a morning guy.”

“Trust me, we all know that by now,” Tristan teases. On the surface, he’s seemed cheerful the entire trip, but Alex knows him well enough at this point to know he’s not as peppy as he seems. He understands, he thinks. If Alex himself is taking Dinadan’s death hard, he can’t imagine how it is for Tristan, who knew the man for years.

“You know, maybe we should go visit your Iseult sometime,” Alex says. He means to cheer Tristan up because he always seems cheerful talking about his wife, but then he notes how Tristan’s smile freezes and becomes stiff. It throws him off. “It – uh. It’d be nice to meet her. And I’m sure you miss her too.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, maybe sometime,” Tristan says, avoiding his eyes entirely.

Alex’s own smile falls. “Is… something wrong?”

“No – no, it’s – it’s nothing,” Tristan says. Alex doesn’t have to be fae to tell that he’s lying through his teeth. “Don’t worry about it.”

Alex and Steve exchanged concerned looks.

“Hate to say it, buddy, but we’re worried now,” says Steve. “You can talk to us.”

“You really don’t – I mean, it’s not–”

“Hey,” Alex says, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it. We won’t force you. Just know that we’re here if you need us.”

“Look, it’s…” he cuts off with a sharp sigh, then winces and slumps his shoulders. “I – so, I’m from Fowydh.”

It takes Alex a second to put things together, and then his eyes widen. “That’s the village where that really bad raid happened. The one they compared Hilde’s village to.”

“I was, oh, what? Twenty-one?” Tristan says, wrapping the fabric of his cloak around his hands and closing them into fists. “Iseult and I were, uh, we were newlyweds, you know, big, happy life in front of us. She was – she was expecting. And then the raid happened. And… she didn’t make it.”

“Oh, Tristan,” Alex whispers.

“I decided to become a knight, to help make sure no one else has to – go through what I did,” says Tristan. He laughs humourlessly. “I dunno, it’s just… it’s stupid, but talking about her like she’s still there and waiting for me – I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“Trist…” Alex manages, before pulling Tristan into a hug. Tristan’s head falls onto his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Alex is right,” Steve says. “Not stupid at all. We’re here for you, bud.”

Eventually Tristan pulls back and wipes his eyes. “It was – like I said, it was a long time ago. I still miss her every day, but… it’s easier now. Than it was.”

“God, the scariest time of my life was when Douxie almost died,” Alex mumbles. The sleepless nights by the pod, the aching fear that maybe Douxie wouldn’t ever wake – somehow, he doesn’t think that will ever leave him. “I can’t imagine…”

“I hope you never have to,” Tristan says softly.

Hilde taps Steve's head and gets him to put her down, then runs over to Tristan and holds her arms up. He smiles and picks her up, letting her hug him around the neck. Hugs are kind of her go-to for making people feel better when she notices they’re sad, based on what Alex has picked up. It’s kind of adorable.

“Ah, speaking of Douxie, we’re about here,” says Steve. “Well, assuming Douxie is with Krel, which I’m sure he is. Krel is so easy to track it’s laughable.”

“Dangerous, too,” Alex mutters. If Steve found Krel so easily, what if Merlin decides to go looking? What if the fae do? Alex wishes there was a safe way to hide his aura, but the only thing he knows worked was those shackles that also made him a bomb waiting to go off.

He takes a deep breath and adjusts his cloak. Douxie is going to find out about his arm, but he doesn’t want it to be the first thing he notices. What will Douxie think? What will Alex say to Douxie? A million apologies to start with, a rambling explanation of what he meant and how he knows he should have chosen his words better and how he was wrong, he was wrong, and he’s so, so sorry. There’s a part of him that’s afraid. What if – what if after the shock of his survival has faded, Douxie is still angry? What if he’s even angrier? Alex hasn’t been apart from Douxie for this long in a very long time. Over a month… it doesn’t feel real.

“Stop,” says Tristan suddenly. He adjusts his hold on Hilde and reaches a hand out, fingers barely brushing against magic. “A ward. Smart. Almost walked right into it too.”

“Smart, that’s a first,” mutters Steve, before cupping his hands around his mouth. “KREL! DOUXIE! LET US IN!”

“Steve?” Alex hears from inside the ward, Krel’s familiar voice echoing from what looks like empty forest. The invisibility must be part of the spells. That’s smart too, though maybe they should add something so people don’t walk into the ward and realise this part of the forest is hiding something. “Lancelot, it’s Steve, let him in!”

“Are you sure?” he hears Lancelot ask.

“Good point,” says Krel. “STEVE! Who was our high school Spanish teacher and what was the name of his car?”

“Really, that’s the best you’ve got?” Steve says. Alex thinks it’s quite clever, because a fae pretending to be them wouldn’t know what high school or a car was. “Señor Uhl and his truck was Susannah!”

“It’s him!” Krel confirms.

Part of the ward lowers to let them in. Krel, who had been running to greet them, stops in his tracks, hands going to cover his mouth. He’s in Akiridion form and there’s an Akiridion ship behind them. That’s not what draws Alex’s attention.

“What the fuck?” he hears Tristan blurt, but he doesn’t give that a second thought. Instead, his eyes are drawn to the second Akiridion, staring back at him with wide, golden eyes and a distinct scar down the centre of his face.

He can’t stop the tears from forming and the whisper from slipping free like a prayer: “Douxie.”

Notes:

I had a lot of fun with this chapter but also did so much research to get the scene with Alex and Hilde right fdjgjasgk
I also stole directly from my own childhood with The Carpenters song. My mom used to sing it to me all the time so I decided I'd give it to Alex!
Yeah I know this is another mostly oops all OCs chapter but look I love my babies okay?

So I hope you enjoyed regardless! Thank you for reading!! <33

Chapter 31: The Penn-Swift Family

Douxie is dreaming.

He must be dreaming, for how else could Alex be standing before him, just a breath away, alive and whole and right there? How else could his name be falling from Alex’s lips, a sound he never dared to hope he’d hear again? He takes a step forward, then another, and then when Alex doesn’t disappear he’s running to tackle his husband in a hug. Alex lets out a relieved laugh – he recognizes him, despite the disguise, of course he does. One arm comes to wrap around Douxie’s back as Douxie buries his face in Alex’s chest.

“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive,” he chants, laughing weakly through his tears.

“I’m here, I’m alive,” Alex promises. His voice sounds just like Douxie remembers, although choked and emotional. “I’m so, so sorry, Douxie.”

“I’m sorry,” Douxie manages. There’s so much more to say, so much more to talk about, but right now it doesn’t matter because Alex is alive, Alex is here with him again. “I’m sorry, I love you so much.”

“I love you, I love you,” Alex murmurs.

Douxie finally pulls back, lifting a hand to wipe at his tears. “How? Morgana told us you were – you were dead, fae told us you were dead, they can’t lie.”

“You guys were getting too close looking for me, I guess,” Alex says softly. He smiles, eyes bright and tears on his cheeks. “But it’s okay now. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Douxie can’t take it anymore. He throws his arms around his neck and leans up to kiss him and Alex melts into the kiss, the hand on his back migrating to cup his cheek. His lips taste just like Douxie remembers and the soft sigh of his voice is the same too. Douxie must be dreaming but he never wants to wake up, not when he finally has his Alex back again.

When they finally come up for air they’re both crying even more before, but Alex gives him a brilliant smile. Krel takes a moment to tackle Alex away from him into his own hug and Douxie stumbles backwards, pausing to wipe his cheeks again and rub his eyes and even pinch his arm. The sting reassures him – he’s awake, this is real, Alex is real. Alex for his part laughs and returns the hug with his left arm, which is a little weird but Douxie’s too happy to care.

Mordred and Iros have run out of the ship as well, Lionel on their heels. Mordred gasps and covers his mouth, but Alex smiles and beckons him forward and he runs to him. Alex catches him in a hug as well.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I got you captured–”

“Hey, hey, kiddo, that wasn’t your fault,” Alex reassures him, reaching up and ruffling his hair, again with his left arm. Douxie frowns and steps forward, reaching to grab Alex’s right hand, but Alex doesn’t reach back and his smile falls into a sheepish wince. He carefully moves his cloak out of the way.

“Oh my gods,” Douxie breathes in horror.

“The, um, Morgana actually… she used some poison on me,” Alex admits. Douxie’s eyes stay locked on the empty space where Alex’s arm should be. “Creeper’s Sun, I think she called it? Anyway, it was, uh, turning me to stone so when I got rescued they had to remove it. I wasn’t, like, awake and aware or anything. If that… helps.”

Douxie carefully ghosts his fingers over the stump, eyes wide and hand trembling. Alex lost an arm. Who knows what else they did to him? Unbidden, his mind flashes back to the horrific vision he had, of his husband tortured and crying, and he feels sick to his stomach. Of course, he’s glad Alex is alive, but to know he was probably tortured is heartbreaking.

“I’m okay,” Alex murmurs. “Doux? It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Okay is a strong word mentally, but if it helps, he has a clean bill of health from me,” says Steve. He’s put down the little girl on his shoulders, but she’s still hiding behind his legs. Alex smiles to her and beckons her forward. She approaches shyly, fiddling with her hands.

“Do you want to introduce yourself, ardillita?” he asks her gently.

“You didn’t tell me your Douxie was blue!” she whispers, eyes wide.

Alex laughs lightly, though Douxie can see the question in his eyes. “Ah, well, I… didn’t expect him to be blue when you met him.”

“Hi, there,” Douxie says, crouching to her level and offering a hand for her to shake. She takes it, still clearly awed by his Akiridion form. “I’m Douxie. What’s your name?”

“Hildegard,” she mumbles.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Miss Hildegard,” he says. Where on Earth did this tiny human come from? Alex must sense his confusion, or maybe he was just anticipating the question because he shifts and rubs the back of his neck.

“Okay, um, so,” he manages. “Well. I know we have… a lot to talk about, and I have a lot to apologise for, but… I promised I’d take care of her. Elaine – her mother – she saved my life. And Hilde deserves to grow up safe and loved. She needs me – us – if you’re not still – still angry with me, that is.”

Gods, that fight feels like so long ago. He’s right, they do have a lot to talk about. Douxie has a lot to apologise for. His anger, his words, they’ve haunted him ever since. But right now, in front of everyone, is neither the time nor place. He’s not angry, not anymore, and he’s not sure he even wants Alex to apologise for anything. For what? Douxie’s the one that blew up. But right now, Alex is here and alive and Douxie couldn’t be happier, so he stands and gently kisses him again.

“We’ll take care of her,” he promises softly, before returning his attention to Hildegard and smiling. “I look forward to getting to know you, Miss Hilde.”

She nods shyly, eyes still wide and awed. That’s fair. If he’d found out extra-terrestrials were real at however old she is he would have been stoked. How old is she? Like three? No, she’s way too big to be three. Like seven? Is she supposed to be in school yet? He wonders if she’ll want colour-coded notebooks. Do they have notebooks at this age? Or is class done in crayons or something? Or maybe nowadays it’s all done on iPads or something. Damn. Douxie was very prepared to say he was ready for kids but he knows very little about kids.

“Um,” she says quietly, “why are you blue?”

Krel snorts. “Oh my god, you can’t just ask someone why they’re blue.”

“Krel,” Douxie says disapprovingly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “We’re from another planet called Akiridion-5. Our Akiridion forms are blue but since we’re beings of energy, give or take, we can disguise ourselves.”

“What’s a planet?” Hilde asks.

Krel stares at her. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t know what a planet is,” she says.

“She’s five, Krel, give her a break,” Alex says with a chuckle.

Hilde makes a face and tugs his pant leg. "Five and three-quarters, Alex!"

"Oh, of course, yes, I'm sorry," he says, amused. “Earth is a planet, sweetheart. And we orbit the sun, which is a star, like all the others in the sky. And some of those others in the sky also have planets like Earth that have people like Krel… and Douxie… living on them.”

Hilde gasps. “You’re from the sky? Like – like heaven?”

“Oh, god, I forgot you guys think that,” mumbles Alex. “No. Um. Tristan, Hilde, everything you know about science is probably wrong. And I’m so happy I can say that now.”

Douxie snorts. “It’s been killing you not to write a whole essay against the geocentric model thing, huh?”

“I have been in physical pain dealing with that, yes,” Alex jokes back.

“It’s starting to snow,” says Lancelot, coming over and clapping a hand on Alex’s back. “As amusing as this is, we should get inside. It’s good to see you, lad.”

“Good to see you too, Sir Lancelot,” Alex says with a smile. The group of them start heading inside. Douxie wraps two arms around Alex’s waist since his only hand gets immediately taken up by little Hilde’s. “I gotta say, I did not expect to be finding an Akiridion ship when we found Douxie and Krel.”

“Isn’t it fantastic?” Krel says giddily. “Technology! Running water! Synthesisers for food!”

“Oh, yeah, I have missed technology,” Alex says.

“You look happier to see the ship than you are to see me,” Douxie teases.

Alex glances at him with a sad smile, something soft and serious in his eyes. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Douxie.”

Douxie leans his head on his shoulder, acutely aware of the way it falls onto his shoulder more awkwardly due to the unfamiliar new height he has in this form. He’s still shorter than Alex because Alex is unfairly tall, but the difference is less than he’s used to. It makes it feel like they’ve been apart even longer. He can’t imagine how Alex must feel to see him like this, and it makes him anxious.

“So,” says Tristan to Alex, “when were you gonna tell me your husband was from another planet?”

“Well, you would have called me crazy,” Alex reasons. Douxie is relieved he’s playing along so easily. He’ll explain more later when they get the chance to sit and talk one on one.

“Me! Your best friend in all of Camelot!”

Alex laughs. “I’m sorry!”

“Is Arcadia even real?” Tristan asks. “Is it another planet?”

“No, no, Arcadia is on Earth,” says Krel. “Humans and trolls and wizards like we told you. That much wasn’t a lie. Like I said, we’re from Akiridion-5, which is very, very far from here.”

“Fuckin’ amazing,” Tristan mumbles. Alex shoots him a look. “I mean, um, don’t repeat that, Hilde.”

Hilde giggles shyly and nods.

“I’m glad you made it back in time for New Year’s,” Douxie says.

“Oh, yeah,” Alex says with a surprised blink. “It’s New Year’s Eve, isn’t it?”

“And you’re home,” Douxie sighs, leaning to kiss his cheek. Christmas was hard enough without him. New Year’s was going to be hard anyway; they’re still stuck here and Douxie doesn’t even know if Nan has made any progress on getting them home. But now at least Douxie has Alex here with him. He still feels like he's dreaming. This morning he started the day knowing his husband was dead, knowing he was going to have to begin a new year centuries in the past without the love of his life. Now, now, Alex is alive. Alex is alive and – and apparently has adopted a child. That’s a thing. Another glance at Hilde – soft curls and freckles on dark skin.

Alex called her ardillita. Just like in his dream.

Douxie lets out a choked gasp before tears well again. Alex stops walking. Krel stops too, but Steve ushers him forward, and soon Douxie is alone with Alex and Hilde and he falls to his knees because he’s so overwhelmed by it all. Hilde lurches forward, hesitates, and then must decide he needs it because she hugs him.

“There, there,” she mumbles and Douxie laughs weakly. “Hugs always make me feel better.”

“I dreamt of you,” he whispers. She leans back and blinks at him, and he reaches out to brush her hair out of her face and then looks up at Alex. “I dreamt of us. I thought – I thought it wasn’t real but – you were making pancakes with her! And – and – oh my gods, you’re really alive. You’re really alive.”

Alex sits and pulls both Douxie and Hilde into his arms. Hilde smiles and snuggles right up to him, and it just makes Douxie melt and start crying harder. He’s so happy to have his husband back. The adopted (maybe?) daughter is a lot to process, but given what it sounds like, that Hilde was orphaned, Douxie would have absolutely done the same thing. He wants to know everything that’s happened since they were separated, he wants to know if Alex is actually okay. He pulls away just enough that he can drink in Alex’s face, a sight he never thought he’d see again. There’s no new scars, but he’s visibly tired and stressed. Well, at least to Douxie, who knows by now how to read him like a book. A very handsome book. His dreadlocks are shorter now, not long enough to pull up into a bun so they drape over his shoulders. The few strands of white weaved in look–

Wait.

Okay, no need to get worried, stress causes grey hairs, right? And – and if he did get tortured, maybe that’s why. But such a stark, vivid white, a shock of brightness against dark brown curls…

“Doux?” Alex says softly, breaking him away from his staring. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, um,” Douxie says. Okay, communication. Communication is good. Except the question, simple as it is, sticks in his throat and he plasters on a smile instead. “Yeah. Everything is perfect now.”

Later, when they’re alone, he’ll ask. Everything is perfect, because Alex is home. So what if they still have to talk about the fight? So what if Douxie has spent weeks mourning him, so what if a part of him is afraid they won’t slot back together perfectly, that trauma might have melted their edges just enough that the puzzle pieces don’t match anymore? No, they’re Alex and Douxie. Everything is perfect, everything will be perfect.

If he keeps saying it, maybe then he’ll believe it.

Hilde grabs hold of Alex’s hand again as the three of them stand and continue back to the dining room area where the others have gathered. Mordred looks more cheerful than he has since Christmas, and certainly since the dark magic incident. Krel happily passes Alex a plate of what Douxie recognises as enchiladas. Oh, Douxie never would have figured out how to make those with the synthesisers.

“Nothing like a taste of home to welcome you back,” Krel says with a grin.

Alex looks like Christmas came – well, again. “Enchiladas! And you even made the Salvadoran kind!”

“I can be thoughtful sometimes,” says Krel. He offers Hilde a bowl of chips. “And for my new niece, some potato chips. Nice, simple, and delicious.”

“I have a blue uncle too?” she asks excitedly.

Krel grins and holds out his arms. “Uncle Krel, at your service! I am going to teach you how to build a super-computer.”

“What’s that?”

Krel looks perplexed, even though this is an obvious question from a kid from the Middle Ages. “It’s a – a – Alex, how do I explain a super-computer to a small human?”

“Great question,” says Alex.

“So,” says Iros, a little awkward but managing a smile. “I do believe some introductions are in order since we now have… more guests.”

“Oh, right, yes,” says Douxie. “This is my husband, Alex, and the little girl is Hilde. Krel and I’s brother-in-law, Steve. And Alex’s fellow knight, Tristan. Alex, Steve, Tristan, these are Iros Ventis of Akiridion-5 and Lionel, uh, Lancelot’s cousin.”

“Lancelot has a cousin?” Steve blurts.

“Hello, humans!” Lionel says brightly. “A pleasure to meet you all. Part fae, I see, young Steve?”

“Um, uh, yeah,” Steve says awkwardly.

“And, Hilde, you’ve met Douxie now, and that’s his brother Krel,” says Alex gently. “Over there is Sir Lancelot, he was King Arthur’s husband. And Prince Mordred.”

Hilde gasps, starry-eyed. “The real prince? For real?”

Alex laughs. “The real prince, for real.”

“Wow,” Hilde murmurs in awe.

“How much do you know of what’s happened, Alex?” Lancelot asks.

“The basics,” Alex says. “As far as Anna knows, we’re in Fowydh right now. So if you need some of us to go back to Camelot for any reason, we’re still in her good books.”

“Oh, no,” says Douxie immediately. “We are not splitting up again. You are staying with me.”

Alex laughs and kisses his cheek. “Nowhere I’d rather be, babe.”

“So, uh, the other Akiridion – Akiridion is right, right?” Tristan checks. Krel nods, looking pleased. “Yes, right. The other Akiridion, Iros, are you three like related? Did you know she was here?”

“We’re not related,” Iros says, amused. “In fact, Krel and Douxie come from House Akraohm, which House Ventis has been at war with for a very long time.”

“Yeah, we didn’t know she was here,” Krel says. “Mordred did, though.”

Mordred rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve known Iros for a couple of years. She helped me a lot after Mum died.”

“It is so nice to be back in an Akiridion ship,” Alex says through a mouthful of enchilada. “And Krel, oh my god, thank you so much, I have missed food like this. Tastes like home.”

“I should send a picture to Claire,” Krel says with a grin.

“She’ll be so jealous,” says Alex. “You should do it. I think it’d be funny.”

“Is everything still okay at the castle?” Lancelot asks. “It’s been some time since Krel and Iros went.”

“You snuck into the castle?” Alex asks Krel. Krel shrugs sheepishly. “Krel! You’re a wanted traitor!”

“Ah, but I was a random baker when I went to the castle,” says Krel.

“He burned his hands on purpose,” says Steve.

“You what!?” Douxie exclaims.

“I wanted it to be less suspicious going to the healers!” Krel protests. “It was a good idea.”

“That’s a terrible idea!”

“It worked. Steve’s just a tattletale.”

“Are you twenty-five or ten, Krel?”

Alex laughs and shakes his head. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your bickering.”

“Glad someone enjoys it,” mutters Iros, though her face betrays her amusement.

“What else have I missed?” Alex asks. “I know, um, what Merlin did. And I know what Anna thinks happened. But what’s the plan from here?”

“A plan would be nice,” mumbles Mordred.

Douxie zones out as the rest of the group continues catching Alex and to some extent Steve and Tristan up with everything. They’ve been over all this with Lionel recently, and Douxie really doesn’t care to pay attention to it again. The warm familiarity of Alex’s voice lulls him into a peacefulness he hasn’t felt since he lost him. He’s still not entirely convinced this is real, but if it is a dream he doesn’t ever want to wake up, so he lets himself relax into it and get comfortable. Alex is here. Everything might just be okay.

 

 

There’s just barely enough rooms for everyone to have a place to sleep, but Steve claims the med-bay for his sleeping space anyway because he’ll “probably be woken up for something stupid in the middle of the night anyway”, which is said looking directly at Krel. Lancelot and Lionel share a room, as do Mordred and Iros and Krel and Tristan. Krel looks less than pleased, which given the sheer amount of questions Tristan has about Akiridion-5, Douxie can understand. That leaves a room for Douxie and Alex and Hilde. Douxie can’t put into words how happy he is that he’ll get to share a bed with his husband again, wake up next to him and reassure himself it wasn’t all a dream. They bring in a smaller cot for little Hilde and pile it high with blankets. They’ll need to take her shopping when they get home, get her some proper modern clothes and bedding and decorations for her room. He wonders what she might like. Princesses? Like, Frozen, maybe? Little girls like frozen. Or maybe she’ll be into dinosaurs or something. They can totally get her dinosaur bedding. Aw, and cute dinosaur pyjamas. That would be cute.

Douxie hovers in the doorway as Alex tucks her into bed. He doesn’t want to intrude too much, to disrupt whatever routine they’ve fallen into. Fatherhood suits Alex. Douxie knew it would, because he was always so good with Lillie when she was little and his younger cousins as well. He’s fallen right into the role, just like Douxie imagined, and it’s especially evident as Alex sings her a soft lullaby before kissing her forehead and pulling the blanket over her shoulders.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Sweet dreams.”

“Night, Alex,” she mumbles. “Night, Douxie.”

Douxie smiles, thrilled to be included. “Goodnight, kiddo.”

Alex adjusts the blanket for her one last time before joining Douxie at the doorway. Together they slip out of the room and down the hall to the common area on the ship. Alex sits in the most couch-like chair in the room and Douxie collapses next to him, curling up to his side. The others are outside, celebrating the New Year as midnight draws closer. Douxie can see them out the window, which eases his nerves even if he’s confident in his wards.

Douxie turns off his transduction so he can fully melt against his husband just like he used to, so things can finally feel normal again. He’s spent most of his time in the disguise, and it makes him feel strange to be out of it. Alex kisses his hair.

“So it was a transduction, not an illusion,” he observes.

Douxie laughs a little awkwardly and shyly. “Ah, yeah, well... it seemed like a lot of work to explain the eyes, and if Mordred thinks I’m Akiridion, I guess that makes sense why he never put two and two together. He would have said something to us if he had. He – he would have warned us.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “I was wondering if the transduction would work on you. I thought it might because of your core, but I’m surprised it worked so... thoroughly.”

“Me too,” Douxie murmurs. “I don’t know what it means. I really didn’t think it’d work and yet – the other form feels so natural. I hate that it feels natural. Am I even human anymore? I – if not, what am I?”

“You’re Douxie,” Alex says gently, reaching over to brush the hair out of his face. “My brave, beautiful, kind Douxie.”

Douxie laughs again, but this time he finds himself on the verge of tears. “Gods, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Alex sighs, kissing his forehead again. Douxie can’t get enough of the kisses, of any physical contact to prove that Alex is real. “I tried to come home sooner, I promise I did. I was sick for a while, and healing from my arm, and then when I finally got to Camelot I had to worry about Hilde... I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Douxie says. “You’re right, Hilde probably is safer in the castle... so... why did you leave?”

“Merlin was getting more and more suspicious of Steve and I,” Alex admits. “He straight up cornered me the other day, and he kept glaring at us when he saw us. I didn’t trust him anywhere near Hilde, so… we left.”

Douxie’s brow furrows. “Steve, I understand, but why of you?”

“Oh, um,” Alex looks awkward. It’s the same face he gets when he experiments on their TV remote and breaks it or manages to injure himself however minorly in the lab, which isn’t a very good sign. “Funny story. You’re going to laugh. Or get mad. Probably the latter. Definitely the latter.”

“How could I possibly be mad at you when I just got you back?” Douxie says, cupping his cheek with a hand. “Whatever it is, I won’t be mad.”

Alex winces and scratches awkwardly at the old scar on his cheek. “I may have... just a little bit... used... dark magic.”

Douxie’s eyes dart back to the white in his hair and widen. Oh. Yeah. Okay, so he was right to jump to that conclusion before and be worried. Dark magic still wears him out after years of practice, and he’s a wizard. The idea of Alex using dark magic scares him – how easy would it be for Alex to drain all of himself away with a single spell? Mundanes aren’t used to channelling energy, and life energy is so precious. Pour too much in and that would be the end of things. Douxie is hit by the vivid image of Alex melting away into the shadows, using everything he has and leaving Douxie alone all over again.

“Douxie?” Alex says, more anxious than Douxie wants to hear.

“I’m not mad,” he clarifies quickly, snapping himself out of his anxious spiralling. “But... I won’t lie and say I’m not worried. Dark magic is dangerous.”

“I know,” Alex says. “It was an emergency. The – the raid, on Hilde’s village, where her mom died. We were surrounded, and I had to protect Hilde, and – and I didn’t want to die without ever seeing you again. I wasn’t even sure it would work. And then – and then when Elaine died, I was just so angry. She saved my life, she was so kind, and then she was… gone.”

“Oh, Alex,” murmurs Douxie. “No, I understand. But, not to be a hypocrite...”

“I don’t plan to use more,” Alex says softly. “At least, not for fun or anything. It was – it was exhilarating. To use some kind of magic. But I won’t risk my life for that kind of thrill. No promises about emergencies.”

Douxie chuckles and leans his head on Alex’s shoulder. “I can accept that. I’d rather you use dark magic than die.”

His voice chokes off despite himself on the last word. His eyes feel wet again, and before he knows it tears are slipping down his cheek. He turns his face into Alex’s shoulder, acutely aware of the missing weight of an arm that should be around his own shoulders but isn’t. His husband was tortured. His husband is alive. Alex’s chest rises and falls with his breathing, and he’s alive and Douxie has a billion things to say to him and no idea where to even start.

“Douxie, I... I’m so sorry,” Alex says softly. “About everything, but especially about the fight–”

Douxie shakes his head and pulls back to wipe his eyes. “No. No, I’m sorry. I’m the one who blew up. I should have – should have listened to you, let you finish. Instead, I blew things out of proportion, and I’ve done nothing but regret what I said since. Gods, Alex, I’m so sorry.”

“In your defence, I definitely worded things... poorly,” Alex admits. “I just – I love you, you that, right? I love you so much, and I know you love me, but that... it worries me. Because you are long-lived. And one day – one day, you’re going to lose me.”

Douxie swallows. He’s spent so much time in the Akiridion form lately that he can feel muscles that don’t exist moving to wrap two arms he doesn’t have around his torso. The realisation hurts even more. Maybe as a wizard with no fae blood, he would have lived a hundred, two hundred extra years. Akiridions live... a very long time.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I know. Trust me, I know.”

“A child – that’s another person for you to lose,” Alex says, voice small and meek. “I didn’t - I don’t want you to have to go through more heartache. That’s - that’s what I was trying to explain. But... my friend Bedivere pointed out to me that it’s not up to me to decide for you if that’s worth it.”

Douxie takes a moment to try to put his thoughts together. He sighs and leans against Alex again. “I’ve always been aware I would outlive you. But I would never, ever choose to never love you so that I would never lose you. Even – even knowing now how much that hurts. What kind of life would that be, to never love out of fear of loss?”

“You’re right,” Alex agrees. He leans his head on Douxie’s. “I just... hate the idea that I’m going to break your heart one day, just because I’m... human.”

“I gave you my heart knowing you would leave me, one day,” mumbles Douxie. “I forgave you for that before you even knew it would be a risk. It’s my choice to cherish you while I have you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t live forever for you.” He hears Alex take a shaky breath and turns to give him a sad smile and kiss his jaw. “And I’m sorry I kind of unilaterally decided to adopt a kid after getting into a fight about that.”

“I probably would have done the same,” Douxie says. “And again – I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up. Seklos, you just wanted to protect me and I told you to fuck off.”

“It’s okay,” Alex murmurs. “We’re okay. Right?”

“Yeah,” Douxie agrees, smiling through the tears that start to form again. He takes Alex’s hand and presses a tender kiss to his knuckles. “We’re okay. I promise.”

Alex sighs and rests his cheek on Douxie’s head. Douxie closes his eyes and leans into him, savouring the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart, just barely audible but there, he’s there and alive and finally, finally, Douxie’s world feels stable again.

It’s started to snow outside, the flakes sparkling in the lights outside the ship. Krel has set up makeshift fireworks for the hell of it. He hears the others outside begin counting down, instigated by Steve and Krel but Mordred and Tristan both sound delighted to join in. Maybe they’re stuck in the past, but at least Douxie has his family. They’ll get home together, somehow. Douxie tilts his head up and waits for the yell of “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” before meeting Alex’s lips as fireworks crackle outside and the others cheer. Alex hums happily and pulls him closer, and even as the kiss separates they stay close, foreheads resting together. More tears slip down Douxie’s cheeks.

“Happy New Year, my Douxie,” Alex whispers.

Douxie smiles through his tears, wider than he has in a long time. “Happy New Year, my Alex.”

Notes:

THE GAYS ARE REUNITEDDDDDD
I had a harder time than expected with this chapter but YAY ALOUXIE sdjkgjklasdhrg they are my babies and I'm glad to have gotten them back together.

I hope you enjoyed! New Years vibes in July, woo!
Thank you for reading! <3

Chapter 32: Gunmar's Traitor

Jim stares up at the ceiling. Toby and Claire are already asleep. Claire is snuggled up to Toby’s left side and Jim is pressed against his right. Since it’s just the three of them now, Toby has pretty much moved into their room, not that he wasn’t here often to begin with. Jim doesn’t mind in the slightest. It’s nice to have both of his favourite people close. Claire loves Toby almost as much as he does, so it’s certainly not a problem with her either.

It’s been a few days since Alex and Steve left. The holiday celebrations are dying down and Anna’s stress levels are ramping back up. It means more patrols and more scrutiny, which is the last thing they need. Merlin continues to hate them, but at least Anna shuts down any snippy comments about Jim’s species and even about Claire’s previous dark magic use, because Merlin had to be a dick and bring that up. Jim thinks Anna has a soft spot for Claire, so that’s probably why. Jim joked that there’s something about the Penn family, first her brief heart-eyes at Douxie and now Anna. She almost shoved him off the roof for that one. He deserved it.

He can feel himself getting antsy again from too much rest and too little to do. He knows he needs the break, and yet he’s taken every chance to join a patrol and volunteered for every task he can get his hands on. He knows Claire and Toby want him to stop. He doesn’t know how.

“Jimbo,” Toby mumbles. “Go to bed.”

“I’m in bed,” Jim mutters back.

“Go to sleep, then.”

“I’m not tired.”

“If not for yourself then because your angsting is keeping us up,” Claire says, peeking an eye open. “Besides, aren’t you going to Dwoza tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Jim says. Anna asked him to check in with the trolls again, to see if they had any new information and to solidify their alliance further. He’s glad to know she isn’t cutting them off like she did the fae. Then again, Merlin gets along with the Dwoza trolls. Somehow. Jim’s still not sure how or why – Blinky didn’t really like Merlin in the present, and Vendel was great at sussing out bullshit. He would have hoped they’d at least pick up on some of Merlin’s. He literally made the incantation start with “For the glory of Merlin” for fuck’s sake, like – that should have been a red flag, right? Maybe only in retrospect. Maybe only because Jim knows one day this man will be so power-hungry that he’s willing to sacrifice the world for it.

“God, I hope she sends Lamorak or Ikram with us or something,” groans Toby. “Or even a knight we’ve never met before. Anyone but, like, Gawain.”

“It’s definitely going to be Gawain now,” Jim says.

“I hate Gawain,” he whines.

“He hasn’t done anything yet,” Jim points out.

“He’s slimy,” Toby says. “I dunno. He rubs me the wrong way and not just because in the future he’s the Red Knight.”

“At least you aren’t continuously stuck with Merlin,” says Claire. “He’s seriously creepy. I’ve been hanging out with the healers just to avoid him.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” says Toby. “I’ll take Gawain over Merlin any day.”

Jim chuckles and repositions himself to get more comfortable, draping an arm over Toby’s chest so he can play with Claire’s hair. “Maybe we can argue for that Bedivere fellow. Alex seems to like him.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve talked to him some,” says Toby. Then he snorts. “Also, did you really just say fellow unironically?”

“Look–”

“Hey, fellas, my name’s Jim and I’m from the 1930s!” Toby mocks with a laugh. “Now this fellow over here is spiffy, I tell ya, a real swell cat!”

“Shut up,” Jim complains, but he can’t stop himself from grinning. “I’m not the one that still wears sweater vests unironically.”

“Sweater vests are great!”

“Okay, okay, boys,” Claire says, shaking her head in a useless attempt to hide her own smile. “We really do need to get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow for you two.”

“Yes, Claire,” they chorus.

Jim sighs and rests his head on Toby’s upper arm like a pillow. Toby chuckles and closes his eyes. Claire’s smile softens and she curls back close, reaching a hand to take hold of Jim’s own still laying over Toby. Jim never feels safer and more at home than he does curled up with his two best friends in the world. He sleeps easy knowing they’re safe and sound next to him.

 

 

The next morning dawns bright and early. Jim used to be a morning person, but being a changeling now makes mornings a bit miserable. The troll side of him does not like the sunrise. It doesn’t like the afternoon, either, to be fair, because really Jim feels most comfortable after the sun goes down and he’s safe in either form.

Unfortunately, Anna is sending Gawain with them. Jim doesn’t not like Gawain. The guy is cheerful and eager to help the kingdom, even if he definitely has some prejudices against fae. That seems to be par for the course here in Camelot, though. They set out after eating. Toby is scowling for most of the walk, eyes darting around the trees in case of attack and walking as far from Gawain as he can, which is pretty much just Jim’s other side.

“So, Jim!” Gawain says cheerfully. “Tell me more about your kind before we get there. Trolls, I mean. I’d hate to disrespect your culture or whatever.”

“They like socks,” Toby says – a miracle because usually Toby just ignores Gawain. “Especially the left ones for whatever reasons. I own ambidextrous socks. Just put ‘em on whatever foot.”

“I’m not really a troll,” Jim points out. “I was born human, you know. I mean, I know plenty about the trolls of Arcadia, but here? Not so much. Could have totally different customs.”

Never mind that they’re the same trolls. Who knows what time-related cultural differences there are? Jim paid… less attention than he should have to trollish history. Man, Blinky is going to be so disappointed with him. Jim hates disappointing Blinky. He should have read the books better.

“I suppose that makes sense,” says Gawain. “Human customs vary widely, why not trolls?”

“Exactly,” says Jim.

They fall back into silence, boots crunching the snow and leaves beneath them. Toby twirls the handle of his war-hammer in his hand. Jim pulls his cloak tighter against a brief gust of wind.

Eventually Gawain seems unable to take the silence anymore. “So… I heard Sir Alexander is alive, after all.”

“Yep,” says Jim. “He’s off with Tristan and Steve right now checking on Tristan’s hometown. Wherever that is. Dumbass wanted to get right back into things.”

“Hypocrite,” Toby coughs.

“Rumour has it he’s withstood torture,” Gawain says.

“Ever consider we’d rather not talk about our friend getting tortured?” Toby says snippily.

Gawain raises his hands. “Ah, my mistake, Sir Tobias. I was simply curious about the truth of the rumours. I heard he was a dark magic user as well.”

“Alex is mundane as you or me,” says Jim. “So that’s probably a lie. I know Douxie is, so maybe that’s where it stems from.”

Toby glares at the ground but doesn’t say anything. Jim’s not going to lie and pretend he has a single clue about how dark magic works, but magic is magic, right? Claire could do it because she was always a wizard, just didn’t know it. Jim still thinks her magic is especially amazing and he thinks it’s especially nice in how it compliments his troll form, the way she can allow him to venture further out into the world in troll form than he ever could without someone by his side manipulating the shadows. Sometimes it is nice to be in his troll form – he’s come to like it, come to feel just as at home in blue stone skin as pale human skin. Claire, for her part, loves any chance to practice her magic. Jim thinks she’s better than Morgana ever was. He’ll never say that to Morgana’s face, because he values his life, but Claire is just so talented he can’t help but believe it.

He sees the bridge to Dwoza up ahead and waves the others to follow him, pulling out the key and tossing it up in the air and catching it. He opens the portal with little fanfare, gesturing forward.

“After you, gentlemen,” he says.

Toby snorts. “Almost as bad as fellow.”

“Is not,” Jim grumbles, following behind Toby and Gawain. The portal closes behind him and Jim breathes in the warm air of Dwoza, closing his eyes against the golden light of the sky and taking in the bustle of the city. He’s always blown away by the way Dwoza feels like a Trollmarket in its heyday. It makes him ache for home, but it also inspires him to what the future might hold. Now that the war is over, now that they can rebuild, maybe one day Trollmarket will feel even more alive than Dwoza does now. He also mourns the loss of this vibrant home to the trolls – he doesn’t know what happens to it. He didn’t pay enough attention, and for this, he’s kind of glad. If he did know, he may want to warn them. He knows nothing so he can warn of nothing.

“Sir Jim!” yells a familiar voice, and he manages to shift just before Draal barrels into him and knocks them both to the ground. He laughs and tussles with him for a few moments, the way he’s seen some of the whelps and their older comrades do.

“Hey, Draal!” he exclaims. “Didja miss me?”

“You have a battle scar!” Draal beams, poking his cheek. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!”

“Um, thanks?” Jim says.

“Sir Jim, good to see you, lad!” Jim’s face flames hot as Deya comes over and tugs him to his feet. She slaps him on his back, then grins at Toby. “And Sir Tobias as well! How are you boys doing?”

“Um, doing well, Trollhunter,” he says. She gives him a look and he corrects himself. “Deya. It’s good to see you, too.”

“Trollhunter Deya!” Gawain exclaims with a wide smile. “It’s an honour to meet you! I am Sir Gawain.”

She looks him up and down and chuckles, patting his head. “Nice to meet you too, fleshbag. Always nice to see knights respect us.”

Jim’s not sure what to make of Gawain’s tight smile, equal parts offended by the name and clearly unsure of how to respond. Deya doesn’t wait for him to, throwing an arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“We have a visitor today!” she exclaims. “Our secret weapon against Gunmar. Come with me. I think he’d very much like to meet you, Changeling Knight.”

Toby and Jim exchange looks. A secret weapon against Gunmar? Jim has an idea, and he hopes he’s right about it.

“I’ll see you later, Draal,” he says, patting Draal’s head with a fond smile even as he pouts back at him. Toby laughs and Draal punches his arm, which just makes him laugh harder. The two of them and Gawain follow Deya through Dwoza’s winding streets and busy crowds. He doesn’t know who else it could be. Another changeling, maybe? A fae? If it’s a fae maybe they could use that to convince Anna to trust some fae. Like her grandmother. Jim’s only met Lady Viviane once, but she was really nice.

But as they approach the Hero’s Forge and Toby’s face splits into a wide grin it becomes immediately apparent that Jim was right the first time. Of course! Jim feels almost silly for having thought of alternatives. Of course the secret weapon would be Gunmar’s very own traitor.

“Knights of Camelot,” says Deya with a smile, “meet Aarghaumont, or as his friends call him…”

“AAARRRGGHH!!!,” completes the troll, “with three Rs!”

Jim can feel his grin getting just as broad as Toby’s. AAARRRGGHH!!! stands dressed in Gumm-Gumm armour next to Blinky. Jim finally realises what’s really been throwing him off – Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!! are meant to be a pair. Now that they are again, Blinky looks more like himself. Toby darts forward and barely restrains himself from hugging the troll, instead offering a handshake. When AAARRRGGHH!!! looks baffled, Toby takes his hand and shows him what to do.

“Human greeting,” he says. “Nice to meet you, AAARRRGGHH!!!”

“Now that is a large beast,” says Gawain, eyes wide. “Ah, greetings… AAARRRGGHH!!!... we are knights of Camelot! Here to aid in Dwoza’s fight against the wicked Gunmar as Dwoza aids us in return!”

“I find myself surprised that that still stands,” says Vendel, walking out from around AAARRRGGHH!!!. “What with your new queen cutting off magicfolk like her grandfather before her.”

“Things are… tough right now,” Jim says with a wince. “I mean, she did just lose her dad. Give her time.”

“Besides, it’s not like you lot trust our kind any more than we trust yours.” Ugh, Gawain. Why did he have to say anything? Vendel looks heavily unimpressed by this comment. AAARRRGGHH!!! huffs as well.

“Well, I hope you trust us enough to heed our warnings,” says Vendel.

“Not all of us share Gawain’s distrust,” says Toby, shooting Gawain a glare. His face softens into worry. “What warnings? Did something happen?”

“AAARRRGGHH!!! usually comes with news, but today his information is most urgent,” Blinky says. “AAARRRGGHH!!!?”

“Gunmar plans attack on Camelot,” AAARRRGGHH!!! rumbles. “Easy target. Mourning.”

“Oh, no,” mumbles Jim. “When? Do you have any details?”

“No details,” says AAARRRGGHH!!!. “Soon. More raids, too.”

“There have been more raids, yeah,” Toby agrees, pursing his lips. “Deya, how’s the updated amulet working? Everything going smoothly?”

She nods. “It sure is. Send my thanks to Merlin, will ya?”

Toby winces but nods. “Yeah, we’ll pass it on.”

“I don’t know his exact plan,” she admits, taking out the amulet and turning it over in her hands. “But he seems to think we can finally end this war. I hope he’s right. I want peace for all of us.”

“Don’t we all,” says Gawain softly.

“What will you do?” Jim can’t help but ask. He still hasn’t found this answer for himself, and if he can get advice from Deya… maybe it would help. “When peace is finally here?”

She smiles and winks at him. “Choose myself a new destiny.”

Jim chuckles. He should have expected that. He wishes, not for the first or last time, that he could warn her of the coming battles. He doesn’t know when or how Deya dies, but he knows the life expectancy for Trollhunters is… shorter than your average troll’s. He knows he can’t say anything, but he hopes she got to have some semblance of peace for many years.

“You are welcome to stay as long as you please,” Vendel says. “But tell your queen that we are not pleased with the backwards steps she is taking. We will continue to come to your aid if we’re welcome, but we won’t be treated as less than.”

“That’s the last thing we want,” Jim promises. “Anna hasn’t treated me any different and I’m a changeling. I think it’s only the fae she’s upset with.”

“One prejudice can blossom quickly into many,” Vendel warns, which is a little rich considering the prejudices Jim knows trolls have against changelings and even humans. “She must be careful not to let fear and anger consume her like it did King Uther.”

“We’ll… pass the message on,” Jim says.

“Alright, alright, enough of this heavy stuff,” says Deya, patting Jim’s shoulder. “Jim! Why don’t you shadow me for a bit? I think it’d be good for you!”

Oh, yeah. Yeah, that conversation a bit ago definitely gave away more than Jim would have liked. She totally knows.

“He’s a workaholic,” Toby warns.

“Oh, I’m aware,” she says. “Draal! I see you hiding back there. Come on, kiddo, you too.”

Draal yelps and tumbles out from behind the rock formation where he was hiding. Jim sighs. Kids. To be fair, Draal never does get any stealthier. Jim still doesn’t know how he managed to hide him in his basement for so long, except that his mom wasn’t home enough to notice and certainly didn’t venture into the basement much at that point. To be fair, Jim isn’t so sure he was very good at stealth himself. Looking back he definitely just had the amulet in an open pocket ninety percent of the time. Jeez, no wonder Strickler figured him out so fast.

“I guess I’ll see you two later,” Jim says awkwardly.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, Jimbo,” says Toby. “But also don’t expect me to hang out with Gawain.”

Gawain harrumphs. “Maybe I don’t want to ‘hang out’ with you either, Tobias.”

Jim sighs and rubs his forehead. “Please don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

He then follows a laughing Deya away from the Hero’s Forge. She has no idea how serious he is. Toby hates Gawain, and Toby doesn’t hate easily. Jim can’t tell what Gawain thinks of Toby, but he’s clearly insulted by him and Jim doesn’t know if he’s more likely to challenge Toby to a duel over it or try desperately to win Toby over, neither of which would end particularly well.

“So, Jim,” says Deya. “You want to see the day-to-day of a Trollhunter here in Dwoza?”

“I mean, yeah, yeah, that’d be cool,” Jim says. He tries to pretend he isn’t excited. Draal, at least, is practically vibrating, so Jim isn’t the only one excited to shadow Deya the Deliverer. “What do you do? Do you – I dunno, fight stuff? Plan attacks on Gunmar?”

“Mostly, I help the community,” says Deya, clearly amused. Jim and Draal deflate in unison. She laughs. “Oh, don’t get so disappointed. Being a Trollhunter is about far more than fighting things.”

Jim knows this. Of course he does. The fact that he immediately jumped to war-related Trollhunting duties is probably not a good sign and all the more reason she must have asked him to shadow her. Draal looks even more disappointed.

“Not even a little bit of fighting?” he says.

“Sorry, Draal,” she says, reaching back to knock briefly on his head. He giggles then immediately straightens and pretends he didn’t. “Usually I start off by checking in with the elders. A lot of them are so old they’ve practically turned to stone already, so it helps a lot to bring them anything they might need. Most have family that will help, but there’s a few that don’t.”

“There are trolls that old?” mumbles Jim, blinking. He’s never seen any that old in Trollmarket. Another thing that was perhaps affected by the way, or perhaps by the move to the Americas. After all, if they’re so old they can hardly move around, they would have been hard to move across the ocean. How many trolls really did start out at Trollmarket? Blinky said they came on the Mayflower or something, and that ship wasn’t exactly big.

“And older,” says Deya. “Some of the eldest trolls only wake and move once every century, if that.”

“Woah,” Jim says. “Do trolls – uh – do they die of old age?”

“Yes, we do,” Deya says, amused. “No one taught you this? Yes, though it’s a slow, slow thing for us, not like humans. Eventually, the eldest trolls simply stop waking and moving, and become a part of the stone once more.”

“And all trolls turn to stone when they die, right?” Jim says.

“Yep,” she says. “Different types of stone, though, for different types of trolls. I dunno about changelings, though. They’re so new. Who knows if you’ll turn to stone or not?”

“Honestly, no idea,” Jim admits. “I just hope whatever my lifespan is, it’s more human than troll. I’ll take a wizard lifespan, I guess, but centuries… I don’t know about that.”

“I can understand that,” she says. “Who wants to outlive the people they love?”

“Exactly,” Jim says. It’s hard enough knowing he’ll outlive Toby, because Toby is fully human, fully mundane. He doesn’t want to outlive Claire too. He’s not sure there’s anything he can do about that, but… well, maybe, for once, fate will be kind instead of cruel.

“Ah, we’re here!” Deya says. “Come along, watch your step. We should probably pick up for her while we’re here.”

“Her?”

“Elder Brynmara,” says Deya with a smile. “One of the oldest trolls in Dwoza. You’ll like her, come on.”

“Oh, Father’s told me of her!” says Draal. “She used to watch him for his parents when she could still move around and stuff.”

“She always loved whelps,” says Deya. “She’ll be happy you’re visiting, Draal. Might think you’re Kanjigar. Just let her roll with it.”

Draal preens. “It’s an honour to be compared to Father!”

Jim holds his tongue. He has issues with his predecessor and most of them stem from how he treated Draal. Maybe Kanjigar was a great Trollhunter, but he was a terrible father. Jim knows terrible fathers well. Kanjigar may not have fucked off to another state, but the amount of time he gave to Draal after he became Trollhunter, he might as well have. And based on what he’s seen here, that wasn’t even new.

Deya pushes aside a curtain of shells and grass and they walk into the cave. Jim almost doesn’t see Elder Brynmara at first, because she blends so well into the cave that he thinks she’s just another rock. But then she shifts and blinks her eyes open to look at them.

“Good morning, Elder, I’ve brought you some berries and fresh river stones,” says Deya. “And visitors! Introducing Sir Jim, son of…”

She glances at him and he smiles. “Barbara.”

“Sir Jim, son of Barbara,” completes Deya. “And Draal, son of Kanjigar.”

“Oh, Kanjigar,” says Elder Brynmara, voice harsh like crumbling stone and slow, careful. “It is good… to see you.”

For all his blustering and eagerness outside, now that they’re here, Draal is meek and shy. “Oh, um, hello, Elder.”

“Elder Brynmara, it’s an honour to meet you,” Jim says, trying to remember his lessons with Blinky and ultimately settling for a simple but low bow. She turns to him, over the course of a whole minute, only moving her head, but he sees a smile form.

“Greetings… youngling…” she says. “So good… to see… whelps come by.”

Eh, Jim is far from a whelp but she’s also probably older than he can ever imagine, so he lets it go. “Deya invited me.”

Deya walks over and starts feeding Elder Brynmara the berries and stones. “I’m teaching the boys about how to be a Trollhunter. Part of that is being a good friend to all.”

“Such a… kind… lass,” says Elder Brynmara. “Always… looks out for us.”

“How old are you?” Jim asks, before wincing. “If that’s not rude. Sorry.”

She laughs. “No… always curious… whelps. Brynmara... is very old. After so many... centuries... one stops... counting!”

Okay, that’s fair. Jim remembers the one time he’d dared to ask Mort Penn how old he was, and the man had just shrugged and said, “Something like late thirties, early forties, give or take a few centuries. Probably.” He’s never asked Blinky or AAARRRGGHH!!!. They’re at least nine centuries old, but given they both seem to be fully grown adults now, they’re probably much older. Jim hopes he doesn’t live long enough to know what that feels like, to be around so long that the centuries blur together and he stops bothering to count.

“They say Elder Brynmara is older than humans, but I don’t know about that,” says Deya.

“I am!” Elder Brynmara exclaims, but it’s clear she’s joking. Probably. Hopefully. Trolls live long but not that long. He thinks. “Back then... I ran around... more than Kanjigar! And I wore... my grass... in such... beautiful... braids.”

Jim glances over her – yep, she does have long grass for hair. It’s still long and alive, so he hesitantly approaches.

“I know how to braid,” he says. “Would you, um, like me to?”

She lights up. “Oh! That would be... wonderful.”

Jim nods and sits next to her, gathering the long grass in his hands and gently weaving it together. He’s braided Claire’s hair and Toby’s hair both before. He learned from his mother, back when she liked to wear her hair in a braided bun and he wanted to help her however he could. Deya gives him an approving look. Yes, Jim does know all this, or at least that being a Trollhunter means looking out for the community. That’s what his restaurant is for, after all. But it’s easy to forget that in wartime, that part of the job – the real honour of the job – doesn't go away. The community is still there. They need the Trollhunter more than ever.

And back home, in peace, they need him too.

Jim just needs to let himself remember that.

 

 

He and Draal spend the rest of the morning shadowing Deya. They visit several other elder trolls besides Elder Brynmara, and each of them have stories to tell Jim never would have heard if not for this time travel. They also stop by the nursery and help out some there. The image of Deya Jim always had in his head falls away, replaced by a kind, gentle soul. It’s clear she prefers this side of the role, and Jim has to admit he does too. He did, at home – being back at war really just reminds him that his nostalgia clouded his judgement. This morning has reminded him what he truly loves about being Trollhunter: helping people.

They end up leaving far later than they meant to. The trolls offer them snacks for the road and Jim happily takes some, because why not. He’s wary of sundown approaching. They were supposed to leave at lunchtime, but Jim got caught up following Deya around and he supposes Toby and Gawain got caught up doing other things. He’ll ask Toby when they get home.

They aren’t far from Dwoza when Jim hears a rustling in the trees. He stops and narrows his eyes at the shadows. Gawain’s hand goes to his sword. Toby activates his war-hammer.

“Do you see something?” Gawain asks quietly.

Jim looks at the darkening sky, the long shadows cast by trees. He shifts to troll form – no burns, no sun. At least, no sunlight hitting him. He returns his attention to the trees.

Something glints in the dying light.

“Get down!” he yells, tackling Toby and tugging Gawain down by the wrist. Just in time, too, because a Gumm-Gumm sword flies overhead and sticks several inches into the tree behind them.

When he looks up, they’re surrounded. Gunmar steps out of the shadows. Jim scrambles to his feet. The other two copy him. Jim did not expect to see Gunmar again so soon, but by the angry snarl on his face, he is pissed. He knows Gunmar doesn’t like losing, even if he wouldn’t call last time a loss. It still must have been enough to get his attention, the very last thing Jim wanted.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, we’re fucked,” mumbles Toby anxiously. “We’re deader than dead – and fuckeder than fucked.”

“Not helping, Tobes,” Jim mutters.

“Changeling,” Gunmar growls.

“Gunmar,” Jim replies, voice thankfully coming out calm despite his horror. “Can’t say I’m pleased to see you again.”

Gunmar huffs. “I am not without mercy. I will give you one final chance, impure. Join your rightful master. There does not have to be a fight.”

“Jim is his own rightful master!” Toby snaps.

Jim meets Gunmar’s eyes evenly, his own narrowing. “What he said.”

Gunmar chuckles and raises the Decimaar blade, eerie gold sparking off its surface in a way Jim’s never seen before.

“So be it,” he says.

He roars and charges, prompting the rest of the Gumm-Gumms to attack as well. Toby wasn’t wrong. They’re fuckeder than fucked for sure. There’s three of them and at least a dozen Gumm-Gumms. Jim doesn’t have time to focus on Toby and Gawain because Gunmar has decided to gun for him specifically. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He dodges to the side and then lifts his sword to block Gunmar’s wide swing. Gunmar is still stronger than him, but he’s still more agile, so with a screeching slide of the blades he slips out of their locked position and darts backwards. He hops on the back of another Gumm-Gumm. Before it can react, he pushes himself into a jump. He grabs onto a tree trunk and then clambers into the branches. Gunmar roars furiously.

From here, he can see the trolls of Dwoza pouring out of the bridge portal to help, including both Deya and Kanjigar. Okay, Jim feels much better with two extra Trollhunters on their side.

The tree he’s in shudders. He looks down. Oh, fuck. He leaps just before Gunmar manages to bring the entire tree down, skidding upon landing and wincing as his ankle twists. Ouch.

Gunmar rushes him again. Jim isn’t prepared this time. He gets knocked off his feet, barely managing to bring his sword back up to block Gunmar’s. He’s overpowered quicker than he’d like. Gunmar reaches down and wrenches his arm backwards with a horrible cracking sound. Jim cries out.

“Jimbo!” he hears Toby yell.

“You’re a traitor to your own kind,” Gunmar snarls. “No longer, impure. You bow to me!”

The Decimaar blade lights up golden. What the fuck, what the fuck? Jim struggles and yells, vision greying at the edges, a sharp tug at his chest. He can feel his voice ripping his throat, the screams animalistic and wrong. Something’s changed about the blade, and his head hurts. He fights – an invisible force, pulling at him, suffocating him – Jim fights.

It’s too much.

Jim’s world blinks away into darkness.

Notes:

Sorry about this cliffhanger. You are in fact stuck with it.
🙂🙂🙂

Hope you enjoyed some minor worldbuilding and whatnot! Thank you for reading! <3333

Chapter 33: Phoning Home

Mordred is well and truly restless again. The “now what?” feeling hangs over all of them like a brewing thunderstorm. Douxie, at least, is still riding the high of Alex’s return. Krel is too, to an extent. He’s ecstatic to have his brother-in-law back. Alex’s loss hurt all of them. Seeing him alive is a relief Krel can’t put into words. Maybe they will all get through this just fine. Krel knows now to be on guard more than he was before, knows they can die here, knows they will die here if they aren’t careful. Krel doesn’t consider himself a god, doesn’t consider himself to have any control over life and death, but surely, surely he can keep his friends and family alive to the end. Right?

But having Alex back doesn’t change the fact that they’re stuck in a defunct Akiridion ship with no way to help Mordred and no way to get home. Krel’s done his best to use the limited access Iros still has to interplanetary databases to see if there’s any scientific way he can send them home, but as expected science has decided time travel is not possible. Krel hates magic sometimes. Other planets have magic too, but they keep details about it a close-guarded secret, usually. There’s almost no information that he can find back home with full access to modern interplanetary databases, so here, with limited access and nine centuries less progress, he’s having zero luck. Krel is getting so desperate he’s almost tempted to ask Lionel. Almost. He still isn’t sure what he thinks of the fae. Lionel has been nothing but kind in the time he’s been with them, and Lancelot and Mordred both trust him. But just because they can trust him to help them with the Camelot and Merlin stuff doesn’t mean Krel wants to mention time travel to him.

This afternoon finds them sitting outside eating lunch while Douxie and Mordred spar – Douxie said something about keeping Mordred’s skills sharp, but Krel thinks maybe he’s secretly as antsy as the rest of them. Alex is busy making heart-eyes at his husband, a dumb-looking smile on his face. Krel nudges him and makes an exaggerated eye roll. Alex sticks his tongue out at him and returns to staring at Douxie. Hilde giggles delightedly. She’s bouncing up and down like she wants to join the sparring and training, little sparks flying off her fingertips.

“It’s nice here and all, but even I’m starting to get restless,” Tristan admits, sighing and leaning back on his hands. “I don’t like sitting around and doing nothing while my kingdom’s in danger.”

“Tell me about it,” Alex says. “Oh, but I say that to Lamorak and it’s all, ‘there’s no rush, Lex, you’ve been through a lot’. There’s a war so by definition there’s a rush.”

“Not to side with Lamorak, but you were literally tortured.”

“Tristan! I thought I could trust you!”

Krel hides a laugh at their antics. Alex always whines about Douxie being a terrible sick person, every time Douxie gets sick, but he’s just as bad. Douxie is a terrible sick person, though. Krel is too. The first time he got the flu he thought he was dying because he was absolutely miserable and Akiridions don’t get congestion and coughs, generally. Perks of being a non-biological life-form. Unfortunately, Krel is no longer included in that category. He has breakable bones. He hates having breakable bones.

“I just don’t know what we’re going to do,” Lancelot sighs, arms crossed and leg bouncing a lot like Steve does when he’s anxious. “If it comes to a fight against Merlin while we’re still at war with the Gumm-Gumms? We’re still so short on allies. I fear the trolls will side with Merlin, and then what?”

“What we need are more allies,” Lionel agrees. “The Courts are determined to stay out of it. Auntie is trying to convince them, but one kingdom of humans dealing with a few rogue human-hating fae doesn’t concern them in the grand scheme of things.”

“Maybe more fae from the mainland?” Steve suggests. “I mean, you’re here. Surely you have some, I don’t know, old college buddies or like maybe someone you met at the bar or, who knows, right? Someone?”

“Perhaps,” says Lionel. “I don’t know what an old college buddy is, but I do have friends in the mainland. We might be able to persuade High Elder Brunhildr. She’s always had a soft spot for humans, and she’d be able to convince more allies. Finding her would be a different story.”

“Finding any High Elder would be a different story,” Lancelot says.

“Anna is still pretty anti-fae right now,” Tristan adds. “I don’t know if she’d even accept fae help.”

Lionel looks over at Krel and Iros. “What of your people?”

Iros blinks at him. “Our people?”

“Your planet,” he says. “Maybe they could help.”

“Akiridion-5?” Iros scoffs. “Good luck with that. Even if the communication systems were working, I doubt my brother would send aide.”

“The Ventis way has always been to stay out of other people’s business, huh?” Krel mutters. He knew that, but it still bothers him. At least right now, locked in a planet-wide cold war, they have an excuse. Mama and Papa didn’t. Akridion-5 was flourishing under their reign. They could have spared the help to others. He shakes his head. “Not that I think we could expect much help from House Akraohm either.”

“It’s worth a shot,” says Tristan. “What’s the worst that could happen? They say no?”

“Technically, my talking to you is against several intergalactic laws,” says Iros. “So the worst that could happen is I get arrested and you all get your memories wiped.”

“Wait, really?” Steve blurts in alarm.

“No, we aren’t barbarians!” Iros says. “But, no, I don’t think there’s any point. Besides, we’d have to fix the communications systems and that would take a long time. I’ve already tried.”

Alex cracks his knuckles and grins. “Leave that to Krel and I. I bet we can get it up and running by the end of the day.”

Krel nods. He’s fully confident they can manage that, whatever is wrong. Iros isn’t exactly the techiest of Akiridions. She knows enough, what any pilot out on a scouting mission needs to know, but the finer details escape her. Even if it’s something major, Krel invented wormholes and Alex is his own kind of super smart, so they can figure it out.

Iros still looks troubled, far too troubled for someone who’s just worried about a no in response to a plea for help. He suddenly realises he doesn’t know why Iros was on Earth to begin with. It’s not something Mort ever mentioned, and Papa never really talked about her outside brief comments. He’s suddenly not sure he wants to know, but if they’re going to be contacting Akiridion-5, he probably needs to know.

“Iros,” he says softly, “can we talk? In private.”

She purses her lips and nods. Krel waves to the others and the two of them slip inside the ship. He’s acutely aware of Lionel’s eyes following them, but he ignores it for now. Krel crosses his arms and leans against the wall.

“So,” he says. “You say you’re worried about intergalactic law, but you and I both know there’s a loophole you can work with. Gaylen came from Earth, or so they say.”

“I do not know if I should share this with you,” she says carefully.

Krel shrugs. “Douxie and I have no plans to return to Akiridion-5. We aren’t going to be spilling any Ventis secrets, and if it’s important, I suggest you tell me. Why are you here?”

Iros sighs and slides down the wall. She pats the floor next to her for Krel to sit. “Let me tell you a story, Krel. It’s one you’ve heard before. The story of Seklos and Gaylen.”

“I have heard it before,” Krel confirms, brow furrowing.

“Our kingdom was once one of travellers,” she says softly. “We searched the stars for a home, and every home we found, we destroyed. An exhausting existence. As Akiridion-4 lay dying, for once not due to our own hubris but due to its sun’s instability, a Celestial appeared. His name, he said, was Gaylen, and he assured the Queen of Akiridion, Seklos, that he could build us a new home. And so the great Gaylen crushed the errant star between his fingers…”

“And from its ashes rose Akiridion,” Krel says softly. “I know the story, Iros. Every Akiridion knows this story.”

“Yes, but not everyone knows where Celestials come from,” she says. “Where Gaylen comes from.”

“From Earth,” Krel says. “From its formstone.”

She gives him an appraising look. “You know about formstones. Impressive.”

“There’s a nursery rhyme,” Krel says, which he thinks makes the knowledge far less impressive. “You know. Origin of celestial core, great and strange and powerful, should it break to flexel fine, then it is the end of times. Cracks in stone apart get pulled, shattered world exists no more.”

“Not many people do the research and put things together,” she says, amused. “To most, it is simply a nursery rhyme. Dark, but kids, right?”

“Where are you going with this, Iros?” Krel asks.

“As you seem to know, Gaylen’s core was carved out of Earth’s formstone,” she says, brow furrowing. “And that is what I was sent here to find.”

“What?” Krel says in confusion. “Why would you need to find that?”

“The universe grows more and more dangerous every passing kelton,” says Iros, staring at the wall in front of her. “My brother fears that without Gaylen to protect us, our planet is in danger.”

Fat lot of good having someone with Gaylen’s power did for Akiridion-5 in the end. Krel couldn’t save it. All he could do was build a new home from the ashes. Then again, Gaylen didn’t save Akiridion-4. He only built a new home, one that lasted them thousands of keltons and one that Krel let get destroyed.

“His theory,” Iros continues, “is that we could carve a new Gaylen out of the formstone. And thus, be protected once more.”

“That would destroy Earth!” Krel exclaims in horror. He knew Grandfather’s paranoia knew few bounds, but he didn’t realise his lack of care for other planets was quite so blatant.

“I am aware,” Iros says. “We had hoped Earth would have no intelligent life, but clearly that isn’t the case. Still, I fear Ajavor will not count the humans, as primitive as they are. Their kind doesn’t even have basic electricity!”

“That’s why you hesitate to contact him,” Krel says grimly, disgust curling his lips up. “Not only do you doubt they’ll send help, but…”

“I fear my brother will send me… back-up, yes,” she says. “Especially if he learns the Akraohms are here. And I fear whoever he sends will not fall in love with the planet as I have.”

Krel sighs and taps his fingers on his legs. “It’s definitely risky, but Douxie and I can stay in our human forms. That should eliminate at least that issue. As for King Ajavor… maybe we can convince him he wants the humans as allies.”

Iros glancing over at him. “I don’t know. If he’s desperate for the formstone…”

“What about finding Gaylen’s core itself?” Krel blurts.

“Gaylen’s core was destroyed,” says Iros.

“You think it’s that easy to destroy a Celestial core?” Krel says. He weighs it in his head, thinks back to what he knows from further research on Gaylen’s core since he integrated. He knows it was found by Ventis archaeologists and eventually entrusted to Mama and Papa until they decided to bring it back to Earth.

“You think Gaylen’s core is just – just lying around somewhere?”

“Have you looked?” Krel challenges. “The Ventis family is descended from Gaylen. You never even searched for his core? We Akraohms sought after Seklos’s for generations. You’re telling me you never made the effort?”

Iros bristles. “Of course we made the effort, but it was destroyed. That’s what the legends say.”

“The legends,” Krel stresses. “There are no Akiridions alive that remember Seklos and Gaylen’s battle. It’s all stories, now. Don’t you think it’d be easier and more humane to search for his core than to destroy another planet in hopes of creating a new Celestial? That’s not even how it works.”

To be fair, he doesn’t know how it works. Knowledge of Celestials – of Krel’s species, now – is hard to come by. Most of what he’s been able to find is based on legends and rumours. He’s still very confident that’s not how it works. If someone could just carve out a new Celestial, wouldn’t they have already? He does know they found Gaylen’s core. They need to find Gaylen’s core, because if they don’t, Krel never will. Once, Krel wondered if he made the right choice. Now, he can’t imagine anything different. He is Gaylen’s heir – this was always his destiny. If he has to make sure that destiny happens, while protecting Earth in the process, he’s happy to.

“You’re very confident we could find it,” says Iros, suspicion tinting her calm tone. “Tell me, Krel Akraohm, what do you know that we do not?”

Krel lets out a breath, weighs his lies carefully in his head, and leans forward, resting his arms on his legs. “I have done a lot of research on Celestials. You know that it’s said Seklos was descended from a Celestial born of Akiridion Prime’s formstone? My family has just as much of a vested interest in learning about them as you.”

“And?”

“And a Celestial core is hard to destroy,” continues Krel. “It’s not like an Akiridion core. Akiridions die and they’re dead. Celestials die and then they come back. Seklos’s canon killed Gaylen permanently, but that doesn’t mean it destroyed his core.”

Krel still wonders how and why – was it the metaphorical Celestial blood in Seklos’s lineage that allowed her to kill him? Was it just the amount of energy? No amount of research has truly answered the question of what can kill a Celestial. Seklos’s canon is still a mystery. Two royal cores, or one of Seklos’s. Why? Krel has operated on the assumption that he would have survived the destruction of Ultios’s weapon – there will always be a part of him that feels it should have been him. But the sheer energy… maybe Uncle Mort understood more than he let on. Maybe Krel’s Celestial core would have survived, but everything that made him Krel would be gone, just like Gaylen.

“You really do think it’s out there,” she says, softer, brow furrowed.

“I’m certain it is,” Krel admits. He weighs it further. “And I am only more convinced after living in Arcadia. The trolls there, they have heard of him. At least some of them. Trolls are made of stones. No doubt the Earth’s formstone fuels their lives as much as it fuels the very Earth.”

This much he does know. Vendel and Kanjigar knew about Gaylen, somehow, and when Blinky looked into it, they had legends of their own that seemed eerily reminiscent of what they know of Gaylen before he came to Akiridion-5. Grandfather would want that information, and more than that, Krel thinks he needs to have it. Somehow, the Akiridions need to know that Gaylen came from Earth, that legends still live here. Mama and Papa will have to know to come to Earth, to come to the trolls.

“Then I suppose that is the argument we’ll use with Ajavor,” she says heavily. “But I warn you – my brother is not a patient man. Searching for Gaylen’s core when a formstone is right here… he may opt for the more obvious answer.”

“So I’ve heard,” Krel says. He glances over at her. “Have you located the formstone?”

“No,” she says. “We know not where it is.”

“Good,” Krel says. “It may be wise if you never know, then. Ignorance, in this case, truly is bliss.”

She side-eyes him. “And you?”

“When we talk to your brother, I am but a simple human,” Krel says wryly. “What would I know of Celestials and formstones?”

He stands and wipes his lower hands off on his legs and stretches the upper arms. Iros stands as well, eyes drawn towards the window, the beautiful, snowy forest outside. Krel smiles and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Things will be okay,” he says. “You’ll see.”

She sighs. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Akraohm.”

 

 

Shortly after the decision is made to contact House Ventis, Krel and Alex set to work recovering communication functions on the ship. Working with Alex again is a breath of fresh air. Krel really has missed him, missed having someone around who knows tech. It’s easy to fall back into the teamwork and banter, even with Alex working one-armed.

Hm.

Maybe Krel can help with that.

He files the idea away for later as they work on the finishing touches on the communications system. So far, it’s glitchier than Krel would like, and he’s worried he needs to do a full diagnostic scan of all systems later. He was careful, but he has Alex double-check behind him to make sure they can’t be tracked. It’s not the biggest precaution, really, because if Grandfather does try to send armed back-up to Earth they’ll be able to track Iros’s core. Krel knows they won’t. Krel hopes they won’t, hopes they’ve been right all along, they cannot change things, hopes he has not just doomed the first planet he could truly, wholly call home before he could ever find his way to it in the first place. The allure of Gaylen’s core should distract Grandfather. Probably.

“Okay,” says Alex. “It looks like any kind of geo-positioning should be out of the question now, which is good. It also looks like we’re already pinging plenty of interplanetary satellites. I’m going to send a test to one of Akiridion-5’s, just to make sure we can hit the distance.”

“Sounds good,” Krel says. He sits on the floor and opens the panel hiding the various antennae for transmission. “I’ll tell you if I see sparks.”

“God, here’s hoping,” mutters Alex, shaking his hand where he’s already been burned by the sparks today. Krel laughs at him. He warned him to wear gloves. He thinks that’s hilarious, by the way. Alex is the lab safety guy. Krel is the “fuck around and find out” guy.

“Ready,” Krel says.

“Okay…” Alex types away on the dashboard, probably just a quick test message of nonsense that Akiridion scientists will pass off as general interference. After a few moments he nods to Krel. “Sending… and sent.”

Luckily, there aren’t any sparks, so Krel replaces the panel and gives Alex four thumbs-up. Alex helps him up and closes the code windows he was working with. It’s strange to see his code amidst the original Akiridion code – distinctly not Akiridion, but just as advanced and at times, more intuitive.

“Alright,” Krel says, patting the dashboard and turning to smile at the others. “We are all set. It’s not going to be the crispest video or audio, but it will get the job done.”

“Well, call me a seqix in an Ondolarian field because I am blown away,” Iros says. That is such an old person thing to say that Krel actually groans as he steps by Douxie's side. Maybe it’s in style nowadays, but back home if someone said something like that it meant they were older than Varvatos.

“What the fuck’s a seqix in an Ondolarian field?” Douxie whispers to him.

“Too stupid a joke to explain,” Krel mutters.

“This is excellent!” Lionel exclaims. “Well done, lads. Who shall we contact? Do you have a local governmental body, perhaps? Or something larger, ideally?”

“We are going to be contacting King Ajavor of the Southern Hemisphere of Akiridion-5,” Iros says. Oh, yeah. Krel completely forgot the Houses divided their rule along Akiridion-5’s equator. He really should have paid more attention to his history lessons.

“Why are Douxie and Krel in disguise?” Mordred asks.

“Because they are from House Akraohm, the ruling house of the Northern Hemisphere,” says Iros, “and House Ventis has been at war with them for generations. It’s best if Ajavor doesn’t know we have Akraohms with us. As far as he is to know, Douxie and Krel are both as human as you are.”

“Probably more human than I am,” Mordred says. Lancelot gives him a look. “But yes, makes sense.”

Iros comes forward and starts inputting the communication codes for House Ventis. Krel taps his foot anxiously until Hilde tugs his shirt and looks at him with big brown eyes and he has to pick her up. She giggles happily.

“Hi, Uncle Krel,” she says.

He beams back at her. “Why hello, little miss Hilde.”

There’s a burst of static as the communication goes through, but within a few seconds Krel’s grandfather appears on the screen, glitchy but otherwise there. He looks like Papa. Of course he does. Krel’s seen pictures of him before, but it’s truly astonishing how much he looks like Papa. The same stern face, the same long crests, the same white hair. He lets out a shaky breath and Hilde leans her head on his shoulder. Krel smiles and sways a little, before remembering it’s babies people rock, not five-year-olds. Oh well.

“Sister!” Grandfather exclaims. Krel sees Lancelot and Lionel exchange surprised looks. Grandfather is smiling, which is probably a good sign. At the very least he’s happy to see Iros. Maybe that will make him more reasonable. “We feared you lost to us!”

“My apologies, brother,” she says, managing a small smile of her own. “I fear we grossly miscalculated our timing. The local sun experienced a coronal mass ejection that interfered with my systems and my landing was… less than ideal. I have only now been able to repair my communication systems.”

“I see,” says Grandfather. His eyes trail over the rest of them. “And who are your… guests?”

Iros clears her throat and opens an arm towards them. “Brother, may I introduce to you his majesty the king father of Camelot, Lancelot du Lac. His son, Prince Mordred Pendragon. His cousin, Lionel, and one of his trusted knights, Sir Tristan. Additionally, we have representatives of the kingdom of Arcadia, the magic-users Krel and Hisirdoux, the healer Steve, and the warrior, Alexander. Finally, Alexander’s young daughter, Hildegard.”

The others wave and smile. Lancelot even bows politely and nudges Mordred to do the same. Grandfather looks less than impressed with the lengthy introductions. “Why have you brought natives of the planet onto your ship? We are not supposed to be seen by… lesser races.”

“Lesser races?” Tristan blurts, clearly insulted.

“Actually, little brother, through a loophole in the law, I am more than welcome to interact with the people of Earth,” Iros says smoothly. “If legends are to be believed, that is.”

There’s a beat where Krel is worried Grandfather is going to be made about that, with the way his lips twist into a frown and his eyes harden ever so slightly. But the look softens a second later.

“Hm. I suppose so,” Grandfather says. “And speaking of, what is the status of your mission?”

“Less than I would like due to my ship’s lack of… well, function,” admits Iros. “I haven’t been able to explore the planet at all. But I believe the humans could help us and become valuable allies.”

“Is that so?”

“No one knows their planet better,” she says. “We could use guides, after all. And the humans still practice the old arts of magic that have been long lost to Akiridions. Additionally, the trolls, another species from this planet, they have their own legends of Gaylen. There’s much they can help us with.”

“I sense you are hesitating, sister,” Grandfather says. “Speak your mind, even if you think I will not like it.”

“The humans are facing a war for their survival,” Iros says. She’s exaggerating it, but, honestly, that’s probably for the best. When Camelot falls, the world will continue on as if nothing has changed. Eventually, only a few will remain for whom Camelot is more than legend. Then again, Merlin came back centuries later and almost actually destroyed the world, so there’s… that. “Other species wish to eradicate them, while the humans only wish for peace!”

Lionel scoffs. Lancelot elbows him.

“If we as Akiridions aid them, they will aid us in turn!” she says. She reaches back and grabs Alex, pulling him forward, then beckons for Krel as well. “Better yet, we’ll have a powerful ally. House Akraohm would not expect us to have help in the form of such a primitive species. But, behold! These two humans have learned Akiridion technology so quickly and so thoroughly that they fixed the communications system.”

“Uh, hi,” Alex says awkwardly, glancing at Krel in alarm. Krel shrugs back at him.

“They did,” says Grandfather dubiously. “I find that difficult to believe.”

Alex’s smile stiffens. “Difficult to believe or not, your majesty, it is true. It looks like the data transducer got shorted by the aforementioned CME. At first we thought it was completely fried, but upon further inspection it appears the antennae were damaged. That was a pretty simple fix, but then Krel pointed out that demodulation system wasn’t reading correctly, so I took a peek at the code and saw you hadn’t adjusted it for reading signals through Earth’s specific geomagnetic field, which then I figured, well, a few tweaks to the code ought to do it. Then I noticed a few old flaws in the code too, it really wasn’t optimised, the filters weren’t great, so I fixed those. Still not perfect, but we’re working with limited supplies.”

Grandfather’s eyebrows have raised higher than Krel ever imagined possible. Krel tries very hard not to start laughing. Alex loves to show off when someone questions his skills – Krel should know, because that was essentially their first real interaction after the final battle with Merlin. Krel admits he had been very doubtful there were humans out there that could learn Akiridion technology – besides Seamus, but with the wound of his loss still raw at the time, he was kind of rude. Alex proved him wrong fast. It did end with Mort banning them both from the lab for a month, but it was worth it.

“You know what any of that means?” he hears Tristan mutter to Douxie.

“Ha, no,” Douxie says, but he’s staring at Alex with complete heart eyes and Krel rolls his own eyes at his brother being sappy and dumb and all of that. “Well. I know what an antenna is but I haven’t seen one on the ship.”

“Not all antenna are big and long and outside,” Krel says.

Douxie blinks. “Huh, didn’t know that.”

“Well,” Grandfather says tightly, “I stand corrected.”

“So you see,” says Iros, “excellent allies.”

“You still ask much, Iros,” Grandfather says. “We are in the midst of a war ourselves. I cannot spare warriors to fight another race’s battle for them.”

“Even if we have an idea of how to find Gaylen’s core?” Krel blurts. Douxie whips his head to stare at him and Steve’s face goes through all five stages of grief at once. Krel definitely has Grandfather’s attention now. Hilde hides her face in his neck.

“What did you just say?” Grandfather hisses.

“You think we on Earth don’t know about the Celestial that originated here?” Krel scoffs. He hopes the others who do not know about Gaylen are playing along. “We may not know much of what happened after he left, but we know about his past. And we humans have a saying: those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it. Don’t you want that information?”

“Of course I do!” Grandfather splutters. “You will tell me at once!”

“You’re not my king,” Krel shrugs. “Besides, the trolls know more than we do. And this is their war too. I’m just saying, we lesser races could be of use to you yet.”

He holds Grandfathers glare, but he knows the expression on his face means he’s won. Papa always got that angry, constipated look when Krel said something he couldn’t argue against. Hopefully, hopefully, Krel has just convinced him not to destroy Earth, if only because he needs information from the trolls.

“I will see what I can do,” Grandfather grits out.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Alex says.

“But, Iros, I expect more frequent communications or I will send a retrieval mission,” says Grandfather. “You’ve gotten far too attached.”

“What – no!” Iros protests. The lights flicker. Krel looks up in alarm.

“I – will update – parsons,” Grandfather says – well, he definitely says more than that, but the screen glitches and distorts. Krel sees King Ajavor’s confusion and concern just seconds before it shorts out entirely, and with it the entire ship goes dark. Hilde shrieks and hides her face again.

The group of them stands there in silence. Krel can already see Alex running through what might have gone wrong. There’s no reason changing some code and fixing a couple of damaged antennae should have done this.

“Well,” Douxie says awkwardly. “That went…”

“Terribly,” Iros groans.

“I wouldn’t say terribly,” Lancelot says, ever the optimist. “He was impressed by Alex and Krel, and he said he’d see what he could do!”

“I wouldn’t be too hopeful,” mutters Iros. She glares at the space where her brother was just displayed. “Do not expect help to come from Akiridion-5. We must find another plan.”

Krel shakes his head and runs a hand along the darkened dashboard. Great. So now they’re right back where they started and without power. He already misses the heater. He and Alex can probably get the ship back online, but if they can’t…

Well. They will cross that bridge when they get to it.

Notes:

I apologise for the bad science.
I do not apologise for the worldbuilding that shit was FUN

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapterrrrrr <33333

Chapter 34: A Much-Needed Power-Up

Notes:

TW: discussion of amputated limb

After several hours without any power, Iros decides they can safely assume the ship won’t recover from the outage on its own. Alex could have guessed that. In his experience, things don’t recover from total power failure on their own. Usually when he shorts out the entire house he has to spend an hour or two finding the issue and fixing it before Douxie gets home and gives him that unimpressed deadpan look he learned from Mort. That time he shorted the entire block – yeah, he’s not sure the neighbours have quite forgiven him for that one yet. Regardless of Alex’s history of power outage mishaps, he and Krel are tasked with bringing the ship back to life.

Lancelot, Iros, and Lionel have gone out hunting since the synthesiser is down. Alex sent Hilde out with Douxie, Steve, and Mordred so she can get some bonding time – and also so Douxie can give her a bit of training with her magic. That should be good for her. Tristan ends up following them. Something about all the techy stuff going right over his head. With everyone else scattered, Alex and Krel are free to talk openly, finally, without risk of being overheard. They can also work without being interrupted, which is nice.

“Do we have any lasers?” Alex asks.

“Uh, let me check,” says Krel. He leans backwards and digs through the set of tools Iros brought them. “Only the mini fibre ones. But those should do the trick for what we need.”

Krel tosses him the laser. Alex gives him an unimpressed look. Throwing dangerous tools is dangerous and Krel knows better.

“Goggles?” Alex prompts.

“Oh, yeah,” Krel says. “Safety, that’s a thing.”

Alex laughs and rolls his eyes before going to look for anything that will prevent him from blinding himself with high-powered Akiridion lasers. There’s less in here than he’d like but he’ll take whatever he can get. He takes a second to glance back at Krel. “You’re insufferable. I’ve missed you.”

“Now that we know you’re alive, I’m glad it was you and not me,” Krel jokes. “Weeks without technology! Not even your phone! I don’t think I would have made it.”

“God, it is so good to have access to tech again,” Alex agrees. He finally finds goggles and straps them on. That’s a pain in the ass to do with one hand, but he manages. He throws Krel the other pair and his brother-in-law grumbles but puts them on too.

“Some of this stuff is completely fried,” Krel says as Alex lays on his stomach to get a better look at the damaged systems they’ve been working on. He adjusts the filtering on the Akiridion goggles to block out the light and starts soldering. “Hopefully we can repurpose things enough to get her running, but she’s never flying again.”

“We don’t need her to fly,” Alex says. “We just need her working well enough to keep us warm, fed, and safe.”

He puts the laser aside and starts tugging at some of the damaged wires – with gloves, this time, he did in fact learn his lesson from last time. Yeah, some of these are damaged beyond repair. He goes back to the supplies to see if they have anything they can replace them with. Ha. No. Of course not.

“At least she still has her daxial array,” Krel says. “We lost ours when we crashed.”

Alex sits straight up in disbelief. “You – you lost your daxial array?”

“I’ve told you this!”

“No, you haven’t!” Alex protests. “How do you lose an entire daxial array?”

“Bad luck,” Krel says.

“That’s more than bad luck,” Alex says. “That takes talent. Integral part of the ship’s function, gone!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” says Krel. “I could have sworn I told you about how we broke into Area 49b to get an osmic circuit.”

Alex throws up his hand. “I assumed the old osmic circuit had shorted out, not that you lost the entire daxial array!”

“Wasn’t my fault,” grumbles Krel. He pauses and taps his fingers on the floor. “So, uh, do you think Iros’s osmic circuit is shorted?”

Alex opens his mouth and then immediately closes it.

“Yeah, that’s – that’s possible,” he says. “We should… yeah, we should go check that out.”

They close the panel they were working on. It’s pretty much past fixing, and in the grand scheme of Akiridion ship construction, the shielding systems aren’t important if they aren’t going into space. Earth’s atmosphere does all the shielding they could need. The osmic circuit, on the other hand, is the main component for regulating the plutonium fuel cell. The highly radioactive and volatile plutonium fuel cell. Krel packs the supplies and tools away and they quickly make their way towards the engine room where the daxial array is. They stop outside to put on full spacesuits and helmets, just in case. Radiation is the one lab safety thing Krel actually takes seriously, but Akiridion suits are made to withstand pretty high levels of it, so even if the fuel cell itself is busted they should be okay. Probably.

They still enter carefully and shut the doors behind them. Alex waits a second to make sure they seal. If the fuel cell is leaking deadly radiation, it won’t affect anyone outside with the doors sealed like that. If it were to go critical and they go boom – well, then they’ve nuked the Welsh countryside and Alex supposes they’ve proven they can, in fact, change history.

“I don’t think it was shorted before,” Krel says, voice echoing in the comms in their helmets, “because the ship’s power was fine and all the systems showed the daxial array operating as usual. But I haven’t figured out why communications shut down the entire ship yet, so…”

“Better safe than sorry,” Alex agrees. He lets out a breath. “Alright, I’m gonna go check it out. You do a full system scan from here.”

“Be careful,” Krel says. “Douxie will kill me if I let you die of radiation poisoning right after getting you back.”

“Haha,” Alex says flatly. Well, that’s not false. Douxie would be pissed if Alex went and died of acute radiation poisoning now, but he does have a high-tech suit, so it’ll be fine. Again, probably. He’s still careful as he approaches the daxial array and opens it up to examine it.

The subspace manifold catches his attention first. It’s a lot more fried than he’d like, but in terms of ship function and regulation of dangerous radioactive materials, that doesn’t matter if they don’t try to fly. The osmic circuit looks intact and so does the plutonium fuel cell, but Alex pulls up scanning features on the helmet to detect anything his human eyes can’t.

“Why does it have to be in solution?” Alex complains as he flips through the screens. Luckily, it doesn’t look to be anywhere near criticality and seems to be operating as intended, but he does not trust it. Not in the slightest.

“I think it’s some kind of mixed oxide solution,” says Krel. “But, no, it’s mostly plutonium in there.”

“Lovely,” Alex mutters. He hovers his hand near the cell to feel the heat output. It’s warm, which it should be, but then he hesitates as arcs of blue energy jolt out to his fingertips like he’s touching one of those plasma globes. “Uh. Krel?”

“What’s up?” Krel asks. He jogs over then stops short. “Oh, that is not normal.”

Alex laughs nervously. He moves his hand away and the filaments of energy disappear. Closer again, and they’re back. He frowns and moves his hand closer still, watching more energy light up. The helmet doesn’t detect any radiation or electricity or plasma, so he’s at least confident he’s not risking his only remaining hand. Well, semi-confident. Still, the energy signature looks familiar. Almost like…

“Magic,” he gasps. “This is magic.”

“What?” Krel says.

Alex moves his hand away again and pulls up more readings, recording what he can. Then he brings his hand back to ignite the filaments. Probably not smart, but he’s recording this time so it’s science. Alex has studied magic as long as he’s known it existed – it's just a new field of science, really, and he’s always been curious to learn. Because he’s extensively studied magic, though, he knows it’s behaving weirdly. Most active spells aren’t super visible, and if they are, it’s usually in the form of focusers of a steady glow. Disappearing filaments like static electricity are not normal.

“Do you think Douxie and Lancelot’s spells somehow interfered with the daxial array?” Krel asks, brow furrowing. “We never had that issue back home.”

“I don’t know,” Alex admits. “All our wizards on board except Steve have blue magic. Lancelot might be able to find the exact signature, but… I dunno, it’s behaving erratically. I’ve never seen a spell act like this before. You know what magic looks like. It must be interacting with the daxial array.”

“Or the radiation,” mumbles Krel grimly.

“The radiation should be blocked,” Alex says, but he isn’t confident enough to risk it. If the blocking has been damaged or something’s internally wrong with the osmic circuit, then it’s possible enough slipped through to degrade the magic. Would the helmets be able to identify it in that case? He shakes his hand. “New plan. We need to shut down the daxial array and store the plutonium cell somewhere safe and magic-proof.”

“Good idea,” Krel mumbles. “We can boot up the generators after that. Seklos.”

Akiridion ships are equipped to deal with a damaged fuel cell. Krel hurries over to the storage closet in the room while Alex sets to work disabling the daxial array as quickly and carefully as possible. He doesn’t want to risk setting something off. The subspace manifold is removed first, since it’s already the most damaged and also the least likely to cause the rest of the daxial array to flip out. Then Alex follows standard procedure for disassembling the rest of the daxial array. The osmic circuit is shut down and carefully placed aside. They have to move fast once it’s gone, just to be safe. The plutonium fuel cell is put into a lead container and sealed, then Krel activates a radiation shield around it as well, similar to that of the ship itself, just on a smaller scale.

Alex does not like this one bit. He doesn’t know what’s going on – the daxial array back home in their house has never glitched like this no matter how much magic Douxie uses. Maybe modern Akiridion tech is just… better at handling magic? Or maybe Mort remembered this incident and figured out a way to counteract it over the next several centuries. Alex is still going to run a full diagnostic check when they get home. Just in case.

Once they’re done essentially disarming a nuclear bomb waiting to happen, they can finally relax a little. The generators are in the same room – last resorts because they generally need some kind of fuel, but Krel has figured out how to siphon some of his seemingly limitless Celestial energy so they should be all set for weeks. Probably.

“I can’t wait to get back home where things are less stressful,” mutters Krel as they hook up the second generator to the ship’s power centre. “I regret every time I complained about being bored in a meeting.”

“I hope Hilde likes it back home,” Alex murmurs. “It’s going to be a big change. I’m still not sure I’m doing the right thing, but…”

“Are you sure we can?” Krel asks softly.

“We have to,” Alex says. “She’s already lost so much. I promised her stability.”

“Dangerous promise to make,” Krel says.

“Believe me, I know,” Alex mumbles. He never said those words to her or Elaine specifically, but he did promise he’d take care of her. He’s not going to go back on that. But, even still, he hesitates to make any more promises in the future.

“We’ll make it happen,” Krel decides. “Even if we have to fight Nan or something. I doubt Nan would try to stop us.”

“Oh, she’s going to adore Hilde,” Alex says with a laugh. “We’ll make it happen, yeah. I do think she’ll like the twenty-first century. Heh, maybe even more than this time period. She’s a firecracker but give her a Switch and I bet she’ll be completely hypnotised.”

Krel snorts. “Probably. Seklos, do I miss the future.”

“The what!?”

Both of them startle. Alex drops the wrench he’s holding as they both turn to face Tristan in the open doorway. He’s thankfully alone, but by the stunned look on his face, they aren’t talking themselves out of this one.

“Oh, Steve is going to kill us,” Krel whispers.

Alex manages a nervous grin. “Hoooow much of that did you hear?”

“This time period? The future?” Tristan repeats.

“Okay, yep, too much, you heard way too much,” Alex says.

Krel stands and points at him. “Listen, Knight, you can’t say anything to anyone about this! Or else!”

“You guys are time-travellers?” Tristan says. He doesn’t seem to care about Krel’s veiled threats, closing the door behind him and making his way over to them with a wide smile and an excited laugh. “This is – this is incredible! This is amazing!”

“Hey, no entering the lab in normal clothes!” Krel exclaims. He goes to the closet and pulls out a suit and helmet and throws them at him. “Put these on so you don’t get cancer.”

“What?”

“There shouldn’t be more than average background levels of radiation,” says Alex. “But, no, yeah, better safe than sorry, put those on.”

Tristan shrugs and starts pulling the suit over his clothes. “Okay, but I have questions. Like, the future? Did you come here on purpose? Does anyone else know? What’s the future like?”

“We mean it, Trist,” Alex says as he shoves on the helmet. “No one can know. Not even Lamorak, okay?”

“Yes, right, yes, no one can know,” says Tristan, waving a hand and walking over to plop down beside them. “But I want to know more! So much more!”

Alex sighs and leans back against the wall. “We can’t tell you much more. We don’t think we can change the future, but we don’t want to risk it. It’s bad enough we’ve been feeding you stuff from the future. What if you went out and invented, I don’t know, doughnuts early?”

“But doughnuts are so good,” mumbles Tristan. When Alex and Krel both give him a glare he raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it. But I do have questions! Even if you can’t answer them!”

“Yes, well, we have work to do if you ever want to have doughnuts again,” says Krel. “So your questions will have to wait. Either make yourself useful or leave.”

“Krel, don’t be rude,” Alex chides. Then he gives Tristan a sheepish look. “But, ah, yeah, he’s right. We do have a lot of work still to do.”

“I can be useful!”

“Useful means not asking questions about the future,” Krel says.

Tristan pauses but shrugs. “I can handle that. I’ll be happy to help you guys out.”

“If you say so,” Alex says, offering his friend a smile. Things should go a bit faster with another helping hand, and the dangerous stuff is done by now. “In that case, let’s get to work.”

 

 

It only takes about another hour to get power restored to the ship. It’s definitely not the best, nothing like the daxial array, but it will work for what they need. Krel disappears shortly afterwards, claiming that he has a new project, which leaves Alex – and later Douxie as well – to bear the brunt of Tristan’s questions. Krel must tell Steve about the whole future thing slipping because at dinner Tristan makes a joke about opening a doughnut shop and Steve just about glares a hole in his head. Honestly, Alex is kind of glad another person knows. So far Tristan’s questions have been pretty tame – nothing about the near future, nothing that could be a huge risk in telling him. Alex is certain his friend is curious, bracing for the inevitable moment when he asks them something more damning. Did they know about Arthur? Why didn’t they try to change it? What is Camelot’s fate? But for now, Tristan keeps it light, and for that, Alex is relieved.

The next few days Alex spends alternating between spending time with his husband and their new – ward? daughter? – and spending the rest of the time trying to figure out what the hell the weird magic was. He saved the precious few recordings his helmet picked up. He doesn’t dare try breaking out the plutonium fuel cell to get more readings. He’s already gone through the trouble of triple checking himself for any radiation exposure to ensure he’s safe. He’s not going to risk it. He cross-references with anything he can find on intergalactic databases about magic, radiation, and daxial arrays themselves, but so far nothing has turned up. In the end, the past few days have led him nowhere. He didn’t get enough readings to confirm or deny whose magic it was, and it’s not like he could ask one of the wizards to expose themselves to ionising radiation and cast a spell to see if he could compare. He’s at a dead end. He hates dead ends.

So he’s taking a break with Douxie and Tristan, watching Hilde play with Mordred and Enaid in the snow. Mordred has taken to her like Alex knew he would – Mort was always good with kids, so it’s not shocking to see him take on the indulgent big brother role not unlike what Alex has with his own sister. They’re building a snowman and Mordred is happy to let her boss him around. Douxie pulls out his phone and snaps pictures.

“Gotta keep records,” he says. “Learned that one well.”

“Oh, yeah, there are so many baby Douxie pictures,” says Alex with a grin. “Photography is truly a great invention for parents. And for spouses who love seeing embarrassing baby pictures.”

Douxie blushes. “They aren’t that embarrassing.”

“Shaving cream wizard beard,” Alex says.

Douxie groans. “Okay, that one is that embarrassing.”

“I’m so jealous, by the way,” Tristan says, leaning backwards and nearly falling off the log they’re sitting on until Douxie steadies him. “Everything you have told me about – Arcadia – has been pretty amazing. Take me with you.”

Alex laughs, though there’s a touch of sadness in it even he can hear. “Sorry, mate. I think even Hilde is pushing it.”

“Oh my gods,” Douxie says. “We’ve been here too long. You did not just unironically call him mate.”

“Oh, god, I did,” says Alex. “More like I’ve been married to you for too long.”

“You love me,” Douxie teases.

Alex softens and kisses his forehead. “I do.”

“Well, I had to ask,” says Tristan. He glances at them. “Do you think you’ll miss Camelot?”

Douxie’s eyes linger on Mordred, grief nearly as fresh as the day he lost him. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

“I’ll miss my friends here the most,” Alex agrees, offering Tristan a smile. Tristan returns it and shoulder bumps him. “I won’t miss the lack of tech though. I miss the internet. And my car. I really miss my car.”

“I have no idea what those things age,” says Tristan.

“Cars are overrated,” says Douxie. “Public transportation is the way to go.”

“If I had my car we’d be thirty minutes from literally everything in Camelot,” Alex says, which is probably an exaggeration and he does agree with Douxie, but, man, he’s sick of walking for days to get anywhere. He’s not as anti-nature as Krel but he doesn’t love camping either.

“Alex! Hey, Alex! C’mere!”

Alex leans backwards to look backwards as Krel pokes his head out of the ship, mega-watt grin across his face. Alex laughs and kisses Douxie’s cheek before standing and jogging over to the ship. Krel leads him inside, practically bouncing up and down in his excitement.

“I have something for you,” he says as they enter the med-bay of all places. “Steve helped.”

“Steve helped, right, Steve is the whole reason it works,” comes Steve’s grumbles. Alex shakes his head fondly and lets Krel lead him deeper into the med-bay, back towards where the stasis pod is located. He stops in his tracks.

“Holy shit, you guys,” he blurts as his eyes land on the prosthesis sitting on the table in front of him. He stumbles forward to it and gingerly runs his hand over the cool metal. “Is this…?”

“For you,” Krel says smugly. “Steve helped with biology bullshit–”

Steve makes an offended noise. “Not bullshit!”

“–and it’s really just a prototype until we get home and I have my notes again,” Krel continues, “but it’ll work for now.”

“It should respond to your brain just like your old one did,” Steve says. He winces. “Okay, not just like. It might not be perfect. We’ll get there eventually. Maybe.”

“I put a gun in it!”

“Yeah, Krel put a gun in it.”

“And a shield. You need a shield.”

“I don’t have the words,” Alex admits, blinking back the tears forming behind his eyelashes. God, he has the best friends in the world. “Thank you.”

“It also has a laser,” Krel says.

Alex laughs wetly and hugs each of them in turn. “You guys are literally the best.”

“Eh, what are friends for?” Steve says.

“When – do I get to try it now?” Alex asks.

“Yes and no,” says Krel. “We still have final adjustments to make, but for those we actually need you here. Plus Steve wants to make sure your residual limb is up for it or whatever.”

“When we’re home, we might be able to do a permanent port or something,” Steve says. “For now that’s out of the question, though.”

“I can wait,” says Alex. He grins at them. “Hey – thanks for giving me a hand.”

“Boo!” Steve says, while Krel cackles.

“Sorry, I had to,” he says.

“The dad jokes have already begun,” sighs Steve. “Okay, Alex, let’s get a look at that arm of yours. I haven’t been able to see it yet so I wanna make sure there isn’t anything my scan missed.”

“Ah. Right.” Alex brings a hand up to awkwardly rub the still-tender area. He hasn’t actually seen it without bandages yet either. He hasn’t wanted to. He’s probably supposed to let it breathe and stuff, but – well, it still doesn’t feel real. Sometimes he closes his eyes and swears he’s still got two hands. Sometimes his forearm itches or his bicep aches and he – it’s weird. He’s been trying not to process it.

“I’m sure it’s healing fine, but better safe than sorry,” says Steve. “Shirt?”

“Right,” says Alex. Thankfully today he’s in a regular tunic instead of the Akiridion suits. Those are a pain and a half to get out of. It’s still not as easy as it used to be – he didn’t realise how much he used his arm, especially his dominant arm, until it was gone. As soon as the shirt is off Steve makes Alex sit on a nearby cot and sets to work removing the bandages.

“Hm,” Krel mutters. “I thought you had more arm left than that.”

“We can adjust for that pretty easy,” says Steve off-handedly. “Might work better if we install a port or something like that. But it’s looking like we will want the headpiece after all. With the scarring nerves must be completely shot.”

Alex dares a glance at his arm and winces. It’s a cleaner cut than he expected for the Middle Ages, but it is scarred to hell and back. He’s pretty confident Elaine just... chopped the limb off and by the looks of the scar used as many potions as it took to get the wound to close. Magical scars always look different than mundane scars to him, smoother and tighter than the tissue could ever heal on its own. Not to mention that there’s no way it’d be this healed already without magic. Steve prods at the scar until he’s satisfied with whatever assessment he’s made.

“Alright, healing nicely,” he says. “It doesn’t look like you’d have much range of movement, but I want you to show me anyway.”

Alex nods. It’s weird to purposefully move his shoulder and have no limb to move with it, but Steve makes a bunch of hums and faces so he must be getting something from it, right?

“I don’t know how you handle it,” Alex tells Krel. “You make it look easy going from four arms to two.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Krel says. “Even nowadays I keep trying to do things with my lower arms. But it’s a little different, I guess, since I’m not totally unbalanced.”

“Fair,” Alex says. He flinches when Steve starts prodding the scars again and Steve mumbles an apology. Alex waves him off. “So... you said you put a gun in that thing?”

“I ripped off serrator tech,” Krel says with a grin. “So in theory it should be able to form a gun, sword, and shield. And a laser. It should be fairly lightweight, though”

“How much does an arm weigh?” Alex muses. “It’d be nice if it was, like, the same as the weight I lost.”

“No clue,” Krel says. “I’d Google it if we were home, but we’re not, so...”

“Don’t I know it,” Alex mutters.

“Okay,” Steve says. “I think we can start getting this fitted and testing out the functionality.”

Alex brightens and can’t help the smile that crosses his face. “Hell yeah! Man, it’s going to be so much easier to fight with two hands again.”

“Ooh, don’t tell Douxie you want to go back to fighting,” Krel says.

“He knows we probably don’t have a choice,” Alex says, watching Steve pick up the arm and bring it over. “So how’s this work, guys?”

“Basically better BlueTooth,” Steve says. He puts the arm down beside Alex and holds up a small headpiece. “We’re gonna stick this to your head to read your brainwaves. Once it’s calibrated, it should be able to tell the arm what to do. It’ll probably be a bit slow but better than nothing. Probably.”

Alex nods with a grin. “Hook me up, doc.”

Steve laughs and carefully pushes back his locs so he can attach the headpiece. It’s only a bit bigger than the pad of Alex’s thumb and sticks painlessly to the skin of his temple, though it’s a little cold when first attached. He reaches up to prod at it carefully.

“It shouldn’t be easy to remove,” Krel says. “But I might wear, like, a headband or something over it if we do head into a battle.”

“Noted,” says Alex.

“That was the easy part,” Steve warns. “The arm itself isn’t going to be as pleasant. We need to attach it securely and it’s not going to be the most pleasant thing in the world, especially before we get it all adjusted.”

“That’s fine,” Alex says.

Steve picks up the arm again. At least it doesn’t seem to be too heavy. Despite Krel’s early comment, it looks like it was built to accommodate for however little arm Alex might have left, which is very little so it’s good they planned ahead. Steve first wraps Alex’s shoulder and residual limb with dark, thick fabric. Then, Krel carefully attaches the arm. Alex winces as the metal presses up against tender skin, even through the fabric, especially as Steve straps it across his chest and back to lock it in place. A few more adjustments tighten it and then Krel reaches a hand to tap the headpiece.

“Okay,” says Krel. “Time to calibrate this baby. I need you to think about moving your arms in unison. Steve’s going to move the prosthesis with the other arm. I’ll tell you how to move it. Once the headpiece adjusts you should be good to go.”

“Right, got it,” says Alex.

Krel gives basic instructions – up, down, right, left. Touch his knees. Touch his shoulders. Stretch. Relax. At one point Krel tells him to dab which is incredibly outdated but it does make him laugh. It’s weird to watch Steve adjust the prosthesis as Alex moves his remaining arm. Alex can’t feel it – that, he supposes, was too much to hope for. If Krel made it fireproof at least he won’t need an oven mitt.

“Now try moving it on your own, like you would have your flesh arm,” Krel orders.

Alex lets out a breath. Moment of truth. He lifts the arm. After a half-second, the prosthesis moves. He curls his fingers and it does as he asked. A breathless laugh slips free. Krel grins and holds his hand up for a high five and Alex is more than happy to return it.

“Another success by moi,” says Krel smugly.

“One, please never say anything French again,” Steve says. “Two: I am the reason it works! Success by us! By nous!”

Alex laughs again, more tearily than he’d like, and pulls his friends into a two-armed hug. “Thank you, guys, so much.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Steve chuckles as they both hug him back before pulling away. “It’s not done yet and we’re taking it off already. But it’s good to see it works so well already.”

“You can thank us as many times as you’d like, actually,” Krel says, but Alex can see right through the fake arrogance and reaches out to mess up his hair, much to his chagrin. “Hey! I gave you that arm and I’ll take it away!”

“Okay, okay, no fighting,” says Steve. He smiles at Alex. “What do you say, Alex? Want to help us finish your brand-new arm?”

Alex beams. “There’s nothing I would like more.”

 

Notes:

SO sorry for all of the bad science in VARIOUS fields today. Hope it was fun and hope my research on plutonium doesn't get me put on a watchlist!

Hope you guys enjoyedddd <33333

Chapter 35: Return to the Lake

Alex is so cute when he’s excited.

He gets this giddy smile that dimples his cheeks and lights up his eyes in a way Douxie can’t get enough of. He’s been excited since Krel and Steve unveiled their project yesterday. To be honest, despite knowing Krel for years, Douxie is still surprised at how fast he put together a prosthetic arm. He’s happy for Alex, though. His husband hasn’t admitted it but Douxie knows the loss of his arm has shaken him up.

Right now they’re in the med-bay, Alex practically bouncing on one of the cots as Steve and Krel prep the prosthesis to be officially put on. Douxie is tasked with wrapping fabric around his residual limb to protect it from the prosthesis. Tristan hangs out nearby, hovering curiously and clearly still full of questions. It’s weird that someone knows about their time-travelling now, besides Nan, but Alex seems delighted his friend knows so Douxie’s fine with it. If the worst that can happen is doughnuts getting invented early, well, that’s really not that bad, right?

“So, this is a temporary prosthesis,” says Steve. “A prototype. You won’t want to sleep in it and it’s not waterproof, so you won’t want to swim in it.”

Alex stiffens, smile freezing. “Oh, uh, don’t worry about that. Too cold to swim anyway, huh?”

“Yeah,” Krel says, narrowing his eyes, “I suppose so.”

“Alright, you ready?” Steve says.

“Yep, yes,” says Alex, grin falling back into ease and excitement. “Hook me up. I am so ready.”

Douxie laughs and squeezes his hand. “You’re such a dork.”

“You love me for it,” Alex teases. Douxie leans up to kiss his cheek and he brightens even further. Krel groans and scoffs at them in typical Krel fashion and Douxie jokingly flips him off.

Steve and Krel get to work attaching the arm. If Alex is in any pain, he doesn’t show it, but Douxie holds tight to his hand and leans his head on his other shoulder. The design of the new arm looks exactly like Douxie would expect from Krel, and he’s sure Alex likes the sleek, Akiridion design. He also said something about serrator tech? That’s good. That should include a shield and Douxie loves the idea of his husband always having a shield available.

Krel sticks the small headpiece on Alex’s temple and it lights up with a blinking blue dot. This eventually evens out to a steady glow.

“Give it a moment,” Steve murmurs.

Finally, bright blue lines light up down the arm, and Alex cautiously lifts it. When it moves like he must have wanted, his face splits into a wide grin and he curls and uncurls his new fingers. Tristan’s jaw drops like he didn’t expect it to work.

“You made that in a couple of days?” he says.

“Well, we did have a lot of it designed and figured out,” reasons Krel. “Steve and I were working on a prosthetic limb project back home, but without our notes we had to learn on current Akiridion design. So it’s not perfect since Alex is human, but... well, it should work.”

“I love it,” Alex says. “Thank you, guys, seriously.”

Krel grins and pats his shoulder. “Thank us when we get home and make you a better, twenty-first-century arm.”

“Wait, wait, wait, how many centuries!?” Tristan blurts. “This time you’re pulling my leg.”

Alex laughs. “Nope, that’s the right number.”

“Alright,” says Steve. “Lancelot wanted a team meeting, so let's hurry up.”

“Cool,” says Alex. “I’m feeling a lot better now that I’m fully armed.”

Ah. Douxie was so caught up in the joys of Alex being a father and how good he is at it that he forgot about dad jokes. Steve glowers at him too. Tristan barks out a laugh. Krel helps Alex stands and offers him a high-five, which Alex is more than happy to return with his new hand.

“Okay, let’s make sure everything is running right,” says Krel. “Test your range of motion for me. It should be comparable to if not the same as your other arm.”

Alex nods and does a few stretches, clearly delighted as he spreads his fingers and then closes them into a fist, as he folds his arms to his chest and then stretches them out in front of him like he’s doing one of those stretch tests they had to do in PE. He runs his flesh hand down the metal, startling himself when a glowing blue shield appears in front of him. Douxie steadies him so he doesn’t fall on his ass.

“Haha, the shield works!” Krel says triumphantly. “You should be able to cycle through like a serrator.”

“Fucking awesome,” mutters Alex, cycling to a sword and then a gun as well. He gives Douxie a wide grin and Douxie laughs. “Oh, this has got to be the coolest prosthesis ever. Do normal Akiridion ones include serrator tech?”

“Sometimes,” says Krel. “I figured you’d want it. When we get home I’ll be more detailed. Something that’ll work with your cell phone especially.”

“This is still fantastic,” says Alex.

“The cyberpunk look suits you,” Douxie says.

Alex laughs. “Babe, just having an Akiridion prosthesis isn’t a cyberpunk look.”

“Am I allowed to ask about the new words?” Tristan says. “Cell phone? Cyberpunk?”

“You can ask but I doubt we have time to explain,” says Krel. “Douxie can show you his phone later, but right now, Steve's right about the team meeting thing.”

“He makes it sound like football or something,” mutters Steve. Tristan opens his mouth. “I will tell you about football later. Maybe.”

“Aw,” mumbles Tristan.

Alex tugs his shirt back on, visibly delighted to be able to fill both sleeves again. He curls and uncurls his fingers more, something like awe on his face, and Douxie goes over to entwine his own fingers with those of Alex’s flesh hand. They head down to the cockpit where everyone else is gathered and waiting. Power is still tenuously on, but the lights flicker every now and then and Krel glares up at them as if they’ve personally offended him. Iros looks troubled by the state of her ship as well.

“Well, look at that,” says Lionel, impressed. “That new arm of yours seems to work just as well as trollish prostheses do.”

Alex flexes his new fingers once again. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Hilde runs over and he kneels to catch her in a hug. Douxie melts at the sight. He’s spent a lot of time with Hilde lately and she’s the sweetest little girl he’s ever met. And she’s a wizard! A talented one at that, as far as Douxie can tell. He’s been doing his best to remember the little training games he used to play with Uncle Mort back when he was her age. When they get home he can start properly training her, see what her mother got to. Probably not much – wizard training doesn’t really begin until the double digits, but most parents do some games and activities to help their kids control their powers.

She helps keep Mordred distracted too, which isn’t a surprise. Mort was always a sucker for kids, so it makes sense he is as a teenager too. She also adores Enaid, who indulges her by letting her pet her feathers and occasionally sitting on her shoulder and preening her hair. Hilde loves it.

“Alright, boys,” says Lancelot. “What’s the status on the ship?”

Krel and Alex exchange winces. In Douxie’s experience, that’s never a good sign and usually means something has gone horribly wrong.

“Well, as you can see, the good news is that we have the power working,” says Krel. “The bad news... hm, how do I put this in a way you humans will understand?”

“Somehow, the spells around the ship seem to be interacting with the daxial array,” Alex says. As expected, the others from this time period give him a blank look. “We don’t know how, but we’re a bit worried it’ll affect the plutonium fuel cell and cause it to combust or go critical. Which essentially means it’s not only liable to blow up at any second if we leave it on, but that it could poison the entire kingdom in the process.”

“What!?” Lionel exclaims. “What do you mean, poison the entire kingdom?”

“One of the daxial array’s key components includes a highly radioactive material,” Iros says, clearly troubled. “I don’t know how it affects humans, but in Akiridions, too much ionising radiation can disrupt our forms and even damage our cores.”

“In humans, smaller amounts of radiation can turn our bodies against us,” says Alex. “Large amounts will burn or flat out kill you, and there’s a... not insignificant amount of plutonium in that fuel cell. If the plutonium fuel cell blows, we’d be a huge crater in the forest before we could even realise, and the kingdom is small enough that the fallout would probably spread over most of it, depending on the wind.”

The colour drains out of the others’ faces. Douxie winces. That’s just great. Wryly, he can’t help but wonder if that’s the secret fall of Camelot – they accidentally nuked it. Obviously not because Mort survived past the fall of Camelot, and the thought is honestly so absurd he has to stop himself from laughing. He’s never thought about the fact the daxial array had plutonium in it before. Usually his brain files that away under sciencey sci-fi words that don’t matter. They have a daxial array downstairs.

Wait.

“We have a nuke in our basement?” he blurts.

“I wouldn’t call it a nuke,” Alex hedges. “More like a mini nuclear power plant. It’s very similar to what they put in the Voyager space crafts, actually.”

“We have a nuke in our basement!”

“No!” Alex protests. “We don’t! We have clean energy in our basement!”

“We need to shut off the spells,” Iros cuts in. “Even with the daxial array shut off and the fuel cell properly stored, I don’t like the risk of your magic interacting with the plutonium. You did properly store it, right?”

“We’re not soolians,” Krel says. “Of course we stored it properly.”

“Not that that will do us much good if the thing does go critical,” mutters Alex.

“If we shut off the shields, we could be attacked,” Steve says. “Are you sure that’s what it is? A few years ago we spent months on an Akiridion ship with magic shields and all of that and the daxial array was fine.”

“Yeah, and I use magic at home all the time with no issue,” Douxie adds. “Like I said, we also have a nuke downstairs.”

“Not a nuke,” Alex says. “But I don’t know what else it could be. The subspace manifold was fried which shouldn’t affect things, but it does mean maybe something else was wrong we couldn’t detect. That could be why it’s interacting weird with magic.”

“And Iros is right that we shouldn’t risk the fuel cell,” Krel says. “Nuclear stuff is not something we can take lightly. It’s great for producing energy but it’s incredibly dangerous. Some of the worst disasters in history have been nuclear accidents.”

At the disturbed faces of the others Iros rushes to add, “Not that Akiridion-5 has ever had one. The last nuclear accident in Akiridion history was actually on Akiridion-3.”

“Nuh-uh, I distinctly remember learning about the Quadrant 7-Beta exploration ship that exploded,” Krel protests.

“Well, that wasn’t on Akiridion-5,” Iros reasons.

“Okay, okay enough,” says Lancelot. “If it’s truly that dangerous then we have to leave. We can’t stay here if it means we could blow up.”

“Without the magic we’d maybe be okay,” Alex says. “But honestly… yeah. We should probably leave.”

The cockpit falls into an uneasy silence. The idea of leaving unsettles Douxie. Where can they go? They’re not exactly welcome in Camelot. Maybe most of them wouldn’t be recognised in a random village, but Lancelot and Mordred probably would be and Lionel is fae. Leaving Camelot entirely is out of the question.

“We could go to Nan’s,” Mordred says finally. “She has shields around her lake, and there’d be food there, too.”

"More room to fly, too," Enaid says. "I've been feeling cooped up here, don't know about you."

“It would be nice to see Aunt Viviane again,” Lionel agrees.

Iros rests a hand on the dashboard, eyes sad and lips pressed tight. Krel puts one of his hands on her shoulder, understanding written across his face. Douxie feels bad – it’s their fault she has to leave the only thing she has left of her planet. Sure, she could stay and risk being found by the Gumm-Gumms and fae, risk the lingering effects of the spell, but it would mean leaving Mordred. If anything has become very obvious, it’s how deeply Iros cares for her chosen son.

“Well,” she says, “I have little hope of getting my ship back in the air again. I suppose it’s time to say goodbye to her. At least for now.”

Douxie wonders if her ship is still here – if so, how was it never found? Or maybe it was. Area 49b has decades of government secrets and evidence of extra-terrestrial life. Maybe the UK has its own Area 49b, or maybe House Ventis eventually retrieved it. Or maybe, somehow, the ship has rested untouched for nine centuries. When they get home, they can look, if Krel doesn’t already know. If House Ventis retrieved the ship, Krel probably knows.

“Then it’s settled,” Douxie says, stretching all four of his arms. “We’ll head to N- uh, Viviane’s lake. Like Enaid said, should be roomier, at least.”

Hilde tugs one of his arms with a bright grin. “Will I get to go swimming?”

“Uh, it’s a bit cold for swimming, but I’ll see what I can do,” Douxie says, ruffling her hair. “I’m sure I can come up with a spell.”

She bounces up and down with a giddy nod. Douxie glances back at Alex – look, he made her happy! – only to find his husband’s smile fixed and tight on his face again. Douxie is definitely missing something. Alex loves swimming, loves the pool or waterpark, and half of their summer vacations have been to the beach. Douxie would think he’d be excited to swim so long as there’s a spell to keep them all warm.

“Alright, then,” says Lancelot. “Everyone pack what you need. Steve, since you seem to know the medical supplies best, can I trust you to pack the essentials?”

“Leave it to me, boss-man,” Steve says with a salute.

“Great,” Lancelot says, clapping his hands together with a small smile. “We leave tomorrow morning.”

 

 

The rest of the evening is spent packing what they can from the ship. They have to talk Krel and Tristan out of bringing the entire synthesiser with them and end up compromising on packing a ton of food, all magically preserved, despite the fact that Nan will definitely be able to feed them while they’re there.  Douxie is already mentally compiling a list of foods he regrets introducing to Tristan. And also Mordred. And frankly also Krel. Steve probably packs the whole infirmary with the help of an expansion charm for a bag. That one is more understandable than the food – Akiridion medicine, while not quite magic, is much more advanced than anything the Middle Ages has to offer. Hilde clings to Alex for the entirety of the packing process. Douxie can’t wait to bring her home where she finally can settle in and gain some sense of normalcy. The constant upheaval can’t be good for her.

The next morning dawns bright and early and Douxie can tell Alex is insanely grumpy about it. Ah, Douxie has missed Alex’s grumpy morning face. It’s a long-ish walk to the lake, so they leave at sunrise to avoid any risk of running into any Gumm-Gumms. Personally, Douxie thinks the fae are the bigger threat, but there’s no set time of day to avoid them. All of the wizards have given some power to a cloaking shield around them, and Douxie keeps a close mental eye on it as they walk. The last thing he wants is for it to fall and no one notice.

Krel, Iros, and Douxie himself are in human form right now. Douxie feels a lot better being himself again, but the real reason is in case they run into travellers and their shield somehow fails. They shouldn’t have an issue, but just in case, they don’t want to be outed as extra-terrestrials. Not that Douxie is an extra-terrestrial, but the point stands.

They’ve been walking for a bit now. Even Douxie is starting to get a bit tired and he’s a morning person, so he can’t imagine how tired Krel and Alex must be. Alex is carrying Hilde on his back. Douxie can’t help but smile fondly as he watches them. Hilde has spent the past half-hour at least giggling and pointing out animals and trees and asking Alex to identify them, and Alex, for his part, has spent most of the time bullshitting answers.

“And that one?” she asks, pointing at what Douxie can only assume is a pine tree based on his own limited knowledge of trees.

“Uh, that is a... Magnolia superiorus,” Alex lies through his teeth. Douxie hides a laugh. “It’s called that because it’s big.”

“That is not a magnolia,” Douxie says. “Don’t listen to him, Hilde, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Oh, and you do?” Alex retorts with a grin.

“Sure I do,” Douxie says. “Or at least I know that magnolias don't have pinecones.”

Alex laughs even as his cheeks darken. “I’m an engineer, not a biologist. Sue me.”

“We have shared finances, I can’t sue you,” Douxie shoots back, amused.

Hilde giggles. “You two are funny.”

“Glad to entertain, princess,” Douxie says, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. She smiles from ear to ear and he counts this as another win. He won’t say “I told you so” because that would be entirely inappropriate after their fight, but he was so right about Alex making a good father. Hilde clearly adores him and he looks right in his element. Douxie couldn’t be much happier. He has his husband back.

“How was the mainland, Uncle Lionel?” Mordred asks. Douxie’s gaze draws up to them curiously. “I forgot to ask earlier.”

Lionel chuckles and glances down at him. “Oh, it was wonderful. I spent most of my time back in – oh, what do the humans call it now? Last I heard it was Gallia, with the Romans.”

“France, Lionel, you’re looking for France,” Lancelot says, amused.

“Humans change the names of their kingdoms so often, you can’t blame me for forgetting,” Lionel says. “I’m sure Camelot will change its name before I die too.”

“Nah, Camelot is gonna be forever,” says Mordred with a grin. “Cause we’re that awesome.”

Douxie tries very hard not to wince. Steve is less successful. Tristan frowns, which means he definitely caught their expressions, but he luckily doesn’t ask.

“Anyway, I visited with many old friends,” says Lionel. “But when I heard what was happening here in Camelot, of course, I had to return to help.”

“We truly appreciate it, cousin,” Lancelot says fondly. “I fear we are sorely lacking in magical help these days, what with Merlin turning out...”

“Evil?” Steve provides. “Crazy? A complete fucking asshole?”

“Hey!” Alex exclaims. “Little ears here. Keep the cursing to a minimum, thank you.”

Krel rolls his eyes. “Seklos, you’re going to be insufferable as parents.”

“All of the above, I suppose,” Lancelot says with a grimace.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” says Lionel. “He hated your guts from the very beginning. I’m not surprised he hated your partner, too.”

Lancelot sighs. “Aye, I do remember you saying as much. Many times. But I also remember you not liking Arthur very much, so...”

“Perhaps not,” Lionel says with a shrug. “I was rather hoping my cousin would find a nice young fae to settle down with, live forever alongside them, but... well, he did make you happy. They both did.”

Lancelot’s face softens into a sad smile. “Aye. They truly did.”

Mordred takes his hand and Lancelot pulls him to his side, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair. Lionel rests a hand on his shoulder, comforting and grim at the same time. Douxie steps closer to Alex despite himself. It feels unfair, that Douxie got his husband back and Lancelot never will. He’s grateful, he thinks, that Lancelot wasn’t there, didn’t see it happen, like Douxie knows he saw Guenivere die. It’s cruel that Mordred had to see both. Will he watch Lancelot die one day too?

He pushes the thought to the back of his mind. There’s little point dwelling on things he can’t change, both past and currently future. He searches for a way to change the subject, to bring something like cheer back.

“So, Lionel,” he says. Lionel glances back at him. “How are you and Lancelot related? I know you’ve said cousins, but is it fae side, human side…?”

“Fae side, obviously,” says Lionel with a laugh, gesturing to his pointed ears. “Aunt Viviane is my father’s sister.”

“I didn’t know N- uh, Lady Viviane had a brother,” says Douxie. She’s never mentioned siblings back home, but she doesn’t often talk about her family. She could have told Douxie she arose from the lake fully formed and he would have believed it given she’s pretty much never mentioned parents.

“My father died years ago,” says Lionel softly. Ah, so much for bringing cheer back with the subject change. “Humans invaded our home and killed him and many others. I fled to Aunt Viviane’s realm. I actually found Lancelot on the way, abandoned in the forest.”

Lancelot nods. “Mama raised me very sheltered because of that. Humans and fae… haven’t always seen eye to eye. Rarely have, to be honest. Usually, the humans are too afraid to bother us – them – but sometimes fear gives way to hatred and anger, and…”

“And humans are remarkably skilled at channelling that into violence,” says Lionel with a frown.

“But then I met Arthur,” says Lancelot. “He was the first human I’d ever met. I can’t remember my birth parents – we’ve assumed they were among the invaders that killed Lionel’s father. But Arthur was nothing like I imagined humans. Instead of being bloodthirsty and hateful, he was curious and kind. Mama liked him too.”

“I didn’t,” says Lionel.

Lancelot laughs lightly. “You didn’t. And you told me so all the time.”

“How did you and King Arthur meet?” Douxie asks curiously.

“Oh, Lancelot was being a rebellious child,” says Lionel with a teasing grin.

Lancelot’s cheeks darken. “That’s not – exactly – well. Perhaps. You see, I was – very sheltered, as I said. I wasn’t permitted to leave Mama’s realm without her. So I… snuck out… from time to time.”

Tristan barks out a laugh. “Perfect rule-following Lancelot?”

“Yes, yes, very funny,” says Lancelot. “Anyway, I ran into Arthur one day and… panicked. And accidentally knocked him out. And then… panicked more and dragged him home.”

“Nan says he tried to hide Dad from her,” Mordred says with a small grin.

“I did, and it didn’t work,” chuckles Lancelot. “Mama walked in on us discussing sneaking out again. Arthur was more of a rebel than I ever was, but who could blame him with Uther as a father?”

“I thought Aunt Viviane should be more wary of him,” says Lionel. “Because he was Uther’s son.”

“Oh, he proved himself even to you,” Lancelot says. “When Arthur became king and welcomed magic back into the kingdom I know you were happy.”

“Perhaps,” agrees Lionel. “Oh, but would that I could have spared you the heartache. And myself, little cousin. I know you don’t wish for the longevity of a fae.”

“Who would?” Mordred says softly.

“Who would, indeed?” Douxie mumbles, grip on Alex’s hand tightening. Krel nods, wrapping his arms around himself. Douxie sometimes fears his little brother will be the longest-lived of all of them, that one day Krel will be the only one left. Douxie doesn’t want to outlive Alex, but at the very least, he’ll be there for Krel a little longer than would have been otherwise possible.

“How about you two?” Lancelot asks curiously, glancing back at Douxie and Alex. “How did you meet?”

“Oh, man,” Douxie says. “We were, what? Sixth grade?”

“I had just moved to Arcadia,” Alex says. “My dad got a new job and I thought it was the worst thing ever to leave all my elementary school friends behind and start over in a totally new, uh, kingdom. Yeah.”

Douxie nods. “We went to the same school and I saw Alex sitting alone at lunch, and I was like – oh! That guy needs a friend! So of course I go over and sit with him and introduce myself, you know, I think it went well.”

“Oh, it didn’t,” says Alex. He jerks his head towards Douxie. “And he knows it didn’t. You know the first thing he said to me? ‘Hi, I’m Douxie, I’m learning to read palms and I’m going to tell you your future!’”

Douxie groans. “Oh, gods, yeah, I did do that didn’t I?”

“And then,” says Alex, “he proceeds to tell me the most terrifying stuff he could. Something about facing struggles I couldn’t imagine. So you can understand that I was a bit put off by him at first.”

“Ah, Douxie, I have learned when dealing with humans you don’t say things like that,” says Iros, amused.

Douxie blushes. Oh, right, the cover story. Well, the people from the past don’t know what sixth grade is, at least, so they should be good. Mordred laughs. “Oh, yeah, you told me the story of Akiridion-5 and I was like, the sun can die!?”

“The sun can what?” blurts Tristan.

“Never mind that,” says Alex. “It won’t for a long time. Anyway, yeah, so I definitely was put off by Douxie but he’s, like, insanely stubborn. So he kept sitting with me at lunch when no one else really did and pretty soon we became friends.”

“That’s sweet,” says Tristan fondly. He rubs the back of his neck. “I met Iseult because I was a stupid ten-year-old who told her girls can’t fight and then she kicked my ass.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I met my wife because I punched Krel in the face and then she, like, roundhouse kicked me for it.”

“It was funny,” says Krel. “You know, despite my concussion.”

“I did not give you a concussion!”

“You did make me bleed for the first time ever.”

“I – wait, I did?”

“Yup.”

“I’m a horrible brother,” moans Steve.

Douxie laughs. “Man, I wish I’d been there to see that. Aja definitely would have kicked your ass if you made Krel bleed.”

Iros’s head snaps towards him. Oh, fuck, right, her brother’s name was Ajavor. Is Aja named for him? Krel gives him a sharp look and he manages a weak smile, glancing at his brother and urging him to change the subject somehow.

“Well, lucky for me, I do not have any ‘meet-cute’ stories, as the humans say,” says Krel quickly. “I don’t believe in mushy gooiness. Keep the face smushing to yourselves, thank you. I would rather bend the laws of physics.”

“I like making time to do both,” Alex says, leaning over and giving Douxie a quick peck on the lips. Douxie can’t help but beam up at him and Krel makes an exaggerated noise of annoyance. Douxie waits until he passes under a branch and uses magic to drop all its snow on Krel.

“Oh, I hate you,” Krel says. Douxie smiles innocently.

“So, lads,” says Lionel curiously, “who did you learn magic from?”

“Our dad,” Krel says. “The adopted one that’s a fourth fae.”

“Best teacher in the world,” says Douxie fondly.

“Not true!” Steve says. Douxie gives him an offended look. “Uncle liked to pretend he knew what he was doing but he was just as much an improviser as you are, Doux.”

“Still a great teacher,” Douxie grumbles. “You learned from him too.”

“It’s typical for parents to train their kids in the fae world,” says Lionel. “In the absence of a skilled magical parent – or a parent with a similar enough magic type – other family members sub in. Lancelot probably didn’t teach Mordred because he was busy being a knight.”

“Aye, a bit,” says Lancelot. “But Mordred is also more powerful than I am. He’s got an innate sense for magic.”

Mordred perks up at the praise. Douxie steps forward and reaches out so he can ruffle his hair. “You’re a prodigy, alright, but from one prodigy to another: we blow way more stuff up.”

“You ought to have met your grandfather, Morgause’s father. Talented magic user, that man,” says Lionel. “Powerful fae. Arthur should have sent you to train with him rather than the human wizard. Or to Aunt Viviane. She would have been thrilled.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m wishing now that we had,” mutters Lancelot.

“I still don’t understand,” whispers Mordred. “Why? Merlin never – sure, he’s not the nicest guy – but why would he want Dad… gone?”

“Yeah, it’s been bugging me, too,” admits Tristan. “It doesn’t help the war effort – hurts it more than anything else – and while he didn’t always agree with King Arthur, I thought they got on fine.”

“We all thought so,” Lancelot says softly. “Perhaps that’s why Anna is so hesitant to believe us. Merlin has been an advisor to Camelot since Uther’s reign at least.”

Lionel scoffs. “He’s too set in Uther’s ways of fear and hatred. I may not have liked your husband, Lancelot, but he was trying to put those times behind us. He wanted peace between our kinds. And look where it got him – killed by another human.”

“And now Anna’s falling back into the old ways,” Steve says grimly. Douxie wonders what’s going through his head about, well, all of this. Anna is his direct ancestor, and he’s the one Merlin had a vendetta against in the future simply for carrying Arthur’s blood. “All Merlin wants is power. She’s his puppet. Can’t she see that?”

“We’ll make her see,” Mordred says. “She’ll listen. Anna is smart and she – she knows me. She’ll listen to us, she’ll listen to me.”

Douxie exchanges a look with Krel. He hates knowing. He wishes he could reassure Mordred – surely he has nothing to fear in his sister! Surely she’ll listen! Douxie knows, deep down, that Krel would never, ever hurt him, even in grief and anger. He swears he would never hurt Krel either, not in a million years, not for any reason. From all of Uncle Mort’s stories, from all Douxie had seen here before Arthur died, Mordred and Anna have a good relationship.

But he knows too much and Mordred would hear his lies, so he keeps his mouth shut. Mordred’s plan is doomed, has always been doomed, because Anna must be too brainwashed by Merlin to bother to listen to her own brother, her own teenage brother.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m sure she will,” Tristan tells him, though he glances back at the rest of them in confusion when they don’t speak, his brow furrowed. He knows too much now too, and their expressions will give them away. At least Mordred doesn’t. At least he can still have some hope.

Knowing, Douxie has thought, ever since his very first visions of the future, has always been and will always be a curse.

Notes:

PROBABLY the last chapter with this much bad science I'm sorryyyyyy

Hope you enjoyed regardless! Had fun writing all the dialogue in this one. Buckle ur seatbelts though, things are about to get Fun

Thanks for reading!! <333

Chapter 36: The Wingman

Okay. Recap.

They got rocketed back in time by a weird stone that Douxie picked up, all the way to Camelot and what must be the worst part of Mort’s mysterious childhood. Toby can admit he was kind of excited by the chance to be a knight with Jim, but as time has passed, let’s just say his point of view has changed. They’ve been escaping by the skin of their teeth. Every battle feels like it could be the last one. Alex was dead (and Toby will never forget Douxie’s anguish, can’t imagine being in his place, losing someone so very important to him) and then he wasn’t (thank the gods, they’re all somehow still alive).  They’re separated now and texting isn’t enough to assuage Toby’s fears. Anytime it takes Krel too long to respond he gets antsy, when Steve hasn’t sent his own text to check on them in several hours he worries something has happened. He can’t help but feel that they’re sitting on a powder keg and he’s afraid it will blow at any time.

When he sees Jim pinned by Gunmar – again – his heart leaps into his throat. He starts immediately fighting his way towards Jim, his singular focus somehow, somehow saving him. The Decimaar blade is glowing gold – that can’t be a good sign. Jim is struggling like Toby knew he would, but he’s losing strength fast. Toby runs as fast as he can, cutting down Gumm-Gumm's and using the rubble left to jump off of and propel himself forward, but–

He’s too late.

Jim falls still, seemingly unconscious, but Gunmar’s chuckles as he moves away. Toby has a bad feeling. He holds his breath, skidding to a stop and probably insanely lucky that he isn’t cut down right away. The battle slows to a stop around them. Toby fears the reason why.

Jim stands and faces them, eyes glowing a bright, horrible golden.

No.

Oh, god, no.

“Fuck,” whispers Gawain, closer than Toby expected him to be. Was he… coming to save Jim too? He knew Gawain liked Jim but that’s still unexpected, especially after he did fuck all to help Dinadan. “Jim? Jim, are you in there?”

“I’m afraid,” Jim and Gunmar say in unison, Gunmar’s voice echoing out of Jim’s mouth in a cruel reverb, “that your Jim is no longer.”

“Jimbo,” Toby murmurs, voice breaking on the nickname, pleading with his eyes that Jim fight him, that Jim snap out of it. The gold in his eyes is familiar, nothing like Gunmar’s cold, icy blue,, and suddenly he realises. Morgana. Her magic is what made Jim a changeling and if she enhanced the Decimaar blade – fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He knows Jim is fighting his hardest, but he’s scared that this time – what if this time he can’t? What if Morgana’s magic is too much for him?

Gunmar smirks and tilts his head to Jim. “Kill them.”

The Gumm-Gumms all lunge for them – and so does Jim. Toby finds himself fighting back-to-back with Gawain, the last person he’d ever trust with his life. He doesn’t have a choice this time, even with the Dwoza trolls fighting on their side.

Jim’s sword comes down at him and he has to quickly parry that with his hammer.

“Come on, Jimbo,” he pleads. The golden glow of Jim’s eyes taunts him – so much like Claire’s, when she was possessed, and so much like the green glow they held during his stint as Merlin’s puppet. “I know you’re in there, buddy, I know you can fight this!”

Jim just growls at him and jumps backwards to swing his sword for another attack. Toby is lucky to block this one. He hears rocks crumble behind him and spares a glance back. Gawain nods grimly to him – he must have just killed a Gumm-Gumm – and jumps back into battle. He catches sight of Kanjigar nearby just before Jim tackles him.

“Fuck!” he blurts, raising his armoured forearms to block Jim’s next attack. He winces because, yep, yeah, that hurts. But his armour is doing its job and he still has both arms, albeit bruised now.

“You and your friend will make a good appetiser before we take Camelot,” Gunmar’s voice growls out of Jim’s mouth.

“Yeah, no thanks,” Toby grunts. “No interest in being eaten, thanks.”

He knees upwards and Jim yelps.

“Sorry, buddy, rule number three!” he exclaims. He stumbles to his feet, only to be knocked back to the ground a moment later. Jim should be angrier after that, but the snarl on his face remains the same, placed there by Gunmar and not reflective of any of Jim’s emotion or physical pain.

He manages to look around at the enemies surrounding them. If they die here, Toby will never get Jim back. They need help. Toby isn’t a wizard, can’t use a spell to snap Jim out of it, and it looks like right now, the power of epic friendship and love and all that good shit isn’t going to be enough.

“Sir Tobias!” yells Deya from nearby. “You need to get out of here!”

Toby shakes his head. “But–”

“We can handle this!” she calls. “Go!”

Toby manages to push Jim off of him and then, reluctantly but knowing Jim would kill him both literally and figuratively if he didn’t, he uses his war-hammer to knock Jim backwards. While he’s regaining his senses Toby takes a chance to survey the fight again. Yeah. She’s right. They’ll be fine without him and Gawain. More trolls are pouring out of the portal as the night grows darker and safer for them. He rushes over to his fellow knight and by far most annoying coworker

“Okay, I have an idea,” he says to Gawain. “Unfortunately, I need you to trust me.”

“I don’t have – much of a choice!” Gawain grunts.

Toby tightens his grip on his hammer. “Then grab onto me and do not let go!”

Gawain does as asked. Before the Gumm-Gumms can attack again – before Jim can attack again because the Gumm-Gumms he can kill and Jim he couldn’t bear to hurt – he mimes throwing his hammer straight upwards and doesn’t let go. The magic drags him and Gawain with it up into the air, out of reach of the trolls, and Toby makes a sharp turn back towards Camelot. It’s harder to navigate with Gawain shrieking and clinging to him, but Toby’s got plenty of experience dealing with panicking passengers. Steve, for one, before he learned to fly. Flying like this – hammer out ahead of him and breaking the metaphorical speed limit – always makes him feel rather Thor-like.

Except that he’s leaving Jim behind. That doesn’t feel very heroic. If their roles were switched he doubts Jim would leave him behind, but, then again, Toby would yell at him for that. He glances back one last time to see Jim and Gunmar roar furiously in unison before forcing himself to look away and keep flying.

Yeah. The powder keg definitely just exploded.

 

 

Toby doesn’t stop flying until they’re inside the walls. He stumbles as he lands and almost falls on his face. Gawain catches him. Both of them are shaken and injured. Now that the adrenaline is fading Toby can feel his hip throbbing where a glancing sword swipe had cut into his side, his shoulder sore from the flight. He’s bruised all over, especially certain of a nasty bruise blooming where he blocked Jim’s sword with his arm, and utterly exhausted. Gawain doesn’t look better, trembling where he stands.

“We need the healers,” Gawain manages.

“You go on ahead,” Toby whispers. “I gotta – I gotta tell Claire. Anna, too, I guess. But Claire...”

“I’ll go with you,” Gawain says softly. He looks over to Toby. “You may not like me, but we’re brothers-in-arms. I have your back.”

Toby stares at him. Yeah, okay, that’s the last thing he expected from Gawain. He doesn’t like him. He’s aware it’s dickish to blame him for things he hasn’t done yet – though he did cause them a lot of pain and grief in the future – but he still thinks the guy is slimy even now. Gawain was the closest, physically, to Dinadan when he died. Gawain could have done something, should have done something, and didn’t. At the bare minimum, Toby will never forgive the current Gawain for that. Still, he’s not... evil. Yet. Probably.

“Maybe... I misjudged you,” he says grudgingly.

They start limping towards the castle, supporting each other as they go. Gawain presses his lips together and sighs. “If I may ask... why?”

Toby lets out a sharp sigh. How to explain this? From Gawain’s point of view, Toby must look like a complete ass.

“You... well, maybe it’s a bit stupid,” says Toby. “But you remind me of someone who... really hurt me and my friends when we were kids. You look like him. I couldn’t let that go. And – yeah, okay, it’s not fair of me to judge you when you haven’t done anything.”

Yet. There’s always the yet.

“That is stupid,” Gawain says. He gives Toby a small smile. “Why don’t you give me a chance, huh? We’ll get Sir Jim back together!”

Yeah. No. But... well, they need all the allies they can get right now. They’ll just need to be careful not to let him in on everything else, like sort of kind of plotting against Anna. A little. He sighs and nods. “Alright. A chance.”

He offers Gawain a hand to shake and Gawain grips his forearm with a grim smile. Once he releases Toby lets out a shaky breath.

“Okay,” he mumbles. “Let’s go.”

They walk back to the castle supporting each other. Toby manages to discreetly text Claire to meet them there. He spends the whole walk trying to figure out what he’s going to tell her, how he’s going to tell her. The townspeople know what happened – or, well, he can tell they think they do. Usually, patrols are three or more knights. Coming back injured and with only two generally means at least one died. A small part of Toby thinks maybe that would have been better. Not really – they can save Jim, right? But that’s the selfish side talking. Whatever damage he causes under Gunmar’s control, Jim will hate himself for it for the rest of his life.

Claire is waiting for them when they arrive, along with Anna and unfortunately Merlin. Great, just what they need. Merlin. Toby misses the time when he was dead.

“Toby...?” Claire asks, brown eyes wide as they scan over the both of them, battered and bruised, with no Jim in sight. Her eyes well with tears. “No.”

“He’s not dead!” Toby says quickly, trying to at least reassure her. His face falls into a wince as he realises that this alternative isn’t actually a good thing. “Though that may honestly be... better... in a way...”

“We ran into Gunmar,” says Gawain gravely. “An ambush. He went straight for Jim and used his cursed blade to take control of him.”

“Oh, Jim...” whispers Claire.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Merlin says coolly. He turns towards Anna, eyes narrowed. “Queen Anna, I have been suspicious of that changeling since day one–”

“And Sir Jim swore an oath that he was loyal,” says Anna sharply. “Unless you doubt your own magic, Sir Wizard.”

Ah, yes, pitting Merlin’s vast ego against his hatred of Jim. Clever. The man looks constipated.

“No,” Merlin says tightly.

“Just because you do not like changelings does not mean you can disrespect my knights,” she says. Toby appreciates the defence, but a part of him is still bitter. Where was this defensive side for her own brother? Does she really trust Mordred that little? Trust Lancelot that little too? She barely knows Jim. Still, Toby’s glad she’s not called for Jim’s head or something. That bodes a bit better for getting help in saving him.

“Your majesty, if I may?” says Gawain. Anna nods. “Sir Jim is a beloved fellow knight and excellent ally. Further, he is a terrifying opponent. Frankly, I would hope you would allow a rescue mission regardless, but if not for the love of your men, then for our safety from a fierce enemy.”

Toby bristles at the description of Jim as a fierce enemy – it’s not untrue, but it would break Jim’s heart to hear – and focuses on the main point Gawain’s statement. They need to save Jim. Whether it’s for Jim’s sake or the kingdom’s, Toby doesn’t really care. They need to save Jim.

“I was planning on it, Sir Gawain,” Anna says. “However, we are low on knights and I fear an attack soon. We must think carefully.”

“Oh, fuck, right,” says Toby, eyes wide. “In Dwoza they had a tip-off from Gunmar’s army. They’re planning an attack soon and Gunmar all but confirmed it in the battle.”

Anna’s eyes widen. “How soon?”

“We don’t know any real specifics,” Toby admits. “Their source said it was soon because we’re mourning. Makes us vulnerable.”

Her lips press together. “Then we must show them that we aren’t. Merlin, I want you to research all defensive magic you can find. Whatever we can implement, we need to do so immediately.”

“Very well,” says Merlin. “Claire–”

“My fiancé just got taken by Gumm-Gumms,” Claire snaps. “Forgive me if I can’t get back to work right away.”

“Yes, certainly,” says Anna gently. “Go with Tobias and Gawain to the healers, perhaps. Merlin, if you need help there are many scholars who would be more than willing to pitch in.”

Merlin grumbles and nods shortly, before turning on his heel and striding away, cape fluttering angrily behind him. Overdramatic bitch. Anna sighs and rubs her head, then waves a hand towards them.

“You both look dead on your feet,” she says. “To the healers. That is an order from your queen.”

Toby salutes her. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

“Come on, Toby, your blood loss is getting to you,” Claire says, linking arms with him and leading him away. Toby does not agree with that diagnosis but sure, whatever Claire wants. He doesn’t mean that sarcastically. She’s one of the most important people in his life and she’s struggling right now. Toby is struggling too, but he can put that aside for Claire.

The walk to the healer’s wing has never felt longer. Toby mentally bemoans the fact that Steve isn’t there. The healers of Camelot are great, don’t get him wrong, but they aren’t Steve Tarron. He lets Claire help him sit on one of the cots and lets the healers swarm him and strip his armour to access his wounds. Claire sits next to him and holds tight to his hand.

“Looks like some nasty injuries,” says one of the healers, “but you’re going to be okay.”

“Physically, maybe,” Toby mumbles. He feels like everything is falling apart. When they get home, he is never accepting an invitation to check out something cool ever again. He doesn’t blame Douxie – he couldn’t have known this would happen, couldn’t have predicted even once they’d arrived how bad things would get. Even Toby thought it was cool at first, thought meeting King Arthur and Sir Lancelot was incredible, thought seeing baby Mort was funny if bittersweet at the same time, thought, wow, isn’t it awesome they get to live history? And then history proved itself cruel and terrifying. Camelot is not a storybook. Sometimes it feels more like a horror movie.

He accepts potions numbly and lets the healers bandage him up. Claire never lets go of his hand and as the fatigue and his injuries catch up with him Toby finds himself leaning his head on her shoulder. He’s spiralling and he can feel it.

“Is he okay for us to go back to our room?” Claire asks softly, voice trembling on the edge of breaking. The healer gives her a sympathetic look.

“He should be,” she says. “Check his bandages before bed. The bleeding should be stopped, but as long as it’s not bad you can redo his dressings yourself.”

“Okay,” says Claire, squeezing Toby’s hand. “I’ll take good care of him.”

Toby is given a fresh tunic, and then they walk back to their room – Jim and Claire’s room, but really Toby has been spending just as much time in there – in silence, leaning on each other, Claire’s rough breathing and tight expression the only hint of her own emotions. Claire is and has always been an actress – from the perfect daughter to the fearless warrior – and even though she’s always herself with Jim, with Toby, here in the halls of Camelot he understands that she feels she has a part to play. Toby’s never been good at playing a part. He never joined theatre for a reason and Ultios saw right through him when he tried to play traitor. His tears fall whether he wants them to or not.

Inside they curl together and Claire lets herself cry too. Toby holds her. He couldn’t save Jim but at least he can comfort Claire in the aftermath. She comforts him in return. Or maybe neither of them comforts anyone because they’re too busy being heartbroken. They stay like that in silence and tears for what feels like hours until they both finally fall asleep.

 

 

Toby wakes to knocking.

On first instinct, he grumbles something to Jim about getting the door. The knocking stops, but then starts again a moment later. Toby’s groggy brain starts to wake up more and his good eye waters as he remembers, oh, Jim isn’t here. Jim is living his worst nightmare and Toby has been – what? Sleeping? What the fuck, Toby? How did he ever sleep when Jim needs him?

He shakes the thoughts off and climbs out of bed, carefully repositioning Claire so as not to wake her but by the little groan and the way her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, it’s too late for that. He rubs his eye and adjusts his eyepatch – he doesn’t usually wear it to bed, but they kinda just passed out last night. He opens the door.

“I hope we didn’t wake you,” Lamorak says in lieu of a greeting. He’s holding a tray of food. Bedivere is behind him, decidedly more awkward. “Bedivere and I brought the two of you breakfast. We thought you might need it.”

“Thanks,” Toby manages, biting back a yawn. “Um. You can come in. We just woke up.”

Claire yawns and sits up and waves to them. Toby goes back to sit by her as Lamorak and Bedivere enter and close the door behind them. The last allies they have here. Sure, right now all the knights and Anna are technically on their side, and Toby bets they could sway Ikram if they tried, but Lamorak and Bedivere at least understand that Merlin is the bad guy. A bad guy, anyway. It’s not surprising they’d hear them out. Both of them have fae blood, right? Toby can’t help but wonder if either of them are still around back home. If they get home, he’ll have to look into that. It would be nice to have more people to share this with. He wonders what Ikram will say when they get home and remind her, hey, they were knights together! That’s gonna be a hell hell a conversation.

“We heard what happened,” Bedivere says grimly. “Mind control. I fucking hate mind control.”

“Hear, hear,” Toby says morosely. He curls his hands into fists and tries to pretend they don’t flash blue again – killing Krel is something that will never leave him. He knows it’s never left Krel either, even if their relationship is repaired from the trauma. Some part of Toby is always going to be terrified that he’ll be used to hurt his friends again. Some part of Jim never recovered from Merlin’s control, and that part will only fracture further now. He wishes Mort could have warned them.

“So what is the plan?” Lamorak says, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms.

“With an attack imminent I don’t know what we can do,” Toby says heavily. “Camelot needs all of us knights. The best we can hope is that Jim shows up to the attack and we can snap him out of it then.”

“That’s a horrible plan,” Bedivere says bluntly.

“You got something better?” Toby snaps. “Claire and I want him back more than anyone else here. I don’t know what we can do.”

“Toby’s right,” Lamorak sighs. “We can try tracking Jim, at least. That’ll help us plan for the attack as well. But as for rescuing Jim... it’s too risky. No senior knight is going to okay a mission like that.”

“This was his worst fear, you know,” Claire whispers. Toby knows. It’s Toby’s too and, he suspects, Claire’s as well. Funny that all three of them have dealt with the same trauma somehow.

“We will get him back,” Lamorak says firmly. “That is not a question. The how of it may be tricky but Jim is not lost to us.”

Bedivere claps a hand on Lamorak’s shoulder and squeezes it. “There you have it, yeah? Lamorak’s been a stubborn bastard the whole time I’ve known him. If he says we’ll get Jim back, then get Jim back we will.”

Toby grabs Claire’s hand and squeezes it, before deciding to change the subject. No use talking about a plan right now when none of them have the faintest idea where to start.

“How long were we asleep?” he asks instead.

“It’s only an hour or so since sunrise,” says Lamorak. “You got back shortly after sundown, I’m told. You’re to be resting today, Toby, as is Gawain.”

“Fair enough, I feel like shit,” says Toby.

“Tell me about that,” complains Bedivere. “I still have a cough from my time in that goddamn cave. Bet Alex does too on and off. Magic’s great with healing but, damn, wish it could fix everything.”

“Well, I didn’t break any bones this time,” Toby offers with a laugh. “Man, I remember when Steve broke his leg. He was pissed that magic couldn’t just, poof, fix it.”

“Oh, yeah, and that was back when Steve was high-strung and... Steve,” says Claire. “Glad I missed that. By the time Jim and I got back he was too busy being sad about Krel to complain about his leg.”

“Krel was fine,” Toby quickly clarifies, as if the memory of that time doesn’t renew his anger and hatred of Gawain once again. Breathe, Toby, he hasn’t done anything yet. It would probably break the future if Toby killed him now. Shame.

“When I was a kid I broke my arm climbing a tree,” says Lamorak. “My fae cousin called me a fragile doll so I pushed her down a hill and then she broke her wrist. And then we were both in trouble.”

Bedivere snorts. “Man, I wish I was in Camelot for your troubled kid years.”

“You know what, I believe it,” Toby says. He stretches and winces as this pulls at the wound on his side and the bruises on his arm. Yeah, that fight did a number on him. He is sick and tired of getting injured.

“Oh!” Claire exclaims at his wince. “I forgot to check your bandages last night.”

“They’re probably fine,” Toby complains.

“I will tell on you to Steve.”

“Okay, okay!”

“Have you told Lex and the others?” Lamorak asks, voice hushing as if to avoid being overheard even though the rooms are fairly soundproof. “About Jim?”

“No, not yet,” Toby admits softly. “I’m not sure how to text that.” He glances quickly at Bedivere.  “I mean, y’know, to... tell them. When they get back from Tristan’s hometown and stuff.”

“Lamorak told me about your Arcadian talking boxes,” Bedivere offers. That makes sense. Lamorak and Bedivere have been practically inseparable since Bedivere returned. Toby guesses they were maybe childhood friends or something. Heh, like him and Jim.

Claire rubs her forehead and mutters something under her breath in Spanish. “Honestly, I’m not even – I don’t have the energy. I am so done.”

Toby snorts. “Could be worse.”

“For the love of god, do not say that,” she says. She pats his shoulder. “Okay, bandages. Let’s go.”

“We’ll leave you two to that,” says Bedivere. “Lamorak and I can work on that tracking spell. We’ll probably be in the library or maybe Lamorak’s chambers.”

“Basically our chambers,” Lamorak mutters, though he doesn’t seem too put out. “Given you’ve been crashing there every other night.”

“What, I could use the friendly face,” Bedivere says. “Would you begrudge me a friendly face in my time of need, old friend?”

“If it meant I could get sleep,” says Lamorak. The two continue bickering as they leave. Toby shakes his head fondly as they go then takes a bite of some of the breakfast they brought. The muffin or scone or whatever is good. Jim could make something better.

“They’re cute,” Claire says.

“Huh?”

She shakes her head. “You’ll figure it out. Eat your breakfast so we can take a look at your wounds.”

Toby shrugs. He’s not that hungry so he finishes the muffin-scone-thing and sets his tray aside so he can pull off his tunic so Claire can see the bandages. He winces at the sight of them, dotted red but not too bad. Claire purses her lips and works to undo the bandages. Toby almost protests – he can do that himself – but Claire has always needed things to do to keep her mind off of something like this.

“Good, not bleeding,” Claire murmurs. “The healers gave me a salve for them though.”

“Okay,” says Toby. She hums and opens the salve up. It smells disgusting and it’s cold on his skin, but it eases the ache he hadn’t realised was there until now. He hates magical salves just as much as he loves their effects.

His mind wanders while she rubs in the salve. He keeps wondering if he could have done something, could have saved Jim. He wishes Mort had known to warn them. They probably wouldn’t have believed him, but once they ended up here maybe they would have remembered the warnings. Mort couldn’t have known, though – at least, Toby can’t let himself believe that he did, because if Mort knew and Mort let this happen, to Toby, to Jim, to Douxie, let Douxie’s heart be broken – Toby cannot let himself imagine it, or the bitterness would bloom in his chest like an invasive flower and he would choke on the pain it would bring with it. He would have warned them. Toby has to believe that or his memory of the man will be tainted forever.

But then again, Toby has known things and told no one. Toby let Arthur die. He knew when, he knew how, and he let it happen. He still remembers the pain in Mort’s voice recounting the story, and yet he didn’t even try to stop it. The guilt sits acrid and heavy in his stomach. After everything Mort Penn did for him, didn’t Toby owe it to him to try to spare him the tragedy? He knew a knight would be lost shortly before Camlann. Should he have kept a better eye on Alex? Is that his fault too?

“You have that face again,” Claire murmurs, glancing up at him as she ties off the bandages.

“What face?” Toby says. “I don’t have a ‘face’.”

“It’s the same one you share with Jim,” she says. She pitches her voice lower to mimic Jim – or maybe Toby himself. “Look at me, the burden of the world is on my shoulders and everyone should blame me for everything!”

Toby laughs lightly. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Come on, spill,” she says, resting a hand on his back and leaning her head on his shoulder.

Toby sighs. “Okay, you win. It’s just... what ifs, I guess. I keep thinking that maybe if I had done something different somewhere along the line, things would be different now. If I had... I dunno. Saved Arthur. Or...”

“We don’t even know if we can change time,” she says gently. “And you only knew one more thing than the rest of us. Any of us could have said something and we didn’t.”

“Two,” Toby blurts guiltily. Claire gives him a curious look. “Mort told me that a knight was lost shortly before Camlann. And, um... Alex...”

“That hardly counts,” she says. “There’s too many knights and too many have been lost. Alex getting captured wasn’t your fault.”

“I guess.”

“But I do get it,” Claire admits. “I keep thinking I should have seen the signs of what Merlin would do to Mordred in the way they interacted. Or I should have been able to shadow-portal right to Alex while he was captured. Or Jim, now. Or that I should have been there. I...”

She sniffles and wipes her eyes. Toby wraps an arm around her. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s not your – it's not our fault. It’s gonna be okay.”

“This was all our worst fear,” she chokes out. “Being controlled again. And of course Jim’s the one that has to face it.”

“We’ll get him back,” Toby says, willing himself to believe it, “we always do.”

“Before he does too much damage,” she says, “or we won’t get him back at all. Not really.”

Toby winces. She’s right. He holds his free hand out in front of him and flexes it, watching glowing blue blood drip between his fingers – it's not there, it hasn’t been there for three years, but sometimes he still can’t wash his hands long enough. Krel is alive. But if he had been gone for good... Toby doesn’t know. He can’t let Jim suffer that. Whatever it takes, he can’t let Jim suffer that.

“We’ll get him back,” he says again, voice breaking. “I promise.”

 

Notes:

TOBY POV IS BACK BABEYYYY
I had to rearrange the entire structure of the fic for this. Sorry not sorry!

Also I am SO sorry this took so long. I've been and still am struggling with some health stuff physical and mental soooo yeah fuck me ig sgrdjksadhkgkhj
I'll try to update moreeeee

Thank you guys for reading!!! <3333

Chapter 37: A Day at the Beach

They arrive at the lake later in the evening as the sky starts turning orange and pink with the sunset. Nan is standing on the shore waiting to welcome them – she must have detected when they crossed the boundaries of her realm or whatever. Krel doesn’t know a lot about this fae stuff, and he regrets not asking about it before this whole mess. He thinks it makes sense she could detect them. Mort’s wards were great at detecting them when they tried to sneak out as teenagers. Also for detecting Alex sneaking in. So really it would be weirder if Nan couldn’t detect them.

She runs first to Mordred as they arrive, and it’s clear by the way she cups his face that she’s heard the news of what happened. Mordred melts into her touch.

“Oh, my sweet snowflake,” she murmurs. “What cruel lies they spread! Are you well?”

Well, she’s heard the news, but apparently she doesn’t believe it. That’s... fair. Krel hardly believed it himself. Mordred sniffles but doesn’t respond. His face makes his shame clear. Nan doesn’t notice, instead turning her attention to Lancelot and greeting him with a hug. She greets Lionel the same way. Then, it’s Douxie and Krel’s turn. Krel’s somewhat surprised to get hugs from his future adopted great-grandmother, but, well, he’s also not complaining. She knows who they are. She must have taken it to heart.

“Thank you,” she says as she pulls away, cupping each of their cheeks, “for protecting my grandson.”

“You know we always would,” Douxie says, eyes flitting to Mordred with a fond smile. Nan chuckles and moves away from them, smiling at the others.

“Please, get settled,” she says. “I can set up a sleeping area for all of you under the willow. Oh! And I see new faces. Welcome! I am Viviane du Lac, Lancelot’s mother.”

“Wow,” Hilde says in awe. “You’re so pretty.”

Nan laughs fondly and crouches to her level. “Thank you, little one. A high compliment.”

Hilde giggles shyly and hugs Alex’s legs. Alex picks her up with a bright smile. Krel watches his masterpiece at work, pleased so far with the functionality of the prosthesis. It’s not perfect by far but, hey, for the limited supplies and references they had to work with, it’s a pretty damn good first attempt. Krel’s quite proud of himself. Oh, and Steve. He guesses Steve helped too.

“This is Hildegard Duguid,” Alex introduces. “Douxie and I have taken her in.”

Nan understands without him saying what this means and nods, her smile turning a bit sad. “Welcome, Miss Hildegard, then. I look forward to getting to know you.”

“Thank you,” Hilde whispers shyly.

“My name is Iros Ventis,” Iros says, stepping forward and clasping her hands together before offering a shallow bow. Krel recognises the gesture as that from one noble Akiridion to another of equal status. “I have heard many good things about you from Mordred.”

“A pleasure, Lady Ventis,” Nan says, loosely mimicking the bow to be polite.

Tristan waves then seems to realise, oh, maybe he should also bow and clumsily does so. “And I’m Sir Tristan of Forwydh, m’lady. Honoured to meet you.”

Nan’s face softens into sympathy. “Well met, good knight. I am sorry about your home.”

Huh?

“It’s not your fault, madam,” Tristan says with a sad smile. “Fowydh is rebuilding as best we can. But thank you.”

Add that to the list of things Krel did not know about Sir Tristan. Not that Krel knows that much as it is. He’s friendly with the knight and certainly thinks he’s becoming proper friends with him, but he’s more Alex’s friend than Krel’s. Alex clearly knows what happened to this Fowydh place because he puts a hand on Tristan’s shoulder and gives him a small smile.

Nan leads them to the willow and waves a hand. Krel’s eyebrows shoot up as moss blooms from the ground in the rough pattern of beds. He should be used to magic and he knows he’s seen plant magic used before, but he’s still confused by the details of it. Is plant magic creating life? That sounds like complete and utter bullshit. So maybe there’s moss spores in the ground around here. That does not explain any other plant magic. Krel needs to not think about it. He hates magic, actually.

At least they have beds. Does he want to sleep on plants? Not really. By present day Nan has more proper beds when they come to visit. This is impromptu, though, so he can’t fault her for having to make do. Beggars can’t be choosers. Krel walks over and pats one of the beds of moss.

“Soft,” he blurts in surprise.

“The plants like to be accommodating to guests,” Nan says with a smile, as if plants can like to be anything. They’re plants. Krel is used to Nan being like this, though, so he smiles and nods. “Now, fill me in. I have heard rumours, but little in the way of confirmation.”

“Well, you know Arthur Pendragon is dead,” Lionel says, far too bluntly for Krel’s tastes.

Nan nods, lips twisting into a frown. “So I did hear. And they say...”

Her eyes flicker to Mordred and then to Lancelot, questioning. Lancelot sighs and squeezes Mordred’s shoulder. “It may have been Mordred’s hand, Mama, but he was under a spell. The wizard Merlin, we believe.”

“I never liked him,” Nan mutters angrily. She shakes her head. “Have you scanned Mordred for residual magic from the spell?”

“Um,” says Douxie.

“I’m going to take that as a no,” mutters Nan. “I will do that then. The kingdom truly believes...?”

“Anna won’t listen to reason,” says Tristan with a frown. “Several knights saw Mordred’s eyes glow wrong, but... yeah, she’s... pretty much declared all fae the enemy.”

Nan purses her lips, sadness in her eyes. “Including me, it seems. Well, it is getting late. I will go gather something for dinner while you settle in.”

Krel sets his stuff down in the makeshift “bed” next to Steve. Steve throws an arm over his shoulder. “Just like camping!”

“Ugh,” Krel says. “Mother Nature, my old nemesis.”

Steve laughs at him. Krel is almost entirely serious. The others get settled as well. Unsurprisingly Douxie is choosing to share a moss-bed with Alex. Krel shoots him a look he hopes reliably translates to, “None of your allosexual nonsense while we’re basically sharing a room.” Douxie flips him off with a grin so he must have gotten the message. Krel can’t help but feel safe in Nan’s realm – how could he not? Frankly, she’s the only grandmother he knows well. Growing up visits from either side of his family were few and far between. Nan, at least, they visited at least yearly after he became part of the Penn family.

Krel just hopes this time the safety lasts.

 

 

That night Krel can’t sleep, even despite the long day. He finds himself wandering down to the lakeshore and sitting just past where the waves reach. It’s chilly but pleasant tonight and the moon is nearly full, casting the sand in an eerie white glow. Krel is back in Akiridion form – that had been a hell of a conversation with Nan. She had heard rumours of life on other planets, but nothing concrete. She at least was delighted by the news of their existence.

The sand behind him shifts. Krel turns sharply, forming a sword, but it’s just Lionel, hands raised.

“Easy, lad,” he says.

“Sorry,” Krel says, letting the sword vanish. “Force of habit.”

“Fair enough,” Lionel says. “May I join you?”

Krel nods and shrugs at the same time. He still isn’t sure what to make of Lionel, but that man has grown on him. He truly cares for Lancelot and Mordred, at least, and that puts him in Krel’s good books.

“Is Earth very different from your home?” Lionel asks.

“Earth is my home,” Krel says simply. “Or, at least, it will always be a part of me. When I look back at my youth I remember Earth with the most fondness, not Akiridion-5.”

Lionel hums and nods. “I see.”

“But, to answer your question,” Krel says, “yes. Earth is very different. The night sky is clear and full of stars. There is ample vegetation. You don’t have basic amenities like climate control. There is good and bad.”

“What is Akiridion-5 like?”

“Well, far more technologically advanced, for one,” Krel offers. “And very blue. I – it's been a while since I’ve been to Akiridion-5. But I remember it being... lifeless. Sure there were Akiridions, pests like skeltegs, but... we barely had plant life and diversity that comes with it. It was a stagnant place. It’s been the same for a thousand keltons – years – and it will continue to be so for another thousand.”

Despite his less-than-glowing assessment of his old planet, Krel’s eyes sting. Akiridion-5 may not be what he looks back on and calls home, not like Earth, but its loss still hurts. The loss of so many people with it hurts even more.

“You miss it,” Lionel hurts.

“Yes,” admits Krel. “But I know I can never return.”

“It’s not the same, but I understand, some,” says Lionel, gaze drawn up to the stars. “I miss my old village. It stood for over two thousand years, you know, but that’s not that long to a fae. But its destruction, and my friends and family with it... it has left scars that will never fade.”

You understand more than you know, Krel doesn’t say. Instead he nods. “It’s hard to miss a place you’ll never see again, for whatever reason.”

“Do you not think your people are looking for you?” asks Lionel.

“I hope so,” Krel murmurs. He hopes Aja and Eli and everyone else left behind in the future isn’t mourning them now. He hopes they make it home to them. “I hope they don’t think we’re dead. But even still... I will never return to Akiridion-5. I don’t know how to explain.”

“You said Earth is your home,” Lionel says simply. “There isn’t much more than needs explaining, friend.”

Krel offers him a small smile. It’s more complicated than that, obviously, but as far as Lionel needs to and can know, that works. They fall back into silence for a moment.

“Does your kingdom know that you aren’t human?” Lionel asks.

Krel nods. No point lying to a fae. “Yes. They know. I think it was a shock for them, but they accepted us and protected us from those that didn’t.”

“Camelot would not,” says Lionel, mouth twisting into a frown. “It saddens me. Arthur was at least making strides in the right direction. I had hoped perhaps Camelot would become a kingdom like yours is – accepting of magicfolk and mundanes alike. But...”

“I do not understand how Anna could turn on her brother like she has,” Krel admits, hugging his knees to his chest. “I would never, ever do so to my siblings, and I know they wouldn’t to me. Mordred thinks she can be reasoned with, but I fear what will happen if he’s wrong.”

“Well, we’ll just have to protect him, then, won’t we?” says Lionel. “Him and Lancey. Gods know my cousin wants to put faith in his daughter when I’m not sure she sees him as a father.”

“We’ll protect them,” Krel echoes. “Or we’ll try.”

Lionel draws patterns into the sand beside him, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow. “I do still wish Lancelot had chosen his fae heritage. I don’t expect you to understand, but the thought I must lose him someday...”

He wants to offer something to help – he could point out that Mordred will likely live a very long time, but then Krel had never even heard of Lionel. It makes him wonder. Mort was so tight-lipped about his past. Krel’s best guess is that Lionel dies, possibly even in this war, possibly even soon. Then again, he doesn’t seem thrilled with his immortality just as Krel hates his own. So maybe that’s not the worst thing.

“I do understand,” Krel admits instead, because he can’t say all that. “My kind are long-lived too you know. And I – well, I’m scared I’m going to live even longer than that. I’ll probably lose everyone one day.”

“To live and live and live,” murmurs Lionel, “and yet have so few to share life with. Most of my true friends burned with my village. It is a wonder the hate the humans carry has yet to destroy all of us.”

“Every species has the capacity for hate,” Krel reminds him.

“I suppose so, yes,” Lionel agrees. He gives him a curious look. “Your kind is like ours? Virtually immortal?”

“To a human,” Krel says, “sure. Lives that span centuries rather than decades. Much harder to kill, too. But we die eventually. Old age catches us too.”

Well. Krel can only hope that’s still the case for himself. He doesn’t like to give much thought to the differences between Celestials and Akiridions. Gaylen died prematurely. How long do Celestials live? If they can’t be killed permanently, who’s to say even age can catch up with them?

“Sir Alexander is human,” Lionel notes.

Krel winces. “Yes. And my sister Aja is married to Steve and Eli – and while Steve has fae blood and may live a long life, Eli is as human as Alex. I don’t think Douxie or Aja like to think about that.”

“And you?” Lionel asks. “Do you have a life partner?”

“Ha, no,” Krel say with a chuckle. His smile fades just as quickly. “But I’ll lose many of my best friends and I think – I know that will hurt just as bad. And like I said... I fear I’ll lose everyone eventually.”

“I suppose we must cherish them while we have them, then,” says Lionel. “I would do anything for my family, to keep them safe and alive as long as I can.”

Krel sighs and stares out at the lake, glittering in the moonlight. He sees his own glow reflecting in the waves that inch close but never close enough to touch. They should probably head back soon, get some rest, but right now Krel is content to sit and watch the water.

“Yeah,” he murmurs eventually, “me too.”

 

 

Despite Mordred’s anxiety being through the roof, they decide to use the next few days as a much-needed breather. Nan’s realm is probably the safest place for them in the country, although Krel isn’t ruling out grabbing Mordred and high-tailing it to another planet if need be. He probably can’t do that. He definitely can’t do that. He also definitely can’t mention that to Lionel because he thinks Lionel would do that.

Douxie quickly figures out how to make swimming possible, and it’s quickly become Hilde’s new favourite activity. Strangely enough, Alex has been extremely wary in a way that Krel didn’t expect from him. Alex loves the beach, but here he keeps eyeing the lake anxiously and finds excuses not to go swimming. At one point Krel saw him side-step a puddle so widely he almost tripped and fell flat on his face. So today’s goal is to get to the bottom of that mystery. Douxie is taking Hilde swimming again, so Krel and Tristan drag Alex into the woods, still in the realm but away from the shore.

“Okay, okay,” Krel says as they find a small clearing. “Sparring! I want to properly test out your new arm.”

“Sparring!” Alex echoes, perking up. “Yes, right, awesome. I have a serrator now so this will be so much easier.”

“I also have a serrator,” Tristan says smugly, waving his in the air. Yeah. That may have been a mistake. “Though you really didn’t have swords at home growing up?”

Alex snorts. “As if Mami would have let me within ten feet of a sword as a kid. Nah, swords are more a relic of the past or a neat fantasy or historical fiction prop.”

“Unless you’re Jim,” Krel says. “Jim’s sword is cool.”

“Jim’s sword is cool,” Alex agrees.

“But sparring!” Krel insists, redirecting back to their purpose here. “You versus Tristan because I need to be able to observe how your arm is operating. Tristan, if you break his new arm I am breaking yours.”

“Duly noted,” says Tristan.

“Krel won’t break your arm,” Alex says.

“I will.”

“He won’t.”

Alex and Tristan square off and then launch into a spar. Krel focuses on the arm’s movements, but he can tell by Tristan’s expression that he’s analysing the combat side of things. That’s good. Krel doesn’t know anything about fighting styles, though he can already tell Alex is struggling to adapt. From a purely mechanical standpoint, the arm is working as intended. It bends like a real arm does. It’s not too loud in its movement. Krel can hear some of its whirring and clicking, but those sounds are to be expected and frankly part of the charm if you ask him. The fingers close appropriately around the serrator handle and it doesn’t look like Alex is at any risk of dropping it or being unable to let go of it. Best of all, it doesn’t seem to be causing Alex any pain. Krel was a little afraid of that, so the fact that Alex could use it in battle without any obvious pain is a good sign.

Once the spar is complete – Tristan won, much to Alex’s consternation, Krel comes over to inspect the arm for any wear and tear. Alex lets him roll up his sleeve and moves the arm around.

“Feels great,” he says.

“I haven’t installed anything to give you sensation in it yet,” Krel dismisses absently. “We’ll do that when we get home, probably. Anyway, you didn’t damage it, that’s good. And it worked. Not that I expected different – I don’t make things that don’t work.”

“That’s a lie,” Alex tells Tristan. “His inventions are prone to blowing up.”

Krel pats his shoulder. “You still let me put this thing on your body!”

“Well, you hate seeing Douxie mope so you won’t let me blow up,” Alex teases.

“Yeah, yeah,” Krel says. “Tristan, any notes?”

“Well, you were definitely sloppier than usual,” Tristan says. Alex winces. “But that’s not unexpected. Overall, not bad.”

“I could definitely feel the lag,” Alex admits. “But I can figure out how to adapt to that. And I’ll keep training to be ambidextrous.”

“Cool, okay,” says Krel. “Then let’s take a break. I brought snacks.”

They get comfortable on the grass, abnormally green for this time of year but Krel suspects that’s the magic of Nan’s realm. He pulls out a few baggies of potato chips – what? he's missed modern junk food – and passes them around. He also grabs out a few candy bars, or at least the closest approximation he could figure out how to make with the synthesiser. Alex and Tristan look equally delighted by the snacks.

“Nothing like salt and carbs,” mumbles Alex, shoving a couple of chips in his mouth and sighing. Tristan laughs at him for this. Krel just agrees. Potato chips are good.

But, now to the main reason Krel wanted to talk to his brother-in-law.

“Why are you afraid of water?” he asks, because no one has ever accused him of having any form of tact. Alex drops the chip he’s holding, startled.

“I’m sorry?” he manages.

“You look at the lake the way I look at flames,” Krel says, brow furrowing. “What did they do to you?”

Alex hugs his torso, mouth twisting into a grim frown and eyes dulling, distant and haunted. Krel bites the inside of his cheek and rethinks the direct line of questioning.

“You, um, you don’t have to say,” he says, softer. “I’m sorry. I should know better.”

“No, no, it’s... fine,” Alex says. He doesn’t look at either of them. “I didn’t realise you’d noticed. Sorry. I’m... trying to get over it.”

“It’s been eight years and I’m still not over my fear of fire,” Krel points out, raising a hand to brush over the old scars on his face. “It’s been three years and I still keep my core hidden. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Krel’s right, Lex,” adds Tristan. “Plenty of knights have some form of battle-shock. Hell, you’ve seen me freeze before.”

Alex sighs. “No, I know, it’s just... it feels like I’m letting him win. I swore he wouldn’t break me and yet...”

Krel reaches over to take his flesh hand and squeeze it. “And he didn’t. You’re not broken, Alex.”

“Not at all,” Tristan agrees, resting a hand on Alex’s other shoulder. “Hey, water’s overrated anyway. Can’t even drink it without a couple cleaning spells and boiling the damn stuff!”

Alex does laugh at this, though it’s still a bit choked. “Yeah, medieval Europe really does suck for that.”

“Wait, you guys have clean water in the future?” Tristan says. “Like, whenever you want?”

“Running in our houses,” Krel says smugly.

“In some places,” Alex corrects.

Krel waves him off. “Okay, in some places.”

“What the fuck,” says Tristan. “Okay. Take me home with you. Potato chips and clean running water. I’m coming with you.”

Alex laughs and leans against him. “We’ll see.”

Their easy comradery makes Krel miss Toby. Douxie and Steve and Alex are great and all, but they’re his brothers and Toby is his best friend. It’s not the same thing. Toby would kill him if he snuck into Camelot just to visit but, honestly, the idea sounds appealing right now. He hopes they’re doing okay back there. They don’t seem to have much time to text, and Krel’s latest text to Toby is stuck on read. The latest to Jim was almost a week ago and it’s stuck on delivered. Krel’s worried.

But maybe he’s just paranoid. They’re just busy. That’s all.

He hopes.

 

 

They finish up their snacks and jump right back into sparring. Krel joins in so he doesn’t get rusty. He regrets giving Tristan a serrator and regrets especially showing him how to turn it into a blaster. The man is having the time of his life and Krel just hopes they don’t get in trouble for the scorch marks on the trees around them. Krel yells at him a couple of times for getting a little too close to damaging Alex’s new arm. Alex for his part seems to be having great fun until Krel reminds him to be careful or they all have to face Steve and Douxie’s wrath. Krel hates it when they team up.

Still, this does at least bring back memories of sparring and training during the Merlin-formstone mess and the Ultios mess. It also makes him miss Toby even more, because he’s not used to dealing with this stuff without Toby and Steve there with him.

“Okay, okay,” Tristan says as Krel and Alex both throw up shields – it's his turn to play the enemy, they’re taking turns. Yes, like children. No, Krel doesn’t care. “Obviously you can’t tell me anything about the near future. But the twenty-first century? I’ll be super dead by then – unless you do take me with you which I am still petitioning for – so it doesn’t hurt to give me a few answers, right?”

“He does have a point,” Krel is forced to admit to Alex. “Even if he did go and tell everyone, who’s going to believe you humans go to the moon?”

Alex pouts at him. “One, I take offence to that–”

“We go to the moon!?”

“–two, okay, that’s fair,” says Alex, dodging sideways. “Ask away, Trist, but we reserve the right not to answer. And you genuinely cannot tell a soul. Not even Lamorak! Actually, especially not Lamorak.”

“The fucking MOON!?”

“Yes,” says Krel. “Next question.”

Tristan splutters. “How!?”

“Science,” says Krel. “Next question.”

“That is not an answer,” Tristan says. Krel switches to a sword to parry his next attack – despite clearly loving the blaster, Tristan still favours the sword version of the serrator.

“I mean, we could explain the science to you,” Alex says, “but you’d zone out the second I started talking about it. Douxie usually does.”

“Okay, alright,” says Tristan. “Um... well, are Akiridions known in the future?”

“Only in Arcadia,” says Krel. Tristan is back to the blaster so he raises his shield again. He resists mentioning that none of their enemies will have guns here. Tristan either needs to practice the blaster or have it taken away, and he’s annoying when he pouts so Krel doesn’t want to have to take it. “To the rest of the world, we’re a well-kept secret. We do communicate with a government entity called Area 49b, but they haven’t even told the rest of the US government. I have been thinking of making contact with the UN though, see what happens.”

Alex snorts. “That will go well.”

“What, you don’t think so?” Krel says. “I think it’d be fine. Probably.”

“The other countries will be mad 'cause you’re technically a US citizen,” Alex points out.

“Not really,” says Krel. “Not super legally. Mort magicked up papers for me. So it’s not, like, real citizenship. And anyway they don’t have to know that.”

“At least one of your classmates will go on TV and talk about you.”

“Meh, let them. Still don’t think it’s a problem.”

“US? UN? TV?” Tristan repeats.

“TV is fantastic,” says Krel. “Television. It has moving pictures so you can watch a play from your own home, basically.”

“Oh, that does sound fantastic,” Tristan says.

“The US is the country we’re from,” Alex says. “Arcadia is actually just a city, not a whole kingdom. It’s part of the United States of America. The UN is the United Nations, it’s supposed to be like a peace-keeping alliance group between, like, the whole world? Ask, Steve. He studied International Relations. I did not.”

“All I remember is that it was formed after World War II,” Krel says with a shrug.

“Sorry, sorry, hang on,” says Tristan, nearly dropping his serrator. “World war? TWO!?”

“Haha, yeah, that was... yikes,” says Alex. “Although it didn’t include the whole world. Just... a lot of it. Especially because of colonialism.”

Tristan’s brow furrows. “So when you guys say you’ve fought wars before...?”

“Oh, no, no,” Alex says quickly. “No, we did not – we weren’t alive for that one. My great-grandpa fought in it though. But no, no, we weren’t even born yet.”

“And there hasn’t been a third world war, correct?” Tristan checks.

“Not yet,” Alex says.

“I don’t like that answer, Lex,” says Tristan with a disbelieving laugh. “Yet, he says. Not yet. Oh, but someday, maybe, sure! World War III! Why not?”

“If it makes you feel better, Akiridion-5 at this time is locked in a global cold war,” Krel offers. “And will be until my parents get married and unite House Akraohm and House Ventis.”

Tristan rubs his forehead.

“I need to sit down,” he mutters, before promptly plopping down in the grass. “Okay, Krel. Are you implying your parents were, like, king and queen of an entire planet? Also, isn’t Iros part of the Ventis house people?”

“Good job, Krel,” mumbles Alex, amused.

“Shit, whoops,” Krel says. Guess they’re breaking again. He and Alex sit too. “Ah, yes. Do not mention anything to her. She doesn’t know about the whole... time stuff.”

“Figured as much,” says Tristan.

“And, uh, yep, my parents were... that,” Krel admits. “Also do not mention that to Iros. And don’t tell Steve you know that. Steve will have my head.”

“He will,” Alex agrees. “Although as long as Tristan doesn’t tell anyone, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I won’t, I won’t!” Tristan says. He rubs his forehead again and shakes his head. “Sorry, okay, I’m still stuck on two world wars. And then you also had whatever wars you guys fought.”

“Much more localised,” Alex assures him. “Hardly even wars, really.”

“Ultios was not localised,” says Krel. “That was interplanetary. But, yes, it never really affected Earth.”

“Thanks to Mort, anyway,” Alex says with a sad smile. Krel tries very hard not to let his eyes dart back in the direction they came from, towards the lake and towards Mordred who has no idea he will one day give his life to save the world.

“That’s... Krel and Douxie’s dad, yeah?” says Tristan carefully.

“Yes,” says Krel, “and we’re not answering any more questions about him.”

“Alright, I respect that,” says Tristan. He opens his mouth to ask another question when there’s rustling from the bushes. KRel stands as the forest around them goes eerily silent. Tristan and Alex follow, brows furrowed.

“We stayed in the realm, right?” mutters Alex.

“Yeah,” Krel mumbles back. “Maybe we should head back to be safe, though...”

He hears what sounds like the thrum of several bowstrings releasing. Panicked, he pushes Alex and Tristan behind him and raises a shield above all three of them. Just in time – a volley of arrows rains down onto the shield. Tristan lets out a string of curses.

“Oh, no,” whispers Alex as several – no, that’s too small of a word- as a shit-ton of fae step out of the bushes surrounding them. This doesn’t make sense. They’re within the boundary of the realm. Nothing should be able to get in.

Then, because the universe loves to make things worse, Jim appears, stepping through the throng of fae, in human form but dressed in dark armour and eyes glowing a cruel golden. No. That is not Jim. Not really. Jim’s eyes would never glow that colour, so similar to Steve’s magic but – no, that isn’t Steve’s magic either. It’s far worse: Morgana’s. The being wearing Jim’s form raises a sword, lips curling into a cruel smirk that looks entirely out of place on Jim’s normally kind face.

“We’re here,” says the cold voice using Jim’s mouth, “for the Kingkiller.”

Yep. They’re fucked.

Notes:

Shit's about to go DOWNNNN

Hope you guys enjoyeddddd
I had fun with this one and wrote all of it at work during slow periods fkdjghadgkjd HOPING I can continue the trend of writing
I love Tristan learning about the 21st century. It's funny.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 38: Rotten from Within

Notes:

TW: death, eye trauma, mentions of past torture

also self indulgent OC stuff

This is bad.

This is very, very bad. Alex isn’t sure it can get any worse, actually. They were supposed to be safe here. The impenetrable magical fortress of a strong fae ally. How could they not be safe? Instead, now the three of them are staring down dozens of enemy fae and a clearly mind-controlled Jim, if the golden glow of his normally blue eyes is any indication. Alex’s new robotic fist closes around his serrator, sword form active. Krel still has a shield around them. Alex doesn’t think they could survive a fight, the three of them against this many enemies, but Hilde is back at the lake. Alex promised he’d protect her. And he can’t die on her so soon after Elaine, can’t traumatise her with the death of another guardian. And Douxie, Douxie just got him back, he can’t do that to Douxie.

“Well,” mumbles Tristan, “I’ve seen worse odds. And this time I have a gun, so… bring it.”

God, Alex wishes he had Tristan’s confidence. Still, he schools his expression into something he hopes is intimidating. “We’re not letting you get any further.”

“And we’re taking our friend back, thanks,” Krel adds.

“Oh-ho-ho, I think not.” Alex feels very suddenly like he’s been dumped in the lake – or, more accurately, one of the freezing pools in the cave. He would recognise that voice anywhere – it’s haunted his nightmares since he escaped, cold and gleeful in its torment. The fae, Alex’s torturer, steps out to the front, an angry scar carved down his face. Oh. Did Alex do that? “Hello again, Alexander.”

Krel’s brow furrows and he looks between Alex and the fae. Alex can’t move – can barely breathe because it’s the fae and Alex cannot get captured again, he’s not sure he could survive being captured again, being tortured again. He would break this time, he knows and fears it, and he can’t. He needs to protect Hilde, and Douxie, Douxie is back there too. But he can’t – he can’t, not this particular fae, not this particular nightmare.

“Alex?” Krel says softly.

“I – it’s him,” Alex chokes out.

“Oh, you remember me!” the fae crows. “Have you missed me? You were a pain in my ass, that’s for sure.”

Krel gasps in realisation before his eyes narrow and his lips twist into a snarl. Wow. He’s angrier on Alex’s behalf than Alex expected, a half-second from pouncing. Tristan, on the other hand, looks alarmed, eyes darting to the fae and back to Alex’s face and then to Krel, the anger making his eyes flicker red.

“Okay, nope, never mind, we gotta go,” Tristan mutters. He switches his serrator to blaster mode and opens fire on a few nearby trees, bringing them down and distracting the fae long enough for him to grab Alex and Krel by the arms and take off running. Alex almost falls when he does. Krel gets his wits about him to throw down a hoverboard and pull them onto it. Alex clings to his brother-in-law, trying to shake off the paralysing fear even as he hears the voice possessing Jim roar furiously behind them.

“Fae!” Krel yells as they arrive at the shore and jump off the hoverboard. Douxie looks up in alarm from the lake with Hilde. Alex meets his eyes and sees the concern in them – he must look as scared as he feels. “And Jim but not Jim! They got through the barriers!”

“What?” blurts Steve. “What do you mean, Jim!?”

“That’s not possible!” Viviane exclaims, rushing ashore in a tidal wave as her face shifts stormy. “No one can get through the wards unless–”

“–someone lets us in?” completes the fae – Alex never learned his name, it seems unfair that he knows Alex’s and Alex never learned his – as he and his allies step out of the forest. They’re blocked in, the lake on one side and the enemies on the other. The lake is probably safer, and maybe Viviane could protect them under the water, but how long would they have to hide there? Besides the fact Alex’s chest tightens at the mere thought of going in the water, at the idea of being trapped and risking drowning again.

It doesn’t make sense. Who would let them in? Who would sentence them to certain death?  Viviane and Lancelot have surged forward to stand beside Alex, Krel, and Tristan, and Iros has activated her serrator. Not-Jim looks incredibly impatient, like he wants to just get the fight over with already, but the group of fae don’t seem interested in attacking. Yet.

“Don’t worry,” says one of the fae, a different one, stepping forward and even smiling. “No one has to get hurt. We just have a proposition for all of you.”

“A proposition,” Douxie echoes, a weak laugh slipping free. “Right.”

“The answer is no!” Mordred bites out.

“Mordred,” says Lionel softly. Alex’s head snaps to stare at him as he shifts, closer to the fae invaders than to the rest of them. “Hear them out.”

Lancelot’s face falls slack in shock before twisting into grief. “Lionel? You let them in?”

“Look how quickly the humans turned on you, cousin, on your son,” Lionel says. “They won’t welcome you back! They’ll kill you and they’ll kill Aunt Viviane and Mordred too.”

Lancelot shakes his head. “How could you ask us to betray our home?”

“Your home betrayed you first!” Lionel cries. He turns to Krel, taking a step towards him. “Your kind will not be welcomed here either. You and Hisirdoux and Iros will be killed just as fast. You and I, we’re not so different, Krel. We would do anything–”

“–to protect our families,” Krel completes softly, shaking his head. “I should have known.”

“Don’t you see?” Lionel insists. “The humans only know hatred! Anything different is evil to them and that has never and will never change!”

“I’m human, Lionel,” Lancelot bites out. “Alexander is human, his daughter is human. My children are human, my spouses–”

“Your mates are dead, Lancey!” Lionel snaps, blue magic sparking around his hands with his emotions. “Your daughter has forsaken her heritage for Uther’s cruelty! If you keep holding onto the foolish hope of acceptance into a culture of bigotry and anger you will watch your son die too!”

Alex narrows his eyes, watching the magic, barely a shade off from Lancelot’s ocean blue, the way it flickers almost like... static electricity... oh. Of course.

“It was you,” he says, instantly regretting it as attention is turned on him. Too late now. “It wasn’t the wards interacting with anything! You used magic on the daxial array so we’d have to leave the ship.”

“I knew I couldn’t get anyone past Lancelot and Hisirdoux’s wards,” says Lionel. “Not without suspicion. I had to do something. Please, you must understand.”

“You could have killed us all!” Alex snaps. “If the plutonium fuel cell had been compromised–”

“I didn’t know that!” Lionel defends himself. “I want to help us, even you, Alexander, even though you’re human. I want to bring us all a better future – Lancey, Lancelot, you know me! You know I would never wish harm upon those you hold dear!”

“Do I know that?” Lancelot lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You know me. You can’t actually expect me, us, to join the enemy!”

“I am begging you to, Lancelot,” Lionel pleads. “It breaks my heart to think of you, of my family as anything but allies. We want a better world for magicfolk. Don’t you understand? Don’t you want a better world for your faeling?”

Lancelot laughs, a sharp, disbelieving noise that sounds on the verge of tears. “And a better world means killing off the humans? No. No, that is not a better world, Lionel.”

Lionel turns to Viviane, eyes wide and wild. “Aunt Viviane, you must understand.”

“I have long since made my stance on this war known, nephew,” she says sadly. “You are choosing a dangerous path. You are becoming no better than the humans you despise.”

Lionel looks between all of them, as if he actually expects to find support from any of them. Alex sees Hilde hugging Douxie out of the corner of his eye, sees Douxie move her protectively behind him. Mordred looks hurt. Lancelot looks heartbroken. Lionel’s eyes harden.

“Fine,” he chokes out. “Then we will have to do this the hard way. Do not harm my family. The rest… do as you will.”

As the fae surge forward, Viviane parts the lake and flits towards Hilde, pushing her towards a staircase once below the water. Somewhere to hide – good, good, he doesn’t want her in danger. She’s crying and he wants to run over to comfort her – he wants all of them to hide away until the fae get bored and leave, but how long can Viviane’s hiding spot survive a siege?

“Steve, go with her!” Viviane barks. “We need our healer in one piece!”

“Roger!” Steve replies, running to Hilde and ushering her down the stairs. Good, Steve will keep her safe if the rest of them fail. He trusts Steve and he trusts if the worst happens to the rest of them Steve will make sure Hilde is okay. God, Alex hopes they get through this. He’s not sure they will, not surrounded as they are.

“Mordred,” Viviane calls, only to find Mordred already furiously launching himself into the battle. “Oh, by the gods–”

She zips off to try to corral her grandson. Alex doesn’t have any more time to take stock of his allies before he sees the glint of a sword swinging down at him and has to raise his own to block it. He finds himself staring into too-familiar eyes, a cold smile that leaves him feeling like he’s right back in that cave again, waiting for whatever today’s torture session will bring.

“Long time no see, my dear Alexander,” sneers the fae. “You were so much fun to play with. I might just keep you!”

“Not on your life!” Alex snaps back. He uses his serrator shield to push him backwards and then switches to a blaster to shoot at him. This takes the fae by surprise. Good. God, Alex has missed having a serrator. He can’t see him but he can hear Tristan having the time of his life with his own serrator. He sees other fae thrown about by shadows – Douxie’s dark magic. Alex hopes he’s being careful but can’t dwell on it when vines rise from the ground around him. He cuts several down with the serrator sword, then manages to activate the laser Krel installed in his arm and use that to burn several others at the roots.

“Argh!” the fae yells.

“Ha!” Alex says triumphantly. “Thank you, Krel!”

“You’re welcome!” Krel shouts back as he flies by him. “Here!”

Alex catches the hoverboard and grins. Okay, yes, he can work with this. He activates it and hops on, flying straight for the fae and managing to bowl him over with the shield. The fae hollers furiously and keeps sending vines at him, but they’re much easier to dodge on the hoverboard.

He sees Lancelot locked in combat with his cousin, equal parts furious and devastated, and his heart goes out to his friend-slash-mentor. He’s lost track of Jim and it scares him. What happened to him?

Okay, question for later. He needs to get in close. He finds himself flying over the lake, around the outskirts of the battle, and the fae is hot on his tail. Alex refuses to look down because if he does he is going to panic. When he sees an opening, he steers back to shore and switches his serrator to sword mode just in time to almost stab the fae. Unfortunately, the fae does dodge, but he still hisses in pain when Alex’s sword slices through his shoulder.

“I beat you once!” he reminds the fae. “I can do it again!”

“I’m going to make you regret surviving, Alexander!” the fae yells.

Maybe pissing him off is a bad idea, but Alex hopes it will make him sloppy. “Wait, I kinda beat you twice, didn’t I? Don’t worry, I’ve heard everyone likes a badass scar.”

The fae lets out an angry roar but all his vines miss, so either Alex is great at dodging or he’s right and he’s making the fae lose control. Good, great, Alex is good at annoying people. He has a little sister, so he practically legally has to be good at annoying people.

“You couldn’t even capture me yourself,” Alex taunts. “I had to be given to you! And then you couldn’t beat me when I was literally dying!”

“You’re an insolent brat, Alexander!” the fae exclaims.

Alex flies in close and almost manages another cut, but he misses and, on his way, back around the fae catches him on the side. He yelps but somehow manages to keep his balance on the hoverboard. 

“Better a brat than a monster who tortures people for fun!” Alex snaps back. Okay, not his best retort, but he’s stressed, in pain, and facing the guy that spent a week, like, waterboarding him, so sue him.

He’s startled by a loud splash – Krel shoots back out of the lake seconds after being thrown in, but it’s still enough to make Alex’s heart skip a beat. His distraction costs him. A vine wraps around his knee and snaps it sharply to the side. Alex loses control of the hoverboard and slams into the ground on his left side – of course it’s not the unfeeling metal but the very feeling flesh. His knee screams in pain. That was not a good sound it made. He pushes himself to his feet. It hurts like a bitch, but either it’s not a bad injury or he’s got enough adrenaline in him that he can still walk. Doesn’t matter which.

“Hey, ugly!” he hears Douxie shout. He looks up just in time to see his husband tackle the fae and rear back and punch him in the face. Okay, that’s cathartic to see. “This is for torturing my husband!”

Alex grabs the fallen hoverboard and climbs back on it, figuring that’ll be better for his knee than anything else. Douxie shoots him a grin, despite the worry evident in his golden eyes.

“I got this, babe!” he says.

“I know you do!” Alex assures him – and he better because, oh, fuck, there’s Jim. Alex just barely dodges getting skewered (again, might he add) as his friend lunges towards him. “Oh, shit!”

He flies backwards and tries to find his serrator – fuck, he dropped it. Okay, well, Krel put serrator tech in his arm. Maybe he can… ha! A blade forms from the forearm, Edward Elric style except the fact it’s glowing blue and not solid metal – Krel so totally did that on purpose – and Alex can definitely work with that.

“Jim!” he exclaims as he parries Not-Jim’s next attack. “Come on, man, it’s me! Alex! Your friend! You know me, buddy, snap out of it!”

Yeah, that doesn’t work. Not-Jim’s face carves into a cruel smirk. “Jim isn’t here right now, little human.”

“Who is here right now?” Alex asks despite himself. “’Cause I gotta admit, I really expected Morgana.”

Not-Jim grunts and swings his sword at Alex’s legs. Alex just barely manages to dodge backwards with the hoverboard and swings around behind Not-Jim instead, raising a shield to block another admittedly sloppy attack and then lashing out with his cool arm-blade. To his surprise he makes contact, leaving a sizzling line across Not-Jim’s shoulder.

“Sorry!” he can’t help but yelp.

“Your unwillingness to hurt your friend will be your downfall,” Not-Jim growls.

“Yeah, well,” Alex says, “a lot of things were supposedly going to be my downfall but I’m not dead yet!”

Whoever is possessing Jim isn’t used to Jim’s body. If Alex had to guess, Jim is smaller, lither, all around more manoeuvrable than this guy is used to. That’s probably good, and it gives Alex an advantage because Alex has spent twenty-seven years in his body. Sure, he’s still getting used to his new arm, but, hey, he’s still doing better than this guy.

He dodges yet another sloppy attack but finds himself backing into an unfamiliar fae. He gives the fae a sheepish smile but has no other time to react before the fae slams a hand into his side and with it ignites flames on his clothes and skin. Alex jerks away, falling off the hoverboard and biting back a scream. He’s lifted by the collar by Not-Jim, a nasty smile marring his friend’s normally kind face.

“So long, fleshbag,” says Not-Jim, before throwing Alex backwards with strength that definitely exceeds Jim’s own. Alex’s yell is cut off by icy cold water as he lands with a splash in the lake. The good news is it puts out the fire on his clothes. The bad news is he is now underwater.

He thrashes, panicking and gasping in water. Not again, not again, not again! His vision is blurred by panic and the bubbles in the otherwise clear water. He struggles to the surface, hacking up the liquid in his lungs. He forces himself to swim to shore even as the cold threatens to freeze his limbs in a more metaphorical sense.

PTSD, his brain helpfully supplies.

Yeah, okay, no shit.

He clambers onto shore, aware of his new arm sparking and moving slower than before. Fantastic. He doesn’t have time to recover, to breathe, before he finds himself tackled by yet another fae.

“You’re fighting a losing war, human,” she hisses. “Camelot will fall. And then we’ll move to the next human kingdom until they all fall. Your kind’s days are numbered.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Alex rasps.

“Iorwerth was quite fond of you,” she says. “His mate was killed by humans you know. Tortured to death by people just like you.”

“I don’t know who Your-worth is,” Alex manages, “but the actions of a few humans doesn’t represent us all!”

“Oh, you spent plenty of time with him,” says the fae. “And now he’s going to kill your mate. Maybe we’ll let you live. Just so you can suffer that.”

His captor. She’s talking about the fae that tortured him. The fae currently fighting Douxie. Alex growls and manages to buck the fae off of him and push himself to his feet. His injured knee nearly crumples beneath him. He scans the battlefield for Douxie – there! Still alive, still fighting. The fae Alex just threw off tackles him again from behind, wrapping an arm around his neck. Alex yelps.

“Or maybe we’ll have mercy and kill you too,” she hisses. Alex struggles in her grip, trying to pry her arm away so he can properly breathe.

His knee finally buckles and he goes down. The fae uses the momentum to slam his head hard into the rocky sand. His ears ring. The waves lap at his cheeks and spark terror in his chest.

He sees Douxie yelp and go down, visibly disoriented even from here. The fae shoves Alex’s head down, the rocks digging into his skin. Alex’s old captor – Iorwerth – advances on Douxie.

“Douxie!” he tries to yell, but the fae slams her knee down into his stomach and cuts off his words as the air is knocked out of his chest. Alex struggles, but he’s not going to break free in time. Iorwerth raises vines, a cruel smile on his face. Douxie is still down, still dazed, and Alex can’t save him. He can feel the tension building in his head, the shadows stretching around him. He’s not fast enough. He’s not–

And then Tristan pulls Douxie out of the way. Alex lets out a sigh of relief as the vines hit the ground and both of them roll out of the way. A moment later Iros rips the fae off of Alex.

“Stay alive, kid,” she says.

“Doing my best.” Alex nods to her and then charges Iorwerth again. The fae just barely dodges his blade. “Don’t even think about touching my husband!”

Iorwerth’s eyes light up. “Oh, I don’t have to, Alexander.”

Alex has no clue what he means by that, but he can only hope Douxie has run off to join the fight somewhere else now that Alex is facing down his old captor again. He doesn't see him - he must have. Iorwerth’s face has split into a grin, dodging like it’s a dance, a game, and Alex really, really doesn’t like that expression. It’s all too familiar, the same face that held him under the water or brought vines down like whips on his back. He channels his fear into adrenaline to try to fight better.

Eventually, as expected, Alex’s knee gives out again and he falls, landing roughly on his prosthesis and jarring it upwards into the residual limb. He hisses because ow but doesn’t have time to recover before the fae is over him again. Iorwerth darts a hand out and wraps it around Alex’s throat. Alex feels a sharp tugging in his head and squeezes his eyes shut. He tries to pry the hand off.

“You won’t give me your name, but I already know it, don’t I?” he sneers. Alex gasps weakly, eyes widening. “Sir Alexander.”

“Oh, no,” he hears Douxie breathe, too close – he wants to scream for Douxie to get away, get somewhere safe, but he’s barely getting air at this point. He thought Douxie was far away, fighting somewhere else, safe from the monster that might kill him just to make Alex suffer.

“Oh, no?” he hears Tristan repeat, because of course he's still there too.

Iorwerth’s smile sharpens further, wider. Dangerous. “And knowing makes it much easier to take!”

Alex screams as Iorwerth rips his hand back, claws dragging along Alex’s skin, and his scream dies without warning when Iorwerth cuts contact. He’s left panting, head pounding, something wrong. He stares at the snowy ground below but it's fuzzy and his ears are ringing.

“...Lex?” says Tristan. It sounds like he’s underwater.

“Alexander,” Iorwerth says again, voice cutting through the fog like a knife through skin. “Alexander Ethan Penn-Swift.”

How does he know that?

“Oh, gods, no,” Douxie chokes out.

“Stand up, Alexander,” says Iorwerth, taunting smugness dripping from his voice. To his horror, Alex finds his body pushing itself to its feet without any direction from his mind, completely ignoring the pain that brings. Oh, gods, no, indeed.

“Lex?” Tristan repeats. “Douxie, what’s going on?”

“His name,” Douxie whispers, fingers closing around his battle-staff. It floods with darkness. “If we kill this guy it should release his control since Alex didn’t give him his name. And Alex might be able to fight him off if we injure or stun the fae, but...”

“Great, fantastic, two friends to fight!” Tristan exclaims, before he has to swivel to fight another fae. This leaves Douxie in front of him, tense and ready for a fight. Alex tries to say anything at all, but fails.

“Alexander,” says Iorwerth. “Kill your mate.”

Alex lunges, screaming without being able to make a sound. Luckily, he and Douxie have sparked many, many times, so Douxie is easily able to parry Alex’s first attack with the blade in his prosthesis. It’s still sparking from his dip in the pond. A few parties later he finds his serrator, abandoned on the beach, and he can’t stop his hands from grabbing it.

 “I know you’re in there,” Douxie says, stressed. “We’re gonna save you, but you gotta fight too. Okay?”

Alex is trying. He’s doing everything he can to try to hold his arms back and yet they keep viciously attacking. He slices a gash into Douxie’s thigh. His husband’s yelp of pain burns in his ears. Douxie, his kind, foolish Douxie, is trying not to hurt him. Alex wishes he would.

“Nan!” Douxie yells when Viviane passes close. “That fae took Alex’s name!”

“Putain de merde! I’m on it!” she calls, circling back to run for Iorwerth.

“This is why the only French I reliably know is curse words,” mutters Douxie. Alex wants to shake him, because it’s not the time, but instead he finds himself shifting the serrator into a blaster and opening fire. Douxie shrieks in alarm.

He advances on Douxie, nothing more than a puppet. Is this how Mordred felt? How Toby felt? How Jim is feeling right now?

Douxie trips on a rock and goes down hard. Alex plants a foot on his chest and aims the blaster at his face. Douxie looks... afraid. Golden eyes blown wide, tears streaking his cheeks. Alex fights, anger boiling over, the familiar pull of darkness back. He’s still too slow. The blaster switches to sword form. Alex raises it above his head.

A blur of dark hair and Akiridion suit intercepts the blow. It’s not Douxie’s heart the blade has found, but Tristan’s.

The tug of darkness finally snaps like a rubber band pulled too taut. Before Alex can even blink, he’s got Iorwerth pinned to the ground, shadows stretching around them. Vivane stumbles backwards from where she was fighting him, eyes wide.

“Alexander, off!” shouts Iorwerth. Alex feels the order seep into his being but as tears finally break free he slams Iorwerth’s head into the sand.

“BASTARD!” he roars, rearing back a fist coated in ashy glass. The glass shatters on contact with Iorwerth’s face. Blood drips into his grin. Alex punches him again.

“Alexander Ethan Penn-Swift,” he says again. Alex’s first stops in mid-air, even as he struggles to bring it down again. His chest aches and his head pounds. Iorwerth laughs. “You brought this on yourself, Alexander. You should not have crossed me. Now get off.”

Alex falls backwards into the sand. He’s not strong enough. He can’t break free.

“Good human,” says Iorwerth, pleased. “Now go finish the job. Kill your mate.”

Alex struggles not to turn. No, no, no, he has to break free. He has to stop this. His eyes land on Tristan, limp on the shore, Douxie crouched over him, blue glowing steely as he heals and positioned to protect. No. He can’t. He can’t.

A wordless roar rips free of his throat so violently that it hurts. The sandy beach around him turns dark as night, as old viscous blood, and crawls rapidly up the fae’s skin, melting into it as Iorwerth starts to scream. Alex tackles him and raises his arm again. The sand finally swallows the fae whole, blood seeping into it before the rest of it melts into glass, wicked and spiked and inky black.

He knows the moment Iorwerth dies. His body finally feels like his again. He hovers still, panting, tears turning to tar as they drip onto the fae’s body. Then he remembers and he’s scrambling off of him, moving of his own volition once more, far too late to stop what has already happened, what his hands have already done.

“Tristan!” The name rips from his throat as sharp as the dark magic glass and he stumbles to his knees beside his friend. Douxie has focusers glowing around his wrists, cradling Tristan. He’s miraculously still alive. As soon as Alex lands beside them, Douxie throws up a shield to protect them from the raging battle.

“Good to... have you back... Lex,” he says, before cutting himself off with a cough.

“Shh, don’t speak, don’t speak,” Douxie mumbles, eyes wide as he tries to heal the damage. Alex can only stare in horror at the blood soaking the sand. Tristan wasn’t in armour. None of them were. They didn’t expect an ambush, not here, where they were supposed to be safe, where they were betrayed.

“What were you thinking?” he chokes out.

“I don’t do that, usually,” Tristan jokes. His face falls in pain and he groans. “Broke you... free... huh?”

“Douxie,” Alex pleads, wide eyes turning on his husband as more tears slip down his cheeks. “Douxie, please–”

“I’m sorry,” Douxie manages, focusers dying. “I can’t – I can’t–”

Alex moves his hands to staunch the bleeding himself, the blood wet and warm on his skin and sticking to the metal of his new arm. “Magic, there’s gotta be – there has to be something!”

“Lex,” Tristan manages, raising a hand to rest on Alex’s.

Alex breathes out a sob. His tears are still burning. “Why?”

“I lost my Iseult – and it killed – a part of me forever,” Tristan says. He’s fading fast, every breath a struggle. “Couldn’t – let you lose – your Douxie.”

“Please,” Alex begs his friend, his best friend, here in Camelot, and honestly one of the best he’s had. “You get through this and we’ll bring you home with us, yeah? Yeah?”

Tristan chuckles weakly. “I’m sorry, Lex. Tempting, but...”

He cuts off with a cough, rough and bloody. Alex feels the tug again. If magic can’t fix this then maybe – maybe – but then Douxie cups his cheek and shakes his head. There was no winning this. Viviane wasn’t going to be fast enough to break the fae’s hold on Alex before someone got hurt, and it took someone getting hurt for Alex to break it himself because, once again, he was used against his friends. He’s still the weak link. This is his fault.

“I see her,” Tristan whispers, staring up at the sky. “My beautiful Iseult...”

He falls silent. Alex shakes him, but the dullness of his eyes and the stillness of his chest tell him that there’s no point. He’s gone. He’s gone and Alex is the one that killed him. Alex crumples, folding at his waist and sobbing over his friend’s body. Douxie wraps his arms around him and Alex turns, hiding his face against his husband’s core.

“I’m sorry,” Douxie whispers.

Alex just shakes his head. War isn’t fair, he knows, but this seems especially cruel when they were supposed to be safe here, this was supposed to be a place to rest and prepare. And the battle isn’t even over.

But for now, Alex lets him take a second to grieve and prays he won’t lose anyone else today.

 

Notes:

SORRY TRISTAN I LOVE YOU
Also yeah yeah I know this is self indulgent OC trauma but yknow what I love Alex and I'm just. gonna run with it.
Sorry again for delays, I am having surgery soon so there will be further delays. Thank you for sticking with me! <33333

Chapter 39: The Blizzard Begins

Notes:

TW: animal death, violence and other deaths as well

Douxie thinks he might be in shock, the way the battle outside his shield sounds muted and slow. He wasn’t as close to Tristan as Alex, sobbing over his friend’s body with tears of sizzling tar, but he did consider Tristan a friend. A good friend. Tristan was there for him when he thought Alex was gone, Tristan didn’t give up on trying to help him even when Douxie tried to turn everyone away. And now Tristan is dead and another person Douxie loves has to deal with the guilt and pain of killing someone they cared about.

Douxie has never once been afraid of Alex and never thought he would be. Granted, Alex isn’t a scary person. He’s tall but he’s a big teddy bear, a complete nerd and a softie with kids. But fighting Alex under that fae’s control – Douxie never thought Alex could be scary and yet, face blank and attacks quick and deadly, his husband was terrifying. It wasn’t like Merlin’s mind control. There was no eerie glow to his eyes. If Douxie didn’t know better, he would have assumed Alex was acting on his own. He could never hurt Alex – but he cannot imagine what his death would have done to Alex. He hates what Tristan’s death is doing to Alex.

He lets his eyes stray back to the battle. Krel has taken to the skies with Nan, but so have many of the enemy fae. Lancelot is still fighting Lionel. The look of despair and hurt on his face when he realised still haunts Douxie. Hell, Douxie’s hurt, too, and he barely knew Lionel. He was so excited to meet another family member, someone Mort never talked about, but he supposes now he knows why. They’re heavily outnumbered. Lionel’s betrayal has already killed one of them. How many more are doomed by this fight? At some point Lancelot and Iros are both going to die. Will that be today?

He spots Mordred cornered by several fae. He’s clearly stressed but uninjured. If Douxie had to take a guess, they’re trying to recruit him. He runs a hand down his face and swallows his tears and turns to Alex. He wishes he could give him more time, but this is battle. Mourning will have to wait.

“Alex,” he whispers. “Alex, we have to–"

“–fight,” Alex completes, voice chokes. “I’m sorry – I'm – yeah, I’m ready. Please be safe.”

Douxie takes a moment to tilt his head up and kiss his tear-salted lips, now that the tears are mostly turned to water. “You do the same.”

Alex nods, so Douxie drops the shield and dives back into battle. Alex is right behind him, a sharp anger in his eyes that Douxie isn’t used to, a promise of fury and vengeance. Douxie hopes that doesn’t include more dark magic use. That was scary too, not because Alex was scary, not to Douxie, but because he knows how dangerous dark magic is, how easily it can drain a person. Douxie just got Alex back. He can’t lose him again.

He pushes that out of his mind and fights his way towards Mordred. Four arms open him up for another weapon, and in a melee like this Douxie has no choice but to give it a shot. He opts for his serrator, careful not to deactivate the transduction on accident. The fae aren’t prepared for sci-fi blasters, at least. That’s an advantage. As he gets closer to Mordred he can hear the argument, exactly what he expected.

“You’re the Kingkiller!” one of the fae is insisting. “You’re meant to join our cause and bring change! You could be the true king!”

“No!” Mordred snaps, eyes flickering between normal and black as night. Enaid lands on his shoulder, hissing at the fae and trying to comfort her wizard at the same time. “Shut up! I didn’t want to kill him!”

“HEY!” Douxie yells. “You leave him the fuck alone!”

“Douxie!” Mordred says in relief, snapping to his side like a magnet. Douxie holds his staff in front of the two of them, glaring at the fae. All three of them narrow their eyes.

“Alright,” he says. “We doing this the easy way or the hard way?”

The fae brandish their weapons. Douxie rolls his shoulders and lets his battle-staff flood with darkness.

“Hard way,” he mumbles. “Nuclear.”

He leaps forward, swinging his battle-staff and with it drawing shadows toward them. The fae respond in kind with their own magic, but Douxie has been trained by Morgana. He knows what he’s doing.

“You know, I keep getting told I’m a prodigy!” he brags as he slams one of the fae into a nearby tree with a shadow. “In normal magic, in dark magic – what's next?”

“Not cooking!” Krel calls as he passes overhead.

“Okay, fuck you, Krel!” Douxie yells back, before bringing his staff down hard on the nearest fae and knocking him clean out. The final fae goes down just as easily with a carefully aimed surprise blaster shot.

He glances back to look for Mordred only to find that he’s run right back into the fight, Enaid flying overhead. He groans and runs to catch him again, trying to keep his future dad alive. He’s not taking risks that they can’t change the future. The second he assumes that Mordred’s going to get himself killed.

They’re not losing as badly as Douxie honestly expected. The fae definitely made a mistake attacking in Nan’s realm. They should have known better, should have known even the trees would work against them, tripping them up and dropping snow and branches on their heads. Douxie learned long ago never to forget that plants are as alive as he is. The lake is wild and angry. Douxie has some experience in hydrokinesis – not a lot but enough – and being Nan’s great-grandson means that the waters respond to his command with ease. Between that and the dark magic, he thinks he makes a pretty damn formidable force.

He spots Alex attacking fae with a new vengeance, but thankfully he seems to just be using his serrator and not any dark magic. That’s a relief. Krel is back on the ground, locked in combat with Jim. Fuck, Jim. Douxie doesn’t even know what to do with Jim. He recognises his aunt’s magic in his friend’s eyes, but it doesn’t seem like Merlin’s mind control, not quite. Would have been nice if Toby and Claire had texted them a heads-up about this. Assuming they’re not dead. Gods, Douxie prays they’re not dead.

By now Douxie should know not to get in his head during a battle, but he doesn’t so he’s ripped from his thoughts by flames licking across his hip. He yelps and jumps away from them, spinning to face the fae controlling the flames.

“Aren’t you an odd one?” she says. “Powerful, though. You’d be an excellent asset.”

“You guys just killed one of my friends!” Douxie snaps. “Why the hell would any of us join you at this point?”

“We can protect your mate,” she offers. “We’ll protect the Kingkiller too. We’ll protect all of you that join. The humans will kill you for being different. You know that.”

“You’re full of shit,” Douxie says. She’s probably not entirely wrong that a lot of humans, even in the present, would kill him for being different. That was true before he got an Akiridion core to make him even weirder. But he doesn’t believe for a second that these fae would be willing to protect Alex. Maybe Douxie himself, maybe Mordred, but not Alex – not a mundane human.

“We tried to solve this peacefully,” she says. “We offered you a chance. The humans want to eradicate us!”

“And you want to eradicate the humans,” Douxie shoots back. “Camelot at least was trying to change! Continuing the violence instead of welcoming change will only beget more violence! If you fight fire with more fire, you will burn everything down, including yourselves.”

She shrugs and gives him a sharp look. “Sometimes you have to burn everything down. The humans won’t change, not in the long term.”

“You refuse to give them a chance,” Douxie says. He glances back at the battle then to her again. “This conversation is over.”

Her arms burst into flames. “Guess it is.”

She charges him and Douxie sidesteps to avoid flames to the face. He can feel himself starting to falter, feel the dark magic and injuries taking their toll. He focuses on defence and dodging and not getting burned to a crisp. He throws up a shield when she literally breathes fire at him like a dragon. Why do fae get the cool powers?

He sharpens the point of his battle-staff and brings it around to catch her in the side. She howls and grabs it, so Douxie lets it dissipate. Fire fae should be weak to water, right? Douxie takes a couple steps backwards until he’s ankle-deep in the lake. The fae advances on him so he takes a few more steps into the water. It’s cold, biting through the fabric of his suit, but he ignores that and raises two of his hands, lifting the water with them. Fae may get the cool powers, but he was blessed by Nan as a child so he’s more in tune with his magic than most humans. He lets shadows weave their way into the liquid, before whipping the water towards the fae. She shrieks, steam rising off her form.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to rain on your parade!” he jokes. “And right when you were all fired up, too!”

Oh, gods, he sounds like Krel. No. Worse. He sounds like Mort. Is this because he’s kind of sorta almost a dad now? A column of flames erupts beside him and he yelps and dodges to the side. Okay, he’ll save the dad joke crisis for later. He whips water back around, raising it like a shield to block more fire. He tries, not for the first time today, to think of fae-specific weaknesses. Iron, he knows iron because Mort was horribly allergic to iron, but he doesn’t have any iron to speak of. Like most magic users they’re in danger of magic overuse. That’s useless.

At least this one seems to be somewhat vulnerable to water, given the way she hasn’t approached close since he waded into the shallows of the lake. He can use that. He knows these shallows, ever-changing but still familiar and familial. He backs up further into the water and closes his eyes, concentrating. The water rises to his waist, waves lapping at the shore. The fae stumbles backwards, eyes on the approaching flood.

“You have two choices,” he says. “Leave. Or drown. I’m told drowning kinda sucks so…”

She hesitates and looks back up at him. “You’re as bad as us, you know.”

“Once upon a time you might have been able to goad me with that,” he says. “But this isn’t my first war. You’ll find my mercy wears thin when it comes to protecting my family.”

The water continues to rise, inundating the sand. Most of the fae don’t notice, but the one he’s specifically facing backs up. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Alex stumble as the waves sweep over his feet. When his husband glances back at the shore Douxie gives him a reassuring smile, to promise this is his work, that the water wouldn’t dare harm him. How could it when it’s Nan’s lake in Douxie’s hands?  But the fear doesn’t fade from Alex’s eyes.

Douxie shakes it off for now. Alex isn’t scared of him, it’s just the fight. Probably he’s scared Douxie’s going head-to-head with a fae. He focuses back on her, walking forward as the water floods the shore.

“If you flood the whole clearing, you’ll kill your allies too,” she warns.

Douxie is obviously not going to do that, but he doesn’t think he’ll have to. Just an inch of water creeping up the shore is scaring her away. Douxie can’t help the smirk that grows on his face – any advantage is a good advantage at this point. The fae leaps into the air when the water reaches her feet, but instead of fleeing she dives towards him. Douxie whips his hands up, forming his staff and using it to direct the water to grab her. She shrieks, steam flooding off her, and Douxie unceremoniously drags her into the lake. He holds her there – he did warn her, and she will come back, so he’s not even sure he’ll feel that bad for killing her. At this point, after watching his husband controlled and his friend die, he’s not sure he’ll feel bad killing any of their enemies.

He looks up and sees Alex, stopped, staring at him with wide eyes. There it is, something like fear still there, and without even realising Douxie releases his hold on the fae. She sinks, unconscious or dead, and Douxie winces and throws her out of the water because Nan would hate having a dead body in her lake. Alex’s eyes widen, his cheeks streaked with burns from his earlier tears. Douxie knows his husband hates the cruelty of war, hates killing, and when the adrenaline fades he’s going to struggle with the way he killed his once-torturer. But right now, it’s kill or be killed.

He catches sight of Not-Jim launching for Alex and he reacts on instinct, flying over and using a quick blast of dark magic to knock the shell of his friend backwards. He grabs Alex’s flesh arm.

“Be careful,” he bites out.

“You – drowned her,” Alex says.

“Yes.” Douxie throws up a shield to block an incoming bolt of lightning from another fae. “And she probably won’t be the last. The Lake helps family.”

Alex still looks horribly afraid. Douxie takes a moment beneath the shield to cup his cheek.

“I would never hurt you,” he says. “You know that, right?”

“I – yes,” Alex manages. His lips set in a thin line, but he doesn’t say anything more. He does give Douxie a quick peck before rushing back into the battle, which at least reassures Douxie that they’re all good and whatever Alex’s issues with him drowning the fae are, they ultimately won’t hurt the two of them. Probably.

He leaps back into the air. Krel is fighting two fae at once so Douxie joins him to help. They end up back-to-back above the lake, the bright white of Krel’s Gaylen powers shining against the inky blackness of Douxie’s dark magic.

“Good, you’re not dead!” Krel says, in a tone that tells Douxie he’s been keeping an eye on him the whole time. “I’m not putting you back together if you blow up again.”

“One time!” Douxie complains.

One of the fae lunges and Douxie catches them in a headlock, struggling to keep them in place. He snaps their neck with strength augmented by dark magic. Ha, like he could snap anybody’s neck without it.

“Don’t overdo it,” Krel warns, eyeing him warily as he shoots at the other fae with a Gaylen-made blaster. “You’re pale.”

“I’ll live,” Douxie says. He glances at his hand. Krel’s right, the blue is paler and duller than normal. Well, that’s probably bad news. Douxie knows his limits in dark magic, and he knows that he’s definitely pushing them right now. If the battle doesn’t end soon, he may need to stop the dark magic altogether. If he’s especially unlucky he might run himself into magical exhaustion on top of it.

“I saw Tristan,” Krel says as both of them dodge another incoming attack. “Is Alex okay?”

Douxie winces. “Great question. Save it for after the battle.”

Krel nods. “Fair enough.”

Douxie redirects his attention back to the battle below. Lancelot is still duelling Lionel. The sight of him makes Douxie’s blood boil, but he instead focuses on the second fae creeping up behind his grandfather. He dives to tackle them out of the way.

“Not today, fucker!” he snaps, dragging them back into the air.

The fae hisses at him. “Iorwerth was right, you know. The humans will kill you, too!”

“And killing all of them will never be the answer!” Douxie growls back. He’s getting a little tired of repeating his point to all these crazy assholes. “I knew King Arthur and he loved magical creatures. I’m sure he would have accepted Krel and I too.”

“You’re deluded! Do you know who his father was?”

“A man’s father is not the man himself!”

The fae manages to grab one of Douxie’s crests and jerk his head backwards. Douxie yelps and struggles to get out of their grasp. It’s no good trying to reason with them.

“You could be great with our faction!” the fae insists. “The Lady Morgana would be thrilled to take you in with her nephew, what with your talent in darkness.”

“When will you learn you won’t convince any of us to join you?” Douxie manages to shake the fae off and forms his usual battle-staff into a spear to thrust into their stomach. The fae dissolves suddenly into smoke and reappears behind him. Goddammit, Douxie forgot some of them could do that. Douxie whips around to face them again.

“Then we’ll have to kill you!” The fae lunges and tackles the two of them into a tree at the edge of the woods. Douxie grunts as his back slams into the back. He lets his spear disappear and forms it again in one of his lower arms. The fae lets go of him and grabs the wrist of the hand holding the spear, then twists backwards so hard that Douxie hears and audible crack and cries out in pain. Great, not only can he feel the extra arms, he can break them too. Now isn’t the time for more crises about his core. All he can hope is that his blood is still red.

He brings his knee up as hard as he can – rule number three, Toby would call it – and the fae yelps. It gives Douxie enough time to duck out of the way and form a dagger to plunge into the fae’s back. That enemy out of the way, he turns back to find another. Alex is holding his own, it looks like. Krel’s good, Iros could probably use a hand–

A bright flash of lightning and a screech draws his attention immediately. He watches in horror as Enaid falls from the sky, wings smoking. Mordred’s scream pierces the air a half-second later and Douxie watches as he collapses to his knees, hands clutching his chest. He scrambles to Enaid and Douxie lands by him before he knows it, crashing hard onto his knees beside Mordred as the boy gathers his familiar into his arms, his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock.

She’s gone. That much is obvious.

“Mordred,” Douxie starts, careful, but he has no idea what else to say because being without Archie these past weeks has been harder than he could have imagined, and he at least knows his familiar is alive and waiting for him back home. And to have a familiar taken so suddenly...

Mordred doesn’t reply, tears dripping down his cheeks. He whimpers and lets out a couple of ragged breaths before his eyes start to glow bronze and the temperature around them drops as the wind picks up.

“Mordred,” he says again, more urgent this time.

Black overtakes Mordred’s sclera and his face twists into something ugly and angry. The wind howls and the water on the ground from Douxie’s flooding of the lake starts to freeze. Mordred starts to float off the ground.

“Oh, no,” he hears Lancelot say from nearby.

And then the world explodes.

Douxie is thrown backwards. He lands next to Lancelot, several feet away from where either of them was. The fae still standing look to be in awe, staring up at Mordred as the wind whips snow and flecks of darkness around him where he floats, clutching Enaid’s tiny body to his chest. Other fae are starting to flee, clearly aware they’re absolutely screwed now.

Lancelot helps Douxie to his feet as shards of black ice start shooting up from the now-frozen ground. Douxie would snap if he lost Archie, he thinks, but this doesn’t even look like Mordred, hair ripped loose so it’s completely free and floating around his face, burning tears carving down his cheeks. Douxie has never seen Mordred so angry, not even when he was Mort. Oh, he’s been told Mort got pissed when Krel was taken by Ultios, but he wasn’t awake for that. This fury – this grief spun into rage – it's not something Douxie would associate with his calm-natured adoptive father.

He stumbles into Lancelot when a spike of ice comes just a bit too close. The wind doesn’t differentiate between friend and foe, snow biting at Douxie’s cheeks. It’s hard to see past the stinging wind and the roaring blizzard that’s begun to form.

“Mordred!” he yells. “Mordred, you need to stop!”

Mordred doesn’t appear to hear him. His voice must be lost to the wind. The temperature is dropping lower and lower and Douxie finds himself shivering. A glance at Lancelot reveals the same of him. He wraps his arms around himself. He regrets all at once stepping into the lake and flooding the shore, now slipping on ice and finding that he’s losing sensation in his feet.

“Mordred!” Lancelot pleads. Even Douxie can barely hear him.

One of the fae boldly, stupidly tries to fly up to grab Mordred. They must think that he’s vulnerable like this, lost in his grief. It doesn’t do them any good. The whipping winds blow them straight back, frost coating their skin. Their neck snaps when they hit the ground, audible even over the blizzard. A separate fae sends a bolt of lightning towards Mordred. This just enrages him further – lightning is what killed Enaid, and Douxie can hear the fae’s scream before it cuts off abruptly. This, at least, seems to warn the other fae off attempting anything.

“Mordred!” Douxie hears Krel yell, sees the glow of his brother through the snow. Douxie hopes he doesn’t fly too close. Just because Krel can come back from the dead doesn’t mean Douxie wants to see it happen again. He’s still not fully convinced that wasn’t a fluke, good luck. They don’t have a regeneration stasis pod here.

He sees Nan fly through the snow, trying to get in close, but it’s no use. The winds throw even her back and she lands hard on her side with a cry of pain. Lancelot yells out for her, running to her side.

Finally, it seems, something got through, because Mordred’s eyes flicker and focus on Nan for a moment. Douxie steels himself and flies up to him. Miraculously, the wind lets him through, and Douxie wraps all four arms around Mordred. The wind stops abruptly and Mordred goes limp in his arms. Douxie falters at the dead weight before lowering the both of them to the ground. The fae left alive are fleeing or have fled, leaving them now to pick up the pieces of the battle. Not-Jim is already gone.

“This isn’t over!” Lionel yells from the edge of the forest. Krel and Iros step between him and the rest of them. “Your precious Camelot will fall in less than a fortnight’s time! Decide, cousin, and join us!”

And then he vanishes into the woods. Douxie collapses to his knees, still holding Mordred. They all huddle together next to Viviane, alive but clearly injured. Alex kneels beside Douxie, soaking wet and wild-eyed like he got thrown in the lake again and it really didn’t agree with him. All of them are still shivering even as the temperature returns to normal. It’s still winter, still cold.

“Mama,” Lancelot chokes out.

“I’m okay,” she groans, wincing and holding her side. “Injured, but I will live. Everyone else?”

“Bleeding,” Krel says. Sure enough, glowing blue blood drips from a gash on his arm and he’s limping something awful. “Hurt my leg. Don’t know how bad. But I’ll live too.”

“Mordred is unconscious,” Douxie says very softly. “I’m - probably concussed, probably more injured than I think. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve had worse,” agrees Alex. His face twists. “Tristan...”

“I saw,” Lancelot murmurs grimly. Douxie closes his eyes and leans into Alex, trying to rest against his chest where he might hear his heartbeat and be reassured that Alex, at least, is still here.

“Steve can help,” he says finally. His own injuries are catching up with him. The worst is knowing some of them were inflicted by Alex. It wasn’t Alex’s fault, but Douxie wishes his future self luck trying to get Alex to believe it.

“Less than a fortnight,” whispers Lancelot. “They’re planning an attack. We have to do something.”

“We cannot do anything while this injured,” Iros points out, holding one of her arms. There’s blue blood seeping from a gash on her cheek. Apparently one time under transduction was enough to give her that.

“She’s right,” Nan says, trying to sit up. “We must retrieve our healer. I – ugh – I need to replace the wards.”

“You need to be healed first, Mama,” Lancelot says gently.

Nan grimaces, but she nods and waves a hand at the lake. The staircase from earlier opens – to her nexus, the centre of the realm and the safest possible place for them all. Douxie’s been only a few times. There was no need to venture down in the future, and the pure magic beneath the waves can be... overwhelming. Still, it is the best option.

Lancelot stands and gathers his mother into her arms. Douxie stands too, careful of Mordred. He can make it these last few steps. The group of them limp down the stairs and the entrance closes behind them. Alex flinches and hovers close as they descend. Douxie hates leaving Tristan but – there's little they can do right now. They will give him a funeral once they can all guarantee they won’t join him in death.

Steve and Hilde are waiting for them when they reach the nexus. Hilde launches forward to hug Alex, and he falls backwards when catching her. Lancelot manages to prevent him from hitting the ground hard. Alex curls his flesh hand into her hair and holds her close, closing his eyes. His prosthesis hangs by his side, sparking and definitely broken.

“You guys don’t make my job easy,” mutters Steve, eyes scanning over them. His face twists into a grim frown at the sight of Enaid still loosely clutched in the unconscious Mordred’s arms, and then even grimmer when he realises there is one less of them. “Tristan?”

Douxie shakes his head.

Hilde pulls out of the hug enough to look around and her eyes well with tears. She lets out a little sob and then buries her face in Alex’s chest. Alex’s shoulders tremble, but he holds it together. For now. Douxie runs a hand down his face.

“Okay, Lancelot, you have basic combat care training right?” Steve asks.

Lancelot nods. “I do.”

“Then I’m going to need your help since you look the least injured,” Steve says. “N- Viviane looks the worst off so I’ll start with her. Triage. Worst off gets treated first.”

Lancelot immediately moves to Douxie and Alex, which, thanks. Good to know they look that bad. Douxie shakes his head then jerks his chin towards his husband.

“Alex first,” he says. “I’m exhausted but my injuries aren’t as bad.”

“I’m fine,” Alex says, even though he obviously isn’t. Hilde scrambles off him and gives him a wide-eyed, teary stare and he caves. “But it doesn’t hurt to make sure.”

“You’ve got him wrapped around your pinkie, kiddo,” Douxie tells her.

“Uncle Tristan is gone like Mama, isn’t he?” she whispers, crawling over and curling up against his side. Douxie’s smile falters and he wraps one of his lower arms around her.

“I’m sorry,” Douxie murmurs.

She turns and hides her face in his side. “I’m scared.”

“I am too,” Douxie admits. “I won’t let anything happen to Alex. You won’t lose him.”

“Promise?” she sniffles.

Douxie glances over at his husband, where Krel is carefully removing the damaged prosthesis and Lancelot is wrapping his knee in bandages Nan must have had stored down here.

“I promise,” he says.

“Steve is going to need to look at your knee,” Lancelot tells Alex. “I do at least have a salve for the burns on your side and on your face.”

“My face?” Alex says, voice soft and hoarse still. He reaches his hand up to brush against the burnt tear tracks and hisses. “Oh. Right.”

Mordred shifts in his arms. Douxie glances down at him as he wakes, groggy, arms curling tighter around Enaid’s body. He blinks and then tears well up and fall again. A wizard’s familiar is often seen as the other half of their very being – as close to a soulmate as one gets in the real world. To lose them is to lose a part of yourself. Douxie remembers when he first got Archie, asking Mort where his familiar was – he'd been young, so Mort had skirted around the topic, but even then Douxie could tell how much losing Enaid had hurt. Now, watching Mordred sob silently, radiating sorrow just like when he lost his dad, he understands that the pain he saw in his time was muted.

Douxie uses the three arms not around Hilde to carefully adjust Mordred into a hug as the boy shatters into shoulder-shaking sobs. He doesn’t say anything. What is there to say? This was a bad battle and a bad loss. And worst of all, as Douxie glances between Lancelot gently applying salve to Alex’s burns and Iros across the room helping Krel treat his arm, he knows there is still more left to lose.

 

Notes:

I AM SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG.
If anyone is still reading this I LOVE YOU TO DEATH. My health both mental and physical has definitely been better haha but I'm TRYING I swear. I hope you enjoyed this regardless!!!

Chapter 40: Boarding Up For the Storm

The fae are planning something big.

This is something that, despite all other disagreements, every single one of the knights agree on. Patrols haven’t run into any fae since Jim was taken. Between their suspicious silence and the fact that they know the Gumm-Gumms are getting ready for an attack, it’s very clear that something bad is going to happen and soon. If Toby’s right, the fae will be attacking just as soon as the Gumm-Gumms, possibly at the same time. He hopes he’s wrong. That kind of team-up will mean bad news.

There’s little they can do at this point except be prepared and it’s stressing Toby the fuck out. They’ve been evacuating citizens deeper and deeper into Camelot proper. It’s going to be a tight squeeze, but apparently one of the past kings was paranoid enough to ensure a full army could fit within the castle. Turns out there are several underground levels Toby did not know about and yes, he is a little put out about that. They aren’t the best place to live long-term, but they’ll do for now, to keep everyone safe.

The knights have been tasked with ensuring every family has the supplies they will need in case of a siege. Blankets, food, clean water, the works. More people than Toby expected have volunteered to help in whatever way they can. It’s nice to see. The wizards have all been working to ward up the castle, be ready for anything.

Toby isn’t used to this kind of preparation or evacuation. They didn’t have time to evacuate people for the Eternal Night, barely enough time to warn them at all, and the same happened with Morando. There was more time with Merlin’s attack, but a lot of people chose to stay and fight and those that didn’t frankly weren’t in any danger. Merlin wanted people to rule, after all, even if in his arrogance he failed to realise that his plan would kill everyone including himself. And with Ultios... well, there was no way to evacuate the entire planet. Eli, he knows, evacuated as many as he could on Akiridion-5 – but that hadn’t been nearly as many as they’d hoped with only less than a day’s notice. So something at this large of a scale is entirely new to Toby. He’s pleased with how it’s going, pleased to see the citizens banding together, and relieved that the children especially will be safe, deep underground and protected by layers and layers of magic and warriors.

Today, the plan is to ward the outer gates more to ensure yet another layer of protection. Ideally, the fae and trolls won’t ever get inside the city. Toby ends up on bodyguard duty with Lot as Merlin and Claire head out to set the runes and whatever the heck they’re doing. Merlin is clearly not pleased by the company – can't sabotage everything if there are people watching you – but Anna wasn’t going to let him go without guards and she also made the argument that Claire, as a skilled wizard herself, would be good help. Claire had blushed despite herself at the praise. Toby can’t decide if her sorta-kinda-crush is hilarious or disturbing considering this is Steve’s grandmother they’re talking about.

“I used to wish I was a wizard,” Lot says conversationally as they watch Claire and Merlin work. “Used to pretend I was. Anna found me hilarious.”

“Did she now?” Toby teases.

“Eh, probably not,” he admits. “Definitely not when I tried to fly out of the second story window of my house.”

Toby barks out a laugh. “Lot!”

“I was like ten, okay?” Lot says defensively, but he’s smiling all the same.

“How are you not dead?”

“My neighbour, thankfully, was a wizard,” says Lot. “She broke my fall. I still broke my ankle, though.”

Toby chuckles and shakes his head, before his smile falls into something more bittersweet.

“I used to wish I was a wizard, too,” he says, eyes lingering on Claire. “Or – I dunno, something special. Jim was – top knight, y'know, he was the cool one and I was his sidekick. Then Claire joined us and she had magic and she kicked ass. And I was still just… the sidekick. I mean, don't get me wrong. I loved being the sidekick, the wingman, all that jazz, but...”

“Sometimes it would be nice to be someone special,” Lot agrees. “I never have understood what Anna sees in me, so I suppose I do understand.”

“I think it would do Jim some good to not be someone special,” Toby says softly. A lot of things would do Jim well. Therapy and a very long vacation, for starters. “He’s been up on a pedestal since he was fifteen. Don’t his feet hurt, you think?”

Lot snorts but his expression is sober. “Anna is putting a lot on herself right now, too. It is hard, sometimes, to love someone who dedicates their life to the point of sacrifice.”

“Yeah,” Toby agrees softly. He hesitates, glancing at Merlin too close for comfort, before lowering his voice. “Do you ever think she’s... making the wrong choice?”

Lot lets out a long breath, fiddling with one of his gauntlets. “Maybe. I don’t know. Mordred... I don’t believe he would have done that. He is many things, but a traitor and a murderer? No. Never that.”

“I didn’t get that impression either,” Toby says carefully. “And Douxie and Krel – I mean, I’ve known them since I was a teenager. They’re fiercely loyal. I... I dunno.”

“I suppose it’s possible the fae had trickery involved,” reasons Lot. He still looks unsure, uncomfortable, and his eyes linger on Merlin. “Lancelot made some... interesting accusations before he left.”

“And...?”

“And I’m not sure,” he says with a sigh. “I hope they were wrong. I fear they were right. I do not know what to do and Anna doesn’t even want to consider it.”

Toby bites his tongue. A part of him believes Merlin has done something to her. He wants to believe that. After all, why else would she so quickly believe Mordred capable of that? Toby’s an only child, but if someone, say, came to him and told him Krel killed Aja he’d call them insane. He wants to say as much to Lot, wants to tell him how sure they are that it was Merlin, wants to urge him to join their secret club to plot Merlin’s downfall. But he also really, really doesn’t want to risk the new king turning them in to his wife.

So instead he shrugs and says, “Be a neutral voice in her ear. Try to see things without the emotion. She’s grieving. That’s hard.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Lot says.

“And–” because Toby has to take some risks sometimes “–maybe, whatever or whoever Lancelot accused... maybe look a little closer at them.”

Lot’s lips press into a thin line as he watches Merlin. “Trust me. I will.”

The conversation turns to lighter topics, mostly about their childhoods. Toby’s getting good at carefully skirting around the parts of his childhood that are specific to the future, even if he does slip up and have to explain what a bike is. Lot looks downright fascinated by the idea, though he admits that he has all the mechanical skills of a brick wall. Eventually, the wizards are content with their work and rejoin them. Merlin is as snobbish as ever, and Claire migrates to Toby’s side and makes a face making fun of him when she thinks he’s not looking.

“I saw that, Lady Claire,” Merlin says.

“Saw what?” she says innocently. She has guts, Toby has to give it to her. He’s astonished Merlin doesn’t zap her or something for being insolent. Toby would definitely kick his ass if he did that.

But Merlin just rolls his eyes at her. “Come along. We have more ground to cover and more wards to put up.”

“Yippee,” mumbles Toby.

“Someone shoved a stick up his ass before I was born and he has never bothered to get it removed,” Lot mutters to the two of them. Toby snorts and Claire hides a laugh before they follow Merlin to the next section of the wall.

It’s going to be a long day.

 

 

As Toby predicted, following Merlin around all day is exhausting in a way only the presence of an egotistical asshole can be. He and Claire spend the evening with Lamorak and Bedivere. The two knights are more than happy to listen them complain about Merlin. They didn’t like him before and now after Arthur’s death they like him even less. Man, Toby wishes they knew about the time travel so he could bitch to them about Merlin of the future. His nine hundred years of beauty sleep only made him more insufferable.

The next day brings something new to do at last. Because it has been quiet, Anna decides to send a group of knights to check in on Dwoza and verify that they will have their aide in the coming attack. Toby is very quick to volunteer for that mission, and Lamorak ends up joining too. Bedivere tries to volunteer, but Lamorak glares him down and tells him in no uncertain terms to help in the castle instead. Toby thinks he’s mostly just afraid Bedivere will get captured again. Toby wishes Claire would come – make it a Team Merlin Haters outing or something – but unfortunately she’s needed in the city, continuing to strengthen the wards.

Instead, siblings Ailith and the newly returned Sir Gareth are joining them. Gawain sits it out – thank god, even if Toby is managing to tolerate him more now – but that doesn’t mean much. The second he sees Gareth, Toby knows he’s going to have a horrible time. Tall, dark, and menacing, that’s the Black Knight, alright. Toby already wants to punch him in the face. A part of him wonders if Ailith was originally slated to be the Green Knight – and how and why that became a mind-controlled Ikram instead. He’s seen Merlin’s distrust of her, of Lamorak and Bedivere and Tristan too. There’s nothing he can do to protect them from Merlin’s ire and that bothers him.

“Ah, you must be the foreign knight my brother can’t stop complaining about!” Gareth exclaims as they approach. “Tobias, yes? Good to meet you! I don’t like my brother either!”

Ailith shoves him. “They’re becoming friends! Don’t be a bad influence!”

“I know not of what you speak,” Gareth says primly. “I am a fantastic influence.”

Yeah, sure, Toby thinks, fantastic influence, known for beating the crap out of teenagers and taunting alien queens until they start going French Revolution on you.

He doesn’t say that out loud, opting instead for a simple, “Good to meet you too.”

Lamorak sighs and rubs his forehead, definitely aware Toby just lied through his teeth. “One day I will get to work with knights my age.”

“Hey, you’re the one who benched Bedivere,” Toby teases.

“He may be closer to my age but he doesn’t act it,” mutters Lamorak.

“Good luck with that, Lamorak,” Gareth adds. “You’re, like, the oldest knight left in Camelot. All the rest died, retired, or quit when King Arthur shook things up.”

“Bigots, the lot of them,” says Ailith.

“Alright, alright, we’re burning daylight,” says Lamorak. “Let’s get to Dwoza so that we can be back before sundown. While I’m sure we could stay the night, I doubt any of you would be partial to trollish delicacies.”

“Eh, some of them are good,” Toby reasons as they set off. “Obviously not the socks but my friend Bagdwella made a few snacks I could digest.”

He assumes those were digestible by humans. He does have an iron stomach and Nana is extremely old, so he supposes it’s possible he’s not fully human. Mort never implied he wasn’t, though, and if anyone would have caught onto non-human ancestry, surely Mort would have.

“Ah, I know a Bagdwella in Dwoza,” says Lamorak. Toby mentally curses – of course Bagdwella’s already been born. She was, what, around Blinky’s age?

“Huh, must be a somewhat common name,” Toby says. “Like Mary. Who doesn’t know a Mary?”

“You’re not wrong,” says Gareth. “I take it you know a Mary?”

“One of Claire’s best friends,” Toby says. “Besides me and Jim, of course. She’s in a QPR with my ex-girlfriend Darci, actually, they moved to – another kingdom.”

“I don’t know what that means, but good for them,” says Ailith.

“Ask Claire, she’s better at explaining stuff than me,” says Toby. He sighs and rests his hands behind his head, glancing up at the morning sky. “Warm today, for Camelot.”

“Unseasonably,” Lamorak agrees. “A poor omen, I believe. I hope our new friend among the trolls has more information for us.”

“As do I,” murmurs Ailith. “Gawain told me about him. Perhaps he has news of Sir Jim, as well.”

Gareth grimaces. “Gawain is fond of the lad. I hope it’s good news.”

Toby fights a scowl. He still doesn’t like Gawain being fond of Jim. He doesn’t fully understand it and he also still can’t look at Gawain and see anything but the knight that terrorised him and his friends centuries from now. The Red Knight was ruthless and cruel. Toby hasn’t seen that cruelty in Gawain – yet – but he still fears that it will come out and someone Toby cares about will suffer for it.

The group of them fall into relative silence. Toby drags behind a bit, keeping an eye on the woods around them for any sign of fae. He itches to pull out his phone and try texting Krel again, but he doesn’t want to risk Gareth and Ailith seeing.

Lamorak falls in beside him and nudges his shoulder.

“Have you heard from them?” he asks quietly.

Toby shakes his head. “Not for a few days. Steve warned me they were relocating somewhere with less privacy so maybe that’s it.”

“Hm,” says Lamorak. He shakes his head. “My nerves are shot, I suppose. And I can’t help but worry about Tristan and Lex.”

“You worry about all of us younger knights,” Toby teases.

“Hm, but you get in less trouble than Tristan does,” Lamorak says with a laugh. “And I fear my former squire could only be a bad influence on Alex.”

“Believe it or not, Alex does not need help getting into trouble,” says Toby.

“Given his first week here he made a deal with a fae, I somehow believe it,” says Lamorak. He sighs. “You must be worried too. You seem especially close with Steve and...”

“And him, yeah,” Toby agrees, catching on quick. “We’ve been through some shit together. Y’know, Steve used to be an utter dick. Bullied the hell out of me and Jim in school.”

“Healer Steve, really?”

“Yep,” Toby says. “He’s mellowed out a ton. I think becoming an older brother was good for him. Let him channel his energy into protection.”

“Makes sense,” agrees Lamorak. His smile quickly falls again, so Toby didn’t succeed in fully distracting him. He’s worried too, Lamorak is right, but there’s little they can do right now.

He rests a hand on Lamorak’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m sure they’ll fine. I’ll – reach out when we get back, check in on them.”

“Thank you, Toby,” says Lamorak. “It will give me some peace of mind, at least.”

“Me too,” Toby admits. “I know they have Steve and he’s the best healer I know – somehow – but I still can’t help but worry. K- um, uh, DJ Kleb is a bit of a disaster magnet.”

Lamorak laughs and nudges him. “Oh, I get the feeling he isn’t the only one.”

“Hey, now, that’s Jimbo,” Toby says. “I’m just the wingman, the sidekick, all the cool stuff, none of the responsibility.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Lamorak says. “You’re a fine knight and I’m honoured to fight beside you just as much as Sir Jim.”

Toby’s face flushes and he ducks his head to hide it. “Thanks, Lamorak.”

“Come on, stragglers!” Gareth calls from ahead of them. “Lamorak, didn’t you say we were burning daylight?”

Lamorak sighs. “Yes, yes! Coming!”

Toby laughs as they jog to catch up. It’s good spending time with Lamorak. Sometimes he tries to remember what the myths said about him. He’s pretty sure the myths said he was killed, by Mordred and his brothers no less. Luckily Mordred doesn’t have any brothers. Unluckily, Mordred’s already been controlled as a weapon once – Toby wouldn’t be shocked if it were to happen again. Not much has matched the myths. Toby’s probably worried for nothing. Still, he can try to watch Lamorak’s back. He has no proof he can’t do that, not like Arthur. Maybe preventing another tragedy would help him forgive himself for letting Mort go through that. Probably not. Toby’s never been good at forgiving himself.

His hands are still blue.

 

 

The rest of the journey passes miraculously peacefully. Toby is still relieved when Lamorak keys them into Dwoza with the horngazel. In there, they’ll be safe. Worst case scenario, they can stay the night. Toby doubts Lamorak would want to risk braving the path home too close to sundown. They’re already so short on knights that they likely don’t stand a chance if the Gumm-Gumms get through the extensive wards. They can’t afford to lose more. As much as Toby wants his friends safe, he kinda hopes that Alex and Tristan do come back to fight with them, Steve to heal – the others, they’d be arrested, probably, but Toby almost hopes for them, too. He’d be much more comfortable with Steve and Krel by his side, if he can’t have Jim. Knights of the Vaguely Oval-Shaped Table! He misses them.

“Knights of Camelot,” Vendel greets as they enter. AAARRRGGHH!!! is back and Toby unconsciously migrates to his side. His future wingman pats him on the head.

“Bad news?” he guesses.

“Yeah, buddy,” Toby says with a wince. “Jimbo...”

“Saw him,” AAARRRGGHH!!! confirms. “Controlled by Gunmar.”

“The feared Decimaar Blade,” says Blinky gravely. “I have seen it control many a troll warrior, but never before have I seen it control a changeling.”

“Jim’s eyes were gold,” Toby says grimly, “like Morgana’s magic. She definitely had a hand in this. Jim’s fought off the Decimaar Blade before and I don’t doubt he could do it again, but with Morgana involved...”

“That sordid sorceress,” grumbles Blinky. “She does little else but cause problems.”

“Tell me about it,” Toby mutters, because even back home where he’s on relatively decent terms with Morgana she mostly goes around causing problems on purpose. Not Toby’s problems, though, Douxie is the one on Morgana wrangling duty. And sometimes Krel, because she weirdly likes Krel too.

“AAARRRGGHH!!!, do we have any more info on the Gumm-Gumm's planned attack?” Lamorak asks.

AAARRRGGHH!!! shakes his head. “No more. Sorry.”

“He has been worryingly quiet around our dear friend as of late,” admits Blinky. “We fear he is beginning to suspect him.”

“Yeah, definitely bad news,” mutters Toby. He’s not that worried himself. They’ve been around the trolls so little that he’s confident they can’t have influenced his wingman’s future, if they can influence any futures at all. He still shakes that thought off. He needs to believe they can’t change things.

“The fae have been quiet lately too,” Lamorak says. “We haven’t had an incident in a while. We think they must be planning something big, and we fear it’s the same as whatever Gunmar has in store.”

“You’re likely correct,” Vendel agrees. “We are preparing as best we can, but without knowing when the attack is I’m afraid the only help we can promise you is that we’ll come as soon as we can in case of an attack.”

Lamorak inclines his head politely. “We understand and appreciate that, Elder.”

Toby tunes out the rest of their conversation. Lamorak can handle the finer details of assuring Dwoza’s aide in the battle he fears will be the fall of Camelot. He leans against AAARRRGGHH!!! despite himself, but as expected AAARRRGGHH!!! just gives him a surprised look and a chuckle. This would be early enough that his buddy would be so shocked to be treated without fear by a human. Well, AAARRRGGHH!!! is basically Toby’s older brother and Toby could never be afraid of him. He wishes he could hang out more with this version of him, but he does know that AAARRRGGHH!!! doesn't remember him so he needs to only be a fleeting memory for the centuries-old troll.

The familiar, if quieter, sound of rock-on-rock sounds from behind him, and Toby manages to side-step just in time for Draal to roll between him and AAARRRGGHH!!! and dizzily right himself.

“Sir Tobias!” he exclaims. Aw, he’s so cute at this age. “Where’s Sir Jim!?”

“Um,” Toby manages.

“Afraid Sir Jim couldn’t make it today, lad,” Ailith says, patting his spiky shoulder. “He’ll drop by when he can, okay?”

“He better!” Draal exclaims. How Draal didn’t remember his apparent idol Sir Jim remains a mystery, but to be fair Toby only knows so much about childhood development in trolls. Maybe they don’t remember well up to a certain age? Oh, well.

“Draal, let us not bother our guests,” Vendel says. “Run along, go, I don’t know, do whatever it is whelps your age like to do.”

“I like to train with Sir Jim,” grumbles Draal, but he does roll off, clumsier than Toby remembers in the future. He shakes his head fondly, fighting back a pang of sadness that Draal isn’t around back home to be teased about this. Visiting Dwoza is always hard. Toby wants to see Vendel and Draal, but it hurts. Vendel most of all, since he hardly looks all that different. Draal and Mordred both are children, and that’s a degree of separation Toby needs to stay sane about all of this.

He’s startled as a hand falls on his shoulder. Just Deya. She sighs, watching Draal disappear into the crowds, then turns to them.

“I heard what happened,” she murmurs. “You know, I see something of myself in Sir Jim. I hope you know we’ll be more than happy to help get him back, if we can.”

“Thank you, Deya,” Toby says. “That’s going to mean a lot to Jim.”

“We’ve got to stick together,” she says, winking at Toby, as if she means something more than their alliance. Wait. Does Deya know? Claire is going to kill Jim. Steve is going to kill Jim especially.

“Anna has us sheltering in the castle,” says Lamorak. “Hopefully we could survive a siege for a few days, and with luck we can get a messenger out to you before it’s too late.”

“I wish we had some way to communicate safer than sending a messenger,” says Deya. “The messenger would be lucky to make it to Dwoza alive.”

“Our knights know the risks, Lady Trollhunter,” says Ailith. “But if you do hear something from AAARRRGGHH!!! or otherwise about an attack, don’t wait for the messenger.”

“This was our battle before it was yours, Sir Knight,” Blinky says. “Rest assured, Dwoza will be there in Camelot’s time of need.”

It’s a shame, Toby knows, that even Dwoza won’t be enough.

 

 

Sooner than they like they have to leave. Lamorak doesn’t dare risk night falling with them outside the city and Toby doesn’t blame him. Toby managed to spend some time talking to Vendel and Blinky about Jim’s situation, but he leaves feeling disheartened. While Vendel promised to look into it, he didn’t have any real ideas, and Blinky mostly just looked grim and sad about the whole situation. Toby has to hope he can rely on the epic power of friendship to break Jim free, but he’s not confident in that. The epic power of friendship didn’t stop Toby from ripping Krel’s core out of his chest, after all.

He kicks at wet leaves along the path as they walk, arms crossed over his chest. Lamorak and Gareth are ahead discussing things Gareth missed while he was away. Toby watches the future Black Knight suspiciously. He doesn’t trust him and he doubts he ever will, even temporarily.

“How are you holding up, Sir Broody?” Toby startles at Ailith’s voice next to him. She gives him a gentle smile, clearly concerned, black hair falling into her face until she pushes it back.

“I am not broody,” Toby protests.

She laughs. “Sure you aren’t. So, did Gareth already manage to do something to piss you off too or is there just something about my brothers that grates on your nerves?”

Toby chuckles. “No. Sorry. I’m sure Gawain told you why I was such an ass to him.”

“He did,” she says. “He didn’t treat you great in return, though.”

“I guess not, no.”

“I think it bothered him that you guys came out of nowhere and were gifted knighthoods on a silver platter,” she says. “Bothered a number of us until we saw you in action or heard more about you. You were knights back in Arcadia?”

“Something like that,” Toby says. “We didn’t have knights per se but we were Arcadia’s best defence against magical threats. Among others.”

“Jim won Gawain over fighting Gunmar,” she says. “And you – you won Gawain over fighting Jim.”

“I won Gawain over being honest with him,” Toby corrects. “Once I agreed to stop being a dick and explained why I was he couldn’t be a dick back.”

She snorts. “You underestimate my brother’s ability to be an absolute bastard.”

“No, I really think I don’t,” mumbles Toby, thinking back to the Red Knight, to the shop burning, to mourning Krel and then mourning Seamus. A man willing to kill teenagers is an absolute bastard, alright.

“You’ve won wars before,” Ailith says. “Do you think we stand a chance?”

Toby bites his lip and then lets out a heavy sigh. “Honestly? We’re outnumbered, but I’ve faced worse odds. We need to survive the coming battle, and moreover we need Anna to survive, but... well, if we can manage that, a survival if not a win, then at least we can have faith Camelot will stay standing.”

“And if we can’t?”

“If Anna dies, Camelot will fall,” Toby says softly. Mort always did say he counted Anna’s death and the end of Camelot. “Gaheris is a baby, he’s not old enough to lead. Lot is wonderful but he isn’t the icon that the people need. Maybe Merlin would step into help but there are too many that don’t like him. Anna is the symbol right now, and she’s a very fragile symbol at that. Without Arthur – no. We need Anna to survive.”

Ailith’s face is grim as she nods, lips pressed thin. “Then we will make sure she does.”

“We will try,” Toby agrees. He doesn’t think it’s battle that will do her in. No. Merlin is too power-hungry to rule much longer through a puppet. It won’t be long before he makes his move to remove Anna from the equation. With Mordred already out of the way – who would look to Arthur’s murderer as king? – he would expect little to stand in his way.

And then Killahead. Funny how Morgana, in exhausting her arch-nemesis, probably spared the world a dark fate. A man like Merlin’s thirst for power would not stop at a small kingdom on the British Isles. No, Toby doesn’t want to know how the world would have turned out in his hands. If the world would have lasted at all – after all, he would have sought out the formstone. Thank god he doesn’t know about Krel.

He’s distracted by a rustle in the bushes. The four of them immediately pull close together in a defensive formation, facing the source of the sound. Toby doesn’t activate his war-hammer yet, but the others draw swords. The rustling continues until Toby can make out figures.

Finally, out of the bushes stumble Steve and some guy Toby... does not know. He looks a lot like Tristan, though, if Tristan were shorter and his tan skin a hint paler. Steve raises his hands quickly.

“Healer here!” he exclaims. “Just me! Lamorak can see my aura!”

“It’s Steve,” Lamorak confirms, relieved. He sheathes his sword and the others follow suit. Steve and the other guy walk closer as Gareth and Ailith sheath their swords as well. Toby sees the second Steve realises who Gareth is, but his grimace is quickly hidden.

“Healer Steve, back so soon!” Ailith says, slapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “We’ve missed you ‘round town, you’re one of our best.”

“Ah, I try, Sir Ailith,” Steve says with a tight smile.

“You about gave us all heart attacks, lad,” Lamorak says. “Why aren’t you travelling with a knight? I know you left with two. And who’s this...?”

Something in his tone tells Toby he knows exactly who the other guy is. Toby would very much like to be clued in and given an explanation why Steve’s travelling with a stranger who looks somewhere between pissed and shell-shocked.

“Right, yes, um.” Steve’s face twists into a grimace. “Well, so. This is – this is Tristan’s brother, um – uh – Seamus.”

Toby’s eyebrows shoot up as the so-called Seamus’s head whips around to stare at Steve. Lamorak hides a frown and steps forward, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Lad, I didn’t even recognise you. You’re taller!”

Seamus manages a small smile. “Hi, Sir Lamorak.”

Oh, son of a bitch. They’re insane and Steve is going to get murdered tonight. They’re fucking lucky Ailith and Gareth can’t hear lies and they’re luckier still Lamorak is so quick to go along with it.

“That doesn’t explain the lack of a knight escort, Healer Steve,” Lamorak says, brow furrowed. “Surely Sirs Alexander and Tristan would not have sent you on by yourselves.”

“That’s the – that's the bad news,” Steve says. “I... I’m sorry. Tristan’s gone. And, um... we have less than a fortnight before the fae attack Camelot.”

Yep, Toby is sick and tired of being right.

 

Notes:

I hope this posts well since I am on mobile
I hope you enjoyed this Toby chap, ilove writing my baby
Thank you to those still here! I love you!

Chapter 41: Harbingers of War

Notes:

TW: description of a panic attack

Douxie is pacing exactly like Mort used to.

It’d be funny if everything weren’t so stressful right now. Krel is trying to tinker with his transduction so it’ll be believable while Steve packs, but Douxie’s nervous energy really is not helping. Krel gets it, they’re all on edge since the attack and Krel’s going to be braving the serpent’s nest, but still.

“I don’t like this,” says Douxie for probably the five thousandth time.

“Please relax, Douxie,” Krel says, exasperated. “We’re the best two to send. Steve is a trusted healer. I can use my transduction as a disguise so even if Merlin suspects me by aura he can’t prove shit.”

“Iros and I both can use transductions,” Douxie mutters.

“We both know you’re not separating from Alex anytime soon,” Krel points out. “And Iros doesn’t know Camelot like I do.”

“Besides, Krel’s human form looks enough like Tristan that a few tweaks will make our cover work,” Steve adds. Douxie winces at the mention of Tristan and Alex tenses beside him. “I don’t think it’s a bad cover – we got attacked on the way to Fowydh. We were close enough to – to bring Tristan home, and Alex stayed to help Tristan’s parents.”

“And I,” says Krel, finally activating the transduction, “am his younger brother who has always wanted to be a knight and is coming to Camelot to join the war effort. I need a name. I’m thinking… Legolas.”

“That’s Lord of the Rings,” Douxie says. “You can’t be Legolas, you don’t even look like a Legolas. More like a twink version of Aragorn.”

“Can’t be Aragorn,” says Alex softly. “Sounds too much like Aragon, you know, the actual kingdom that exists in Europe.”

“Maybe just don’t steal a name from Lord of the Rings,” Douxie says.

“I don’t remember any other names anyway,” Krel says. Then he does remember one, so he perks up. “Wait! I could be Frodo.”

“No.”

“Samwise?”

“Sam could work. I guess.”

“Hm, actually, I don’t like it.”

“Okay, okay, name pending,” Steve says quickly, which means he also doesn’t like the name Sam for Krel which, yeah, Krel doesn’t think he could pass as a Sam. “The point is, we need to warn Camelot but we also need more time to plan. And Krel – loath as I am to admit this is a reason to bring Krel along – can die and be fine. So.”

“Don’t die,” Douxie says. “I’ll come kill you myself if you do.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Krel waves him off. “It’ll be fine.”

“May I gently remind you that while it may seem to humans that Akiridions can’t die, we very much can,” Iros says. “It will do you well to remember that. Without access to a regeneration stasis pod, even just being reduced to your core will be dangerous.”

“Ha, yeah, I’ll remember,” Krel says. It’s a non-issue, probably. He hasn’t died since Toby killed him and he did have a regeneration stasis pod then. He at least has the next best thing – a Steve – with him, so he’s sure it’ll be fine.

Lancelot joins them with a wrapped pack. He offers it to Steve, who quickly takes a peek inside and smiles. “Food! Lancelot, have I ever mentioned I love you?”

Lancelot laughs. “This should be just enough for the trip to Camelot. It’s not far, but you’ll want lunch”

“Thank you, Lancelot,” Krel says.

Douxie comes over and pulls Krel into a hug. Krel leans into him, eyes closed, shorter than Douxie in this form, somehow, because Douxie’s Akiridion form actually gave him some height. It’s become slowly less strange to look at his brother and see an Akiridion. At some moments, Krel forgets entirely that Douxie isn’t his blood brother. It’s... odd.

“Please be careful,” he murmurs.

“I promise I will,” Krel says softly. “You be careful too. You’re in more danger than me.”

“I will,” Douxie says. He leans back to rest their foreheads together for a moment. Krel doesn’t like splitting up. Nothing good ever comes of splitting up. But Steve’s right, it’s necessary. Camelot has to be warned, even if the warning ultimately does nothing, and Mordred isn’t near ready to confront his sister, still reeling from the loss of his familiar. With Tristan dead – and that hurts, because Krel was just starting to really get to know him, to see him as a dear friend – and Alex staying with Hilde, Steve is the best choice to return to Camelot and Krel is the best Akiridion to go with him.

After a few more goodbyes – especially teary from Krel’s new favourite niece in the universe – he and Steve set off. The first stretch of the trip they spend in silence, ears open for any threats and trying to be as hidden as possible in case Lionel and the fae are hanging around. It isn’t until there’s a little over halfway there that they relax some. They briefly stop for lunch before continuing. Unfortunately, by that time, Krel’s overactive imagination has come up with several ways this could go wrong.

“Steve,” he says. “What do we do if Merlin says something about my aura?”

Steve purses his lips. “Hope he doesn’t ask in front of Anna, I guess, and then lie through our teeth. Or respond with a lot of questions. Questions can’t be lies.”

“And how are we going to convince Anna of our story?” Krel asks.

“We’re going to go looking for Toby and Claire first if we can,” says Steve. “Then they can tell Anna our story. As long as they add on a handy dandy ‘they told us’ to the beginning, it won’t be a lie, either. But you have to look sad.”

“I am perfectly capable of looking sad,” Krel says flatly.

“That’s true,” Steve acknowledges. “You can look pretty pitiful when you want to.”

Krel huffs. “What if the disguise isn’t enough? I still sort of look like me.”

“Tristan looked like you,” Steve reasons. “Ish. Listen, I’m sure it’ll stand up enough. Lamorak is the only one who might look further and might know enough to question us, but he’s on our side. We’ll be fine.”

“Forgive me for being somewhat wary of a knight I barely know,” Krel grumbles.

“You’ll like Lamorak,” says Steve. “I like Lamorak. He’s responsible. Seklos knows we need responsible.”

Krel would like to point out that Steve may consider himself responsible now, but he’s not fooling anyone with the act. Steve Tarron is only responsible until he isn’t and the limit varies so wildly from day to day that Krel thinks he should just drop the adjective altogether.

He stumbles when he hears the distant sound of voices. Steve doesn’t appear to catch them, so Krel grabs his arm and shushes him even though he isn’t talking. Steve’s brow furrows.

“People,” Krel mumbles.

“Let’s get closer,” Steve whispers. Krel nods and they move, slowly and carefully, until they can make out the voices and Steve visibly relaxes.

“What?” Krel hisses.

“Lamorak,” says Steve, straightening. “Come on.”

Krel groans but follows Steve. He doesn’t like how their movements rustle the bushes, but it’s probably for the best that they don’t startled Lamorak and whatever knights he’s with. The voices fall silent, and by the time they stumble out of the bushes, the knights are in a defensive formation. Krel sees Toby and instantly relaxes. Okay. This is fine.

“Healer here!” Steve exclaims, raising his hands in the air. “Just me! Lamorak can see my aura!”

“It’s Steve,” Lamorak confirms. He sheathes his sword and the other knights do the same. Krel and Steve finish their approach and Krel recognises the fourth knight beside Sir Ailith. He schools his face, seeing Steve do the same out of the corner of his eye. The Black fucking Knight, because of course.

“Healer Steve, back so soon!” Ailith says, slapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “We’ve missed you ‘round town, you’re one of our best.”

“Ah, I try, Sir Aileth,” Steve says with a tight smile.

“You about gave us all heart attacks, lad,” Lamorak says. “Why aren’t you travelling with a knight? I know you left with two. And who’s this...?”

“Right, yes, um.” Steve’s face twists into a grimace. Time to test his theory. Krel really hopes he’s right, because he can tell Lamorak recognises him by his aura. “Well, so. This is – this is Tristan’s brother, um – uh – Seamus.”

Krel's head whips around to stare at Steve, trying not to let his jaw drop. Steve glances back at him with a clear “Sorry, I panicked!” look in his eyes. Of every name in the book, in any book! Seamus? Krel’s dead childhood best friend? Legolas would have been better than Seamus.

Lamorak hides a frown and steps forward, clapping a hand on Krel’s shoulder. “Lad, I didn’t even recognise you. You’re taller!”

He is going along with it. Thank Seklos.

Krel manages a small smile that he hopes doesn’t look too fake. “Hi, Sir Lamorak.”

He sees the moment Toby recognises his voice. He can also see the promise of an hour-long lecture later. He can handle that if it means hanging out with Toby again. Seklos, has he missed Toby.

“That doesn’t explain the lack of a knight escort, Healer Steve,” Lamorak says, brow furrowed.  “Surely Sirs Alexander and Tristan would not have sent you on by yourselves.”

“That’s the – that's the bad news,” Steve says. “I... I’m sorry. Tristan’s gone. And, um... we have less than a fortnight before the fae attack Camelot.”

Lamorak’s eyes widen. Something in his expression turns heartbroken as he glances between them. “Tristan is...?”

“We were attacked on the way to Fowydh,” Steve says solemnly. “Tristan... didn’t make it. We were close enough to bring him home to his family. Alex stayed to help out, plus it was safer than travelling with Hilde again. Uh, Seamus decided to come along to help out. He wants to be a knight.”

“Uh, right,” Krel chokes out, thrown off the name and he’s going to kill Steve. Lamorak’s frown deepens and his hand migrates to Krel’s back. Krel swears he sees a faint glow in his eyes before warmth washes over him. Oh. Some kind of spell.

“We could use all the help we could get, lad,” says Lamorak softly. “And I’m sure you’ll be just as good a knight as your brother is – as your brother was.”

“I – thank you, Sir Lamorak,” Krel says, and he has to stop his eyes from flying wide when he doesn’t recognise his own voice. Okay. Lamorak is fully on their side, then, if he’s taking those extra steps to hide Krel’s identity that Krel and Steve forgot to think of themselves.

Lamorak squeezes his shoulder. “None of that, Seamus, we’re practically family. Call me Lamorak.”

Ailith grabs his hands and gives him a wide-eyed, apologetic look. “Your brother was a good man and an even better knight, Seamus. If you need anything, let us know, okay?”

“Um, yeah, thank you, Sir Knight,” Krel says. Great. He’s going to be getting a bunch of condolences about Tristan. Yes, the man’s death hurt, and Krel liked him, he really did – with time he thinks they would have gotten closer because Tristan had the same curious nature as Krel himself – but Krel wasn’t his brother, barely knows anything about his family or childhood. “I... I’d rather not talk about it, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, of course,” she says.

“Come along,” says Lamorak. “Let’s get you back to the castle. Anna will want to know more about this attack you have news of.”

Toby wraps an arm around Krel’s shoulders and offers him a smile. “Don’t worry. She’s not too scary once you get to know her.”

Krel laughs uneasily. “You say that, but you live here.”

“We’ll introduce you, don’t worry,” says the Black Knight. Ugh. “But Sir Lamorak is right. The longer we dawdle the more likely the sun will set, and then we’re all dead meat. Let’s go.”

Being led into the serpent’s nest by a murderous knight from his childhood, Krel fears, is an omen that they’re all dead meat either way.

 

 

The castle is a lot more crowded than Krel remembers. Toby explained on that walk that they’ve been gathering people here for their protection in case of attack. Krel can’t decide if that’s smart or stupid. On the one hand, they can ward the place to hell and back and protect everyone. On the other, it makes everyone a single, condensed target in the middle of the city. At least these are medieval times, and humans are very far from inventing bombs and missiles and other things that would absolutely make this a terrible idea.

Anna is in the throne room with a few knights. Unfortunately, so is Merlin. Even more unfortunately, the Red Knight Gawain is also in there. Merlin’s eyes narrow as they enter, but given his lack of any other response, Lamorak must have done something to disguise Krel’s aura. That’s impressive. Once he integrated with Gaylen’s core, even Uncle Mort had trouble reliably masking his aura. Something about it being far too bright and powerful. Then again, that would have been against tracking, and he knows the Red Knight managed it. He thinks the Red Knight managed it. It was that or Krel died and didn’t know it, which is not something he can deal with right now.

“My lady Queen Anna,” Ailith greets as they enter. “May I present the healer Steve Tarron and a young knight-to-be, Seamus of Forwydh.”

“Healer Steve, you’ve returned!” Anna says, visibly surprised. “And a young knight-to-be...?”

“Sir Tristan’s brother, my lady,” the Black Knight says.

“But no Sir Tristan,” Anna murmurs, frowning.

“My lady,” Steve greets, dropping to a knee to bow. Krel quickly mimics him, schooling his face to one of subdued awe. He’s playing a young wannabe knight, he’s gotta act the part. “I’m afraid we don’t come bearing good news.”

“Rise, rise,” she says. “What tidings do you bring?”

“My lady, Steve told us they were attacked on the way to Fowydh,” says Lamorak grimly. Smart man. They didn’t even have to fill him in for him to play right along with their plan. Krel’s estimation of the knight rises exponentially. “Sir Tristan...”

Lamorak takes a steadying breath. Toby puts a hand on his arm, worried.

“Sir Tristan, my dear friend and former squire, was killed in the attack,” Lamorak says heavily.

Oh. Oh, shit. Tristan was Lamorak’s squire? Oh, now Krel feels extra bad pretending to be Tristan’s brother. That’s got to be a punch in the gut for the older knight. Murmurs of sadness pass through the knights in the room. Even, ugh, Gawain’s expression falls.

Anna closes her eyes, sorrow painting her face. “And what of Sir Alexander? Is he lost as well?”

“Nay, my lady,” says Steve. “He stayed behind for Hilde’s safety, mostly. I was protecting her during the attack. She didn’t see it happen.”

“Good, that’s good,” she murmurs. “Yes. Perhaps it is wise that he remains in Fowydh.”

“My family will take good care of him,” Krel says very softly.

“I’m afraid we bring worse news than just that,” says Steve grimly. “One of the fae that attacked us couldn’t help but gloat. He claimed that Camelot would fall in less than a fortnight. I can only guess that means an attack. We had to come to warn you.”

“Less than a fortnight?” Anna repeats, visibly distressed.

“I know Sir Alexander said he’d be returning as well,” Krel says softly. “Once my family has recovered some – they’ll take care of his little one. And I can fight. I came here to fight.”

Lamorak chuckles, a small, sad sound. “Yes, I know Seamus. You’ve always wanted to be a knight, haven’t you?”

Krel shrugs, trying to play up shyness and uncertainty after losing a loved one. Lamorak is good at not lying but hiding the truth at the same time. It’s a little scary but at least he seems firmly on their side.

“Sir Gawain,” Anna says, “can you work with young Seamus? We need all the help we can get, I’m afraid.”

“Of course, your majesty,” says Gawain with a short bow. Krel tries to look eager instead of horrified. He has to work with the Red Knight while bearing the name of the boy Gawain will one day kill. Krel would rather stick his head inside Iros’s ship’s plutonium fuel cell and let the radiation finish him off.

“And Steve,” Anna says, “we’ll be glad to have you among our healers again. Are you any good at healing in battle?”

“Oh, definitely, it’s a lot of how I learned,” says Steve. He flashes her his winning quarterback smile. “You can count on me.”

“Good,” she says. She glances around the room. “You are all dismissed for now. We will regroup again later this evening to discuss the new intelligence.”

Krel moves to follow Toby and Steve, but Gawain clasps a hand on his shoulder and offers a small smile. Krel manages a smile back, trying to hide how much he’d rather run the knight through with his own sword.

“Alright, unofficial squire of mine,” says Gawain. “We need to get you fitted for armour and armed with a weapon, and I must see where you’re training stands.”

“Right now?” Krel blurts.

Gawain looks amused. “Aye, lad, right now.”

Krel gives Steve a panicked look and Steve grimaces back and, much to Krel’s chagrin, plays the part. “Go on, bud. We’ll catch up later and write a letter to tell your family we made it.”

“Okay,” Krel says warily. Gawain ruffles his hair and he ducks away.

“You’re a bit old to be a squire, but so was your brother when he joined us,” he says, taking Krel by the shoulders and leading him away. “Nothing will be made official ‘till after this coming battle, but if we do work well together, you’ll be my first squire!”

“If we survive,” mutters Krel. He hopes he doesn’t have to keep up this ruse long-term. Maybe he should fake his death. He’ll have to warn Steve and Toby first or they might actually kill him, but at least it would get him out of spending time with the Red Knight. Besides, if he somehow got exposed, he doesn’t trust this guy not to torture him.

“Be more optimistic,” says Gawain. “I’m sure we won’t die.”

“Tristan was probably sure he wouldn’t die, too,” Krel snaps. He reminds himself that he has to be convincing, so he adds, “His last letter was optimistic. And yet he died before I could even see him again.”

Gawain’s expression softens significantly. “I am sorry to hear about your brother, Seamus.”

Krel flinches at Seamus’s name in his mouth and looks away, trying not to remember a bloody sword sticking out of his best friend’s chest, sixteen and too young to die, too young to be murdered. Krel is going to punch Steve in the face and Steve is going to deserve this. As if Krel needed more reminders.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says shortly.

“Too fresh,” acknowledges Gawain. “Well, then, we’ll stab things instead. Here’s the armoury.”

Krel hasn’t actually been to Camelot’s armoury, so it’s genuine as he looks around and takes in the variety of weaponry. All primitive weapons, of course, humans are still a long way from inventing guns, let alone anything close to a serrator.

“What weapon do you prefer, lad?” Gawain asks.

A gun to your head, Krel thinks, before saying aloud, “A sword.”

“Keeping it classic, I like it,” Gawain says. “Let’s find you one that suits you, shall we? A shield as well. You’ll want one. We’ll spar before we get you fitted for armour–” here he hesitates “–but I’d check with Lamorak first for that anyway. I remember your brother hit a growth spurt while he was here, but Lamorak may have kept his old armour.”

Krel swallows. “Right. I’ll do that.”

He follows Gawain over to the collection of swords. Why did he have to say sword? Besides the fact that that is his best weapon, alongside a blaster and a blaster isn’t an option. Still, watching the Red Knight pick up a sword is unnerving, even if the man is younger and his armour isn’t the colour of blood. There are too many ghosts in Camelot.

“Try this one,” Gawain says, holding out a sword to him. “How old are you? What, fifteen?”

Krel glowers at him. “Twenty-three.”

“Well, your brother was a late bloomer, maybe you are too,” Gawain reasons. “This sword isn’t too heavy. Try it.”

Krel takes the sword and steps backwards so he can give it a couple of test swings and move through a simple routine of one of the Akiridion sword forms. It’s not the best for this style of sword, given serrators usually stick to a one-sided blade and account for a lack of almost any weight at all, but at least he knows the basics of how to use a sharp weapon. Alex managed and he had less training than Krel. This should be a breeze.

“Never seen a form like that,” says Gawain.

“I like to experiment,” Krel hedges.

“Your brother teach you any swordplay?”

“I’ve sparred with him,” Krel says, which is absolutely true, but he’s going to need to give Gawain more than that. “Um, you know, he was away so often and I was only a teenager when he left.”

He hopes he has that timeline correct. Gawain laughs. “You were what, sixteen? Right? I think Sir Tristan was only a few years younger than me.”

“Yeah, well, Mama wanted to keep one of us close to home,” Krel says, still trying to pull from some aspect of truth, the way Mort so wanted one of them to remain close to Arcadia instead of across the country for grad school. Not that that turned out well – Mort was the one that left them, far away where Krel isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to follow.

Something of his mood must show on his face because Gawain comes over and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Who can blame her? The attack on Fowydh was horrific.”

“Um, yeah,” Krel murmurs. What attack on Fowydh? Krel really needed a crash course before doing this. “Look, can we talk about something else or go spar already?”

Gawain winces. “Sorry, lad. Of course.”

Krel follows Gawain out to the training yard of the palace. He really hopes he’ll be able to do this without snapping and beheading the future Red Knight – it's so tempting, the idea of saving Seamus by making sure his murderer dies long before he is even born, but... well, he doesn’t think it would end well. Still it feels like failing Seamus all over again.

“Alright, I just need to see where your training stands,” says Gawain. “Then we’ll need to whip you into shape as fast as possible to prevent you from, well, you know.”

“You can say dying,” Krel says flatly. “I’m well aware of the risks.”

“We’ll do our best to make sure it doesn’t happen,” says Gawain. He draws his own sword and grins at Krel. “I’ll go easy on you.”

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Krel says.

Gawain charges. Krel has to physically remind himself to stay on the ground – he's become so used to fighting in mid-air, it’s so much easier that way. He parries the first attack with ease. He did train under a knight of Camelot at a young age, after all, and Ikram is a damn good knight at that. Add to it unpredictable movements from Akiridion swordplay, and he thinks he makes a formidable opponent. He only really knows Akiridion swordplay in theory but hey, if it works it works.

“Impressive!” Gawain says, switching tactics to twirl out of the lock they’ve found themselves in and go in from the side. Krel is quick to pivot, angling his sword down to deflect Gawain’s.

“Why wouldn’t I train if I wanted to be a knight?” Krel points out. “Just because Tristan wasn’t always around to teach me doesn’t mean I couldn’t learn.”

“By experimenting,” Gawain acknowledges, amused.

Krel goes for the offensive this time. As he does so he chants his location and the date in his head to try to keep himself from falling into some kind of trauma response and thinking he’s fighting the Red Knight as a teenager again. The lack of red armour does help. Gawain easily dodges his first attack, which is okay because that was the plan. He side-steps sharply and manages to land an oh-so-careful hit on Gawain’s pauldron.

“I like to think my experimenting paid off,” Krel says smugly.

“One hit doesn’t win a battle, my young friend,” Gawain says. Krel’s attention is drawn when he raises his sword to his chest – one glance at the smirk on his face has Krel stumbling backwards and falling to the ground, breathing picking up despite himself.

It’s the eleventh of January in the year 1113 and back home it’s just turned 2026, Krel tells himself, staring wide-eyed at the Red Knight, no, Gawain, the man’s face worried as he kneels. We’re in Camelot and it’s safe and he’s not evil yet probably.

“Seamus? Seamus, lad, can you hear me?” Gawain asks.

Krel flinches and repeats himself. It’s the eleventh of January in 1113 and back home it’s 2026 and we’re in Camelot and it’s safe. It’s the eleventh of January in 1113 and back home it’s 2026 and we’re in Camelot and it’s–

“Seamus?”

It’s safe – it's safe–

A hand lands on his shoulder and he lets out a hoarse yelp. “Get away from me!”

The Red Knight backs off quickly and Krel scrambles backwards, hand going to cover his core because if the Red Knight delivers it to Merlin then what? Then what? He tracks the Red Knight’s movements, sword held in front of him with his other arm. He’s vulnerable in this form. Where are his friends? Are they safe?

A shield goes up around him instinctually and he huddles against the back of it. The Red Knight’s eyebrows raise. Krel remembers how this went last time, how eventually he lost the strength to keep the shield, how then he did almost kill the Knight and maybe he should have. He can feel his core buzzing anxiously and he’s hyperventilating because of course he is. Krel needs Steve or Douxie or–

“What’s going on here?”

Toby. Toby, yes, Toby – Krel needs Toby. As soon as his friend kneels beside him he all but collapses towards him, shield dropping but panic still caught in his chest. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Hey, breath with me, Kr- uh, kid,” says Toby. “In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Do it with me.”

Krel does. He knows this, they know this, Toby knows his panic attacks acutely well because Toby has triggered them before, after Krel’s death, and he’s learned how to avoid them. Toby knows how to help.

After a few moments of this Krel rubs his eyes, deeply embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly to Gawain. Then, carefully, “I suppose I was more affected by the attack on Forwydh than I thought I was.”

“You wouldn’t be the first knight with battle-shock,” Gawain says, more gently than he has any right to be. “But if you need, we can find someplace else for you. At least until things have calmed.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Krel says. Toby helps him back to his feet. “Um... losing my brother put me off-kilter. I’m sorry.”

The name Steve gave him put him off-kilter as it was, and then to be stuck with Gawain of all people? Krel is lucky he didn’t do more than raise a shield. That at least can be called magic, very basic magic.

“No, um, I’m sorry,” Gawain says. “I should have definitely figured that in. You only would have been a teenager during the attack and of course losing Sir Tristan...”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” Krel mumbles.

“Gawain is right,” Toby says, gentle. “You don’t have to jump into being a knight, um, right away.”

He can see the questions in Toby’s eye – Steve must not have had time to explain everything yet. Did Toby follow him, to make sure he’d be okay? That sounds like Toby.

“Can I think about it tonight?” Krel asks, putting as much hesitance into his voice as he can. It’s not hard, shaken as he still is by his bout of fear and his memories of a sword through his best friend’s chest.

“Of course, lad,” says Gawain. “I’d be honoured to see you as my squire if you so choose, but if knighthood isn’t for you, maybe you could work with the wizards. You’re one yourself?”

“Not a strong one,” Krel says. “But I’ll think about it. Um, thank you, Sir Gawain.”

“I’ll take him to find some quarters and stuff,” says Toby. “Thanks, Gawain. See you later.”

Gawain nods to him. That’s new. Last Krel checked, they hated each other. Toby leads Krel away from the training field. Krel watches his feet as they walk.

“You okay?” Toby asks.

“He had a sword to my chest and he was smirking just like when he killed him,” Krel whispers. “I thought I could handle it but...”

“Nothing wrong with what happened,” Toby says. “Steve is a fucking dumbass.”

“Steve is a fucking dumbass,” Krel agrees.

“Besides, pretty sure Tristan was Cornish,” says Toby. “Least he was in the myths. At the least Steve could have pulled a Welsh name out his ass instead of an Irish one.”

Krel manages a small snort. “I don’t know any Welsh names off my head.”

“Rhys,” suggests Toby. “Well, too late now, I guess.”

Krel chuckles, half-leaning on Toby as they walk back into the castle. “I’m glad you’re still okay.”

“I’m glad you are too,” Toby murmurs. “I was getting worried.”

“Aw, you know me,” Krel says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes,” Toby says, balling his hands into fists and shoving them behind his back, “I know.”

Krel brushes some of his hair out of his face. “Can I just – well, you’ve probably been with Claire.”

“Claire would be happy to have you,” says Toby. “I’m sure Steve will join us too. Frankly...”

“I’ve missed having you around,” Krel says.

“And I’ve missed you guys.” Toby pauses a moment to press the sides of their foreheads together. “Knights of the Vaguely Oval-Shaped Table, remember? We oughta stick together from now on.”

“Seklos, still can’t believe that stuck,” Krel laughs. “Although what was it Steve suggested? Creephunterz?”

“Royal Creephunterz, I believe,” Toby says with a grin. The easy smile falls as quickly as it formed. “Come on, let’s get you settled and we can catch up. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

And, unfortunately, Krel is sure neither of them has particularly happy things to share.

Notes:

Can I ever resist the Seamus angst popping back up nearly a decade later in universe? NOPE
Anyway, props to my friend KitKat who guessed right away it was krel u were right bestie rfgjahesghkr
I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!! Thank you for reading!!
If I can resist posting the next one tonight it will be very soon.

Chapter 42: Penumbra

Alex is not having a good time right now.

It’s been a couple of days since the battle, now, and they’ve all been as healed as they can be and washed up and recovered. Krel and Iros managed to piece Alex’s arm back together from the sparking mess it had become in the battle. Viviane is still weak, and all of them have some lingering injuries – Alex is worried his knee’s going to bother him forever now – but they’re alive.

Well.

Most of them are alive. Alex can’t get it out of his head, every time he closes his eyes, Tristan laying dying in the wet sand – dying because of Alex. And if it weren’t for Tristan that would have been Douxie. Alex would have killed his husband. He’s felt vaguely sick to his stomach ever since the battle, and being down here doesn’t help.

Steve and Krel have set off for Camelot. Viviane has gone out to strengthen the wards with Lancelot’s help. The rest of them are waiting. Alex is trying very hard not to have a panic attack. He has to pretend they aren’t both underground and underwater at the same time. The Nexus is gorgeous, lit by soft floating lights, mosses and ferns throughout the cavern. The walls are made almost entirely of waterfalls and they make Alex wary – what if the whole thing caves in and they all drown? The cold bite of water seeping into their lungs, his sweet little Hilde panicking and his beautiful Douxie floating listlessly–

“Hey,” Douxie says, breaking him from his building panic. “You good?”

“Huh?” he manages. “I’m good. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You don’t look fine,” Douxie says.

“I’m... I’ll be better when we can get back into open air,” Alex admits, eyes trailing to the walls again, to the rivers and pools around the edge, the way the water splashes over, the humidity–

“You never used to be claustrophobic,” Douxie mumbles, taking his hand. “I... saw. Some of what happened. I think.”

Alex’s head snaps to stare at him. “You – what?”

“I had a vision,” Douxie says, carefully caressing Alex’s hand. “It was horrible. I thought – I thought I was seeing you right before you died. I thought my magic was the cruellest thing in the world. I guess being trapped in a cave would make you claustrophobic.”

Alex swallows and looks away. “I wish you hadn’t seen.”

Douxie cups his cheek and makes him look back at him. Alex still avoids his eyes. How much did he see? Did he see how Alex sobbed and pleaded for him – the way Alex was so sure he was going to die? Alex didn’t want Douxie seeing him like that.

“Hey,” says Douxie. “You are so strong. It hurt to watch but it doesn’t change how I see you.”

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it did. Alex is no fae. Maybe that didn’t, but watching Alex kill Tristan – Alex saw the fear in Douxie’s eyes. His husband was scared of him. He thanks every deity to ever exist that Hilde didn’t see that.

Still, he leans into Douxie’s palm and closes his eyes. This doesn’t actually make things any better, with the rush of water echoing in the caverns of the nexus, so he opens his eyes again and pulls back. Douxie takes his hand again.

“When we get home, we’ll get bigger windows or something,” Douxie suggests.

“It’s not... just the cave,” Alex admits, voice barely a whisper. Douxie gives him a quizzical look, then follows his gaze to the water around them. A few droplets land on Alex’s face and he flinches despite himself.

“Oh,” Douxie says softly. He wipes the water off Alex’s face, then his eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” whispers Alex.

“When I drowned the fae,” Douxie says, soft. Alex winces and looks away again. “Oh, gods. Alex, I – fuck, Alex. I’m so sorry, if I knew–”

“War is war,” Alex mumbles. “And you’re good at hydrokinesis. I’m just... not good at seeing it, I guess. Anymore.”

“I never meant to scare you.” Douxie grabs Alex’s hand with two of his own now, the other two resting on Alex’s thigh. “I would never, ever hurt you. I promise. Gods – Seklos – Alex, I...”

Alex swallows and squeezes his eyes shut against the burning rising in them. “I know. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. I just – the... drowning is... well, let's just say having basically drowned several times I know it’s a... particularly brutal way to go.”

He can feel Douxie tensing at that, next to him, and he feels bad for making him feel bad. He knows war brings out the worst of them all, but the cold look on Douxie’s face as he held the fae beneath the waves reminded him too much of the fae – Iorwerth. Not that war hasn’t brought out the worst of Alex. He can’t even bring himself to regret Iorwerth’s death, and he’s since been told that he killed him so thoroughly, melting the sand into his body and burying him with it, that there’s no chance he’ll return. A cruel part of Alex – a part before this he never knew existed – thinks Iorwerth deserved it. Who could deserve that, though?

“I just,” he continues, taking in a shuddering breath, “couldn’t forget what it felt like. I know war is war and I know it was kill or be killed but – I...”

“I’m sorry,” Douxie whispers.

“Don’t be. You didn’t know.” Alex lets out a wry laugh. “I didn’t even realise how fucked up I really am. You know, Hilde’s village is at the ocean? And they took me to see it and I just froze because I saw water and all I could remember was the burn of it in my lungs and the chill of it on my skin.”

Douxie lets out a weak breath. “You’re not fucked up.”

“I can’t handle water, Doux,” Alex chokes out. “I couldn’t handle you using water magic because of that stupid fae and his stupid torture.”

“Krel can’t handle fire,” Douxie reminds him, gentle.

“That’s different,” Alex says. “Fire is dangerous.”

“So is water,” Douxie says. “Hey. Look at me, love. Look at me.”

Alex does, tears spilling down his cheeks but thankfully not burning like they were before, when the dark magic was taking its toll. Douxie presses a very gentle kiss to his lips then rests their foreheads together.

“You’re alive,” Douxie murmurs. “I don’t care if you’re afraid of water, hell, I don’t care about anything except that you're alive and you’re here.”

Alex takes in a shaking breath and then lets it out in a sigh. He gives Douxie a quick return kiss, savouring the familiarity of it, even if in this form his skin is cooler and smoother to the touch than it’s ever been in his true form.

“We’re alive,” he mumbles. “We’re together again. That’s what matters.”

They let themselves rest in the moment as long as they can until footsteps from the stairs distract them. Lancelot and Viviane are back, Lancelot supporting his weak mother. Douxie runs over to help them in an instant. Alex stands and rubs his shoulder, aching despite the warmth of the cave. Despite Krel’s best efforts the prosthetic is going to be uncomfortable now until they get home and can build him a new one complete with a proper port or something. Getting thrown around and all of that jarred it up into his flesh a few too many times for things to be painless now. His knee still aches, shakier than the other knee, but that’s kind of what he gets for running around and fighting on a bad sprain if not a tear.

He spots Hilde darting over to him and he kneels to let her jump into his arms. She’s been hovering close since the battle, but today she’s taken to sitting with Mordred to try to offer comfort.

“Hey, baby,” he says, kissing her cheek. She beams at him. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m okay,” she says, but her smile falls. “Mordred is sad, though.”

Alex glances over at him. Yeah. Yeah, Mordred is definitely sad. He’s sitting hugging his legs and staring blankly at the wall. Alex may not fully understand the bond between familiar and wizard, but he knows it must be absolutely gutting for Mordred to lose Enaid. They held small funerals for both her and Tristan. Alex wishes they could have brought Tristan home to his village, laid him to rest with his Iseult maybe, but it’s just not feasible. He thinks it’s sort of poetic, anyway, to let him be claimed by the lake of legend. Let Tristan go to the fabled Avalon, and let him meet his beloved there with their baby.

“Yeah,” Alex murmurs, shaking himself from his thoughts of his friend, “he is. He’s having a hard time right now.”

“I want to make him happy,” she says. “He lost his daddy like I lost my mama, didn’t he?”

Alex nods. “He did. And now he’s lost his... very best friend in the world.”

“Wouldn’t they want him to be happy?” she asks.

“They would,” Alex agrees. “But it’s not that easy, ardillita.”

“I know,” she says, frown twisting down even more. “Sometimes it hurts to be happy. ‘Cause Mama is gone.”

Alex swallows and hugs her close. “I know, baby. I know.”

She nuzzles her face into his shoulder. He’s been trying to check in with her regularly, any time he remembers to, but with everything happening he’s not sure he’s been as good about it as he should be. He still isn’t sure he knows how to be a father at all, let alone a father to a little girl grieving her mother and the only life she’s ever known. He reminds himself that all he can do is his best. He’s never felt confident that his best would be good enough.

“Alright,” says Lancelot. “Mama needs to rest and recover here in her nexus, but the rest of us can return to shore. It’ll be better if she doesn’t have to keep it dry.”

Oh, so this place is usually underwater. Sure, yeah, that does wonders for Alex’s anxiety. Not. Now that he has the okay he is more than happy to hurry up the stairs with Hilde. The others follow. He takes a deep breath of the fresh morning air and lets out a sigh of relief. The sky still has the faint shimmer of a shield above them, but they’re on land and he finally feels somewhat safe again.

Lancelot is the last to surface with Mordred pressed against his side, face the picture of numb loss. He and Douxie have that in common – he remembers Douxie shutting down after Mort died, after Seamus died, after he thought Krel gone forever. He’s sure the same happened more recently. Douxie has always dealt in extremes – complete shutdown versus vicious anger.

“We need to figure out our plan,” Lancelot says, guiding the rest of them back to the willow to sit. “Mama won’t be able to join us, much as she wishes to. She won’t be well enough. We’re on our own.”

“Great,” mutters Douxie. He shakes his head. “Krel is going to text when they’re safe in Camelot. We’ll have a better idea of the state of the city and of Anna herself.”

“We need to get there before the battle, whenever that is,” says Iros. She glances at Mordred. “And we need to convince Queen Anna to listen to you.”

“She will,” Mordred whispers, more a plea than any kind of certainty. “She has to. She’s my sister.”

The look on Douxie’s face says otherwise, stricken with grief for events yet to pass but in their past all the same. Alex doesn’t want his husband to go with them, into the thick of it, but there won’t be any stopping him. Douxie will stick by Mordred’s side even if it kills him. Alex is terrified that it will.

“We must be prepared,” Douxie says instead, grim. “Mordred. You need training to control your dark magic.”

Lancelot looks distinctly uncomfortable. “I’d rather he not use dark magic at all.”

“No matter what you’d rather, dark magic has a way of slipping through,” Douxie says. “It comes out with strong emotions and desperate situations, and once you’ve used it once it’s all the easier to fall back into it, whether or not you want to. It’s dangerous, but powerful. If you use a sword wrong it can kill you too.”

“Aye, but a sword doesn’t use your life energy,” Lancelot says.

“All the more reason for him to learn to control it,” Douxie counters. “Otherwise, it will control him and he will bleed himself dry in a moment of desperation.”

Lancelot lets out a heavy breath. “Fine. But I am supervising this training.”

“Of course,” Douxie says. “I wouldn’t ask you not to.”

Oh, Douxie will kill him for this. Alex raises a hand anyway. “Can I join?”

“No,” Douxie says automatically. “Absolutely not.”

“Just in case,” Alex insists. “Like you said, once you’ve used it once you’ll use it again, and I did during the battle, and – I promise it’s just in case.”

Douxie brushes the back of his fingers over Alex’s locs, where Alex knows white has woven its way in, damning evidence of the dangerous magic he’s found himself using.

“Alright,” Douxie says softly, heavily. “Alright. I guess I should show you the ropes. However dangerous it is for Mordred, it’s ten times more dangerous for you. Magic energy can help your life energy replenish itself. You don’t have that.”

“I know,” Alex says. “Trust me, it’s not actually a very fun feeling. I don’t plan to use it unless I have to.”

Hilde tugs his arm and gives him a wide-eyed eager look. “Can I learn?”

“Ah, no,” Alex says with a wince. “Maybe you can hang out with Auntie Iros, yeah?”

Iros lights up and comes over, holding out her arms for permission and when she receives it taking her into her arms. “I would love to spend time with this little one!”

“Thank you,” Alex says.

“Oh, no trouble at all,” she says. “Come now, little one, how about I teach a young Akraohm how a Ventis fights?”

“Wait–”

“Don’t worry!” Iros calls, already walking off. “We will use sticks instead of serrators!”

Alex rubs his forehead. Okay, yeah, he should have seen that coming from Aja’s great-aunt. Douxie hides a small laugh. Easy for him to say. Mort pretended to be so responsible but Alex knows damn well that man was chaotic at his core. Douxie probably got some weapons training at Hilde’s age. This is normal to him. Alex wasn’t allowed to use a butter knife at this age!

“Let’s have a snack first,” Douxie says. “You’ll need your strength.”

Mordred nods jerkily. Lancelot rests a hand on his shoulder and gives him a worried look. Douxie looks away, briefly, and Alex grabs his hand. His husband has been tense since the battle and Alex doesn’t see that tension doing anything but get worse in the next few days. Alex doesn’t think he himself has stopped being tense since he was captured.

This will be over soon. He can feel it. He just hopes that once it is, they all come out the other side unscathed.

 

 

After they eat something, they head away from the shore to a flat patch of land just at the edge of the forest. Alex tries to contain his excitement. Is using dark magic terrifying? Yes. Is this going to be the first time he’ll get a magic lesson from his husband where he gets to actually use said magic? Also yes. Mordred looks less excited and more wary, but at least the anxious interest is something more than morose blankness.

“Okay,” says Douxie. “This is gonna be weird because I’ve never taught anyone this and my aunt who taught me is...”

“A little crazy,” Alex supplies.

“Sure, we’ll go with a little,” agrees Douxie. “Probably more than a little. Anyway. When she wasn’t trying to get me to be okay with casual murder, she did have some good pointers.”

Mordred looks even more concerned than before. “Casual murder?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t like my aunt,” Douxie says with a snort. That’s an understatement. “Moving on. So, dark magic uses life energy rather than magical energy, which is the riskiest thing about it. If you drain too much magic energy, you’re shit out of luck for using magic for a bit and you’re going to pass the fuck out, but you’ll usually be fine. If you drain too much life energy, you’re dead. The end. No second chances there.”

Lancelot’s lips press into a thin line. Alex winces.

“That’s why it’s especially dangerous for a mundane,” Douxie says, eyes lingering on him. “Magical energy helps life energy heal and replenish. It’s why magic users have such long lifespans. Without that...”

“Duly noted,” mumbles Alex.

“My aunt Morgana uses a lot of dark magic,” Mordred says softly. “How does she do that without draining herself?”

“Well,” Douxie says with a grimace, “dark magic uses life energy. But it doesn’t have to be your life energy.”

Mordred looks ill at this. “You mean...?”

Douxie nods. “I’ve only personally done it to sentient beings a few times, all in life-or-death situations. But...”

He closes his eyes and when they open, they’re glowing brilliant blue. It’s kind of strange to see on an Akiridion, since the sclera don’t change. When he raises his arms, shadows flow like water along all four of them and the grass beneath his feet, once lush even in the winter thanks to the magic of Viviane’s realm, withers and dies.

“It works with plants, to an extent,” he completes with a smile. “Less useful in wintertime, but good to know all the same.”

“Woah,” mumbles Mordred.

“So, should I try to use plants?” Alex asks. “Since I’m mundane?”

“Uh, I mean, that would be ideal,” says Douxie. “But it isn’t easy to sense without magic. I'm not even confident it's possible. Heh, maybe we should start with meditation.”

“No,” Mordred says quickly. “We don’t have time for that. Skip to the good stuff.”

“Mordred,” Lancelot warns. Mordred gives him a pout, but at least he has perked up ever so slightly.

Douxie sighs and stretches. “No, he has a point. We don’t have time for meditation and shit right now.”

He motions Alex and Mordred forward. Alex can admit he’s a little nervous. He's never done this outside of an emergency, to save his own life or in an instance of fury like when Tristan... but he can manage. He knows all the theory behind dark magic. He’s read up on it and real magic extensively. Just... didn’t expect to be the one ever using either form. Mordred looks equally troubled, if not more so, but that’s a given due to his previous experience with dark magic. Outside Douxie, Alex isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone not evil use it.

“You both have used dark magic before,” Douxie says, “so you know what it feels like. I want you to focus on that and summon shadows. It’s one of the simplest things you can do. It’s going to be different than mine, so don’t be surprised. Everyone’s is unique, just like their magic.”

Alex lets out a breath and closes his eyes. Okay. He’s done this before and he can do it again. He tries to focus, to find that energy, that tug deep in his chest. He peeks an eye open. No shadows yet. A glance over at Mordred shows frost coating his hands and shadows spiking like ice. Great. The child got it before him.

“Breathe, Alex,” Douxie murmurs. “It’ll be harder for you. Mordred is used to channelling energy through his body. Don’t try to force it.”

Right. Mundane. Alex needs to remember that. Of course everything will be a few steps harder for him. It’s a pain in the ass. Why does it always feel like he has to work harder?

Eventually, he’s able to recognise the tug again, and he seizes onto it and tries to will it into shadows like Mordred and Douxie. When he reopens his eyes, shadows are gathering like grains of sand in his palms. He laughs triumphantly. Douxie beams at him, and Alex likes to think he’s maybe proud.

“Great job,” Douxie says. “How are we feeling so far? Remember, dark magic creates a negative feedback loop with strong emotions so the most important thing when using dark magic is to stay calm.”

“That’s easy,” says Mordred.

“Easy now,” Douxie points out. “But in the heat of battle, when you’re angry or scared or injured or desperate... it isn’t so easy. You’ll have to make the conscious choice to calm down and remain clear-headed – or to stop using dark magic. If you don’t, you will spiral.”

Mordred flinches and shrinks in on himself with a guilty glance back at the lake. Douxie immediately softens and rests two hands on his shoulders. Alex goes ahead and lets the shadow-sand dissolve away in his hands.

“N- Viviane getting hurt wasn’t your fault,” he says. “You lost control. It happens. That’s why we’re training.”

“What if I do it again?” Mordred whispers.

“We’ll be there to catch you,” Douxie promises.

“What if you aren’t?” Mordred blurts. “If more people die I – I can’t do that, Douxie.”

Lancelot hurries over to pull Mordred into a hug. “Shh, shh, it’s going to be okay, lad. We’re going to do everything we can to prevent any more deaths.”

Douxie watches, grim. Right. Lancelot doesn’t live through this war, does he? Alex can’t imagine being in Mordred’s shoes, ending up almost completely alone for centuries. He fears that fate for Douxie.

Mordred pushes Lancelot away. “If I’m going to prevent any more deaths, I need to train.”

“It’s not all on your shoulders,” Lancelot says.

“Enough of it is,” says Mordred. He turns to Douxie, determined. “What next?”

“Okay, um,” says Douxie, visibly off-kilter. He shakes it off. “Now, dark magic isn’t so different from normal magic. You can do most things with it that you can with normal magic, but it’s easiest and simplest to just mould it into whatever shapes you want. So, uh... let’s practice that. Seklos, I should never become a teacher.”

Mordred does actually laugh a little at this. “You’re doing great, Douxie!”

Douxie’s face softens. “Ah, thanks, Mordred. Anyway, like normal magic, it’s all about intent. I know both of you know enough about magical theory so... yeah, it’s the same thing, different source.”

“Alex isn’t a wizard,” Lancelot says carefully.

“But he is a complete nerd,” Douxie says. “He used to pester my dad to teach him everything he knew.”

“I read more technical texts than Doux ever did,” Alex says, amused. “Believe me, I know the theory.”

And here’s the chance for him to really prove it. He’s read every book he could get his hands on, and Mort gave him access to his LWU alum account so he could keep up with the latest theses coming out of the university. He knows what he’s doing. He’s just... never put it into practice.

“Weapons are the obvious application of this,” Douxie says. “Though I am partial to using it to grab people and stab people, as you’ve seen.”

Intent and focus. Alex can do that. He focuses until the shadow-sand forms again. It comes easier this time. The magic is cool in his hands right now. He pictures the shadows forming into a dagger, sharp and deadly, perfect if his arm malfunctions and he loses his sword or serrator. The shadow-sand melts together and lengthens, slowly but purposefully, into the shape he wants. Now the shadows are translucent like glass. Huh. Mordred’s is ice. Douxie’s is water. And Alex’s dark magic seems to take the form of sand and glass. In his brief glances of Morgana during the Eternal Night, he remembers lightning. Does all dark magic resemble elemental magic of some form?

He’s quite pleased with his dagger, though. He gives it a couple of experimental swings, then tries to lengthen it into a sword. He sways as he does so, a spell of light-headedness flooding him, but when the sword is fully formed and wicked sharp he grins and looks to Douxie.

“Great job, Alex!” Douxie praises with a wide smile. Just as fast this vanishes, lips tugging down into a frown as he crosses the distance between them. His two lower hands grip Alex’s waist to steady him and one of his upper hands traces his hair. “I... don’t know if you should do more, though.”

“Huh?” says Alex. “I can do more. We just started.”

“Douxie’s right, lad,” Lancelot says. “I’m calling it for you, at least until you’ve rested. You’re pale, and already there’s more white in your hair.”

Alex lets the sword shatter back into dark sand and vanish. “Oh.”

Douxie gives him a tight smile and presses a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Maybe later, okay?”

“Okay,” Alex says softly. He lets Lancelot lead him to the edge of the forest and sit him against a tree. He can admit that he feels drained and tired, even sore, like he’s gone for a long run after not exercising for a while. But... well, there goes his chance to be more than just the useless mundane. He’s still adapting to his new metal arm – it doesn’t weigh the same, just different enough to throw him off entirely. He hoped that maybe, with dark magic, he’d have an edge. But, no, he’s back at a disadvantage.

“Don’t feel bad,” Lancelot says.

“I need to figure out how he used the plants,” mumbles Alex.

“You need to rest,” Lancelot says firmly.

“Meditation is resting, right?” Alex says, not bothering to wait for an answer as he leans against the tree and curls his fingers into the moss beneath him. Okay. Living things. Some kind of mumbo jumbo about everyone and everything being part of the same living, breathing planet. The Earth itself has a heartbeat. Alex thinks he sounds like a hippie.

Okay, no, focus. Alex does not know how to meditate. His mind moves too fast for meditation, always onto the next thing, and he’s far too math-minded to have an easy time with something so abstract. But he can try. The moss is damp and the tree trunk is rough. If Alex had to guess, the tree would have more energy to lend without suffering for it. Not that plants can suffer. Can plants suffer? That’s irrelevant right now, what matters is being able to do this. He moves his hand back to press his palm to the bark, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to focus on the life force of the tree. Somehow. Is it even possible for a mundane? Is it really something he could figure out how to sense?

"What’s it like?” he had asked Mort, once, shortly after finding out about magic. “Seeing auras?”

If Alex focuses, he can see the moment clearly in his mind. Mort had taken a second to think about it. “This may not be what you’re looking for, lad, but it’s like... an orchestra.”

“An orchestra?”

“Everything alive has an aura,” he had said. “It’s just life energy. Seeing all of them, all the time... it’s loud, but, gods, is it beautiful.”

“Can I learn to see it?”

Mort had chuckled and given him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Well, you’d be the first mundane I’d met to do it. But I can’t see that stopping you.”

And then he’d given him a book about auras and energies and encouraged him to read it, try to relate it to things he already understood in physics. Alex had entirely taken that as an essay assignment and spent weeks researching and crafting a thesis on where magical and life energies fit in with the rest of the energies of the universe. It helped him feel better about magic in general, rationalising it into a fundamental part of the universe like light and sound.

He just needs to access the energy in the tree. If he can get past that hurdle, then the rest should come easy. He just needs to hear the orchestra. He tunes out the sound of Mordred and Douxie still training to focus on the forest, on Lancelot’s breathing beside him, the rustle of the leaves above them, the chirping of the birds. He wants to keep his family safe. He wants to get home. He needs to get them all home.

Finally, he thinks he almost feels a spark, from the tree. His eyes fly open, hopeful, to look back at the tree as if that would do anything – except it does. He swears the tree is glowing. Faint, but glowing.

Okay.

More obvious than expected, but he can work with this. He tries to imagine he’s pulling the glow of the tree into shadows coating his arm. And miraculously... it works. He lets out a breathless laugh. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Lancelot – warm ocean blue – giving him a concerned look.

“I’m using the tree,” he offers, carefully gathering the shadows back in a dagger. “Do you see it glowing?”

“How...?” whispers Lancelot, brow furrowed. “You can see its aura. That's... impossible.”

“Mort usually was right about this kind of thing,” Alex mumbles giddily. “I never did like to let the impossible stop me.”

He stands, shaky, and lengthens the dagger to a sword again. He doesn’t feel the tug in his chest, but he can see where the tree’s energy is dragged into it, so he’s very confident he’s using the tree. Still, he finds himself tired and dizzy. It doesn’t matter. He isn’t using his life. Douxie should be fine with it.

Then Douxie is in front of him, eyes wide and alarmed. “Alex? Alex, you’re supposed to be resting!”

“I did it,” he says, looking up at his husband. His breath is taken away in an instant, by silvery blue ebbing and flowing like the tide with the moon, centred on the core in Douxie’s chest.

“You’re not supposed to be doing dark magic, Alex,” Douxie says.

“You’re so beautiful,” he blurts. Douxie’s eyebrows shoot up, but the world around Alex is starting to sway and distort like warped glass. Douxie’s lips move, Alex’s name, but a few seconds later Alex falls to his knees and the world goes dark.

 

 

When Alex comes to, he’s lying in the moss-beds under the willow. Hilde is hovering over him worriedly, eyes wide. All the glowing is gone, so whatever Alex managed it wasn’t permanent.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he mumbles.

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Alex,” she says, hands on her hips, the picture of absolutely adorable, and Alex melts and laughs, reaching out to brush her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll try to make sure of it,” he says.

“I don’t know what you did,” says Douxie’s voice, and Alex turns his head to see his husband on his other side, “but whatever it was, it knocked you flat for most of the day.”

“Oh.”

“Lancelot said you saw auras,” Douxie says, a question in his voice.

“I meditated, like you said,” Alex whispers. “I tried to – you remember that I thought Mort assigned me that one time?”

“How could I forget, you nerd?” Douxie says. Alex is revealed by the note of teasing and an almost smile there – Douxie isn’t mad. That’s good.

“I just – magical energy and life energy are energies like any other,” Alex says. “I just... worked under that assumption and somehow it worked.”

“Besides being unconscious for several hours, Lancelot said you were okay,” Douxie says, soft. “If you had magic I’d call it magical exhaustion. You don’t. So I don’t know what you did.”

“I became a hippie, I guess,” says Alex.

Hilde giggles, even though she has no clue what that means. Douxie runs a hand down his face but smiles and shakes his head fondly. Alex manages to push himself into a sitting position and Hilde scrambles into his lap to hug him. He laughs and kisses her hair.

“I’d recommend avoiding ‘being a hippie’ in battle,” says Douxie. “But... when we get home, maybe that’s something we can play with. If nothing else, I think it makes you the first mundane to see aura. Even briefly.”

“Krel can’t be the only one doing the impossible around here,” Alex jokes. He sobers and sighs. “I’ll be careful. In the battle. We’re both getting out of this just fine, okay?”

“Okay,” agrees Douxie. Hilde hides her face in Alex’s chest. Douxie rests a hand on her back. “We do have a little girl waiting for us now, huh? The most precious little girl in the world!”

“Douxie,” she whines, muffled.

“What?” Douxie says innocently. “You are! Come here, you.”

He picks her up and stands, lifting her into the air and spinning her around. Hilde squeals delightedly and Alex melts into a puddle of goo because that is so cute. He may not know how to be a father, but he does know Hildegard Duguid has wormed her way deep into into his heart and nothing will change that now. They have to survive. For her.

Alex hopes that conviction will be enough.

Notes:

I apologise for all the Alex except that I love him to death. Hopefully all the OC centric stuff this fic wasn't too annoying ekjdfkasdghkf

Anyway, for a liiiil explanation. Alex is correct that magical and life energies are governed by physics (albeit in some funky weird ways and if any physics major wants to detail that be my guest but we'll pretend Alex who is smarter than me knows) and are as real and present as sound and light and etc. Normally, seeing auras is p much reserved for some wizards and especially those with fae blood. However, if a mundane is learned enough on the subject and stubborn enough to TRY there's no reason they couldn't figure out how to sense it, however briefly. Alex, being a nerd and having the biggest usefulness complex in the world, makes him perfect to give it a shot S:JG:AKSERG

Anywayyyy I hope you enjoyed because I enjoyed writing this oneeeee

Chapter 43: Sibling Rivalry

Notes:

TW: death, graphic violence

Douxie doesn’t sleep well in the nights before they put their crumbs of a plan into motion. He feels it in the ache in his joints, sees it in the dullness of his glowing Akiridion eyes, the dark circles under his human eyes when he gets the briefest chance to be out of transduction. Every time he tries to sleep visions swim before him and blur into dizzying colours and sickening screams. The worst part is that he can’t make out what any of it means. He leads people to believe that his future sight means clarity, but more often than not it’s just a sense of dread that leaves him with more questions than answers. What clear flashes he does get are useless. His past is now his future and it’s jumbled everything. He sees Seamus die one second and then Krel’s screams of fury shift into something older and he sees Krel as he is now but just as furious. What does it mean? He sees Mordred hiding with dozens of others, the ceiling of the London Underground shuddering above him, and then the Blitzkrieg shifts to arrows laying siege on Camelot. He sees Alex sitting in a cell with Steve on Ultios’s ship and then soaking wet in a cave (tortured, his husband was tortured) and then – he sees the dungeons of Camelot but he doesn’t see Alex anymore so he doesn’t know. Douxie doesn’t know and it scares him.

The morning they’re to set off for Camelot, he doesn’t want to get up. He wakes before Alex as he’s always done and finds little Hilde between them. Right, she begged to sleep with them last night, knowing she’d be left behind. How could Douxie say no? He tucks his chin into her curls and burrows his face against Alex’s chest, listening to his soft breathing and letting himself bask in his family’s auras. This could all go away, if this goes wrong. Alex is going to be fighting. What if Douxie loses him for real? Douxie himself is braving the serpent’s nest. Anna is going to sentence Mordred to death. Will she even give him the benefit of a sentence, or will he die before he finds out? That isn’t even bringing in every other way this could and likely will go wrong.

Eventually, he’s too restless, so he kisses Alex’s cheek and Hilde’s hair, each feather-light, then slides out of their moss-bed to go sit on the beach. He stares out of the calm waters and draws swirls absently in the sand beside him with his lower arms white the other two wrap around his knees, tucked to his chest. He considers undoing the transduction – he’s always careful to renew it before he sleeps – but thinks better of it.

Someone sits. He glances over. Just Lancelot. He hadn’t even heard him approach. He forces a smile and Lancelot smiles back, just as tense, bags under his eyes as deep as Douxie’s own.

“It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Mm-hmm,” Douxie agrees. “I’ve always liked – the lake. In general.”

Really, he’s always liked Nan’s lake, full of happy childhood memories, swimming in the refreshing cool of the water and then spending the muggy summer evenings around a campfire on the shore. It’s virtually unchanged from what he knows in the future. Nana was never one for updating to fit the times. She loses phones more easily than Steve loses trains of thought.

“We – I am truly grateful to you and yours, Hisirdoux,” Lancelot says softly. “You didn’t have to stay. You didn’t have to help us, even now, at your own risk.”

Douxie manages a small, sad smile. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m sorry that we can’t be of more help.”

He’s sorry that they can’t save Camelot. He’s sorry that they can’t spare Mordred centuries of loneliness and bone-deep grief. He’s sorry that he won’t even try, not really, because they can’t risk breaking the future. But this is his family. Of course he must help however he can.

“You’ve done more than we could have possibly asked,” says Lancelot. “Most importantly, you’ve given my son more people to rely on. Right now, that’s… important.”

“He’s a good kid,” Douxie says, as if that can encompass his feelings, the depth of aching love he has for the boy that will one day be his father. When they do go home, Douxie will never see him again and the loss will swell up and swallow him whole once more. Or maybe, somehow, he will feel better, now that he understands Uncle Mort in a way he never truly did before.

“He is,” agrees Lancelot. “He truly is.”

They sit together as the sun finishes rising, light sparkling on the lake, as gentle waves lap against the shore. Douxie breathes in the sweet, dewy morning air and lets himself relax. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he’s just visiting Nan for a simple vacation. There is no danger for them to face in the twenty-first century United Kingdom, a gyre-trip away from home, a phone call away from so many others they love. But he opens his eyes again and sees Lancelot giving him a fond, fatherly look – the grandfather he never knew growing up – and for a moment, he thinks he wouldn’t trade this for the world.

 

 

The others slowly trickle out to join them for breakfast. Iros wakes shortly after he and Lancelot did and joins them on the beach, casually discussing how Akiridion-5 doesn’t even have lakes while Douxie tries very hard to play along. He’s astonished by how early Alex leaves the willow, the next after Iros, but by Hilde’s bouncy energy he can guess the reason. It’s a shame they don’t have coffee. Douxie gets the feeling Alex will be living off it when they get home. Nan comes to shore as well, looking a little better but still weak. Mordred is the last to join them – for all his nervous energy he’s still a teenager, and even as an adult Mort really wasn’t a big morning person. Breakfast is a quiet, worried affair. Hilde clings to Alex like he’s going to disappear.

Nan pulls Douxie aside as everyone is getting ready to go after they eat. Douxie offers her a tight smile. Can she tell how stressed and tired he is? It doesn’t bode well for the battle.

“I think I have found the way to get you home,” she says softly.

“That’s great news!” Douxie exclaims, a real grin replacing the weak smile from before. “We’ll be able to tell everyone in Camelot when we get there.”

“It’s not ready yet,” she says apologetically. “And… well, I am not sure yet.”

“Not sure?”

“I am going to try to make it so you can go home to exactly when you left,” she says. “But I can’t promise that. I have to do further research.”

Douxie winces. “We won’t get our hopes up.”

“The magic of it seems simple but I have figured out it’s more complex than it looks,” she says.

“If you want to talk magic theory with someone, Alex is your man, not me,” Douxie says. “I happen to be a prodigy in winging it and hoping for the best.”

She chuckles. “Then you are certainly my Lancelot’s grandson.”

Douxie blinks. “Wait, really?”

“Ask him sometime about his magical escapades in his youth,” she says.

“Yeah, maybe,” Douxie says, falling back into a frown. He won’t be able to, back home. Won’t even be able to ask Mort.

“If you go with them, you may not come back,” she says, very soft, eyes keen and worried. She’s always had a way of knowing when things are worrying him. “You are aware of that.”

“Of course I am,” Douxie says with a sigh. “But I can’t not help him. You know – who he is to me.”

She cups his cheek and brushes his hair back and he leans into her palm. It’s such a familiar feeling that he can’t help but soak it in. Nan has never been one for change, and that’s quite clear in the way her gentleness and love remain the same. She may not know him yet, but she already cares for him. He’s glad to have Nan on their side and in the know. With everything going on they wouldn’t have had a chance to keep looking for a way back and they weren’t finding one anyway. It’s relieving to know they can go home soon. One last battle. Hopefully. They can make it through one last battle.

“Oh,” he says, before he forgets, “will we – we’ll be able to bring Hilde too, right?”

“I don’t see why not,” she says. “Unless in your time you have evidence of her growing up here, it should not be a problem. There’s more limit on who all can go with you.”

He sighs in relief. “Thank you. Alex will be glad to hear that.”

She kisses his forehead. “You need not thank me, grandson.”

Douxie gives her a warm smile before the both of them migrate back to the rest of the group. Douxie links hands with Alex and leans against him. Alex smiles at him, tight and anxious, and Douxie can’t blame him. One more battle, and he’d bet it’s one of the worst of the whole war. Not for the first time, Douxie finds himself wishing that Mort had told him more details of his past. Then he’d know what to expect.

“Nan almost has it figured out,” he murmurs to Alex. Alex blinks and gives him a surprised look. “And she said Hilde won’t be a problem, either.”

“Thank Seklos,” mumbles Alex. “I was worried the magic wouldn’t let her come.”

“Nan said who and how many we take isn’t a problem,” Douxie says, still hushed so the others don’t hear. “But... she’s not sure she can get us back in, when was it, November?”

Alex winces. “Didn’t figure as much. Mami is gonna kill us.”

Douxie chuckles. “She’s gonna drag all of us to the hospital is what she’s going to do. Honestly, not a bad idea.”

“No,” Alex agrees, rubbing his shoulder. “Not a bad idea at all. Besides, Hilde needs a bunch of vaccinations.”

“She’s gonna love that,” Douxie mutters. “We can take her for ice cream after.”

“Cupcakes,” Alex counters with a grin. “Mr. Devier’s place. Our old history teacher? His husband runs the bakery?”

“Oh, that is true,” Douxie agrees. He nudges his husband. “And Alex, you got me cupcakes from there like a week before this whole mess. I remember the bakery.”

“Oh, yeah,” Alex says.

“Cupcakes, then,” Douxie says. “Vaccines and then cupcakes. What an adventure for the kid.”

Speaking of Hilde, the poor girl runs back over to them from where she was with Mordred. She looks near tears. While Nan starts wishing Mordred and Lancelot luck, Hilde looks up at him and Alex with a wide-eyed stare and asks, in the saddest voice Douxie has ever heard from a child, “Do you have to go?”

Alex crouches with a wince then just sits on the ground when that’s too much for his knee. Hilde crashes into him in a hug and he holds her close, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair and letting out a soft sigh. Douxie just about melts, again, because even right now Alex being fatherly is just to sweetest thing he’s ever seen.

“You be good for Lady Viviane, okay?” he murmurs, leaning back to take her face in both hands. “We have to help Mordred save his home.”

“Promise me you’ll come back,” she pleads, eyes wide and tears dripping down her cheeks. Alex gently wipes those away and leans down to press their foreheads together.

“I’ll fight to be able to,” he says, distinctly not a promise. Douxie’s lower arms wrap around his middle, anxious. “I would never choose to leave you. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, throwing her arms around his neck for one last hug. Then she runs to Douxie and hugs his legs, so Douxie pushes down his fear to pick her up and twirl her around, peppering kisses across her cheeks like he remembers Mort doing when he was Hilde’s age.

“You be good, okay, squirrelly?” he says, nuzzling their noses and making her giggle. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Keep Alex safe for me,” she says.

“I always will.” He gives her a gentle headbutt then passes her to Nan, who cradles her gently and seems as pleased as ever to get to play babysitter. Douxie grabs Alex’s hand again, tighter than before.

“Good luck,” Nan tells them. “I’m going to spoil your little one specifically so I can hand her back to you, understand?”

“You don’t even know yet what I was like as a kid,” he complains. “You can’t be getting revenge already.”

“I can make an educated guess,” she says dryly, eyes flickering to Mordred and then back to him. “I mean it, Hisirdoux, Alexander. Come back alive and bring the rest back with you.”

Douxie swallows, throat suddenly dry. “We’ll – do our best.”

He hopes Nan doesn’t read into that, figure out what he doesn’t dare say, but by her expression she can guess. Douxie doesn’t know all of what today will bring, but he knows it likely brings a death sentence for Mordred and a narrow escape. At least, he expects a narrow escape.

“We’ll come back to you, Mama,” Lancelot promises, resting a hand on Douxie’s shoulder and squeezing it as if to comfort him. “But for now, it’s time to go.”

“Human disguises, Douxie,” Iros reminds, holding up her serrator and activating her disguise.

“Right,” Douxie says, unsettled by how he’d managed to forget for a minute that he was in Akiridion form. He releases the transduction and takes a deep breath, readjusting to having two arms, then remembering to also activate the transduction to hide his eyes.

“Ready?” asks Lancelot.

“As we’ll ever be,” Alex says.

Mordred, next to his papa, nods stiffly. Lancelot rests a hand on his shoulder. “Alright then. Let’s head out.”

 

 

The journey passes in tense, anxious silence. As much as they have little choice but to leave now, to get there before the attack, none of them are really ready. They aren’t fully recovered from the attack on the lake and now they’re walking into another battle. Douxie knows that better than anyone else except perhaps Alex. He may not know specifics, but he knows this will go wrong. Mordred’s plan is doomed to fail and Douxie doesn’t know what that means for the rest of them.

Iros looks uncomfortable in her human form, but if it comes to a fight hopefully she can just switch back or something. Fighting in an unfamiliar form isn’t a good idea – Douxie should know, because even though he managed it, fighting with four arms threw him off. Alex is limping still – Douxie knows he said he’s worried that won’t ever go away – and his prosthetic, while repaired, is in worse shape than it was. Mordred is grim-faced and hanging close to Lancelot’s side; while both are more fully recovered physically, mentally is another story. It’s strange not to have Enaid flying overhead and Mordred keeps rubbing his shoulder where she would normally sit. Douxie wishes he knew how to help. He can’t imagine losing Archie, and if he did – well, he can’t imagine how anyone could help.

Eventually, the castle comes into view again from the cliff – the very same view they first had of Camelot. This is where they have to split up. Alex and Iros are going into the city without any spells or hiding – Alex can easily be returning from Fowydh and Iros is going to be accompanying him as a villager who wanted to help in the fight. Douxie is going with Mordred and Lancelot to talk to Anna. In other words, Alex should be safe for now, but the same probably can’t be said for Douxie himself.

“Please be careful,” he murmurs anyway, reaching up to cup Alex’s cheek.

Alex gives him a small smile and leans down to kiss him, lingering a few seconds with their lips just barely brushing before resting their foreheads together instead. “I’ll do my best. Promise you’ll be careful, too.”

“I promise,” Douxie says, trying to ignore the fact Alex didn’t promise. “This isn’t goodbye.”

“This isn’t goodbye,” Alex agrees. “So… I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Douxie whispers. Alex gives him one more kiss before pulling away and climbing down the cliffside stairs with Iros. They watch the two of them disappear into the city gates and Douxie lets out a shaky sigh. Alex will be fine. Anna has no reason to suspect him of anything. Krel confirmed they bought the ruse. He feels even better when he recognises Lamorak at the gates – good. Douxie knows the knight has a soft spot for Alex. He’ll keep him safe.

“Alright,” Lancelot says softly. “I know a back way into the city, assuming Merlin hasn’t blocked it off. If he has… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Douxie exchanges a shrug with Mordred as they follow Lancelot back into the woods. Sure enough, he leads them to a worn, old path. It does look like it’s been taken in years and it’s riddled with branches and tree roots. Aside from wildlife tracks it’s undisturbed, so at least the fae haven’t discovered it.

Mordred hugs himself around the waist and stares at the ground. Douxie puts an arm around Mordred’s shoulders, trying to appear confident. “Hey, chin up. You’re going to be okay.”

That, at least, he’s sure of. One day, maybe a long, long time from now, Mordred will be okay. He knows it won’t be easy and he knows Mort was never fully healed, not truly, but Mort always made it abundantly clear that he loved the life he had with Douxie and later Krel.

“What if she doesn’t listen?” Mordred whispers. Douxie winces. “What if she really believes I…”

“Then we’ll get you out of there,” Douxie says. “We’ll take you somewhere safe.”

Mordred blinks rapidly, eyes bright and wet. “I want her to believe me.”

“I – I know, bud,” Douxie mumbles. “I know.”

“Here!” Lancelot calls from ahead. Mordred wipes his cheek and hurries to catch up with his papa, and Douxie sighs and follows behind. Lancelot smugly taps a section of the wall. It opens right up, which seems like a glaring flaw in Camelot’s defences, but Lancelot just bows with a goofy flourish. Ah, that’s where Mort got it from. Probably where Douxie got it from too.

“Huh,” Douxie says.

“Morgana, Morgause, and I set this up back in the day,” Lancelot says. “I went back after Morgana turned on us to lock her out, so really only I’d be able to open it from the outside. Surprised Merlin didn’t find it in his paranoia.”

“Secret passage,” Mordred gasps, almost smiling in his awe. “You never told me about this.”

“Ah, yes, because you would have snuck out,” Lancelot says. “But right now that doesn’t matter, does it? Come.”

Douxie lets out a breath as they enter the city. The streets are empty and the castle is close, so they don’t have any trouble slipping through the streets and finding a side door. Unfortunately, it’s immediately evident that the castle is much busier than the outside. Right, Krel and Toby both texted about that. Douxie quickly throws up an invisibility spell.

How are they going to get Anna alone at this rate? There’s no way.

Lancelot keeps a protective hand on Mordred’s shoulders as they walk. Douxie watches around them warily, careful they don’t run into anyone. They may be invisible but they aren’t intangible. They stay silent, too, given Douxie wants to save magical energy in case of a fight and adding a muting spell when unneeded in the bustle of the busy castle would just waste that. A simple cloak around the three of them is the easiest.

They veer towards the living quarters. Not a bad idea, camping out in Anna’s chambers until she retires for the night. Douxie can take Lot if he has to. He doesn’t want to but the guy would be easy to knock out. He thinks they’re honestly going to make it – a plan going right for once? – when he senses powerful magic behind them.

“HALT!”

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

Mordred turns to him with wide, terrified eyes. Douxie and Lancelot both push him to keep going, away from Merlin, but they’re all caught by green magic and the invisibility is suddenly dispelled. Merlin drags them back towards him and his gaggle of knights. Douxie recognises Gawain and Ailith amongst them, and – oh, shit, that’s Krel’s disguise, eyes wide and alarmed as the other knights draw weapons.

Welp, this couldn’t be much worse. Douxie throws Merlin’s magic off of them. Lancelot draws his own sword, wary. Mordred forms his dual swords and Douxie his battle-staff.

“We aren’t here for a fight,” Lancelot says evenly.

“Sure looks that way,” says Gawain, moving Krel behind him. “Sir Lancelot. We used to look up to you! And now you return with two traitors?”

“My son is no traitor,” says Lancelot.

“You will surrender quietly,” says Merlin calmly, “or there will be a fight.”

“If we surrender you’ll bring us to Anna,” Mordred says hopefully.

Merlin scoffs. “Queen Anna has ordered Sir Lancelot brought in alive, if found. However, you are a traitor to the throne and the murderer of King Arthur. Much as it pains me, my former apprentice, I have no choice but to kill you.”

“You’re a good actor, Merlin, and an even better manipulator,” Lancelot growls, “but the only traitor here is you.”

“On the contrary, your son is the liar,” Merlin replies. “Queen Anna is willing to give you a chance, Sir Lancelot.”

“Anna wouldn’t have ordered Mordred’s death,” says Lancelot, eyes narrowed. Douxie tries not to wince. “You can’t make that call.”

“You will find that I can.” Merlin draws a sword from thin air – Excalibur. Lancelot sucks in a sharp breath and Mordred goes pale. “Very well. If it is a fight you want, a fight you shall get.”

Chaos erupts. Douxie uses dark magic to catch the first blast of green magic that Merlin sends at them, throwing it back towards him which is unfortunately how he finds himself going head-to-head with the bastard himself. Not on his bucket list. So far from his bucket list. But Mordred and Lancelot are busy fighting the knights. Poor Krel doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself, so Douxie sends him a sharp glare he hopes translates to, “Do NOT give yourself away!”

“Your evil is not welcome in Camelot, fae!” growls Merlin.

“One, not fae!” Douxie grunts, catching a swing of Excalibur with his staff. “Two, you’re one to talk about evil!”

“Oh, you’re still clinging to that pitiful lie?” Merlin scoffs. Green chains wrap around Douxie’s waist and throw him into the wall. He barely rolls out of the way to avoid being skewered. He uses the advantage of the sword being stuck in the stone ground – ha! – to twist behind Merlin and hook his staff under his throat. He floods it with darkness so Merlin can’t do his magic-dismissal trick.

“Not a lie!” Douxie says with a grin. “Getting slow in your age, old man? I expected the Merlin to put up more of a fight!”

“Insolent brat!” Merlin snaps.

Douxie just tugs the staff against his throat. He can’t kill him, sadly, but making him miserable is still on the table. And distracting him from the others is–

A stabbing pain erupts in Douxie’s side and he stumbles backwards. Merlin falls on his hands and knees coughing, and Douxie looks down in surprise at the iron dagger buried in his abdomen.

“Oh, fuck,” he manages.

He can sense Krel’s aura flare in fear when he sees him – Krel’s aura is strong enough that even Douxie who can’t see aura can sense it – and he finds him across the hall and shakes his head. This isn’t worth breaking cover, just a minor stab wound. A small hole in his side. Alex is going to kill him, but at least now they can match? Eh?

He quickly constructs a shield around himself, to give himself enough time, and then takes a deep breath. Wait, nope, ouch, ow, that was a bad idea. Whatever. Okay. Bad idea number two, apparently. He forms a fire spell in his palm. Then he steels himself and rips the dagger out. He quickly presses the fire to the wound, holding it there until he’s sure it’s done its job. He bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard his mouth floods with copper, but his side isn’t bleeding when he finally drops the spell. Forget Alex, Steve is going to kill him.

He jumps back into the fray anyway, carefully directing dark magic to his new wound. He’s been working hard at getting better at dark magic healing, easiest when done on himself since it’s really just directing his life energy to hurry the fuck up and heal him. He spots Mordred facing Merlin, fear painting his every move, and jumps in.

“A little stab wound isn’t enough to take me down, mate!” he says with a cheeky grin.

“That was an iron dagger!” Merlin seethes.

“And I’m still not a fae, as I’ve been saying!” Douxie retorts. He still has the dagger so he distracts Merlin first with his battle-staff and then swings the dagger, managing to cut into the least armoured area – with a little magical help. Merlin growls furiously.

They aren’t winning. But they’re not losing, right? That’s what matters for now. They just need to keep the knights and Merlin distracted until they can find an escape route. Douxie almost thinks they can do it, until–

“PAPA!” he hears Mordred scream. He whips his head around just in time to see Lancelot go down, Ailith’s axe in his skull.

Oh.

Oh, gods.

There’s no question he’s dead with that. Douxie feels sick to his stomach. Knowing Lancelot was doomed doesn’t help in the moment. Ailith, for her part, looks just as surprised, like she didn’t intend the killing blow, but Mordred’s eyes stain black and he turns on her.

Oh, no.

Before Douxie can do anything to stop him, Mordred has tackled Ailith to the ground, spikes of icy blackness shooting up around him and throwing the other knights – and Douxie and even Krel – back towards the walls. Mordred’s hands close around Ailith’s throat, frost coating her skin.

“AILITH!” Gawain cries, hacking at the darkness until his sword shatters.

“Mordred, stop!” Douxie yells, lurching forward, only to be once more caught in Merlin’s green chains. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The same chains yank Mordred kicking and howling into the air.

“ENOUGH!” Merlin roars. “You want to see Queen Anna? You want to hear it from her mouth? Very well!”

Gawain runs to his sister’s side as soon as the darkness melts. From here, Douxie can tell she’s gone, but his eyes focus on Lancelot and blur with tears. He can’t rip his gaze away until he has no choice as Merlin drags them away.

They’re brought to the throne room and thrown down in front of Anna, chains still holding them in place. She covers her mouth in shock. Mordred’s face is streaked with burning tears. Douxie looks up and meets Alex’s eyes – Alex, what is he doing here? He looks utterly horrified. The plan has gone so wrong. Lancelot is dead. Douxie is injured and he’s sure Mordred is too. And Merlin of all people caught them.

“I caught a couple traitors trying to sneak into the castle,” Merlin sneers. “Mordred murdered a knight, Sir Ailith, in cold blood.”

Anna gasps. Mordred chokes out a sob and shakes his head. “She killed Papa!”

Alex’s eyes widen further, hand flying to cover his mouth. Sir Lamorak, beside him, closes his eyes in grief. Anna stumbles, eyes shining with tears.

“Lancelot too…?” she murmurs, before her face hardens. “Mordred… what has become of you?”

“Please, Anna, you know me!” Mordred pleads. “It wasn’t me! Merlin controlled me, I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill Dad!”

She falters. “Your words sound true…”

“And your senses can be fooled,” Merlin says firmly. “Dozens of witnesses saw Mordred’s hand fell the king.”

“My hand but Merlin’s magic!” Mordred exclaims. “I swear to you, Anna, please – please, you have to believe me–”

“I saw him kill the king,” Gawain’s cold voice rings out as he storms in, Krel in disguise close behind him. “And I saw him kill my sister, using dark magic. He drained her very life away! He’s a monster!”

“I – I didn’t – she killed Papa!” Mordred cries. “Anna, please, I’m not a monster, I’m not, I didn’t mean to! You know me!”

“Enough, Mordred!” Anna snaps. “I thought I knew you. But what I see before me is not my little brother.”

Mordred falls silent, shuddering with sobs. Anna’s eyes fall on Douxie.

“And you,” she says. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Mordred is telling the truth,” he says softly.

She laughs, empty and cold. “That’s it? Not an apology to your husband who you betrayed?”

“I would never–”

“You’re not surprised to see him,” she says. Oh, fuck. Douxie hopes he didn’t just get Alex caught. “But why would you be? You knew your allies had him, didn’t you? You knew he wasn't dead!”

“How dare you–”

“Throw them both in the dungeons,” Anna says, turning away. “Traitors to the kingdom must be punished. For the murders of King Arthur and of Sir Ailith, Mordred Pendragon is hereby sentenced to be burnt at dawn following the incoming attack.”

Mordred’s face falls slack, thunderstruck. Merlin gestures and two knights haul Mordred up. Douxie knew it was coming, but it’s still horrific to hear. Douxie would never, ever do that to Krel. By the look on Krel’s face, he’s as disturbed as Douxie is. Lamorak frowns.

“My lady,” he says carefully, “perhaps–”

“My word is final, Sir Lamorak!” she bites. “Be sure to take the other one. Hisirdoux Swift will burn as well for his role in this.”

“No!” Alex blurts in horror. Douxie looks up to meet his eyes and watches as Lamorak grabs him around the chest to hold him back as Douxie is dragged away. Then he closes his eyes against tears and prays this is the last time he sees his husband.

Notes:

SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN
and it's only gonna keep flying from here

Blanket TW for the next several chapters includes death and graphic violence, but I'll be sure to warn each chapter as well.

Thank you guys for reading!! Love yall!

Chapter 44: The Beginning of the End

Notes:

TW: death, graphic injuries and maiming

For once, Toby wishes Douxie would think things through a little bit more than he usually does. He’s long since given up hope that Alex would be able to temper his husband’s impulsiveness, and it seems Lancelot was no match for Douxie and Mordred. They got the text in the group chat this morning that Douxie and the others were on their way to Camelot to confront Anna. Which, yeah, that’s great, that gives the rest of them here plenty of time to plan. Krel spent thirty minutes ranting about how Douxie should have called ahead and they could have hammered out the details. The only reason he didn’t spend more time complaining was because Gawain showed up and dragged him off for more “bonding”. Toby feels bad for him.

Toby knows they’re here – Lamorak had shown up with Alex in tow on the way to see Anna and left what must be the famous Iros with him and Claire – but he hasn’t seen Douxie yet. Claire took Iros to brief her on the current situation here at the castle. Toby’s been too busy training and stuff to help there.

He’s on his way to dinner when he runs into Lamorak and Alex again. Alex looks ashen and shell-shocked, which is the first indication something has gone terribly wrong, and then Lamorak grabs Toby by the arm and starts dragging him along too. That’s the second hint, Toby supposes, but Alex’s face really is enough.

“Woah, okay, what’s going on?” Toby manages.

“In. Private,” Lamorak grits out. Toby shrugs and walks a little faster to keep pace with him without being dragged. They’re led to the sleeping quarters, further down the hall than their own. This must be Lamorak’s chambers. Lamorak slams the door and then throws up a privacy ward and leans against the wood with a frustrated sigh.

“So...” Toby says, “I take it things aren’t going well?”

“Oh, that is an understatement!” Lamorak exclaims. “Tell me there was at least some semblance of a plan before they dragged Mordred back here!”

“Semblance is a good word for it,” mutters Toby. “Or maybe the idea of a plan.”

“Mordred really thought if he could just talk to Anna...” Alex murmurs.

“Oh, that went swimmingly!” Lamorak scoffs.

Toby winces. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh! Uh-oh!” Lamorak lets out the kind of laugh Steve does when he’s fully and completely done with Krel’s bullshit. “She’s sentenced the both of them to death, Mordred and Douxie. No need to sentence Lancelot because apparently, he’s already dead and Mordred went and killed the knight who did it!”

Suddenly Alex’s drawn expression makes a lot of sense. Toby rubs his forehead. “Fuckin’ hell. Okay, not sure what I expected, to be honest. Lancelot’s really...?”

“From what I understand, Sir Ailith killed him in either self-defence or by mistake,” says Lamorak heavily. “It must have been enough to make Mordred snap. I don’t know. Sir Gawain has mostly been seething about it and placing all the blame on Mordred, and I didn’t get a chance to take Krel aside to get the real story.”

“Well, one less person to break out of jail, I guess,” Toby says with a grimace. “How long do we have?”

“She’s not going to burn them until after the battle,” says Lamorak. “We have some time, but how much, I do not know.”

“Alright, could be worse,” Toby says. “We know Mordred gets out of this so I’m sure Douxie will be fine too.”

Alex gives him a startled look and Lamorak’s eyes narrow. Toby's brain catches up with his mouth. He’s gotten so used to Lamorak and Bedivere hanging around that he forgot Lamorak wasn’t one of them. Fuck, he did not just say that to Lamorak. Goddammit.

Thankfully, he’s saved from having to explain and probably making things worse by a knock on the door. Lamorak lets out a frustrated breath before opening it – Gawain and Krel. Gawain looks thunderous and Krel looks pale as a sheet.

“Knights meeting,” he says sharply. “Now. Courtyard.”

“Right, of course,” says Lamorak, expression shifting to concern as he rests a hand on Gawain’s shoulder. “Are you okay, lad?”

“I’m fucking furious,” Gawain growls. “Nothing for it now. At least her murderer will face justice.”

Lamorak squeezes his shoulder, troubled. Krel continues to look stressed out of his mind. Toby resists the urge to go over to him – Toby and “Seamus” don’t know each other that well. Lamorak turns and pats Krel’s shoulder.

“We’re probably all getting thrown out there now,” he says. “I hope you’re ready, lad.”

“I hope so too,” Krel says softly in that strange, foreign voice that makes even Toby forget he’s looking at one of his best friends. Lamorak manages a tight smile.

“You’ll do your brother proud,” he says.

Krel’s frown tugs deeper. Considering Krel’s brother was just sentenced to death, Toby is not sure that was the best thing to say to him, but at least it helps his cover.

The group of them make their way to the courtyard with the rest of the knights. Anna is on a balcony, grim and dressed in armour. She’s every bit the warrior queen Mort had always made her out to be, yet looking at her now, Toby has no idea how the man ever looked back at her with fondness. She sentenced her fifteen-year-old brother to death. He knows it’s the Middle Ages but, come on, who does that!?

“Knights of Camelot!” she calls. Merlin is standing next to her, probably magically amplifying her voice. “Somehow, despite our best efforts, my traitorous brother and his accomplice, the part-fae Hisirdoux, snuck their way into the castle, leading to the deaths of Sir Lancelot and Sir Ailith.”

She holds for a beat of silent mourning. Toby frowns at the inclusion of Lancelot, like she hadn’t accused him of treachery. Twisting his death to make Mordred look worse is slimy.

“Though we have Mordred and Hisirdoux in custody, Hisirdoux’s brother Krel is still at large,” she says. “And there are even more dangerous enemies beyond our walls planning their attack. I want patrols tripled. I want every last corner of this city under guard. Groups of three or more, and I want a magic-user in each group.”

“When do we start?” asks a knight Toby doesn’t recognise.

Anna’s lips press into a thin line. “Now. Pick an area and patrol. We want the perimeter entirely secure. I need people outside the walls as well as in. Magic-users, if you see fae or troll, send a magic flare to warn us. When night falls, retreat back inside the city walls.”

Lamorak puts one hand on each Alex and Toby’s shoulders – guess that’s Toby’s team then. If he had his way, Krel would be with them, but Gawain has a firm hold on him because he’s long since decided “Seamus” is to be his squire. Lamorak leads them back into the castle.

“Toby, you need to armour back up,” he says. “Take Alex with you, he needs his helmet. I’m going to find Bedivere, and it’ll be us four.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Toby says with a salute. “Come on, Alex.”

Alex nods and they make their way back to their quarters. Alex ducks into his room to grab his helmet while Toby quickly goes into his own to change. Claire is in there again. She looks up as he enters, worried.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “Iros is with Ikram, something about helping with patrols?”

“Douxie and Mordred got caught,” Toby says grimly. She grimaces. “Yeah. Anna is on a warpath. She’s tripling patrols. Me and Alex are going with Lamorak and Bedivere right now.”

“Did Lancelot get caught too?”

“Dead,” Toby says. Claire gasps. “Yep. So… things are not going well at all.”

“Be careful out there, Toby,” she murmurs, pulling him into a hug and then kissing his cheek. “Don’t do anything Jim would do.”

Toby snorts. “I’ll try not to. Love ya.”

“Love you, too,” she says, lingering for a moment before moving to help him put on the rest of his armour. Toby hesitates, though, and then shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “This is going to be a big battle.”

“Probably,” she agrees.

Toby goes over to the drawer where he keeps his clothes from the future and pulls out the amulet Mort made for him long ago. He hasn’t worn this to battle in years, and it’s going to make him stand out, but this is his armour. He presses the amulet to his chest and sighs at the familiarity, the armour magically adjusted as he aged and got taller. Claire’s lips pull into a smile as he offers her her own armour amulet.

“Just like old times,” she says.

“Hey, maybe if Jim sees us in this it’ll snap him out of it,” Toby jokes, adjusting his helmet. He sobers quickly and sighs. “I dunno. I just... want to be prepared. I prefer my trusty magic armour to the standard stuff, you know?”

“That’s... fair,” she agrees. “Never really thought I’d have to use this for battle again, especially without my shadow-staff.”

“Me neither,” admits Toby. “When we get home we deserve a beach vacation or something. Maybe a tour of Europe. Something relaxing and fun.”

She laughs. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Oh, yeah, and the only adrenaline we’ll have to deal with will be roller coasters,” he adds with a grin. “And those crazy drop rides. And we’ll do stupid touristy things like the Eiffel Tower.”

“Maybe we’ll take a vacation on New Akiridion,” she says. “I hear the beaches are to die for.”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Toby agrees. “And we can take Jim on a foodie tour of the galaxy. Introduce him to world-famous chefs from every world we can find.”

“Oh, he’ll love that,” she says. She gasps. “The Globe! We’ll go to the Globe and see a Shakespeare play there!”

“Only you nerds,” Toby teases. “But, alright, I can handle a little thou action.”

Claire snorts and hits him on the shoulder and he laughs. But then there’s a knock on the door. Toby’s shoulders slump as he opens it, because this means it’s time to go and the good mood fades. He’s scared they won’t be able to save Jim, that the battle will bring more tragedies, that he will lose friends. All the little plans for vacation they just made suddenly feel like untenable dreams.

Alex stands there with a tight smile that briefly falls at the sight of Toby’s armour. He’s in his own armour, sword at his hip, and missing one of the vambraces of his armour on his prosthetic side.

“I didn’t even know you had that with you,” he says, gesturing to Toby’s armour.

Toby chuckles. “I brought it just in case. Weird magic could have meant anything. Haven’t used it, you know, blending in, but...”

“You think this is the fall too, don’t you?” Alex says.

“Or at least the beginning, yeah,” Toby agrees. He doesn’t want it to be, but he rarely gets what he wants. “Alright, come on. Let’s not keep the old men waiting for us.”

Alex snorts. “Say that to Lamorak’s face, I dare you.”

Toby laughs, then kisses Claire’s cheek. “I’ll see you later, Claire. Hopefully before the battle but if not...”

“If not, you’ll see me after,” she says. “With Jim.”

“With Jim,” he says. He attaches his war-hammer to his armour and follows Alex out the door, hoping beyond hope that he’ll be able to keep that promise and bring their Jim home.

 

 

“I’ve said it before,” says Lamorak, “but that Krel is one gutsy son of a bitch.”

The four of them have found themselves patrolling outside the wall even as the evening wears on, but they’ve started their way back as the sky starts turning the pinks and reds of early sunset. They haven’t seen anything, not even Bedivere who’s been the most paranoid out of the lot. Alex has been so clearly bored that he’s opened up a panel in his cool new arm and begun tinkering with it. Toby has no idea how he explained that to anyone else.

“Yeah, he definitely is,” Toby agrees. “I think he was about to punch Steve in the face when he introduced him, though.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed him,” Alex says. “Seamus? Steve picked Seamus of all names?”

“What’s wrong with Seamus?” asks Lamorak. He tilts his head. “Well, I suppose it is an Irish name and Tristan’s family doesn’t any Irish roots. But most people around here wouldn’t know either way.”

“Krel’s childhood best friend was named Seamus,” Toby says softly. “And he died to save Krel’s life. So, uh, yeah. Even if it’s the first name he thought of, terrible call on Steve’s part.”

“Ouch,” mutters Bedivere.

“Ah. Yes. That is a bad call,” Lamorak agrees. He sighs and looks up at the sky. “Loss is hard for us all.”

“Are you... okay?” Toby asks carefully. “I, um... know Tristan was your squire. And I know you were friends with Arthur and Lancelot, so...”

By the wince on Alex’s face, he also knew about the whole squire thing. Not surprising. He and Tristan had become pretty close, what with Tristan latching onto Alex from the start and Alex always eager to make friends. They were close enough – or perhaps Alex and the others were sloppy enough – that Tristan was even in the know about the time travel. Either way, Toby is sorry he didn’t know him better and hearing about his death hurt.

“I will be okay,” says Lamorak. “I’ve enough fae in me that I expected to outlive them, but... well, not so soon.”

Bedivere reaches over to take his hand in a comforting gesture. Huh. Lamorak is just about as fae as Mort was, isn’t he? Toby wonders if he’s still around. Mort was, even if Toby distinctly doesn’t know how it works. He saw pictures of Mort in college. The man looked exactly like he does now and then – what, somehow started aging enough to be in his forties when he died? Best not to think about it.

“So,” Bedivere says, the distinct tone of someone purposefully changing the subject, “that armour is new.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s from home,” says Toby. “The guy who made it was a dickwad but Douxie and Krel’s uncle-dad spelled it up for me. No offence, but I trust this armour more than the basic stuff.”

“I wish I had cool armour,” mumbles Alex. “I should have asked for cool armour.”

“Get with Krel and build something,” Toby says. “High-tech super armour or something. I think it would make Krel feel better about his armour being, you know, manifested from a dream or whatever.”

Alex snorts. “He does hate that, yeah.”

Bedivere glances between them. “You know what, not going to ask.”

“You’ll get used to us being weird,” Toby tells him. “You’ve only really known Alex so far and he’s normal. Ish. Beyond being a genius.”

“I’ll have you know that I can do cool stuff too,” Alex protests. “Guess what? I even managed to see auras. Take that, magic gatekeeping.”

“Alex is not normal,” grumbles Bedivere. “He’s impossible is what he is. Stubborn as fuck.”

“You love me anyway,” Alex says cheekily.

“Anyway,” says Lamorak, “whose idea was it to send Krel here in disguise? And how did you manage it? I couldn’t sense any illusions.”

“It was Krel and Steve’s idea,” says Alex. “Douxie hated it. But Krel’s doing better than Douxie is right now, even if he’s stuck with Gawain and probably hates it.”

“Oh, he despises it,” Toby confirms. He watches as Alex’s sombre mood returns, frown deep on his face, distorting the very faint scarring on his cheeks.

“Douxie will be okay, lad,” Lamorak says, resting a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

“You don’t know that,” mumbles Alex. “You don’t know Douxie. If it meant saving Mordred, I – I don’t know what he’d do.”

Toby winces. Alex isn’t wrong. The entire Penn family has a self-sacrifice streak so wide it might be more apt to say they have a self-preservation streak instead. Toby has seen it in action too many times, has seen how the bad guys tend to depend on it – Ultios had seen through Krel in an instant and knew bait was the way to go. Mort didn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself in the end. Douxie sacrificed himself for Toby once and Toby has no doubt he’d do it again for Mordred.

“We’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that,” says Bedivere. “No more wallowing, kiddo. Ramble to me about your new arm or something. I know you want to.”

Alex takes the bait. Toby tunes them out as Alex starts nerding out about his prosthetic. Lamorak smiles fondly at them but returns his attention quickly to the forest with a frown, eyes sharp.

“Less than a fortnight,” Lamorak murmurs. “That’s what Steve said. It’s been a week.”

“Any time now,” Toby says softly.

“It will not look good for Douxie and Mordred if they attack tonight.” Lamorak rests a hand on the hilt of his sword, scanning the darkening forest. “We should get back. Something tells me–”

There’s a rustle in the tree. Lamorak draws his sword in an instant and Toby activates his war-hammer. Bedivere is right behind them drawing his sword and Alex, after establishing there’s no one but them around, activates a serrator-like sword from his prosthetic.

“What in the fresh hell?” mumbles Lamorak.

“Explain later,” Alex mutters back.

Toby glances up at the sky. Fuck, when did it get so late? “Okay, let’s just hurry back inside–”

Too late. Gumm-Gumms pour out of the forest around them and they’re fucked. Utterly and completely fucked because this isn’t a localised group, no, there are probably hundreds of trolls emerging from the shadows. The siege has begun and they desperately need to get out of here.

“Okay, time to go!” Alex yelps.

They start running. Toby glances over at Bedivere and Lamorak and yells, “Can you fly!?”

“What?” Lamorak yells back.

“Can either of you fly?” Toby demands. “You’re both part fae, please tell me one of you can fly!”

“I can, yes,” Lamorak manages. “I’m out of practice and bad at it but–”

“Great! We don’t need a gate then!” Toby grabs Alex and leaps into the air with his war-hammer. Alex scrambles to cling onto his waist, screaming as a sword is thrown at them and flies right past his head. Toby catapults them over the wall and finds Lamorak not far behind, Bedivere in his arms. He stumbles as he lands, but they’re safe. For now.

They back up, watching the wall as it shudders but holds. Lamorak takes a second to send up a flare. Toby sees similar flares going up all around the city.

“Fuck,” he whispers. The spells on the wall light up as it continues to shudder. How long do they have?

“We’ve trained for this,” Lamorak says firmly. “We hold position until the next shift comes to replace us, and then we retreat to the castle to rest. No stupid acts of bravery.”

Toby and Alex exchange sharp looks. At first Toby is offended – he’s not going to do anything stupid! – but then he thinks more about it and, okay, fair enough.

“Do you think it’ll hold?” Bedivere murmurs.

“I think,” Lamorak says softly, “it had better.”

 

 

They wait.

The wall holds as the sun disappears and clouds move in from the west, as rain starts falling. Alex visibly tenses when the first few drops hit his skin and Bedivere magicks a shield above them without a second thought. The wall holds. Toby doesn’t know how long it will hold. Down a few yards and in either direction are more groups of knights, on guard and ready. A couple are sparring, to keep their skill up. Toby thinks that’s a waste of energy.

The wall holds.

Until all at once, it doesn’t.

One moment they’re watching, wary, but still chatting because it seems like things will be okay for now, and the next a section of the wall between them and the next group of knights collapses. Trolls come spilling in, so whatever Merlin did to the wall clearly wasn’t very effective. Toby wonders if it was on purpose.

“Look alive, lads, and stay that way!” Lamorak calls. Welp. Here goes nothing. Toby lets out a battle-cry as he charges forward and leaps into the air. Gumm-Gumms, unlike fae, can’t fly, which gives Toby the advantage. Time to play Whack-a-Troll.

“You’re attacking the wrong kingdom, buttsnacks!” he yells, slamming his hammer into a troll’s side and then into another’s head. He dodges higher into the air to avoid getting skewered. Then he has to dodge more as the trolls start throwing rubble at him. He sends a silent thank you to Nim and Ikram in the future for making sure he was fully trained in aerial evasion.

From up here, he sees several other points where the wall has fallen. Fucking fantastic. More flares are going up to alert the castle they need back-up, and he can see knights spilling out to join them. He tries to get a glimpse of Krel somewhere, but through the smoke and dust and in the darkness of night he’s not able to. At least his hammer glows, so he has some light - no streetlights in the Middle Ages, after all.

He spots Bedivere surrounded and flies back to land, just in time to catch a Gumm-Gumm sword and prevent Bedivere from losing his head.

“Need a hand?” he asks.

“Thanks, kid!” Bedivere grunts.

“What can I say, I’m used to fighting outnumbered,” he returns. He plants his feet more firmly. “Batter up!”

The Gumm-Gumm growls at him and Toby just grins and swings his war-hammer around to knock the troll into the air. The gravity magic in the hammer always gives him a boost he is exceedingly grateful for.

“Aaaand it’s out of the park!” he exclaims.

“Is this like Alex’s stupid binary joke?” Bedivere asks. “Are you funny back home too?”

“Alex isn’t funny back home,” Toby shoots back. “I am, though, I’m hilarious.”

The battle blurs as it starts to rain harder. It’s getting harder and harder to keep his footing, so he starts spending more time in the air. It’s fucking freezing. Lucky trolls handle the cold so much better. Toby can only hope the trolls of Dwoza are on their way.

He lands nearly back-to-back with Ikram next, knocking more Gumm-Gumm away. “How ya holding up, Sir Ikram?”

“Doing just – great!” she exclaims as she drives her sword into the nearest Gumm-Gumm and spins to take on another. “How are you, Sir Tobias?”

“Peachy!” Toby says. He brings his hammer down on a troll's head and thankfully succeeds in breaking him to rubble. He grabs the discarded sword and throws it towards another. Bullseye!

He notices more flying rocks – why must they throw the rocks? – and dives to tackle the nearest knight out of the way, not one he knows. They must be a wizard because they return the favour by raising a shield over the two of them so they don’t get skewered by a Gumm-Gumm.

“Light spells!” Toby suggests. “Work wonders, try to make it like sunlight!”

“Oh, yeah, purple light!” Bedivere exclaims nearby. “Alex told me to do that and it worked back home! Great thinking, lad!”

“Purple light,” Toby repeats to himself, shaking his head as he pulls the knight he doesn’t know back to their feet. “Stay alive, man!”

“That’s the plan, friend!” they exclaim before rushing back into battle.

“Why purple?” asks Bedivere. He stabs a nearby troll and then raises his hand and sends a beam of light towards another. Despite the poor man having no clue what UV light is, he succeeds in killing the Gumm-Gumm.

“I guarantee Alex said ultraviolet and you got confused,” Toby says. He uses his hammer to leap over Bedivere and land on his other side to bat away two more Gumm-Gumms. “These guys just keep coming! How many are there?”

“Too many!” Bedivere yelps as Toby tugs him aside. The sword that nearly went through his head just grazes, cutting a red line across his chin and neck. “Fuck, thanks, Toby!”

“You got it!” Toby has to dodge himself next, just avoiding a blow that would have crushed his skull and instead glances his shoulder. He grunts at the definite bruise then counts himself lucky.

He separates from Bedivere again. All they can do right now is try to keep as many Gumm-Gumms away from the castle as they can. He sees smoke and the red glow of fire from further into the city and knows they aren’t as successful as he’d like. At one point, he trips over a human body and lands hard on his knees beside it. He gags at the mangled corpse and from here, on the ground, he can see more. Thank god he doesn’t really recognise any except in passing – look, there’s Sir Caradoc, half his face missing. Sir Lynette, he thinks, or half of her, and Sir Tor still skewered by a sword. Toby feels sick at the carnage. It’s different from watching Akiridion-5 go, that detached sense of loss, all those people gone in an instant. These bodies he can see, their blood he can smell, and any of his friends could be next to join them.

He pushes him back to his feet before he gets trampled. He searches the battle even as he jumps back in. There’s Lamorak, nearby, and there’s Bedivere and Ikram over there. He spots Alex too, still fighting, which is good because Toby does not want to have to break that news to Douxie. Still no sign of Krel and he hasn’t seen Steve or Claire either.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches a flash of familiar blue stone. He frowns and leaps back into the air to get a better look. Sure enough, there he is, eyes still glowing golden. Jim fights close to Bular – likely the son of Gunmar is meant to be keeping an eye on him.

“Jim,” he whispers, before landing next to Lamorak. “Hey! Lamorak! Do you know any anti-control spells?”

“Some!” Lamorak confirms.

“I found Jim!” Toby explains. “Okay, I’ll distract him if you can try the magic!”

“Sounds like a plan!” Lamorak agrees, stabbing a Gumm-Gumm and giving Toby a short nod. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t!” Toby replies. He shoves his way through the fray, knocking Gumm-Gumms out of his path, until he reaches Jim and leaps forward, bringing his hammer down hard on his shoulder. The animalistic growl as he turns sounds wrong, too angry, too mindless to be his best friend. The sword in his hands is unfamiliar and he wears Gumm-Gumm armour.

Does he feel bad fighting Jim? Yes. Does he know Jim would want him to fight? Also yes. He spots Lamorak sneaking around behind and focuses on keeping Jim’s back to him.

“Just like old times sparring, ey, Jimbo?” he says as they circle each other. “Shame I don’t have a way to neutralise magic with me right now, that would free you right up!”

Lamorak nods firmly. Jim continues to growl but Gunmar must not be paying much attention to this part of the fight because it’s only Jim’s voice in there, not Gunmar’s guttural tones. That’s good. That’s definitely good. It’ll make this way easier. Not to mention this Jim is sloppy, his sword is unbalanced, his armour unfamiliar... Toby has the advantage.

Toby focuses for the most part on Jim. The battle continues to rage around them, more knights finally joining them. It’s not nearly enough. They need to hold out at least until morning and probably beyond if the fae do show up. The best hope they honestly have right now is Merlin showing up and doing something. He loses track of Bular – probably running farther into the city, which is a disaster but decidedly not Toby’s problem right now.

“Come on, Jimbo!” Toby exclaims. “I know you’re in there! You gotta help us out, buddy.”

Jim roars at him, which at least is a response. The gold dims ever so slightly, another great sign, so Toby lurches forward and grabs Jim by a horn, wrenching him to the ground and straddling him, pinning his chest and arms with his war-hammer's long handle. Jim hates it when he uses this move in spars, but it’s about the only way he ever wins against him.

“Come on, come on!” Toby insists. “We got you back once, we can do it again! Come on, Jimbo!”

Jim groans and growls but something in his eyes clears for a moment, the blue shining through. His brow furrows. “Toby?”

Toby lets out a delighted laugh and gets off him. He curls on his side, grabbing his head and clearly fighting the control. Toby hauls him to his feet, grasping his shoulders.

“That’s it, that’s it!” He grins and glances at Lamorak, nodding to him. It’s working. Jim is freeing himself. It’s all Toby can focus on, his Jim coming back to him.

Jim drops his sword and stumbles backwards with a howl. When he opens his eyes, they’re blue – confused and disoriented, but Jim’s safe and familiar blue.

Toby isn’t paying enough attention anywhere else. He should be, because maybe he would have paid mind to the shadows lengthening over him, maybe he would have noticed when Jim’s blue eyes flew wide and Lamorak lurched forward. He’s so happy Jim is back, Jim is safe, but he should have been paying attention.

If he had, maybe he would have noticed before the sharp pain in his back and chest and the sound of wrenching metal as a sickening green sword is driven through the thinnest part of his armour and right out the other side.

Notes:

.... I AM SO SORRY
NOT REALLY
BUT I AM

Also, so sorry for the delay. Been having some shit going on with my mom being sick and work being hell. I hope to post the next chapters sooner if I can. Thank you all for your patience! Hope the chapter(s) live up to it!

Chapter 45: The Price of Destiny

Notes:

TW: death, blood and injury

Everything has been a blur since Jim got controlled.

A haze of shadowed faces and figures and actions. Gunmar’s voice haunting his mind even when he sleeps. The damp, ominous Darklands from behind a veil of gold. The tingle of static electricity along his stone skin, Morgana’s magic mingling with that of the Decimaar blade to prevent him from breaking free, even as he screams and begs in his mind. Battles, there were battles, but those too are a blur. He couldn’t tell you anything he’s done, anyone he’s hurt, but he knows there’s blood on his hands and he knows – he knows.

Now, watching as the sword is withdrawn and Toby falls as if in slow motion, Jim sees everything in perfect, horrific clarity. The blood spilling and staining the shards of Toby’s armour. The rain soaking Toby’s hair until it’s almost black like the mud he collapses into. The smirk on Bular’s face as Lamorak and Alex converge on him. And the blood, the blood, there is so much blood.

He collapses onto his knees and pulls Toby’s head into his lap. His best friend’s eye is squeezes shut, dirt on his cheeks and blood and mud in his beard. Jim brushes his bangs out of his face. When he speaks, his voice comes out hoarse and trembling. “Hey, hey, Tobes, look at me.”

“H-hey, Jimbo,” Toby manages, squinting his green eye open and forcing a weak smile onto his face. “It’s you again.”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Jim laughs weakly, mostly for Toby’s sake. “Just – just hang in there, Tobes, we’re gonna get you to a healer. S’gonna be okay. We’ll get Steve, yeah? Steve will fix you right up.”

“Think it’s – agh – too late for that, buddy.” Toby groans and squeezes his eyes shut again. Jim’s eyes migrate downward, back to the wound, and – oh. Oh. Creeper’s Sun. Bular’s blade was coated in Creeper’s Sun.

“No,” he says. He shakes his head, eyes stinging. “No, no, Toby, please. We – we can find the antidote, we know the antidote, we can fix this!”

“Jim, listen to me,” whispers Toby. He coughs roughly, blood splattering his chin only to be washed away by the rain and Jim knows. He knows.

“Tobes,” he manages brokenly, tears blurring his vision.

“Promise me to go out there and make your own destiny,” Toby gasps. Jim wants to tell him to save his breath, to take it easy so they can save him, but he knows better. “Promise me – promise me you’ll live your life. Promise me you’ll be happy.”

“How can I be happy without you?” Jim asks, voice wet and broken, taking Toby’s hand and squeezing it tight. Toby squeezes weakly back. Jim can’t tell which drops are rain and which are tears as they land on Toby’s face. “You’re my best friend, Tobes, you’re – I can’t lose you, Toby. Don’t do this.”

“Promise me, Jim,” Toby pleads.

Jim lets out a shuddering breath, wiping his tears away and smearing blood across his cheeks. He leans down to kiss Toby’s forehead. “I promise. I promise, Toby.”

“Good. Good.” Toby smiles and coughs again. His eye closes for a long moment, but he manages to open it once more and squeeze Jim’s hand tighter. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know,” Jim chokes out. “I love you too.”

Toby almost chuckles. He takes another shuddering, deep breath, and then lets it out slowly, eye falling closed again as the stone continues to creep up his body. He’s gone before he’s fully engulfed, his hand slipping from Jim’s grip and his face going lax. Even if they could make the antidote, even then, Toby is gone. Finally, the stone covers his face and Jim curls over the statue that’s left and sobs.

“Toby,” he breathes out in a prayer. Bring him back. Let him stay. “Toby, Toby, god, Toby.”

He throws his head back and wails, an animalistic, broken sound he didn’t even know he was capable of making. Losing Toby is inconceivable. The blood coating his hands is still sticky and warm but the stone of Toby’s body is cold, so cold, and Jim drapes himself over him like a blanket as if warming him up might bring him back. He’s not sure how long he lays there, chest heaving with sobs, battle blurred around him because the only thing that matter is Toby. It’s like Jim has lost a piece of himself.

He hears Alex cry out and he lifts his head again to face the battle with new clarity blurred by tears. Alex is down and Bular has raised his sword to kill another of Jim’s friends and Jim won’t let that happen. He roars in fury and pounces, using his smaller size to cling to Bular’s back and yank his head backwards. Bular, of course it was Bular, the start of it all and any regrets Jim had about killing him in the future vanish like the light from Toby’s eyes.

“You killed my best friend!” he screams. “You bastard!”

Bular yells and manages to throw him off. Jim lands on his feet and skids. He grabs Toby’s fallen war-hammer and lets an angry holler tear out of his throat as he surges back and swings it. It nails Bular in the side, knocking him to his knees. Bular growls and swivels to bring his sword down, but Jim hops onto the hammer like a hoverboard and catches the sword between his hands. He’s not quite strong enough to use the leverage for anything more than shoving Bular backwards and launching himself away. He waves and holds out his arms to balance before ripping the Gumm-Gumm helmet off his head and throwing it to the side.

“Impossible!” protests Bular. “No one breaks out of my father’s control!”

Jim roars at him again, too angry and heartbroken to do anything else but leap off of the hammer and let it fly into his hand so he can attack. Bular grunts as he blocks the next attack with his forearms.

Jim brings his armoured knee up, aiming for the gronknuks but Bular manages to shove him backwards. Jim lands on his shoulder and yelps in pain. Can trolls dislocate their shoulders? Jim thinks he just did if they can. Oh fucking well. He pushes himself back to his feet and wavers.

Then, he hears the stampede. When he looks, he see the trolls of Dwoza descending down the cliffside. Deya herself climbs atop the rubble of Camelot’s wall and raises her sword with a fierce battlecry.

“Ahaha, nice of you to join the party!” Lamorak exclaims delightedly.

“Hope you saved some fun for us!” Deya calls back, before she and the rest of the trolls rush into the fray.

Jim finds himself fighting side-by-side with Deya, the amulet practically belting its song right in his ear. He itches for his own amulet, suddenly grateful he’d left it in his room the day he got captured. But Toby doesn’t need Jim the Trollhunter to avenge him. Toby just needs Jim, his best friend. Now that Deya and the others are here, Bular is angry and distracted. The fight becomes easier. Jim is fighting for Toby and that means a hell of a lot more than Bular fighting just to kill. He doesn’t have a set epithet yet – that will come when he dies, when he joins Toby – but for now, he will be Jim the Vengeful and he will make Bular pay.

He keeps his head in the game. Block. Dodge. Jump. Duck. Grab him by the horns and use the leverage to leap over him. Pick up the nearest fallen sword and stab it as deep into the stone of his arm as possible. Bular howls and rips it out. Trolls don’t bleed – it’s one of the few things that sets changelings like Jim or Strickler or Nomora apart, even in troll form. Jim must have dodged someone too slow when he was still controlled, if the sluggish bleeding from his side is any indication. He can’t get hit now. Wait, fuck.

“Deya!” he yells. “Don’t get touched by that sword! Not even a graze!”

“Not planning to!” she calls back. “Why?”

“It’s got poison!” he exclaims, rushing around Bular again to her side. “It’s called Creeper’s Sun and it will turn you to solid, dead stone.”

“Clever impure,” snarls Bular. “Who told you about that?”

“See, funny story, your crazy evil sorceress lady tried to kill one of my friends with it,” Jim says, before his face falls back into a snarl. “And then you murdered my Toby!”

He leaps at him again and Deya follows close behind. Bular stands no chance against two Trollhunters. Jim burns to kill him now, exact revenge for Toby, and he aches knowing he can’t. Still, he takes great pleasure in finally bringing the hammer down hard on Bular’s head.

The battle’s taken its toll on him. He wavers and finally collapses. Deya leaps on top of him and whistles, then several other trolls arrive with what looks to be seriously heavy-duty rope.

“Been meaning to capture someone for info,” Deya explains.

“Ah,” Jim manages, breathing ragged as tears start to well again. Deya’s face softens.

“We’ll take him from here, Trollhunter,” she says with a wink. Her smile falls and she nods to Toby. “Go be with your friend.”

Jim swallows and nods before he turns and runs back to Toby, collapsing beside him and cupping his face, delusional enough to try, try to find some sign of life beneath the stone. Out of the corner of his eye Jim sees two others approaching and he hisses at them, hunching protectively over Toby’s form and snarling his lips back to bare his teeth.

“Just us, lad,” Lamorak whispers, Alex next to him with wide, glassy eyes. Jim relaxes when he fully recognises them and he lets out a shuddering sob. Alex falls to his knees beside him, hand hovering by Toby’s cheek.

“Oh, god,” he breathes. “Toby…”

“He’s gone,” Jim chokes out. The words physically hurt to rip out of him, but – denial won’t do anyone any good. Not this time. “He’s – he’s gone. I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save my best friend.”

Lamorak rests a hand on his shoulder, face grave and sad. “It isn’t your fault, Jim.”

You aren’t meant to be Atlas, Toby’s voice rings in his eyes. Jim’s vision blurs. Okay? Not everything is your fault. Sometimes these things happen and they suck but we did all that we could.

He rests his forehead against the cold stone of Toby’s. The battle fades once more, background noise no louder than the distant chatter of Trollmarket during a long day of training. Another choked sob slips free and he feels his entire body contort with the grief of it all. This doesn’t feel real. After everything they’ve been through together, the ups, the downs – Jim has known Toby since he was in diapers. Jim has never been a hero, a Trollhunter without Toby – even apart, even when he left Toby behind and regretted it every day, he was still just a phone call away. And now he’s gone. And now he’s never coming back.

“Jim,” murmurs Lamorak, soft, apologetic. Jim tenses, knowing what’s to come, refusing to let go of Toby. “We cannot stay here.”

“Toby,” Jim sobs. “I can’t leave him.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Lamorak very gently pries him away and pulls him to his feet. Jim stumbles, legs shaking, and Alex steadies him. Jim leans into him. Briefly – unwarranted – bitter thoughts seep in. Alex was dead. Alex came back. What about AAARRRGGHH!!!? They cured him from the Creeper’s Sun. Why can’t they bring Toby back too? He dismisses them as soon as they come. That isn’t fair to anyone, and he doesn’t even want to begin to think how he’s going to tell AAARRRGGHH!!! when they get home. If they get home, because it’s – it’s definitely an if because Toby isn’t going home. Toby’s not coming home.

Lamorak closes his eyes, focusers around his wrists, and then a glowing shield of magic erects itself over Toby’s form. The older knight kneels and lets the focusers sink into the mud. Rain slides off the barrier and Lamorak backs away, nodding.

“There,” he whispers. “Now he will be safe until we can collect him.”

Jim reaches out to rest a hand on the barrier and wipes his eyes with the other. Harshly, he thinks it’s cruel that Lamorak can keep Toby’s stone corpse safe when he couldn’t keep him safe when he was alive. He dismisses that thought too. There’s no one to blame but Bular. Not even Jim himself – even if Jim is sure he’ll find way after way to blame himself. He could have been faster, he could have been stronger, he could have not gotten himself controlled in the first place. But he can’t dwell on that now. He schools his face into something hard and battle ready and picks up Toby’s war-hammer again.

“The Gumm-Gumm are going to pay,” he says, a very trollish growl seeping into his voice.

“Then let’s go make them,” Lamorak agrees. “Come on, they’re migrating inward. Lex and I can catch you up on what you’ve missed.”

They rush back into battle, sticking close together – it’s easiest to fight with those you trust at your back. Jim already trusted Alex with his life and by now he trusts Lamorak too. Unfortunately – well, fortunately for them and unfortunately for everyone else – Lamorak is right. The Gumm-Gumm’s numbers are dwindling here on the outskirts. They’re converging towards the castle. Jim can’t say for certain, but the streets are startlingly empty and he has a feeling he knows where everyone is. Converging towards the castle means possible civilian casualties.

“Okay, Alex, I thought you and Steve went to find Douxie and them?” Jim asks as they run. Compartmentalise, distract. He needs to be updated on everything going on anyway. What little he can remember are mere flashes. He thinks he fought Alex at some point. Maybe Krel also? He hopes he didn’t hurt them.

“We did, yeah,” Alex confirms, voice shaky and eyes still wet. He pauses to shoot at several Gumm-Gumm with a serrator – wait a second, that’s not a serrator, that’s a super cool arm. Jim is jealous. Not actually. Jim likes his arms as they are. “Then we came back for the battle. Fucking Lionel spilled about it.”

“Lancelot’s cousin Lionel?” Lamorak blurts.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that,” Alex says. “Yeah, he almost killed us all by accident and then he almost killed us all on purpose.”

“Lancelot must have been heartbroken,” Lamorak says softly. “Was that when…?”

Alex winces. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“Hello, filling me in please?” Jim says. That’s maybe a little rude but Jim’s grief has shifted to fury and while he won’t take it out on his friends he thinks he can be forgiven for wanting an explanation.

“We lost Tristan that battle,” Alex says very softly. There’s something guilty in his eyes and suddenly Jim flashes back – he was there, at the lake, and he does remember fighting Alex and Krel both. He also just barely remembers through the fog who Tristan’s killer was.

“Oh, right,” he manages. “I… remember. Welcome to the club, man.”

Alex grimaces. “Worst club I’ve ever joined, no offence.”

Lamorak looks between them in confusion but Alex clearly has no interest in elaborating so Jim changes that subject. Well, first he slams Toby’s hammer into a Gumm-Gumm that’s too close for comfort, then he changes the subject.

“How’s everyone else?” he asks.

“Well, Krel’s stuck with Gawain, and you know he loves that,” Alex says. Jim grimaces. “Steve’s – probably somewhere in one of the healer tents popping up. Last I saw Claire was back at the castle, but she’s sure to join the fight.”

“And Douxie? Mordred? Lancelot?”

“Lancelot, um, he’s gone too,” Alex says, softer. Jim lets out a heavy breath. It’s bad – unfair – but in the wake of losing one of the most important people in his life, Jim can barely find it in him to mourn Lancelot too. “And Douxie and Mordred…”

“They’re probably the safest of us all at this point, lad,” Lamorak says, leaping higher in the air than is possibly natural so he can land and drive his sword into a Gumm-Gumm’s sword. No fair. Jim wants to do cool Jedi force jumps.

“Explain, please!” he yells.

“They’re in the dungeons waiting to be executed,” Alex says sourly. “They got caught.”

“Of course,” Jim laughs. He sounds unhinged even to his own ears. Maybe he is unhinged. Maybe Toby was the last shred of his sanity and now that Toby is gone Jim’s losing it. “Of course they did! Why did I expect any different? It’s Douxie.”

“Not much else to update,” Alex says, like a liar, because Jim is sure he missed a lot more.

“Who were the other two Akiridions with you at the lake?” Jim asks, because he is not letting Alex get away with not explaining that now that it’s coming back to him. Lamorak gives him a questioning look and he waves him off. “I recognised Krel but…”

“You’re not even trying anymore,” mutters Alex. Jim doesn’t have the energy to try. They might all die anyway. So what if he confused the fuck out of Lamorak? Oh well. “One of them was Douxie, you know, Krel’s brother.”

Jim catches his significant look and shakes his head. “Right, duh. The fog must have made me not recognise him. The other?”

“Her name is Iros,” says Alex. “She’s… somewhere around here. I hope.”

Oh, Jim’s heard that name before. Krel’s great-aunt who adopted Mort or something. He’ll save his questions about how the fuck Douxie turned into an Akiridion too for later. When he isn’t right in front of Lamorak, because despite his earlier pessimism if they do survive this he doesn’t want to have to answer Lamorak’s questions. The distraction has helped some, but not enough. Every time Jim has to swing the hammer he’s reminded why he has it, why there’s scarlet coating his hands and arms and why Toby isn’t at his side. The acrid smell of smoke can’t block out the coppery tang of blood and Jim curses his trollish senses for being so acute and curses that he knows the smell of Toby’s blood and it lingers and he feels sick. There’s no time to be sick so he has to push it down. If he survives, he can break down later. If, if, if.

They’re approaching the denser fight again so the conversation has to end. Jim roars and throws himself back into battle. He’s never fought with a hammer before, but after a Gumm-Gumm sword killed Toby he’s not fucking fighting with one of those.  He manages to launch himself into the sky, which is great and all except he doesn’t know how to steer. He screams despite himself as he’s dragged through the air with absolutely no direction or speed control. Toby never mentioned his hammer had a mind of its own and he certainly never seemed to struggle this much with it.

“You okay up there, lad?” Lamorak calls.

“This – is not – fun!” he screeches. He eventually wrangles the hammer back towards the Gumm-Gumms, successfully ploughing through several before crashing into a house and groaning in the broken wood and glass. Whoops. Didn’t mean to contribute to the property damage. A knight runs over and helps him up.

“Sir Jim!” exclaims Bedivere and Jim relaxes at the familiar face. “You’re back! Thank the gods, lad, and just in time.”

“Just in time for shit to hit the fan, maybe,” Jim grumbles. He runs a bloody hand down his face and winces at the feeling – don’t think about it, don’t think about it. “Holding up?”

“Not dead yet,” Bedivere shrugs. “I’m retiring after this. Working in the kitchen or something. I make a mean sourdough.”

“You and me both, buddy,” mutters Jim. “The retiring. Well, and the sourdough. I miss my starter.”

He’s surprised to find he means it – he wants to retire. He thought he wanted this, the action, the adventure. He wanted to be a hero, he wanted to be worth something and he knew he could be a great warrior, had been a great warrior. And then as he grew more and more disillusioned he convinced himself it was what he had to be. He thought it was his destiny, but Toby’s dead and now all Jim can think is he was right. He just wants to go home to his mom and his restaurant and his friends and – and peace. He misses peace.

He shakes himself off and adjusts his grip on Toby’s war-hammer as several Gumm-Gumms approach them. Bedivere sheathes his sword and rubs his hands together.

“Wanna see something cool?” Bedivere says, which he definitely picked up from Alex.

“Sure,” Jim says warily, “but make it quick.”

Bedivere grins. “Might wanna be human for this, bud.”

Jim nods and then shifts back just in time for Bedivere to throw out his hands in a blast of lavender light. The Gumm-Gumms roar furiously but all turn to stone, which is honestly an impressive magical attack against trolls. Jim blinks rapidly, spots in his vision.

“Haha, the purple light strikes again!” Bedivere exclaims.

“The - are you talking about UV light?” Jim says, rubbing his eyes with one hand. In human form his shoulder is definitely dislocated. “Never mind! Bigger issues right now. Keep it up, man!”

“Hey!” Bedivere says before he can run off again. “Hurt your shoulder?”

Jim winces. “Ah, yeah, dislocated.”

“C’mere.” Bedivere waves him forward then grabs his arm. “I think I remember how to do this, but it’s going to hurt.”

“Wait, you think–” Jim cuts off with a sharp yelp as Bedivere unceremoniously pops his shoulder back into place. Steve’s gonna be pissed. Mom is going to be pissed. Jim knows damn well that’s supposed to be left to the doctors.

“Fixed!” Bedivere says.

“Thanks,” Jim strains, rubbing his shoulder. Well, the pain has gone down so Bedivere must have had some idea what he was doing. He readjusts his grip on Toby’s hammer. “Good luck, Sir Bedivere.”

“Stay alive, Sir Jim!” Bedivere calls back as Jim darts back into the fray.

Battle serves as an easy distraction. Channel his grief and anger into pulverizing the Gumm-Gumms. He shifts back to troll form for the advantage his size and strength gives him. Also because it helps his shoulder feel better. He does get the hell away from Bedivere and his killer light beam. The last thing he wants to do is get killed by friendly fire. Toby would kill him again in the afterlife if he did that. No, no, don’t think about Toby right now.

He swings the hammer clumsily but even that’s enough to at least knock Gumm-Gumms down for other knights to kill and sometimes even to break them into pieces. The magic in the hammer is probably helping him a lot. Toby would have done better. After all, even back when he was new to it he was pretty skilled with this thing. After years of practice? Toby would have done worlds better, but Toby’s not here. Jim wishes he had Daylight.

He forces himself to stop thinking – not easy for someone with anxiety, by the way, but it’s the only way he’s going to make it through this fight. He clears everything else out of his mind. Block. Dodge. Force a Gumm-Gumm backwards into Sir Daniel’s waiting attack. Stop another Gumm-Gumm from skewering another knight he doesn’t know almost at all. Dodge again. Block again. Dodge again. Pull Sir Qasim out of the way of an attack. Help Sir Maud when he sees her cornered. Dodge more. Block more. Stay alive to get back to Claire. Stay alive because Toby would want him to.

He sees a blast of purple magic, darker than Bedivere’s makeshift UV light, and knows that must be Claire. He doesn’t think before taking off in a dead sprint. Nothing else matters because he has to get to Claire, because she’s alive. She's alive, she’s alive, she’s still alive.

She’s surrounded when he reaches her, and Jim knows Claire can handle herself but she looks so small surrounded by Gumm-Gumms and snarling at them with magic sparking in her hands. He lets out a furious roar and surges forward, swinging Toby’s hammer to knock one of them aside to get to Claire’s side. She lights up at the sight of him.

“Jim!” she exclaims. Her eyes land on the hammer and the blood on Jim’s hands and the utter lack of Toby and her smile falls. “No – no, where’s...?”

Jim stumbles to her. He can’t get the words out, but his expression must say it all. Claire screams – hoarse and devastated – and her eyes briefly turn black and purple as her magic reacts and shadows swallow the Gumm-Gumms around them whole. She turns to him, eyes wide and still stained with darkness as the shadows continue to rage around them.

“No,” she pleads, “not Toby. Not our Toby.”

“I couldn’t save him,” Jim chokes out. “I couldn’t – by the time I was free it – I couldn’t save him.”

She lets out a sob and the darkness bleeds out of her eyes as she collapses into him. He holds her close, his own sobs catching in his throat. He’s caught by a sudden feeling of weightlessness as Claire drops them through a shadow. They land on the castle roof, the area they’d talked what feels like forever ago.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I need – I need a moment.”

“I get it,” Jim says hoarsely. He fears if he lets himself start mourning again he’ll never stop, but as they fall to their knees together he can’t stop the tears from falling. Claire trembles in his arms.

“We said we’d see each other after the battle,” she gasps out. “He wasn’t supposed to – to go and get himself killed!”

Jim pulls her closer, shifting human both to make himself more comfortable for her and also because – well, deep down, Jim is still that human boy who’s way over his head with the Trollhunting business. He’s never been good in the face of loss. AAARRRGGHH!!! died and he ran off into the Darklands alone. Vendel died and he couldn’t save Trollmarket. Draal died – Draal died and it terrified him so much that he gave up his humanity so he would never lose another friend. And yet, and yet, now Toby is dead. Toby is dead and Jim doesn’t know what to do anymore.

“He made me promise to be happy,” Jim breathes out, breath catching in his throat.

Claire laughs, wet and teary. “That’s just like Toby.”

“How are we gonna do it without him, Claire?” He buries his face in her hair as more tears fall. “I can’t – he's always been here. He’s supposed to still be here.”

Claire’s fingers dig into his back and she lets out her own sob, shaking her head against his chest. “I know. I know.”

“Life's but a walking shadow,” Jim quotes faintly, blinking back even more tears because life without Toby scares him when Toby has been a constant and is now just gone, “a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.”

Claire shakes her head and pulls back. She raises a hand to cup his cheek.

“From hence your memory death cannot take,” she quotes back, gentle. “Your name from hence immortal life shall have.”

“You skipped a line,” Jim whispers.

“Maybe,” she agrees, wiping his tears away. “But I think Toby would like the idea of being immortalised, in some way. And he wouldn’t agree with the other lines anyway. He’d want us all immortalised together.”

“We’ll put him in Trollmarket,” Jim says. He’s still crying and almost feels bad for it, after Claire wiped his tears away. Ruining all her hard work. “Or at least... we’ll make him a statue. Sir Tobias the True. Or – or Sir Tobias the Brave. Something good. Our Toby.”

“Our Toby,” she echoes, leaning their foreheads together. She sniffles, more tears streaking her dust-stained cheeks. Jim takes a moment to wipe those away as she did for him, but only succeeds at smearing blood on her face. His stomach lurches and he lets out a shuddering breath.

“We can’t stay here,” he mumbles. He needs a distraction. He can’t fall apart yet, not while the battle is still raging, not while he has friends still in danger. If they stay up here much longer he’s going to break and he can’t so he needs to go fight until he can’t feel his hands from gripping the handle of the hammer so hard, until the tears get dried out by the old night air and he can ignore the smell of Toby’s blood in favour of the smoke and dust of Camelot.

“You’re right,” Claire says, leaning back and wiping her cheeks. “Is he – is he safe?”

“Lamorak put a shield over him,” Jim murmurs. “He’s safe.”

Her face hardens and she stands, tugging Jim to his feet with her. “Then let’s go kick some Gumm-Gumm ass.”

She forms a portal beneath them. Jim shifts as they fall and he’s glad he did because he lands on a Gumm-Gumm and knocks it down. He’s quick to grab its sword and stab that into its chest, but then her stumbles backwards and nearly throws up, retching and gagging as he remembers the sword running Toby through. He was right, earlier. He can’t use a Gumm-Gumm sword.

“Stay close!” Claire calls. “We’re going to make them pay. For Toby!”

“For Toby!” Jim echoes, and the two of them roar and charge back into the fight.

Notes:

So sorry to follow RotT here... oops! But the angst was callinggggg
I hope you all enjoyed! 💕💕💕💕

Chapter 46: Gaylen's Fury

Notes:

TW: continued discussion of death, injuries

Krel would like to scream. He’s been stuck with Gawain pretty much since he got here and he is not happy about it. For better or worse, Gawain has absolutely zero suspicion of him, instead determined to be “the best mentor you could ask for, lad, just you wait”. That got somewhat derailed after… what happened… but Krel is still stuck with him trying to “mentor” him and it’s the most off-putting experience he thinks he’s ever had.

“Wider stance, lad, that’s it,” says Gawain, words completely thrown off by the scowl on his face. “You’ve got a decent grip, but not enough strength behind it. Swords are heavy, you must get used to that.”

“Right,” Krel says. He’s still trying not to flinch at his voice. Lamorak did a great job disguising him, but it’s still unnerving.

“You’ve seen what we’re dealing with now,” Gawain says.

“I think I saw what we were dealing with in Fowydh,” Krel says flatly. Thank Seklos Lamorak had gotten him alone to explain some of Tristan’s history. The whole deadly raid on his village that inspired him to become a knight deal is kind of important for Krel to know. “And, you know, when the fae killed my brother?”

“He’s got a point,” Gareth says from where he’s sharpening his axe with some sort of stone – he’d rambled for about fifteen minutes about how not just any stone would do but Krel tuned him out.

“Aye, yes, what happened in Fowydh was terrible,” Gawain admits. “Nonetheless, I am sorry that was your first true battle. The traitors were ruthless – and truly, dark magic is more terrifying than any other.”

“I hope Queen Anna lets us light the pyre,” growls Gareth. “Better yet, let us have a go at them first.”

Absently, Krel thinks that whatever translation spell that got applied by the stupid rock that brought him here really is doing a good job translating whatever medieval slang Gareth’s using. He’s pretty confident that was translated. Sometimes he wishes things weren’t translated, like hearing Douxie get sentenced to death. That sucked. And while Krel is fairly confident they can get him out of it – Mordred survives, right? – he’s still wary. And… put off by the whole thing. Before coming here, to this time, Krel rarely if ever saw Mort truly angry. Perhaps a few times, maybe, when Douxie or Krel himself were in danger, but still. This was different. This didn’t feel like kind, gentle Uncle Mort... but it did remind Krel of himself at fifteen. He’d come too close to killing Varvatos, looking back, and he’d killed the Red Knight – Gawain – out of anger and grief much the same way Mordred killed Ailith. Mort always said he saw himself in both Douxie and Krel, and while Krel had, though somewhat touched, once dismissed that, he now thinks he understands.

Suddenly Gawain goes on the attack again and Krel has to focus on staying in the moment. If he keeps letting his mind wander, letting himself remember his own grief and anger of the past, he’ll flash back to that summer and watching Seamus die. He’s gotten better at differentiating things. This Gawain wears basic armour, silver rather than blood red. This Gawain is… friendly towards him, which is weird, especially because Krel thinks he just witnessed the first event that eventually dominoes into the Red and Black Knights. After all, it’s so easy to let grief turn to hatred turn to cruelty.

“Sir Tristan had you training with wooden swords?” Gawain guesses.

“Uh, yes?” Krel hedges.

“Like I said, your form is pretty good,” he says. “But you’re not used to the weight.”

That’s – not wrong and Krel’s bitter to admit it. Krel usually used a sword made of energy, be it his powers or a serrator. This thing is heavy. He has no idea how Alex lifts his. Alex and Krel are, as the humans say, birds of a feather. Nerds, not jocks. At least Krel has some extra strength as an Akiridion.

“Ah, I remember those days,” Gareth says, setting aside his stone and standing, resting the axe on his shoulder. “Our da used to take us out to the stream and set us loose on each other. Chaos.”

“Ailith always won,” Gawain says with a small, sad smile. “She said it was because she was oldest.”

Gareth snorts. “No, it was because she was ruthless. Older sisters, man. Well – I guess you wouldn’t know.”

“I can guess,” Krel says, because he does, in fact, know what it’s like to have an older sister who’s far superior in fighting skill. The only reason Aja doesn’t still wipe the floor with him every time they spar is Krel’s powers.

Their attention is drawn by a rumbling from the relatively far-off wall. Gawain sheathes his sword and steps forward, eyes narrowing. Gareth’s brow sets into something grim. Krel is kind of glad they took patrol in the inner part of the city, and he knows that strangely enough Gawain did it for him. Something about trying to spare him the worst of the front lines. Maybe, if Krel didn’t know better, Gawain would be a good mentor to a young squire. Unfortunately, Krel does know better and he doesn’t think a guy cool with killing children, even in the future, is a good mentor for anyone.

“It looks like the wall is holding,” murmurs Gawain.

Gareth frowns up at the darkening sky. “But for how much longer?”

“Have some faith in Merlin’s magic, brother,” Gawain says. “It will hold as long as it needs to.”

“Magic,” mutters Gareth. “Yes, I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Despite Gareth’s doubt – and Krel’s, for that matter, albeit for an entirely different reason – the wall does hold as the sun sets and it starts to rain. Great. They get to fight in mud. Exactly what Krel wants to do. Mud will make it so much harder to fight. Slippery and sticky and gross. Plus since the trolls are heavier they’ll probably have better luck. Great. Gareth starts pacing, eyes locked on the shuddering wall. Gawain turns back to Krel.

“Again,” he says. “I want you as prepared as possible.”

Krel groans. “Is sparring not a bit of a waste of energy?”

“You need to get used to your weapon, Seamus,” Gawain says and Krel barely suppresses a flinch at Seamus’s name in his mouth. “I won’t have my squire dying in his first battle.”

“I assure you I don’t plan to,” Krel mumbles, but he does get into the proper stance that Gawain has been drilling all afternoon and evening. He wishes he’d gotten paired with Toby and Alex. Couldn’t Toby have claimed him as squire? Sure, Toby would have teased him about it for the rest of their lives but it would have been better and Krel would much rather be hanging out with his best friend than Gawain.

He should have trained more with a human sword as a kid. Not that he would have ever thought to – he never expected to be in a situation where he couldn’t use his serrator and later his powers. Generally, the bad guys he’s dealt with knew he was Akiridion, after all, and certainly the good guys did. Here, the line between them blurs, fighting on the side of the man who killed Seamus and fighting against a woman who’s essentially become his aunt. Krel hasn’t really had the pleasure of running into this Morgana except the once – but that once was enough. He wonders if she remembers breaking Douxie’s heart.

His attention is drawn by a crash from the walls and a cloud of dust and shouts from the knights in that direction. Gawain curses and sheathes his sword. “Well, I guess they’re here then.”

“Told you,” mutters Gareth. He gives Krel a sharp grin. “Now’s your chance to prove yourself, laddie! Turn those ugly rocks to rubble!”

“Gareth, hold our position,” Gawain growls. “If they break through the front lines, we’re the next line of defence for the castle and all the citizens of the city. We can’t run off to fight.”

Well, that’s... surprisingly sensible. Then again, the Black Knight did seem to be the more impulsive of the two. It’s how he got his head chopped off by Aja, apparently. Meanwhile, the Red Knight had some patience. Even if it ended badly when Krel tested that.

Krel still feels anxious as the sounds of battle drift towards them, smoke rising in the outer limits of the city. The rain is soaking Krel’s hair flat against his head and next to him Gawain pulls up the hood of his cloak. Krel can’t help but be stressed. He knows Toby and Alex are out there. He knows Steve is with the medics, so he’s either the safest of all or in the most danger because Krel wouldn’t be shocked if the Gumm-Gumms went after the medics first. What if they’re hurt? Or – no, Krel can’t think like that. They’ll be fine, they have Lamorak with them at the bare minimum. Toby’s sensible, the whole Ultios mess excluded, and Alex wants to come home to Hilde. They’re fine. Krel has to keep himself fine too. Not that it matters that much, he’s pretty confident he’ll come back if he does die.

And then there’s Douxie. In the dungeon. Waiting to be killed in the morning because it’s Douxie so of course he is.

Eventually Gumm-Gumms start breaking through the lines and trickling into the city, so it’s finally time to fight. Krel charges forward with a battle-cry that would make Varvatos proud and jumps into the fight. It is so much harder to fight trolls with a normal sword. Krel is strong but not that strong, so his weapon is essentially useless. He focuses on dodging and distracting the Gumm-Gumms for Gawain and Gareth to attack.

He’s more grateful to Lamorak than ever when a blade grazes his chin, slicing a line open parallel to his jawline. The blood that spills out is red, though it shimmers blue when it splashes onto the ground and mixes with the forming puddles. He’s not sure what Lamorak did or how he even thought to consider the colour of Krel’s blood, but he’s thankful all the same. What a stupid way to get caught that would have been.

“Careful, lad!” Gawain calls, jumping between him and an attacking troll.

“Thanks!” he says. Gareth grins sharply at him from nearby and buries his axe in the Gumm-Gumm's skull – don't think about Lancelot, don’t think about Lancelot – which does, summarily, kill it.

“Love it when the enemy outnumbers us,” grumbles Gawain, but an undercurrent of worry stains his voice. How many knights are dead for the Gumm-Gumms to get this far? They just keep coming, too, and Krel fears that sooner or later the fae will join and this will be a doomed battle.

As the fight gets more chaotic, he loses the knight brothers. That’s not a bad thing because it opens him up to subtly using his Gaylen powers, now that he’s not in close proximity with anyone else. He tries basically forming a sword over his sword so that he can actually kill the Gumm-Gumms. It works, even if it makes it look like his sword is glowing against the darkness of the night. He hates this – killing living beings is never fun – but this is war and he does understand it. The trolls won’t have any issue killing him. He has to suck it up and kill them first. It’s strange, but it helps that trolls don’t bleed, that he doesn’t have blood staining his hands and sword, just dust and dirt.

He keeps his eyes peeled as he fights. He’s not seeing his friends and that makes him worry, but they can take care of themselves. He hopes. He wishes he could take to the air. Maybe he should use this time to sneak in and save Douxie and Mordred? He’ll need to be careful but honestly that sounds like a more useful way to spend his time than being out here virtually without his powers. Maybe he’d make a dent if he were free to be the Heir of Gaylen out here, but he’s not, so it’s probably best he heads back towards the castle to get his family out.

He starts making his way in that direction, careful not to get caught using his powers to kill Gumm-Gumms by just avoiding the trolls all together. He stops to help a few knights where he can, mostly only vaguely familiar faces from around the castle. A few he can’t help, dead by the time he reaches them. Krel checks, careful, even the most gruesome corpses he finds. Just in case. So far, so good. He sends a silent prayer up to whoever will listen to protect his friends. A normal Akiridion would ask Seklos or Gaylen for protection like that, but Krel’s not sure the spirit of Seklos would listen to him and, well... yeah, he doesn’t want to think too hard about there being two Gaylen’s cores in the galaxy right now.

He’s paying so much attention to the dead when he perhaps should have been paying instead to the living and he accidently runs straight into a knight. He nearly falls, but the knight steadies him and when he looks up, it’s just Lamorak so he relaxes.

“Watch your step, lad,” Lamorak says. “Distraction on the battlefield can be deadly.”

“Eh,” Krel says, “I’ll survive.”

He’s swept up suddenly in a tight hug, awkward in the armour, and when he realises who it is he relaxes into Alex’s arms and hugs him back, relieved. That’s one friend confirmed safe. Krel squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and wishes he could just end this battle now, on his own. Alex eventually pulls back and cups his face, eyes wide and red.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Krel says. “Are you?”

“Isn’t that a loaded question?” mumbles Alex. He lets his hands fall away and his face contorts as he struggles to say – something. Krel isn’t sure. He doesn’t like the look on Alex’s face. “Listen, Krel...”

“Did you fix Jim?” Krel asks. “Is Toby with him? I know he was with you guys. So was Sir Bedivere, right?”

“We, um, yeah, we fixed Jim,” Alex says. He lets out a shaky sigh and then brings a hand up to wipe his eyes, red from more than the smoke and dust of battle. “Krel...”

“Alex.” Krel looks around, panic growing in his chest. He knows that tone. He knows what follows that tone. “Alex, where is Toby?”

“I’m so sorry, Krel,” Alex whispers. “We - we tried to protect him, but Bular came out of nowhere and–”

“You’re wrong,” Krel insists, stumbling backwards, panic only growing. That can’t be right. That doesn’t make sense. His core buzzes angrily in his chest and his eyes water, even though it can’t be true. “Where is he? Did you bring him to a medic?”

“Krel,” Lamorak says softly. He takes a step forward and puts a hand on Krel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. He’s gone. There’s nothing a medic could have done.”

Krel shakes his head again, blinking back the hot, angry tears that continue to well up. “No. No, no, no, you’re lying. Toby isn’t – Toby can’t be–”

Alex takes a step towards him as well, hesitant, worried, face painted with grief. Krel takes another step back, jerking out of Lamorak’s grip as the tears start to fall.

“You were supposed to be watching his back,” he bites out, far harsher than he should have given the way Alex flinches but right now he can’t bring himself to care. Toby is dead. His best friend is dead. He wears Seamus’s name like a shield, he’s carried that grief for nearly a decade, and now he’s lost another best friend. He falls to his knees, tears dripping down his cheeks. He should have insisted on going with them. He should have been there to protect Toby himself. He’s barely even seen Toby since he and Douxie fled Camelot, and now Toby is gone, gone, gone. How can Toby be gone?

The grief settles into his chest and starts fuelling and flickering into something else entirely. He feels his human form start to melt and burn away, ashes floating up with sparks of red embers. The Gumm-Gumms killed Toby. He can’t let them get away with that, fury welling and bubbling like water on a hot stove, a feeling he has only truly experienced once before, when Douxie nearly died, when he thought, for a moment...

Lamorak takes a step back now, eyes widening and an arm shielding Alex. “Krel...? What... are you?”

“Vengeance,” Krel breathes out before his vision goes completely red and he finds himself towering over the battlefield as the anger boils over. He hears a couple of knights scream. He doesn’t care. They can’t hurt him. Let them be afraid. Let them all be afraid.

He forms blasters and starts taking aim at the Gumm-Gumms. His best friend is dead and there will be hell to pay for it. He pays no heed to Lamorak’s horrified stare, to the awe in nearby Gawain’s eyes and the fear in Gareth’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Alex shrug, mutter something, and then activate the serrator-gun stored in his arm.

“He’s on our side!” he hears Alex yell.

For now, anyway. Krel feels detached from himself entirely. His anger buzzes in his mind like a swarm of wasps and his vision is clouded by a screen of red, red, red. He has just enough wherewithal to avoid hitting humans right now, but if a few of his attacks barely miss Gawain and Gareth, so be it. Doesn’t Krel deserve vengeance for Seamus too? In fact, shouldn’t this whole kingdom burn for forsaking Uncle Mort? Why should Krel care except to exact revenge for all the people he has loved and lost?

He manages to reel that in just enough, though not without some struggle. Mort loved Camelot, for better or for worse. He loved his sister just as much as Krel does Aja, even after she betrayed him like she has, even after she sentenced him to death for a crime he didn’t truly commit. Krel may be angry, but he can respect Uncle Mort’s love for this kingdom, his home, enough to fight for it rather than against. He would not betray the man who was his second father like that. So he does pay attention to not stomping on the humans, to not catching them in the blasts. It’s not difficult – they keep a wide berth. For whatever it’s worth, they seem to have decided not to stupidly try to attack him. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s just the enemy of their enemy. Krel doesn’t care, can’t care. It takes everything in him to fight down his fury to something manageable, to prevent the grief from rising up and choking him.

He looks down for a moment, again to make sure he doesn’t step on any poor unsuspecting knights, only to lay eyes on a body beneath a shield.

Toby’s body.

Krel shrinks back to normal size so fast that it leaves him dizzy, stumbling to his knees with his hands landing on the forcefield or shield or whatever it is. Toby is – stone. Grey and still instead of exuberant and red-cheeked and alive. Krel doesn’t know what happened, why it happened. He has seen humans die. He held Seamus in his arms as the life left him. Their bodies remain, just as they were, except pale and motionless. They don’t turn to stone.

“Toby,” he chokes out, resting his forehead on the shield as his tears start falling anew. “No. No, no, no.”

His skin still glows the same terrible, cruel red, reflecting off the shield, the red of human blood. Was Toby coated in this same red before the rain washed it away, just as Seamus once was? Was Uncle Mort, when he died, when the ship exploded with him still on board? Did they suffer as they bled and bled and bled?

If Krel had been with him, could he have prevented this? It isn’t fair, when Krel can’t die, that his friends should keep leaving him like this. If Krel had died instead, he might even be back by now. He’d be back eventually. Toby is just... gone. Empty. An empty stone shell of Krel’s best friend, first friend, alongside Eli but there more, there always – and gone.

A wail tears from his throat and his hands slip from the shield. He falls forward into the mud, forehead on his fists and hugging his torso with his lower arms. He wants to stop losing people. Why can’t he stop losing people?

“Come back,” he pleads weakly, as if that would work, as if his power to create planets could somehow translate to bring his friend back from the dead. He revived a dead planet, didn’t he? Brought New Akiridion from the dust of Akiridion-5? But that is not the same thing and it aches in his core to know it.

He chokes on his sobs, shoulders tense and face screwed up so hard he’s getting a headache. This close to the mud he can smell the blood in it and his stomach turns. He retches, bringing up nothing but bile, the coughs his way into more sobs. There’s other bodies, if he dares to look, mangled, destroyed bodies. At least Toby is in one piece.

He hates that thought. He would rather have Toby alive.

He pushes himself up to rest his hands on the shield again, slippery from the rainwater. That doesn’t make sense. How can magic be slippery? That’s such a dumb thought – that’s such a – Toby would have laughed at that thought. Krel rests his forehead on the shield, staring at Toby’s still face through tear-blurred eyes.

“Seamus.”

Krel gasps and whips around with an angry growl. Gawain followed him then, but he doesn’t looked primed to attack, instead awed and calculating. Krel doesn’t move, protective of Toby from this man, the man who killed – kills – will kill Seamus. His chest still heaves with sobs and tense, dangerous fury, brimming just beneath the surface.

“That isn’t your name, is it?” Gawain says.

“No,” whispers Krel. “Are you going to kill me?”

“You aren’t one of them,” he says, jerking his head at the battle, farther towards town than they are now. Evidently, he doesn’t recognise Krel’s voice, or Krel is sure he’d be attacking. “What are you?”

“I am not a threat to Camelot,” he says. He does not say he is not a threat to Gawain. He is. He will kill this man one day in revenge. Though his anger has temporarily melted into deep, aching sadness, or perhaps just hidden itself away, its embers still call for the Red Knight’s blood even today.

“You’re incredible,” Gawain says. “The sheer power.”

Krel sucks in a sharp breath. He backs up, further against the shield, wrapping his arms around himself to protect his chest, his core.

“Whatever you are, you’re just the edge we need,” Gawain continues. “And you’re still a squire of Camelot, even if you aren’t Tristan’s brother – unless Tristan was... this?”

Krel snorts despite himself – the idea of Tristan as an Akiridion is straight up strange – and looks away. “No. Sir Tristan was a friend, but we were not related.”

“So Tristan knew.”

“Yes,” Krel says. “He knew.”

Gawain nods slowly. Krel’s shoulders hunch up. He doesn’t like the way Gawain is looking at him, just like he once did many centuries in the future. The Red Knight had been fascinated by Krel’s powers, even if he hid it well. He’s sick of being looked at like this. Like… like a weapon.

“What do you want?” he finally asks.

“You’re still a squire of Camelot,” he says after a long moment. “You are still my squire. And we are going to end this war. With your power – my gods, the things we can do.”

“You decided I was your squire, Sir Gawain,” Krel says tightly. He can’t deal with this right now, not with Toby’s dead body at his back, not facing Seamus’s killer. “I’m no knight. I will fight with Camelot, because Camelot means something to people I’ve loved.”

“So you fight for Tristan?”

Krel holds his tongue. Whatever story Gawain wants to concoct for him is fine, as long as he leaves Krel the fuck alone before Krel loses his temper again. He is still jerking with lingering sobs, his breathing off and tears traitorously continuing to fall, to show his weakness to one of the few people he’s ever dared to truly, truly hate.

“Did you... know Sir Tobias?” Gawain asks carefully. When Krel doesn’t answer, he presses harder. “Don’t you want revenge, if you did? Against the damned trolls, against the traitors that brought them here?”

Oh. Ailith. Krel finally sees past the vision of the Red Knight to Gawain, not yet the child-killer he will be in the future, just a man grieving his older sister and furious with the one who killed her. His words seem less manipulative and more desperate – and Krel has to wonder now if Gawain was just as much a victim of Merlin as the rest of them, twisted into what he became through Merlin’s puppet-strings. It’s a hard thought to swallow.

“I won’t let the Gumm-Gumms get away with this,” Krel promises softly.

Gawain’s shoulders slump. “Good. Good.”

He offers Krel a hand to help him up. After a long moment Krel takes it, using another hand to wipe his tears away. Gawain moves his hand to rest it on Krel’s shoulder. He offers him a tight smile. Krel doesn’t like the look in his eyes, still, doesn’t like the way Gawain’s grief has already begun to consume him.

But why should Krel care? He has his own grief to reckon with, and as that fades again into anger he’s sure Gawain only sees his own feelings reflected in Krel’s eyes.

“You’re still my squire,” Gawain decides, again. Krel clenches his fists so hard that he’s sure he leaves bruises in his palms. “Shall we descend back into battle?”

Krel takes one glance back at Toby – still and stone and gone, gone, gone – and nods, terse. It takes very little to return to the super-sized Gaylen-form or whatever he had going on – all he has to do is let the anger back in, let the grief flow freely, and remind himself that he can avenge Toby, whether he should or not.

“There we go!” Gawian says, sharp smile carving across his face. Krel tries not to flinch. Now that expression he knows. That expression is all Red Knight. Then Gawain shoves his helmet on and its hidden, another faceless Camelot knight, only identified by the coat of arms on his tabard, and Krel looks away and walks back to the fight proper.

He stumbles when a hot blast of energy hits him in the shoulder. He whips around with a snarl. Fae. And lots of them. It seems their primary attention is on him, given he quite literally the biggest threat. Fine. Krel can work with that. He swats at them like flies, or maybe bees because their attacks do sting, but that’s really all they are when he’s this size and this upset.

One of the fae darts in close, sharp ice formed from his fists and dive-bombing for Krel’s neck. Krel catches him in mid-air and squeezes until he hears things crack, then throws the body to the ground. Perhaps it should worry him that he doesn’t even flinch killing the fae.

“Why are you fighting on the side of Camelot?” one of them dares to demand. “On the side of the humans?”

“I’m not,” Krel snarls back, “I’m just fighting against you.”

He manages to bat most of them away, nearly tripping as he does, sparking screams from the humans below him. Sharp stings whip at his ankles, and he turns his head to growl down at whatever is attacking him. Just Gumm-Gumms, so he takes a moment to point down and shoot them away.

“Great Gaylen’s core!” Iros’s voice sounds. Krel turns to see both her and Ikram side by side in what is either awe or horror. Iros has returned to her normal form, whether because she somehow messed up the transduction tech Krel set up for her or because she just needs her four arms to fight he doesn’t know. Krel gives them a sharp grin.

“You got it in one!” he says, raising all four arms and with them lifting off the ground. Because it’s worked in the past – and because armour would be nice – he thinks, determinedly: In the name of Gaylen.

Sure enough, the armour manifests to surround him. He’s hyperaware of the way his helmet resembles Gaylen, hyperaware of the way holographic wings form at his back, the very same that Gaylen himself favoured, hyperaware of the red, red, red of his skin, the red of blood and warnings and evil. The red of Toby bleeding and dying and leaving Krel forever and Krel never expected him to be gone so soon, so fast, so suddenly. He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

“We are creators,” Gaylen once told him. “Yet, we can also destroy. We can do terrible things, if we let ourselves.”

Krel never wanted to let himself. He never wanted to become whatever it is Gaylen became, in the end, never wanted to go down in history as a monster. His powers scare him. His level of power scares him. He never wanted to destroy instead of create.

But for Toby – for his best friend – this time, Krel is going to raze the Earth.

Notes:

Krel and grief and anger are just sooooooo... it is simply so fun to dive into. Exploring that in this chapter was fun. Toby meant so much to Krel. I love them your honour

I hope yall enjoyed and I did Krels grief justice! Love yall!

Chapter 47: The City Under Siege

Notes:

TW: continued death and injury, dismemberment

Alex hopes he never gets used to seeing Krel go angry god mode like this. Granted, part of that is because the only two times now that he has seen Krel go angry god mode have been in the face of tragedy. The glow of red in his skin throws Alex back to the choking, breathless horror when Douxie’s ship was hit, when Archie couldn’t speak, when Alex thought – but that had been a near miss, and Douxie is still here. This time – this time, Toby is dead. And there’s no weird magic or Akiridion regeneration pods that will bring him back.

The worst part is that Krel was right. Alex should have been watching Toby’s back. It’s too easy in the middle of battle to get separated, but it feels like Toby’s death is on their hands. He remembers the drawn, devastated expression the creased Lamorak’s forehead and knows the older knight feels the same. If they had just seen Bular in time – if they had just stopped Bular–

But they didn’t.

The battle is still raging so Alex can’t let himself dwell on Krel’s words, on his own self-admonishments. He’ll have time for that later. He’s sure that the tides will turn now. After all, there’s no way the Gumm-Gumms stand a chance against a Celestial, let alone a grieving, furious Celestial. Krel is going full destroyer mode right now, too eerily similar to the Gaylen Alex has read about for Alex to look at him long. He shouldn’t anyway. There are so many trolls and if Alex doesn’t pay attention he’ll die too.

God. They really can die here. They really will. Perhaps a part of Alex was lulled into a sense of security. Sure, he was tortured and lost an arm, spent weeks sick and recovering, but he lived despite the odds. Surely that meant they were safe. Surely they can’t die here, now, in a time that isn’t their own! They’ll make it home, together, traumatised but alive. But instead Toby is dead. Toby is dead and if Alex gets distracted he will be too and if they can’t save Douxie they’ll lose him to the pyre, maybe, if his core will allow that, and – and – how many of them will get to go home after all?

He sticks close to Lamorak as Krel lambasts the earth. The property damage isn’t great. Why the fuck is Alex thinking about property damage at a time like this? The other knights scramble and flee, but Alex catches Gawain staring, eyes wide and mouth agape, awestruck. Gawain – in the time Alex has known him, he’s been a little bit of an ass at times but overall friendly and he seemed to like Alex well enough once he decided Alex had no idea about Douxie’s betrayal. But knowing what he does about who and what the man will become – he really doesn’t like that look directed at his little brother-in-law. So much for Krel’s cover, not that it really matters.

“Did you know he could do that?” Lamorak demands.

“Uh, yeah?” Alex says. “He’s my brother-in-law. Only ever really saw him do it when Douxie got blown up, though.”

“When Douxie what!?”

“We’ve been through some shit, man!” Alex exclaims. He falters and shakes his head. “I’d love to stop going through some shit, actually, that’d be nice.”

“Good luck with that,” Lamorak mutters. He takes a moment to fend off an attacking Gumm-Gumm that’s gotten too close before returning to the conversation, as if they’re not in the middle of battle. “What is he?”

Alex winces and waves his hand. “He’s… kind of somewhat an extraterrestrial god a little bit?”

“How are you kind of somewhat a god a little bit?” Lamorak asks with a laugh that makes him sound even less sane than usual.

“The god part is very unclear, okay?” Alex says.

“And did you say – extraterrestrial – you mean not terrestrial?” Lamorak says. “Not from Earth? Like – like from the moon!?”

“Way past the moon, buddy,” Alex says.

Lamorak shoves a finger against his chest. “You have a lot of explaining to do once we survive this, Lex!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Alex says. “Focus on the surviving this though!”

“Fair enough!” Lamorak agrees.

They stick close enough to Krel to be a little safer from the Gumm-Gumms but not close enough to be underfoot and in danger of being stepped on. Lamorak has picked up the UV light spell pretty well – to Alex’s chagrin, he also calls it the purple light spell – and Alex finds himself forever grateful to Krel for installing a serrator-gun in his arm. Ranged attacks might keep him alive to get back to Douxie and Hilde.

Alex tries to treat it like those first-person shooter games he never actually liked. Point and shoot at the bad guys. Rinse and repeat. His aim is horrific but the energy blasts are bigger than bullets so he at least has a more than zero percent success rate. The Gumm-Gumms are too spooked by Krel to get too close, for the most part, but they do still throw rocks and swords.

Lamorak grabs Alex’s arm and yanks him away, just in time for him to avoid one of the thrown swords cleaning slicing off his head. Probably would not have been clean actually. Would have been very messy. Alex nods to him, then throws up his shield (again, has Alex mentioned he loves that his arm doubles as a serrator?) to protect them both from flying rocks.

It looks, for a time, like the tides really are turning. Gumm-Gumm are dropping like flies and running around panicked. Krel is ruthless in a way Alex didn’t know he could be but should have expected. Krel and Douxie share a level of fury Alex himself doesn’t understand and doubts he ever will. Maybe it comes with power that Alex can never understand.

Of course, Alex manages to lose track of him the second he turns away for half a heartbeat. He looks around in a panic, up at the sky and then back down, praying he doesn’t see a dark core in the mud. Even if Krel will come back, Alex knows Douxie would be devastated.

“Where did he go?” Lamorak asks, looking just as alarmed as Alex feels.

“I don’t know!” Alex exclaims. “I lost him!”

“How do we lose a god!?”

“I don’t know!” Alex shrieks and raises his serrator-sword to parry an attack by a Gumm-Gumm taking advantage of Krel’s absence. “Hopefully not dead! Douxie will kill him if he’s dead!”

“If he’s dead, I think Douxie won’t have the chance!” Lamorak points out. He flings out a hand and in a flash of light the troll attacking Alex and the three incoming all turn to solid stone.

“Ha, yeah, no, ‘dead’ doesn’t stick to Krel,” Alex says.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry about it!”

“I’m going to worry about it!”

Alex is suddenly grabbed around the waist by a large, stony hand. He yelps and Lamorak yells his name in alarm before he’s thrown into a nearby house. The impact rattles his teeth and he slumps briefly to his hands and knees to catch his breath. Ow, that’s gonna leave a bruise, but nothing feels broken. He pushes himself back up and then another pair of hands helps him the rest of the way.

“Careful, mate,” says Sir Gareth, Alex thinks, face pale. “You seen Gawain?”

“Uh, not for a hot second,” says Alex. “Sorry.”

“Did you see that monster?” Gareth asks.

“I saw him fighting on our side, so that’s all I really care about right now,” Alex says. “We need the help. Stay alive, Sir Gareth!”

“Right back at you, Sir Alexander!” Gareth says, before nodding and running back off. Alex shakes off the interaction – doesn’t Sir Gareth also turn into one of the evil knights that terrorised Douxie and them? Doesn’t matter. He needs to find Lamorak. Or Bedivere. Or most preferably Krel.

He tackles a Gumm-Gumm from behind and drives his sword into the stone of its neck. He’s very pleased when this works, even when jumping off the crumbling rocks twists his bad knee painfully. On a whim, he ducks down behind the rubble to carefully adjust some settings on the serrator function of his arm. Serrators are energy and Krel has called them some weird solid form of electromagnetic energy, so he should be able to tune the frequency to the ultraviolet range – and no more time!

He swings around as the shadow falls over him and aims at the Gumm-Gumm. A ray of bright light burst forth and the Gumm-Gumm screams and turns to stone.

“Ha-ha!” Alex yells triumphantly. “Science one, magic – also one! We’re tied!”

New weapon acquired, Alex throws himself back into the fray with vigour. Using essentially a sunlamp as a weapon is weird but also saves Alex so much energy. Instead of running around swinging a sword or shooting a gun, he just has to shine a flashlight in the trolls’ faces and they crumble. It’s – well, a part of him feels sick to his stomach doing it, but to be fair, the Gumm-Gumms tried to kill him first.

He catches a glimpse of red out of the corner of his eye. Krel. Thank fuck. He’s not dead. Reassured, Alex continues to flashlight Gumm-Gumms to death. So much easier. Douxie will be happier. He doesn’t have to get in close to flashlight trolls to death.

Alex’s attention is drawn by an explosion – no, a blast of magic hitting Krel. Krel turns and snarls at the culprit. A fae. No. Multiple fae.

Oh, yeah. Okay. Yeah, they’re fucked.

A number of them surround Krel in mid-air, and there’s fuck-all Alex can do to help with that. They’re way too far up and Alex is pretty tall but not that tall. With Krel distracted, the Gumm-Gumms are fully recovering and the battle is turning more and more hectic again. Alex’s heart is pounding and he’s warm from exertion despite the cold of the January night.

Krel lifts off the ground and Alex sees his armour appear out of nowhere and engulf him. He looks even more terrifying this way, but mostly Alex is jealous because he really wishes he had cool armour right about now. His armour is great, and so far it’s kept him alive, but – well, then again, cool armour didn’t save Toby.

He makes the beam of his flashlight – yes, he’s just sticking with that – as wide as he can and just starts aiming at every Gumm-Gumm he sees. He does have to be careful – more and more trolls from Dwoza are migrating this far into town and he does not want to be the cause of a friendly fire incident. Most of the fae seem to be focused on Krel.

Cold washes over him and he finds himself frozen, holding his breath, water dripping in his eyes. Spoke too soon. His distraction costs him as a fae tackles him from behind and puns him, arm on the back of his neck. Alex struggles with an alarmed grunt.

“Ready to meet your ancestors, human?” sneers the fae.

“Not today!” Alex manages to twist his arm to activate his sword towards the fae’s side. It only grazes her, but it’s enough to make her yelp and release him. Alex forces himself to his feet.

“Bastard!” the fae snarls.

Alex salutes cheekily then rushes her. She hisses and raises her dagger a second too late for him to realise how stupid rushing her probably was. He bites back a cry as the dagger cuts into his chin and all the way up to his forehead, staggering backwards and raising a flesh hand to cover his eye. Shit, shit, shit. Did it get his eye? That would – he’d know, right? Fuck, but that hurts!

The fae tackles him again, swinging behind him to wrap her arms around his neck. He gasps as he’s pulled backwards and choked, bloody hands going to pry her arms away. One of her hands grabs his metal arm, preventing him from summoning a weapon like he did before without risk of summoning the sword right into his own skull. At least he can breathe a little now.

“Alex!” he hears from his right, he thinks, Bedivere’s voice? No matter. He won’t get here in time and Alex needs to do something. He squeezes his eyes (...eye? oh, he hopes not) shut and focuses on the fae’s breathing, rough and angry, the warmth of her blood dripping onto his armour and seeping into his under-suit.

Please let this work, he begs the universe before letting his eyes fly open. There! Her arm, a flickering turquoise under a haze of bloody red. The more he focuses the brighter the turquoise and he mentally yanks from that energy, her life, he hopes, and imagines a knife, just a knife. Warmth floods from his chest and into his hand and his fingers close around something solid.

By her scream when he jabs backwards towards her torso and the lack of tug in his own chest, it worked. Her grip loosens and she stumbles away as he pulls out the long knife he’d managed to form with her own life energy. He lets it dissolve instantly, hands trembling.

“You…” she snarls, stumbling before falling completely, dead. Alex staggers and Bedivere is there to steady him, face pale and alarmed. He searches Alex’s face, probably taking stock of the injury, making sure he’s okay after using dark magic.

“What did you just do?” he asks urgently.

“Dark – dark magic,” Alex manages. Was it not obvious? Maybe because of all the blood. Oh, yeah. “Do I still have two eyes?”

Bedivere lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You – yes. Yes, you still have two eyes, she missed it by a hair, you lucky bastard.”

“Thank god,” Alex wheezes before spitting out a glob of blood that’s been gathering in his mouth.

“Don’t do that again,” Bedivere says, voice urgent and worried.

“What, get my face sliced up?” Alex says. Man, it hurts to talk. The fae definitely cut right through his lips. Ouch. “Don’t plan on it. Ow.”

“No, the – whatever you just did,” Bedivere says.

“No promises in case of emergency,” Alex retorts. “Just be glad I didn’t use my own life energy.”

Bedivere purses his lips. “Alex, I’m not sure that was–”

Lamorak’s nearby scream stops them both in their tracks. Bedivere goes from pale to white as a sheet and they both take off running towards the sound. Panic seizes in Alex’s chest. No, no, no, he is not losing anyone else today.

Lamorak is in the grips of a couple of Gumm-Gumms, still alive, thank god, and still struggling. Bedivere roars furiously and launches forward, spells forgotten. Alex feels the tug deep in his chest but resists it, instead lighting his flashlight up and letting the UV light do the hard work for him. If they had been fae – but they aren’t and the light works. Bedivere drags Lamorak away as the Gumm-Gumms turn to stone and Alex falls to his knees next to him and – oh, god.

“Oh, I think I’m going to be sick,” he manages, staring at what remains of Lamorak’s mangled leg. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Less of your god, more of the healers, please!” Lamorak grits out.

“Right, yes, healers, but…” Alex trails off. Lamorak is losing a lot of blood, too much blood. He won’t make it to the healers at this rate. “Okay. Okay, I am so sorry but I have to do this first.”

He forms the serrator-sword in his arm and quickly adjusts the settings until he’s confident that it’s hot enough to cauterise the wound more thoroughly than he thinks is even necessary. Then he finds where the damage ends on Lamorak’s leg and swiftly brings his sword down right above it, holding the flat of the blade against the wound. Lamorak screams and his flesh sizzles and Alex is nauseated by the smell of burning blood and muscle, but the bleeding blessedly stops when he deactivates the blade. Alex makes himself look away from the mangled, detached part of his friend’s leg. Lamorak will live. Alex will make sure of it.

“We better hurry,” says Alex.

“I got him,” Bedivere says, scooping Lamorak into his arms as the man fades in and out of consciousness. “Healers’ tent not far from here. C’mon.”

Alex shines his UV flashlight in a wide circle around them as they rush for the tent. The last thing they need is to get attacked on their way to the healer, not that a little UV radiation is going to do much to the fae. Maybe give them sunburn. Shit, Alex has probably given so many knights sunburn. That’s fine. Not really. It’ll just have to be fine.

Alex spots the tent guarded by several knights. Smart, to protect their healers. He and Bedivere and easily let through with the unconscious Lamorak. Alex is beyond relieved to see Steve among the healers in this tent and he guides Bedivere straight to him.

“Steve,” he croaks out. Steve turns to stare at him, face going through three different phases of alarm and worry at once. “Help him, please.”

Steve’s jaw sets tight and he directs Bedivere to lay Lamorak on one of the cots they have set up. Another healer, an older lady Alex doesn’t recognise, pulls Alex away to check over him. Alex lets her. He isn’t leaving until he’s sure Lamorak will at least live. He even lets her force him to sit. Once he does everything starts catching back up to him. Douxie, sentenced to die. Toby, dead. Alex left Krel out there alone. Will he die too? Douxie will never forgive him if he lets Krel die. Claire and Jim are somewhere out there, he hopes, and frankly Alex wants to wake up from this nightmare.

“Nasty little cut you got there, laddie,” she says. She hands him two potions. “Take these. I don’t think you’ve lost enough blood for a potion for that. Second one is for the pain.”

Alex downs the pain potion first because in his experience – far more experience than he ever wanted to have – wound-closing potions sting like a bitch at best. He drinks the second and does his best not to wince as he feels his skin stitch back together and heal over. Even with the potion it’s going to leave a nasty scar. That’s fine. He prods gently at his face until the healer slaps his hand away and then shoves a wet rag into it.

“Clean yourself up,” she orders, grabbing his other hand to prick his finger and press it to a sheet of healer’s paper. She’s lucky she didn’t grab the metal one. That would have been funny. Alex uses the rag to wipe away the blood on his face.

“Bruised and battered, but you’ll live,” she says. She nods tersely and then hurries away to another patient. No time to treat bruised and battered during a war. Alex stands and returns to Bedivere’s side as Steve leans back and wipes his forehead.

“Well?” says Bedivere.

“He’ll be okay,” says Steve. “He wouldn’t have if that wound hadn’t been cauterised. Alex?”

Alex nods numbly.

“Good call,” says Steve. “He’s done for the battle though. Out for the next several weeks if I have anything to say for it. Leg prosthetic is gonna be even harder than an arm given he’ll have to put weight on it.”

Bedivere’s shoulders drop in relief. Alex watches Steve offers them a strained smile, grim but genuine all the same. He has blood staining the better part of his clothes and as he puts aside the empty potion bottle in his hands he murmurs a quick spell to summon a stream of water to rinse them off. Another spell is muttered afterwards, leaving Steve’s hands red and irritated.

“I’m not sure how much I trust the soap here,” he says. “Not supposed to use that spell on my hands but I still don’t know any other sanitation spells because I believe in, you know, PPE and soap and warm water and man, do I miss home. I mean, magic does wonders but are a pair of nitrile gloves too much to ask?”

“Steve,” he whispers, cutting off his friend’s rambles. Steve looks at him, brow furrowing back into worry. Alex swallows but pushes on because Steve needs to know and he deserves to find out from a friend. “Toby’s dead.”

Steve drops the roll of bandages he’s holding. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Alex chokes out. Maybe he should have waited, but – Steve will find out anyway. “I wanted you to hear it from a friend.”

“Oh my god,” Steve manages, sinking to the ground, face numb. “Does Krel know?”

Alex winces. “Um. Look outside and then take a guess.”

Steve frowns but pushes himself to his feet, hurrying to the tent’s opening and peeking his head out. He comes back in only moments later, pale, a faint tremble in his hands. Alex quickly guides him to sit down before he falls again.

“He knows,” Steve breathes. “He knows. Oh my god. Toby – are you sure?”

“I watched it happen,” Alex admits, voice catching roughly in his throat. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t - I didn’t save him. I was supposed to be watching his back.”

Steve pulls him to sit beside him before wrapping Alex in a hug and burying his face against Alex’s neck with a rough sob. Alex squeezes his eyes shut and holds his cousin-in-law for a moment, big brother mode snapping into place almost instantly. There is little time to mourn in battle, but Toby was one of Steve’s closest friends. He deserves as much time as Alex can spare him, holding him tight and refusing to let the other healers pull him away just yet. He’s all too reminded of the near-miss with Aja, the way Steve had begged her to just hold on, pressed against Alex’s side because after seeing the destruction of a whole planet they both desperately needed someone. This battle is not the same scale, but it’s more intimate than losing Akiridion-5. Alex has trained with many of the knights out there dying. Steve has healed them before. And now Toby – one of their own... it doesn’t feel real.

“There should have been healers out there,” Steve gasps out between sobs. “We should have–"

Alex shakes his head and then leans it on top of Steve’s. “No. There was nothing a healer could have done. It’s not your fault.”

“We were supposed to all go home together,” Steve whispers.

“I know,” mumbles Alex.

The flaps of the tent rustle again and Alex instinctively looks up. He stiffens as King Lot strides in, brow furrowed, blood dripping down the side of his face and limping slightly but otherwise visually uninjured. They meet eyes and Lot beelines his way, which… yeah, can’t be a good thing.

“Your majesty,” he stammers. Steve startles and stands up immediately, dropping into a bow. Alex stands and is halfway to doing the same when Lot catches him by the shoulder and straightens him up.

“Alexander,” he says softly. “I need to speak with you. Alone.”

Alex and Steve exchange alarmed looks. Steve wipes his eyes and stands taller. “Is there a problem, your majesty?”

“Yes,” says Lot. “Come, now.”

He leads Alex out of the tent before Steve can protest. Alex tries to wrack his brain for where he might have fucked up enough to get on Lot’s bad side. Or maybe Anna’s? Either way, cannot be good. Man, and Alex likes Lot. He doesn’t want to fight him, but to get back to Hilde alive he will.

The ground shudders. Alex’s eyes are drawn up to Krel, close to them but not yet close enough to worry, but he forces himself to look away as Lot drags him further from the tent to duck behind what’s left of a building, shielded from view from their enemies and allies alike. Alex really hopes he’s not about to try to kill him.

“Am I in trouble?” he asks.

“No,” says Lot. “Well. Yes, but I fear that we all are.”

Well, okay, then. Maybe Alex isn’t about to get killed by the king of Camelot. He watches as Lot’s eyes trail to Krel like his own had before, except far more wary. Ah. Alex can see why someone who doesn’t know might be… concerned.

“Look, um,” Alex says, “if this is about Krel–”

“Wait, that thing is Krel!?” Lot exclaims.

“Not a thing,” Alex says defensively. “And he’s just sad about Toby is all. He’s on our side. For the record, so is Douxie.”

Lot purses his lips. Alex mentally slaps himself. He’s going to sound like a traitor and get himself killed at this rate. There’s too much going on for him to keep pretending to be shocked by Douxie’s so-called betrayal. He just wants his husband right about now.

“Something hasn’t felt right from the beginning,” Lot admits. “Mordred – I’ve known him most of his life. He was always such a kind boy. That he would kill his own father…?”

Alex bites his lip and then sighs. “From what I’ve been told, some of the people who were there saw his eyes glowing green. Magic can make your eyes glow, but it would be the colour of your own magic. Mordred’s is bronze.”

“And Merlin’s is green,” Lot mumbles. He’s smarter than Alex gave him credit for. “Fuck. Okay. Well, then, I feel even better about this.”

Alex frowns. “About what?”

“There have been rumbles that Morgana will be joining the fight,” Lot says. Alex can feel his face paling, so fast he’s lightheaded, and his flesh arm migrates to what’s left of the arm she took from him. “With the fae and the Gumm-Gumms already here, we need more help. Douxie is a powerful wizard, and if you’re right that he’s on our side, we need him. Fae or not.”

“He’s not,” Alex says softly. “Fae. Neither he nor Krel.”

Lot’s eyes are drawn back to Krel. “Yes. I think I can see that.”

An explosion rocks the ground near to them. Alex stumbles and Lot steadies him. Krel really isn’t giving a fuck anymore. Maybe he’s avoiding hurting the humans around, but the same can’t be said for the houses. The ground trembles with every step like an earthquake, like the precursor of the Eternal Night, and it leaves Alex uneasy.

“Alright,” says Lot. “What Douxie is doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he’s powerful and we need his help. So. How do you feel about helping me break Mordred and Douxie both out of the dungeons?”

Alex stares at him.

“I’m sorry,” he manages after a moment. “I think I heard you wrong.”

“Is it really treason if I’m king?” Lot hedges. He sighs at Alex’s incredulous expression. “Look, Alexander, I appreciate your loyalty to the kingdom and my wife, I do, but... you must agree with me things are... wrong.”

“If I agree, will you kill me?” Alex asks before he can stop himself.

“It’s not a trap,” Lot says. “If Mordred was controlled – then your husband and his brother just wanted to help a child they saw being wronged by his kingdom. There is no shame in that. It is Camelot that bears the shame and responsibility for it, for my father-in-law's death, and for Mordred’s and Hisirdoux’s if we don’t help them.”

“Queen Anna won’t see it that way,” Alex murmurs, looking away.

“No,” says Lot heavily. “And every day that passes I find the woman I married to be more and more of a stranger. I fear for her, Alex. I come to you not as your king but as your fellow knight and friend – saving your spouse might just help me save mine.”

“Okay,” Alex says. “Yeah. I mean – I'm not going to turn down an opportunity to save Douxie and Mordred. I don’t know if the fire would kill Doux but I don’t want to find out either, so...”

Lot opens his mouth and closes it before shaking his head. “Well, then, we need to make our way to the castle.”

“We’ll need help,” says Alex. “We should bring Steve and Bedivere. Steve may focus on healing now, but he’s a good warrior all the same. And we can trust Bedivere too.”

Lot presses his lips into a thin line before nodding. “Very well. I will defer to your judgement. You realise Bedivere was once Uther’s knight? If anyone would be loyal to Merlin...”

“Bedivere hates Merlin,” Alex dismisses. “He and Lamorak both don’t like him anymore than I do. I would trust Bedivere with Hilde’s life.”

“I suppose your judgement has yet to be proven as faulty as mine has,” Lot says. He lets out a shaky breath and then tries to wipe away the blood on his face. He only succeeds in smearing it into his blond hair. “My gods. The Gumm-Gumms and fae in our city. I can’t believe it’s come to this.”

Can you not? he doesn’t ask. The way he understands it this has been building for decades. If Lot truly can’t believe it, then perhaps he and everyone else here have been ignoring the writing on the wall for just as long. Then again, everything is clearer in hindsight. Alex knows Camelot will fall. He doesn’t know when or how but it will. Maybe it would have stood strong, if Arthur survived, if Anna got to become queen without the trauma of losing her father, if Merlin wasn’t trying to ruin it all for his own gain. In the twenty-first century, barely even ruins remain.

Alex just prays he isn’t witnessing the fall of Camelot in real time. And if he is… he prays even harder the rest of his friends and family can make it out alive.

Notes:

Ah another self indulgent Alex chapter. Look. I love him okay?

I hope yall enjoyeddddd <33

Chapter 48: A Future to Look Forward To

The knights that drag them to the dungeons are far from gentle. Douxie struggles – this is wrong and he needs to save Mordred – but without actually hurting the knights there’s little he can do. Mordred just lets them guide him, blank-eyed and silent save for a few weak sobs. It’s like he’s just... given up. Douxie could never imagine Mort just giving up. Not the man who taught him to always fight for what is right, the man who was determined until the very end.

When they reach the dungeons, the knights holding them pull out iron shackles. Douxie’s eyes widen but he doesn’t have the chance to even try to stop them before the shackles close around Mordred’s wrists. He yelps and sobs harder again as the pure iron burns his wrists. Douxie still remembers the one time Mort had accidentally picked up a cast iron pot, not even pure iron, and the burns were bad enough that Aunt Cait almost dragged him to the hospital. Probably part of her panic was that she didn’t warn him the pot was cast iron, but Douxie’s pretty sure “iron allergy” didn’t translate as “causes nasty burns” in her head. It had scared the fuck out of him the whole time, even though Uncle Mort had insisted he was fine and would be fine. It still took weeks for the burns to fully heal, burn potions useless against them. If cast iron was that bad, what is the pure iron doing to him?

“You’re hurting him!” he cries. “Let him go!”

“Shut up,” snaps the knight.

Douxie is given the same treatment, roughly shoved into shackles. They’re uncomfortable and cold against his skin and he can feel them like a heavy weight on his magic, but that’s about all they do. All four knights look baffled when it doesn’t start burning him too. He snarls. “I told you I’m not fae, dipshit. Now let us go. Mordred is innocent!”

“Try it on someone more gullible next time,” says the knight holding him before he shoves him unceremoniously into the nearest cell. He lands hard on his knees and winces, but manages to push himself back up when he hears Mordred cry out. He’s been shoved in a separate cell, luckily right across from Douxie, and does not get up from where he’s fallen, weeping. Whether the tears now are from pain or from grief or maybe both, he isn’t sure anymore.

“Bastards,” Douxie hisses.

“We’ll see you at dawn,” one of the knights says. All four leave. Douxie glares furiously at their retreating backs before stumbling backwards and falling into a seated position. He flexes his wrists but he can’t see any real way to manoeuvre his way out of the shackles. His shoulders slump. This is a mess.

“She really didn’t listen.” Douxie’s head snaps up at Mordred’s broken whisper. The boy is staring blankly in front of him, tears still dripping down his cheeks. “My own sister thinks that I’m evil.”

“Grief... it does a lot of things, Mordred,” Douxie murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” Mordred says, voice faint and fragile. “I dragged you into this. This was my idea. It’s my fault that Papa is – that Papa is...”

He chokes on his words and sobs again, awkwardly managing to hug his knees to his chest and rest his forehead on them. Douxie absently thinks that’s a bad idea. He's probably burning his legs now. But then again, what is he going to say? Don’t do that? Don’t grieve for his father? No, that’s out of the question.

“Hey,” he says instead. “We all agreed to the plan, Mordred. It’s not on you. We’ll get out of this, okay? I know we will.”

Or, well, he knows Mordred will. He must because he grows up, eventually, because he heals, mostly, maybe, Douxie hopes. He’s not quite sure anymore just how healed Uncle Mort ever was. He wonders why he never noticed scars on his wrists from the shackles. Or maybe he did and simply dismissed them. Maybe it just never occurred to him to ask.

There are no windows in their cells. The dungeon is underground so there’s not much point in that, anyway. Douxie fears he’s going to have no idea when the battle starts and he won’t know if the people he cares about lived or died until they drag him out to the pyre. With his new core, he has no idea what the pyre will even do to him. Krel survived pretty bad burns. Well. They assumed he did, anyway, and that’s not a rabbit hole Douxie can emotionally afford to venture down. Maybe Douxie will have to find out what it’s like to be reduced to nothing but a core, to feel his physical form flicker away like the embers of the pyre. Maybe that will be the final straw for his humanity, and then this form will only be a disguise and the blue skin of his Akiridion form will become his new normal. He doesn’t want to know. They’ve gotta get out of here before that happens.

He holds out his hands again. Even the slightest attempt to summon his magic makes the iron burn against his wrists and he hisses. Okay, magic out. Dark magic he could probably get away with, but he’s drained from the earlier battle. Between the self-cauterisation and the dark magic healing, he’s exhausted. He’s still directing his life energy to heal the damage from his stab wound.

“I wish it’s stop hurting,” he hears Mordred mumble. “I miss my dad. And now Papa... I can’t...”

“I lost my dad too,” Douxie admits. Mordred looks up at him through teary eyes, but Douxie looks away. He can’t talk about this if he’s staring at a ghost. “He, um... he sacrificed himself to save me and Krel and – and our whole kingdom. He died a hero but... I wish he hadn’t died at all, you know?”

Mordred sniffles. Douxie dares a glance back at him.

“Sometimes...” He chews absently on the inside of his cheek, unsure how to phrase this. “Sometimes, especially now, I... wonder if he knew it was coming. It’s not a thought I know what to do with. But... I do know that he wouldn’t have left us if he didn’t think he had to.”

“Does it get better?” Mordred asks, faint and vulnerable.

Douxie sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. Slowly. Very slowly. It still hurts but... it gets better.”

“If I live that long, I guess,” mutters Mordred. He hunches his shoulder and hides his face again. “I don’t – I don’t know if I want to anymore. Maybe I should just let her burn me. Maybe – maybe it’d be better for everyone.”

Douxie’s chest hitches and he pushes himself back to his feet and surges to the bars of his cell, grabbing them as best he can with the shackles. “No. No, it wouldn’t, Mordred. I know things are scary right now, but – but you are still so loved and – you have so much to live for.”

Mordred gives him a bleak look. It hurts to see. Mort always had an undercurrent of sadness about him, but never this abject hopelessness.

“There’s happiness waiting for you one day,” Douxie insists, earnest and heart and core aching at the emptiness in his eyes. “You will live that long. It’s hard right now, it’s so hard, but there is joy waiting for you. A life full of people that love you so much and that you love just as much in return.”

“How can you know that?” Mordred whispers.

Douxie taps his temple. “Future-sight, remember? I’ve seen it.”

Mordred hugs his knees tighter. “People I love keep dying. I can’t handle more people dying, Douxie.”

“Oh, Mordred,” Douxie murmurs. “Losing people – it's a part of life. For people like us... with lifespans that... we’re going to outlive a lot of the people we love. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t love anyway. Trust me. You, Mordred Pendragon, have a future to look forward to. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right,” Mordred murmurs.

Douxie slowly lowers back into a sitting position, sliding his hands down the rough bars and watching Mordred as the boy fades once more into quiet numbness. He wishes he could fix this, bust Mordred out and somehow change all of Camelot’s minds. He wishes he knew how to fix this, wishes he knew more than the fact that somehow, Mordred will escape and live out the next nine hundred or so years alone and sad and – well, Douxie… doesn’t like to think about that, the time in between, after this and before Mordred became Mort and met Douxie’s parents. Douxie will, with any luck, be simply returning to his present in the blink of an eye. Mordred will have to live the next several centuries.

And isn’t that going to be the hardest part?

It’s something Douxie fears for himself, perhaps selfishly, that one day he will outlive all the people he loves and then he will just have to keep on living. Realistically, he’ll probably have Krel, at least, and maybe a handful of others. Realistically, Mordred had Nan, and perhaps the trolls, and perhaps there were even others, here and there. But somehow, that isn’t as comforting as it should be. How much loss and loss and loss can a person take? Why must they pay the price for immortality that they never asked for? Humans can only handle so much pain – humans are blessedly mortal – so when does the loss and life eventually strip them of what little humanity they have as it is?

Douxie manages to hug his own knees to his chest. He needs Alex. Alex can usually talk him out of this kind of funk, but Alex is out there, possibly fighting, possibly dying, and Douxie is in here, living, core aching for the boy that will be his father and for his own future loneliness all the same.

“We should try to get some rest,” Douxie says softly. “If the battle starts tonight it will be at nightfall. I don’t – I don’t know if we’ll be able to get out there and help but… just in case.”

“Okay,” Mordred says.

He’s not going to rest. Douxie sighs and lays down on his side on the cold, rough stone. He rests his shackled hands on a patch of moss – somehow still alive in the dark, damp dungeon – and reaches for its life energy as he takes a breath. It’s not enough, but it’s enough to give his own energy a reprieve and to further heal his wound. He closes his eyes to avoid any passing guards noticing the glow of dark magic in them. The transduction will eventually wear off, leaving his eyes once more Akiridion, but he supposes that’s better than Krel being down here and reverting to his true form.

He just prays that they are free before the battle is done and that no one else he knows and loves dies today.

 

 

“Douxie?” Mordred says, quiet but Douxie looks over to him immediately. He still hasn’t looked up from where he’s staring blankly ahead, but Douxie takes the start of a conversation as a good sign and grunts out a noise to tell him he’s listening. “Tell me about the future?”

Douxie sits up sharply – does he know? has he figured it out? – but nothing in his expression points to suspicion, so he relaxes back into a calmer position. He licks his lips anxiously. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Your future-sight,” Mordred says.

Oh. Douxie sees.

He rearranges himself to lean up against the bars of his cell, resting his shoulder against them and looking over at Mordred’s cell. It isn’t the most comfortable, but there’s little room for comfort in a dungeon. “Most of my visions are vague at best.”

“Then tell me a story of the future that you say I’ll have,” he murmurs. “I don’t care if it’s true anymore.”

“A story, huh?” Douxie says, tapping his fingers on his thighs. He thinks and then sighs, fond. “Well... one day, you’re going to look just like your dad.”

This elicits a wet laugh. “That’s not a story. And it doesn’t take future-sight. Everyone says that.”

“You’ll make stupid jokes like he did too,” Douxie continues. “And when you do, you’ll say, Seklos, I’m turning into my father! And then you’ll laugh and say, well, that’s not really a bad thing, is it?”

Mordred finally turns his head to look at him. “It is if I’m making bad jokes.”

“Nah.” Douxie manages a smile. “You won’t think the jokes are bad when you’re older. Your son will, though. He’ll think they’re just the worst.”

“Now you’re really making things up,” says Mordred.

Douxie laughs. “I’m not, really! He’ll tell you so all the time. Groan and complain whenever you make them. You’ll tell him that one day he’ll make bad jokes too, and he’ll say no way! All indignant, just like that.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Yes, exactly like that,” Douxie says with a nod. “And then you’ll try to use all the modern slang and get it wrong in the funniest way.”

“I won’t,” Mordred protests. “I’ll be good at staying with the times.”

“You say that now,” Douxie teases, voice wetter than he means. He lets out a rough breath. “Ah, but your son will love it. He won’t admit it. But he’ll love your stupid jokes and bad slang.”

Mordred hums softly, eyes distant but so close to a smile.

“You’ll – well, maybe you’ll open a – a bookshop,” Douxie says. “Or a magic shop or something. Right in the middle of town, amid the hustle and bustle of it all. A quaint little place where you can share your passions with your community.”

“A bookshop…” Mordred’s voice trails off wistfully. “Oh, that would be nice. I think I’d like that.”

“You will,” Douxie agrees, blinking back tears. “And when your son calls it boring, you’ll sit him down and read to him and remind him how wonderful it is. And then he’ll go on to study books himself because – because you taught him to love reading right from the start.”

He pauses to wipe his eyes, awkwardly from the shackles, as tears start to well up like they always do when he talks about Uncle Mort. It isn’t fair. Every time he thinks he’s okay again after losing him, something else crops up and reminds him and the longing returns for someone he can never get back.

“And then, one day, when you – retire – he can take over the bookshop for you,” he chokes out. So much for keeping his voice steady. “And continue the tradition to one day pass to his own kids.”

“I still don’t think I’ll ever have a kid,” Mordred says. Douxie chuckles, living proof that Mordred is wrong. “But that all does sound… really nice.”

“You’re going to be happy, Mordred,” Douxie says, unable to stop the way his breath hitches and his voice falls into yearning. “You will look at the life you have one day and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. And you’ll tell the people you love that – that you wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

But you will trade yourself, he doesn’t say, cannot admit out loud. But you will leave them because it will be more important that they live and be happy. Because deep down, you will always be sad.

“You will be happy,” he chokes out instead, wishing and willing it into existence with everything he has. “And I for one can’t wait to see that future of yours come to fruition.”

Mordred sniffles and Douxie tries to give him a reassuring smile, but it’s hard when he suddenly misses Uncle Mort so acutely that it’s almost like those early days all over again. Uncle Mort would have known what to do, would have known how to fix this, or at least Douxie thinks he would have. Maybe he put him up on a pedestal, but Mort was his father in every sense of the word except biological. Maybe that’s to be expected.

“Thank you,” whispers Mordred.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Douxie says. Mordred never needs to thank him. Anything he can do barely scratches the surface compared to the life Mort gave him. He hopes, if nothing else, he’s imparted a little levity and maybe even hope to him. Something to make him look less dead-eyed and empty. He wouldn’t say the spark is back, but – maybe he looks a bit better.

They fall back into silence. Mordred is still sniffling and pale, and he lays carefully on his side. Surely Anna knows the iron shackles are essentially torture for her little brother. Is she just okay with torturing a kid? Her little brother? Then again, he supposes this is the Middle Ages. Do they even consider Mordred a kid here? Anna certainly had no trouble sentencing him to death – her own brother – so why should she care if he’s in agony the hours leading up to it? Douxie knew the sentence was coming and his heart still breaks for Mordred. He cannot even begin to imagine being in his place. Could he have ever turned out like Anna? Angry and blinded by grief and the lies of a man who has manipulated her family for years? He doesn’t want to think so. Even in the early years, when Krel had only been his brother for a few months, he doesn’t think he would have turned on him like this. Not if Krel was insisting he was innocent. He’d trust his own brother over someone like Merlin.

Douxie wishes he could get out of here. He has no way of knowing how long it’s been. Has the battle begun yet? He wonders if Alex is safe – prays to whoever will listen that his Alex is safe. Prays that all his friends and family are safe out there. He should be out there helping them. He feels utterly useless sitting in this cell with iron around his wrists, hampering his magic and leaving him trapped.

All they can do now is wait.

 

 

Douxie eventually falls asleep, or at least that weird type of half-asleep when it isn’t safe to truly sleep. The floor is cold and hard and the shackles, though they don’t burn him when he doesn’t try magic, are still very uncomfortable. He keeps himself open to the steady trickle of life energy from the moss in the dungeons and uses the half-sleep as a way to hopefully let himself heal more. The less internal bleeding he has when they get out of this, the better. Steve is so going to kill him.

He still thinks he feels less dizzy and less pained as his own life energy replenishes and the moss helps him recover. He has to shift positions a couple of times, but there’s plenty of moss spread out through the dungeons that with meditation and focus he can reach. He isn’t sure how much he meditates and how much he sleeps, but it’s restful either way. Mordred’s familiar aura presence is comforting, even though Douxie has never had the innate talent for seeing auras like Mort did. The presence is the same. If he closes his eyes he can almost pretend Mort is here with him – almost, because Mordred’s presence is young and bright and scared right now, where Mort was much older and steady and calm.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been before he next hears footsteps coming their way. He forces himself to wake up fully and move into a sitting position. Mordred doesn’t look to have rested at all, tense with wide eyes. Douxie prepares himself to fight if these are the executioners come to take them away. Except it’s not an enemy that runs up to the bars of his cell.

“Douxie!” Alex exclaims.

“Alex?” Douxie manages. His heart drops at the sight of him as much as his core sings. His husband’s face is stained with blood and there’s a barely healed wound running all the way down the right side, from his temple all the way to his chin. The injury is recent but taken care of by potions, no doubt, but the scar will last. So the battle has begun and Alex has already been hurt. There’s more blood on his armour and surcoat and Douxie has no idea how much of it is Alex’s and that terrifies him.

“Thank god you’re okay,” Alex murmurs.

“What happened?” Douxie asks, nearly breathless with his relief that Alex is alive and fear for the answer to his question. “Wha – what are you doing here?”

“We’re here,” says Lot’s voice and Douxie feels his eyes widen further, “to break you both out.”

“Lot!” Mordred cries out. There’s so much relief dripping from his voice that it sounds more like a sob. “You believe me?”

“I certainly find it hard to believe that you of all people would be evil, so, yes,” says Lot. He unlocks the cell and then the shackles and Mordred immediately hugs him, hiding his face in his brother-in-law’s surcoat with a real sob this time. Lot tosses the keys to Alex so he can hold Mordred and gently shush him.

Alex unlocks Douxie’s cell and shackles. As soon as his hands are free, Douxie throws his arms around his husband. Alex holds him tight with a shuddering breath that tells Douxie just about all he needs to know about the battle outside. But Alex is breathing and he doesn’t sound like he’s in much physical pain, so at least Douxie knows he’s safe. He pulls away and reaches up to gingerly trace the new scar.

“What happened?” he asks again.

“What hasn’t happened?” Alex whispers. His eyes are red like he’s been crying and glassy like he’s going to cry again. “Toby’s dead.”

Douxie sucks in a horrified breath. Mordred’s head snaps towards them. “Sir – Sir Toby? No – no – how?”

“It’s a battle, lad,” Lot murmurs. “Many more will die before sunrise, and even after, now the fae have joined.”

“Seklos and Gaylen,” Douxie and Mordred breathe in unison. It seems even now Douxie takes after his dad. He thinks he should be crying. He thinks he will be later. Right now it’s hard to feel anything but shocked numbness.

“Toby,” he says, little more than a gasp. “Are you sure?”

“Everyone keeps asking me that,” Alex says with a weak laugh, the kind that sounds more like a broken huff of air, “and it’s hard not to be sure when I was there.”

“Okay, no time for this,” says Steve – huh, Steve and Sir Bedivere are here – even though he looks one wrong word away from bursting into tears himself. “Where are you two injured? I know for damn sure you’re injured.”

Lot takes Mordred’s hands and frowns. “The lad’s wrists. Iron shackles. I can’t believe she would… iron shackles!”

Steve winces. “There’s very little I can do for iron injuries to a part-fae except wrap them and throw a spell on the bandages to keep the injuries clean. C’mere, kiddo.”

Mordred hesitates but Lot leads him over. Douxie leans against Alex and watches Steve carefully wrap Mordred’s wrists. Alex kisses the top of his head, though not without a wince as this clearly pulls at his new scar.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“I got a little stabbed,” Douxie admits.

“A little – Douxie!” Alex exclaims, pulling Douxie in front of him to look him over. His eyes widen when they finally land on the cauterisation burns. “Did you – oh my god, you did. Douxie.”

“Now you’re being a hypocrite, lad,” says Sir Bedivere.

“Excuse me?” Douxie says.

“I didn’t cauterise my own wound,” Alex protested. “And I used a serrator blade and I know Douxie just used some random-ass flame spell and – and stab wounds have internal damage cauterisation won’t fix! I should know! Steve cauterised my stab wound and I still got stuck in a wheelchair!”

“Who cauterised what now?” Steve says. His eyes, of course, zero in on Douxie’s injury. “Ah. Not even surprised anymore. Sit your ass down.”

“We need to get back out there,” Douxie protests.

“We need you to not die as soon as we do,” Steve shoots right back. “I’ll be fucking damned if I’m losing anyone else today, Hisirdoux Mo- uh, Swift. Sit. Your. Ass. Down.”

“Nice save,” grumbles Douxie, but he does sit, at the very least so Steve doesn’t slip up and actually call him Hisirdoux Mordred in front of Mordred. Steve was smart enough to bring healer’s paper and potions with him, so Douxie finds himself thoroughly subjected to the diagnosis and treatment process. He’d appreciate it if Steve were nicer about it, instead of jabbing him with potions and prodding at his very sore side with a glower that could rival Krel’s when he’s woken up early. Douxie can’t blame him, not if... no. He won’t think of it.

“You treated yourself with dark magic,” Steve accuses.

“Well, I didn’t want to die, so...” Douxie snarks back. “I used the moss and stuff if that makes you feel better. And I sort of slept, sort of meditated.”

“You’d be in worse shape if you hadn’t,” Steve acknowledges. “Okay, one last potion, and then unfortunately I don’t see anything I can use to keep you off the battlefield. Not when we need you so bad.”

Alex huffs. “How come when I get stabbed I get benched from all upcoming battles and when Douxie gets stabbed, he just gets to run back out there?”

“One, because Douxie’s body isn’t held together by caffeine and spite,” says Steve. Alex looks offended as if this isn’t true. “Two, because Douxie actually didn’t do that bad of a job healing himself. After this battle I want him resting though. Also I want him on observation if I can help it. Also–"

“Okay, okay, Dr. Tarron, I get it,” says Douxie. He motions for Alex to help him up then once he’s standing, he carefully stretches. “Okay. Still hurts but much better. Thank you.”

“Get stabbed again and I’m not letting you out of bed for a month,” Steve threatens, which Douxie supposes is his way of saying, “You’re welcome.”

“Alright, Healer Steve, if everyone is to your approval, we need to get back out there,” Lot says.

“Approval is a strong word for my thoughts on the state of y’all,” mutters Steve, but he sighs and nods. “But there’s no time to waste. Don’t die out there, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Bedivere says. Alex gives a joking salute and Steve shoves him. Okay, Alex must not be too injured if Steve is shoving him around like that. That’s good. Gods, Douxie can’t do this. Toby, dead? Surely it’s just a ruse, like it was with Alex. They’ll have to look for him. He’s probably captured.

Yes, that makes infinitely more sense. Douxie files that in the back of his mind for after the battle – find and rescue Toby. Just like Toby would do for him. It will be difficult, no doubt, because the fae definitely have a way to hide auras. They hid Alex so well even Douxie thought him dead. He won’t make the same mistake again. He’ll ask Bedivere how his village found them.

Lot leads the way out of the dungeons. Mordred migrates back to Douxie’s side and Douxie wraps a protective arm around him. The normally bustling, busy castle feels empty. Douxie hopes it’s just because people are hiding. Once they emerge into the city Douxie is overwhelmed by the smell of smoke. He coughs and covers his mouth. Mordred stumbles, eyes wide as he takes in the wreckage in the chaos.

“Camelot...” he whispers.

Douxie’s eyes are drawn up to his brother, looming about the battlefield, red and furious. His certainty from before falters, but he tries to remind himself he grieved in losing Alex like it was real. The fae are clever with their tricks. Toby isn’t dead. Alex – Douxie doesn’t like not believing Alex, but Alex could have been fooled. Right? Surely. Surely.

“Okay,” he says shakily. “Where do you need us?”

“At the moment, anywhere,” admits Lot. “But we suspect Morgana will be arriving. She – the only ones I think might stand a chance are you, Hisirdoux, and your brother. Whatever you two are. I would have said Merlin in the past but if you’re to be believed, then he’s not to be trusted.”

“Glad someone sees sense,” mutters Douxie.

“I’ll handle Morgana,” Mordred says softly, eyes hardening and sharpening like ice. “My dear aunt is my fight. Not Douxie and Krel’s.”

Douxie presses his lips together. “Mordred...”

“If we found whoever killed your father, wouldn’t you want to be the one to defeat them?” he says. Any of Douxie’s protests die on his tongue. “Aunt Morgana is my fight.”

“Just... be careful,” says Douxie. He wants to argue that Mordred is too young – but Douxie was only seventeen during the Eternal Night, Morando’s invasion, Merlin’s attacks. Krel was only fifteen, the same age Mordred is now. And he can’t argue the logic, not when Mordred’s not wrong, that if Ultios was here Douxie would want a piece of him at the least.

“Stay with me, please,” Alex murmurs.

Douxie nods. “I’m not leaving you if I can help it. Mordred, stick by us, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Mordred whispers. “Sticking with me got Papa killed.”

“We’re sure,” Alex says before Douxie can even open his mouth. “Come on. We need to join the battle again. Protect who we can.”

“Be safe,” Lot says grimly. “God willing, I will see all of you at the end of this.”

Douxie’s eyes drift back up towards his brother, Krel’s anger electrifying the air and his grief painting the atmosphere red. He lets out a shaky breath. “May Gaylen protect us all.”

Notes:

SO sorry this took so long! I blame the next chapter, which I wanted to finish first. I did, though, so here is this one! Yes I cried writing it. I just love digging into the Papa Mort feels okay?

ALSO ALSO ALSO
I want to give a HUGE shout-out to @capper-tan on Tumblr who made some lovely fanart and an amazing animatic based in wiz-fic verse!!! Still kicking my feet and squealing about this PLEASE go check it out!!!

Okeee that's all for today - love you guys so much, thank you for sticking with meeee! <333

Chapter 49: A Familiar Fight

Notes:

TW: eye trauma, continued reference to MCD and other death

Jim has blurred the last several hours in his mind into a non-descript mess of buried emotions and battle. Fight and kill and stay alive and keep Claire alive and don’t think about Toby, stop thinking about Toby. It’s hard, still, not to, when every time he closes his eyes his best friend’s last breaths echo in his ears and his body lays motionless before his eyes. He shakes it off each time and returns to the fight. Gumm-Gumms are familiar enemies, even if the fae aren’t.

“Do you think the fae will leave when the Gumm-Gumms do?” he asks Claire, yelling over the roar of battle.

“Not – really!” she grunts, throwing several blasts of unformed magic at nearby Gumm-Gumms. “You can keep dreaming, though!”

Jim rolls his eyes at her and throws Toby’s war-hammer at the nearest Gumm-Gumm. He misses, but at least the hammer does come back to him like he’s seen it do for Toby before. Man, Tobes made it look so easy. That just reminds Jim how much he wishes he was here. Jim remembers a similar feeling after losing Draal, an ache in his chest and something missing when he went downstairs or outside or turned in battle to try to find him, but this is so much worse. Every breath he feels like he should say something to Toby, every glance Toby should be there, and that he’s not is hard even to begin to fathom.

It’s got to be nearing dawn by now. Even still, there’s no end to it. Between the fae and the Gumm-Gumms, they’re horrifically outnumbered. He wishes he knew if this really is the fall of Camelot. Killahead is later, he knows, so this won’t be the fall of Gunmar or Morgana, if she does show up. What is to become of the kingdom, then? Jim has come to really like Camelot. It’s no Arcadia, but it’s provided a home for them while they were here.

As if his thoughts jinxed it, a shadow opens above them and none other than Morgana herself flies out. She’s smiling, which in Jim’s experience is never a good sign, not even after she turned kinda good back home in the future. Claire’s face falls immediately into a snarl.

Uh-oh.

“Claire,” he whispers. He grabs her arm, gentle but worried. “Don’t.”

“Sorry, Jim,” she mutters, wrenching her arm free, “but she’s mine.”

Before Jim can stop her, she’s leapt through a shadow and fallen right on top of Morgana. For her part, Morgana looks very alarmed to be challenged so directly. She throws Claire away from her and Jim’s breath hitches, but his fiancée catches herself with a shadow and proceeds to tackle Morgana again.

“And just who do you think you are!?” Morgana snaps, struggling.

“Who am I?” Claire growls, grabbing the sorceress by the decorative horns of her helmet and pulling backwards. Morgana shrieks furiously. “I am Claire Nuñez! And I’m a better sorceress than you’ll ever be, lady!”

Jim can only stand there and watch, eyes wide, as Claire faces off Morgana. She looks badass and also really unfairly attractive right now, which is not the thing to be thinking about in the middle of a city-wide siege. In his defence, he also wants to make sure she’s being safe. He has faith in her, but – well, he’s already lost Toby. He can’t lose Claire too.

A beam of light hits his arm and he yelps in pain, stone skin smoking as he pulls his arm to his chest and whips around. A fae. She – she? – smirks at him, far too pleased with herself to be using the same tactics their wizards are using against her allies. Jim snarls and then shifts back to his human form.

“Nice try,” he says as her eyes widen. He shakes himself off and winces at the burn left on his human arm. “But I’m not your average troll.”

He roars and runs at her. She dodges sideways and flickers like a bad projector image. Fae seem to be connected to elements. Is light an element? Well, okay, as Toby would so helpfully point out right about now, the fae don’t actually seem connected to real elements so much as more fantasy or superhero-type powers like pyromancy or plant... magic... whatever. So this lady must have light... magic? Okay, never mind, Jim doesn’t care. He’ll just stay in human form.

The two of them circle each other. Jim makes another run at her, swinging Toby’s hammer, but it goes right through her like she’s a hologram. Jim has plenty of experience fighting holograms. Krel was more than happy to upgrade the Hero’s Forge when they were rebuilding Trollmarket. So how does one beat light?

He dodges another beam of light sent his way. He has no doubt she can manipulate the light to be the dangerous kind, like – like X-rays or something. The kind of radiation that might hurt him. No, thank you. He still has zero ideas how to beat her. He glances up at Claire – nope. Still locked in combat. Fuck. He could really use a wizard right now.

As if on cue, a familiar voice calls, “Need a hand?”, before Douxie runs by him and paints a spell in the air. He slams the run into the earth and the fae shrieks as the ground leaps up and swallows her whole. Douxie grins.

“Good luck getting out of that without a physical form!” he exclaims.

“Douxie!” Jim cries in relief.

“What are we, chopped liver?” says Alex beside him. Jim could almost laugh to see the two of them alongside Steve, Bedivere, Mordred, and Lot. Alex forms his super-cool new arm-gun – has Jim mentioned how awesome that thing is? – and frowns at the enemies around them.

“Where’s Lamorak?” Jim asks. He thought the older knight had been with Alex.

“Injured, but alive,” says Alex. “Out for the battle though, unless someone can give him a leg up.”

“Alexander!” splutters Bedivere.

Alex shakes his head. “Oh my god, I am so sorry, that was horrible. No one tell Lamorak I said that.”

“I’m telling,” Bedivere says.

Lot’s eyes are focused on Morgana, grim but not surprised. Mordred’s trail to her as well and his lips twist into a frown. Douxie follows his gaze and sighs. “Well, I guess I better help Claire.”

Mordred grabs his arm. “No.”

“Mordred,” Douxie says.

“Aunt Morgana is my fight,” Mordred says, venom in his young voice that Jim isn’t used to seeing. He vaguely remembers Mordred being there at the lake, but this is really the first he’s seen him since Arthur died.

“Mordred,” Douxie says again, more desperate.

Mordred gives him a tight smile. “Don’t worry, Douxie. I can do this.”

He steps backwards a couple of times and shakes out his arms before closing his eyes and letting out a breath that condenses in midair, icy despite the relative warmth for the time of year. Then he takes off running and launches off the ground, rocketing towards Morgana. When did he learn to do that? Logically Jim knew he’d learn eventually, but when? This is no fair. Jim missed everything.

This does, at least, seem to break through Douxie’s fear because his face splits in a grin. “Alright, Mordred!! Let’s go!”

“Oh, nephew!” says Morgana, visibly perking up. When Claire tries to take advantage of her distraction she throws out a hand and catches her in sparking magic. Jim growls, fear seizing in his chest as Claire is thrown away with a shriek.

“Aunt,” growls Mordred.

“What a pleasant surprise,” she says. “Come to help me at last?”

“Help you?” Mordred repeats. “Help you!? Why the hell would I help you!?”

“We’re on the same side, nephew,” she says, smiling to him. “I must admit I never expected you to kill your father, but I am quite glad of it.”

“I didn’t!” Mordred yells. “I didn’t! It wasn’t me! And I will never, ever join you!”

“Oh, come now, Mordred,” she says. “I have heard of your dark magic, of your cruelty – how easy it is to kill, isn’t it? Oh, you take after me.”

“You don’t know shit, lady!”

Jim nearly cheers when Claire drops out of a portal above Morgana, landing on her shoulders and wrenching her head back by the stupid antlers or whatever on her helmet. Mordred roars and forms familiar dual swords and dives at her. Jim could stand there and watch forever – Claire is so beautiful when she fights – but his attention is drawn when Lot lunges and blocks an attack that otherwise would have probably crushed him.

“Alright, we’re done standing around!” he yells. “Stay alive, lads, and pay attention!”

“Right, yes,” says Douxie. He forms his magical staff then thinks about and shakes his head. “Y’know what, never thought I’d say this, but this will be easier with four arms. Krel’s never gonna let me live it down.”

He pulls out a serrator and – yep, nope, Jim really wasn’t crazy, Douxie apparently has an Akiridion form now. Or something. Okay. He’s going to worry about that later. He feels a little better, Krel in sight in the distance, Claire in sight in the air, and the rest of his friends alive and by his side. He can protect them. He will protect them.

He offers Steve a forearm to hit together, which Steve takes and then grabs his hand. Jim nods to him. “Time to go kick in some gronknuks.”

“For Toby,” Steve agrees.

Jim dives back into the fray with a roar. He avoids the fae and focuses on the more familiar enemy on the ground. God, he wishes he had Daylight right now. Doesn’t matter. He has Toby’s war-hammer, and that will have to be enough. The world fades back out into growls and crumbling rocks and the discordant clang of swords and the crackle of the flames eating the city alive, slowly but surely. He keeps Claire, especially, in sight, but she can hold her own and he couldn’t get up there to help her if he tried.

His heart thuds in his ears, the adrenaline of battle keeping him wired and on edge. Jim was not built for peace, or if he was, in his time as Trollhunter he was rebuilt again and again until there was little left but a warrior. He ached to fight again for so long, to do something, to be the Trollhunter again, and it got Toby killed, in the end. Maybe Jim was built for tragedy and loss. Maybe Jim will get home and lose more. Maybe Jim is losing himself.

But he promised Toby.

He promised Toby and the thought is enough to bring him stumbling to his knees in the middle of battle. With his last moments, all Toby asked, all he wanted, was for Jim to find peace. Jim. He doesn’t understand and he can’t honour it right away. But a promise is a promise and a Trollhunter keeps his word. Jim was not built for peace, but soon – soon it’ll be time to rebuild again.

“Tired, little troll?”

Jim startles and stands, faster than he probably should have. He schools his expression as he observes the fae confronting him. He’s vaguely familiar, so Jim probably saw him while controlled. He’s not sure this one’s magic type by appearance, which is an absurd thought anyway because fae aren’t Pokémon. There’s something as wild and angry as his lion’s mane of hair in his eyes that makes Jim uneasy.

“Changeling, actually,” he says.

“It was not right for her to take that term,” the fae says. “That is not for the trolls and it gives our people a bad reputation. Changelings, real changelings, are loved. And sometimes that gets them killed. It did my cousin.”

“Ooookay,” says Jim. “Very sorry about that, I guess? Unless your cousin was trying to kill us.”

“He fought on your side and look where it got him!” the fae snarls, stalking forward, dark blue magic sparking around his hands. “He so believed in humanity... and humanity killed him.”

Jim takes a few steps backwards, unsure that he wants to fight this particular fae. Not when he seems to be grieving and angry at the same time. Jim knows very well that that can be a deadly combination.

Luckily, a blur of blue lands in front of him just before the fae can attack, meeting his magical blade with a familiar staff and a sharp growl. Douxie couldn’t have shown back up at a better time. The fae seems to recognise him, going from angry to furious in seconds.

“You!” he exclaims.

“Me,” Douxie agrees. “Hello again, Lionel, displeasure to see you.”

“You let him die,” hisses the fae – Lionel, Jim guesses? Wait, Alex mentioned a Lionel earlier. Lancelot’s cousin. Ohhhh, shit.

“If I could have prevented Lancelot’s death I would have,” Douxie says, voice choked. “If I could have prevented any of this, I would have! But fate and free will have a funny way of butting heads, and sometimes – sometimes there is nothing we can do.”

“I will kill you for this,” Lionel whispers.

Douxie scoffs. “I’d like to see you try.”

Jim has to rapidly back away as they lock into battle. Okay. Yep, no, they are flying now. Okay, nothing Jim can do there. He turns around to rejoin the fight instead, to be useful somewhere else.

He finds himself cornered. Three Gumm-Gumms. Fantastic. He gives them an awkward little smile that’s fooling nobody. Alright, Jim can take on three at once no problem. The Gumm-Gumms snarl at him and he snarls right back before slamming the hammer into the ground in front of them. Something in the gravity spell must have helped him out, or maybe he just picked an excellent spot, because the cobble pathway crumbles and he has to jump backwards to avoid falling with his enemies. That... wasn’t what he expected to happen.

“Huh,” he mumbles. “Tunnels...?”

His eyes widen.

“Tunnels in the city,” he breathes. “Oh, no.”

He looks around for an ally to help him investigate and thankfully spots Steve and Lot nearby. He runs over to them, leaping over a Gumm-Gumm and slamming the war-hammer into another on the way. When he reaches them he grabs Steve by the shoulders.

“Tunnels!” he yells, shaking his friend.

“What?” says Steve. “Okay, Jim, calm down. Tunnels?”

“There are tunnels under the city,” he says. “Did you know there are tunnels under the city?”

“There are dozens of tunnels in the surrounding area, but under Camelot...?” Lot murmurs. “That is news to me.”

“We have to find out where they lead,” Jim says. “If they can follow them to the castle...”

“Fuck,” Steve sums up.

“Come on, I accidentally opened one of them up a second ago,” he says, leading them back to the caved-in street. He takes a deep breath and leaps inside. The fall is rough – troll or not, he’s going to feel that in his knees tomorrow. Steve and Lot follow a second later. Steve puts Lot down and summons a light.

“I do not like this,” Lot says.

“We need to make sure they can’t reach the castle.” Jim rests a hand on the wall, damp and cold. It smells like fresh mud in here, dusty from the cave-in and wet from the rain. “Come on.”

They walk. The sounds of the battle fade as they get further and further from the entrance Jim accidentally opened up. Now, it’s eerily quiet and it leaves Jim uneasy to only hear dripping water and his friends’ breathing.

“This is creepy as fuck,” Steve mutters. Lot nods beside him. For all that Steve looks exactly like Arthur and Mort, seeing them together like that Jim recognises mannerisms easily – the way they both furrow their brows and it creases the bridge of their nose just so, the way they purse their lips as they look around. Jim’s kind of grateful he doesn’t have any ancestors in Camelot, because this must be so weird for Steve. Baby Gaheris is going to grow up and be Steve’s granddad. Okay, it’s weird for Jim too.

“I have lived in Camelot all my life and I never knew these were here,” mumbles Lot.

“If they’ve been here all your life,” Jim says grimly. “It’s entirely possible the Gumm-Gumms have been making these tunnels. We already know they use the ones in the forest to travel.”

“Fuck,” mutter Steve and Lot in unison.

They continue walking, Steve’s magic and Toby’s war-hammer the only things lighting the way. Jim keeps his ears open for footsteps other than their own. Surely he wouldn’t miss Gumm-Gumms, as large as they tend to be, but fae are a different story. And he can’t help but feel like they’re not alone down here… maybe he’s just paranoid. For a troll he’s really not fond of small underground spaces.

The further they get, too, the smaller the tunnels get. If this is meant to be a passageway for the Gumm-Gumms, it can’t be finished yet. Jim has to shift back to human for them to fit, and he’s on the smaller side compared to the Gumm-Gumms.

“I don’t like this,” Lot says lowly.

“You and me both, buddy,” mumbles Steve.

Jim’s hearing is worse, in this form, but he still slows to a stop when he thinks he hears something. He holds out a hand to get the others to do the same.  They all hold their breaths, waiting, readying. If this is going to be a fight – well, it won’t be an easy one.

The sound gets closer. Running. Jim readies himself to turn and attack–

“SIR JIM!”

–only to be tackled by a small chunk of preteen rock. Draal gives him a wide grin. Jim can’t hide his horror.

“Draal?” he exclaims. “What are you doing here? Does your dad know you’re here?”

“Yeah, I followed him!” Draal says. Jim is going to kill Kanjigar. He’s gonna find his ghost in the Void and beat his rocky ass.  “So where are we going?”

“We are not going anywhere,” Jim says. “You are going back to Dwoza where you’ll be safe. You’re just a whelp, Draal.”

Draal blinks at him. “Well, I don’t know the way back. Guess I gotta stay.  Where are we going?”

Jim groans. This is fine. This is – this is fine. Baby Draal is adorable but Jim really doesn’t need to have to focus on protecting him on top of everything else going on. Lot pats Jim’s shoulder and smiles to Draal.

“Well, lad, we aren’t quite sure where we’re going,” he says. “We’re trying to find out where this tunnel leads.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to go down a hole if you don’t know what’s at the bottom?” Draal says, crossing his arms. “Fleshbags are kind of stupid.”

“Do you know where this tunnel leads?” Jim asks.

“No.”

“Then you also went down a hole without knowing what’s at the bottom.” Draal’s mouth drops open in offence to that but Jim just turns around. “Alright, gang, let’s go. The sooner we either find a dead-end or an exit the sooner we can get out.”

Draal pouts as they continue to walk. Undoubtedly he expected more action. Too bad. Jim is really hoping for no action, thank you very much. As they continue, the tunnel starts to open up again. Jim smells the faintest touch of smoke, more like candles than anything else.

“Light ahead,” Lot says. “Come on.”

As they emerge into the light, Jim’s heart drops into his stomach. He knows this place. Knows the painting on the wall, the arrangement of the candles, the sword on the other side of the room. The one day with some of his biggest regrets – but how, when he knows Merlin’s tomb was nowhere near Camelot?

“Uh, Jim, you’ve gone… white,” says Steve, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“I know this place,” he says, hushed so Lot and Draal won’t hear. “This is – part of Merlin’s tomb. But… I don’t know how we got here.”

“Okay, creepy,” mutters Steve. He starts to turn around. “Let’s just head back the way we–”

“There’s something wrong with this stone!” Draal yells, and within seconds the room is plunged into darkness, only lit by the small entrance Jim remembers from so long ago. The entrance they came through is caved in, in this version, in this time.

Steve’s phone buzzes in his pocket and then doesn’t stop buzzing for several seconds. Steve fishes it out and nearly drops it as he opens it, jaw dropped. “I have service. How do I have service? Jim. Jim. Why am I getting texts? Jim!”

“This room,” Jim says softly. “It’s this – Draal, the stone needs to be down if we want to get back!”

Why didn’t he think of Merlin’s tomb as a way home? Can they even leave the room or will it kick them back? Could they have accidentally walked into the Middle Ages all those years ago? That’s a weird thought. He’s not even sure if he’ll be able to lead the others back here. Nor – looking at the caved-in entrance – is he sure that he should.

“Incredible,” says Lot. “Everything looks to have aged… immensely. Maybe even hundreds of years!”

“Woah,” says Draal.

Steve’s eyes are glued to his phone and after a moment he sinks to his knees. “I don’t know if I should text them back. I don’t – want to give them false hope. I…”

Jim can’t help but peer over his shoulder at the messages, countless from Aja and Eli, from Coach and Mrs. Lawrence. Jim doesn’t know if he’s glad or disappointed not to have his phone on him. This isn’t the way home. There’s no way that it is, because it’s all too convenient and he doesn’t even know if it will work. Blinky said only the room was travelling through time.

“Steve,” Jim says. “Levitate me up there. I just – I need to see something.”

“I – yeah, yes, okay,” Steve says shakily. Jim braces himself for the unfamiliar sensation. Once up he pulls himself through the entrance and stands, looking around. He lets out a shaky breath, peering back down at the room. Candles lit, friends nowhere to be found. This cave – already full of paintings, but not as many as there would be – is back in the twelfth century.

He slides back through and lands roughly back in the room, back in the future. Lot grabs his shoulders. “Do not do that again! You vanished! Completely!”

“It’s only this room,” Jim says. “If we leave the room we’ll be back where we started. But we definitely need to leave the way we came because I know we aren’t near Camelot.”

“Only this room,” Steve murmurs, shoulders slumping. “Right. Right, yeah. That makes sense.”

He stares forlornly at his phone again before typing something up. Jim almost asks if he can text his mother – tell her he’s okay, tell her he’s coming home as soon as he can – but then he doesn’t know what to say about Toby, and he doesn’t want to lie to her. Is he coming home? He doesn’t know anymore.

He walks over to the stone and carefully positions a rock on it. The room returns to its past state, its present state. Steve closes his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. Jim has to bite the inside of his cheek to avoid doing the same thing. They were home. Even for just a moment, they were in the twenty-first century again.

Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, and Jim falls into him, welcoming the hug that follows. They were home. Toby was never going to see home again. Jim’s heart aches.

“I told Aja and Eli we’re okay,” Steve whispers, “but I didn’t know how to tell them about… about Toby.”

“Me neither,” Jim chokes out.

Steve squeezes the hug a little tighter before letting go. Draal glares at the stone. Jim tries to shove down the deepening burn in his chest, in his eyes, being here and thinking about Draal, about how Draal will one day die here. Lot still looks baffled and awed. Steve runs his hands along the spines of the books in the room and pauses, pulling one out. Jim barely catches a glimpse of it before Steve tucks it under his arm.

“Let’s go,” he says grimly. “These tunnels aren’t going to be any use for the Gumm-Gumms, and we’re needed on the surface.”

“Agreed,” Lot says. “But I don’t think we should test that theory. I’d rather not leave this tunnel open.”

Jim agrees, but he bets Merlin will be pissed about it. Ha. Jim likes inconveniencing Merlin. As they leave the room back into the tunnels he shifts back to troll form and turns back around. “Alright, back up.”

The others do. Jim takes a deep breath and throws Toby’s war-hammer. It hits the rocks just above the entrance and they shudder and come crashing down just as the hammer ricochets back. Jim catches it and stumbles backwards as the tunnel in front of him collapses. Cool. Okay. Timeline maintained? Maybe? He glances back at Steve, his brown eyes reflecting in the light of his magic and still suspiciously bright, like he might start crying again. Jim lets out a shaky breath.

They’ll get home. They will, somehow.

Or, at least… what’s left of them will.

“Let’s get back to the surface,” he says quietly. The others nod. Lot briefly rests a hand on Steve’s shoulder before going ahead of him. Draal scampers forward as well. Jim falls in step with Steve.

“Well,” Steve murmurs, “it wasn’t a total waste of a trip.”

He holds out the book he stole in front of him: Formestons and Thir Propertees. Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “Didn’t even Mort have, like, minimal knowledge on those?””

“Yep,” Steve says, eyes darting up to the two others and, when he seems sure they aren’t listening, he runs a hand over the book cover. “We know so little about New Akiridion’s formstones – we don’t even know where they are. If this can help us understand our planet, help Krel understand his powers…”

“And we definitely don’t want that in Merlin’s hands,” Jim murmurs. “Good call.”

It’s chilling to know how far back Merlin’s interest in that kind of power stretches. Jim can’t pretend to be shocked. Even if he technically helped them during the Eternal Night, it wasn’t for the good of anyone but himself. Jim still kicks himself for not realising sooner, for not even guessing that Merlin could have been the bad guy trying to kill his friends. Looking back…

Well, there’s no use looking back. It’s over, now. There is no going back, just like he will always be a changeling now instead of a human, and only because Morgana decided to be technically not evil for the sake of her remaining family.

That’d be nice, if Mordred could convince her now to be technically not evil.

They emerge back onto the battlefield. Lot clasps arms with him and nods. “I’m going to go find where I’m needed. Stay alive, Sir Jim.”

“You too, Sir Lot,” Jim says, squeezing his arm before letting go.

“Alright!” Draal clears. “To glorious battle! To victory! Huzzah!”

Jim rubs his forehead. Steve sighs. “I better get back to the medical tents. Someone’s going to need me sooner or later.”

“You’ll be safe there,” Jim says, relieved.

Steve jabs a finger into his chest. “And you better be safe out here, buttsnack! Don’t – don’t make me lose anyone else today.”

“Aw, Steve, I didn’t know you cared,” Jim teases, because if he doesn’t he’ll give into the crushing ache of losing Toby all over again. Steve rolls his eyes and shoves him before taking off for the nearest tent. Draal looks up to Jim with stars in his eyes, ready to take on the world. Jim rests a hand on the top of his head.

“Stick with me, kiddo,” he says softly. “The Gumm-Gumms can and will kill you, whelp or not.”

Draal nods and they rush back into the fray together. Jim finds his eyes drawn back to the sky. Krel catches his attention first. Still big. Still red. Thank god Krel is on their side. Seriously, since when can he do that? Not important right now. He follows the shapes in the sky to Mordred and Claire still fighting Morgana. As he sinks back into the battle – don’t think about Toby, don’t think about home, don’t think about any of it – he keeps a careful eye out on her.

He hears Morgana let out an enraged shriek and turns more attention that way. Claire got a hold of her staff. Jim can’t help but grin. Okay, Claire’s got this. Thank god. Feeling more comfortable, he falls into an easy rhythm. Even Toby’s war-hammer is easier to use as he becomes more familiar with it. Draal stays close, just as Jim asked, which shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is. For all that Draal was reckless and eager to help, he was also dutiful and listened when he needed to.

Though sometimes Jim did wish he’d decked Strickler. Just cause Jim’s fine with the guy now…

Even this young, Draal works well with him. Jim feels a rush of affection for the boy that will one day be the closest thing he’s ever had to an older brother. They’re a good team, and Draal already has the makings of a great warrior. Some part of Jim thinks he did deserve to be Trollhunter; the rest of him is too scarred by the vision where he was to even consider it.

He thinks they’re finally making a dent. The streets are littered with shattered troll remains, but Jim is confident they’re largely from the Gumm-Gumms. Krel still has most of the faes’ attention on him, which really does help the rest of them. Things are starting to maybe look up.

And then a shrill, agonised scream pierces the air.

“CLAIRE!” Jim cries, looking up just in time to see her start to fall, sparking with electricity. He takes off in a dead sprint and then launches himself in the air with the war-hammer. He just barely manages to catch her and lower the both of them to the ground.

“Jim?” she manages weakly.

“Claire, I’m here, I’ve got you,” Jim gasps out. He hovers his hand over her face, where the worst of the burns are, stretching from her lower left ear to her right temple. She has her eyes squeezed shut. She groans, a heartbreakingly pained sound that seems to barely make it past her lips. Jim rearranges his grip and takes off running. He’s vaguely aware that Douxie has joined Mordred in the sky to fight Morgana, vaguely aware of Draal following him and helping to clear a path. Every heartbeat sends panic through his veins. Not Claire, not Claire, not Claire.

He stumbles into the healing tent.

“HELP HER!” he yells, voice breaking in his desperation. “Please! Somebody help her! She was fighting Morgana!”

Whispers break out among the healers, but an older lady guides him to one of the makeshift beds and has him lay her down. She looks over him quickly. “We can take her from here, Sir Knight. Are you hurt?”

“No – no, I’m fine,” Jim manages. “Is she – is she going to be…?”

“She’s conscious and responding to external stimuli,” reports another healer. “She’ll live.”

Jim takes Claire’s hand and squeezes it. “You’re gonna be okay, amor. Hang in there for me. Please.”

“Jim,” she whispers hoarsely. “They – need you.”

“You need me,” he pleads.

She brings his hand to her collarbone, where he can position his fingers to brush against her neck and feel her pulse. That doesn’t help him much, erratic as it is, but it’s there and she’s alive and the healers promised she would stay that way.

He swallows harshly then brings her hand up and kisses just inside her wrist. “I’ll be back, Claire. I promise.”

“You better be,” she chokes out.

He releases her hand and backs away carefully, out of the tent. He lets out a shaky breath and scrubs fresh tears off his cheek. Toby’s dead. Claire’s hurt. How much more of this can he take? Jim was not built for peace. Jim was built for loss, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t rebuild himself for Toby, for Claire, for a future where he doesn’t have to keep losing.

He just needs to survive to see it.

Notes:

This chapter went so many places that i simply did not expect (so does next chapter, for that matter) but I had fun and that's what matters! IS there some minor 4quel set up? Who's to say! 🙂

Thank you guys for reading, I love y'all so much!! <3

Chapter 50: The Bloody Dawn

Notes:

TW: more death, more eye trauma, misc. violence and injury

Krel has always considered himself slow to truly anger, but once he does, despite his current red hue, he knows he has always burned hotter than most suns. He has not been so angry in a long time, but losing Toby – well, that was more than enough to ignite a fury he hasn’t felt since Seamus died, since Douxie almost died.

Not since Uncle Mort died, and for a long time, that anger was directed at his memory because how could he? He knew Krel could die and have a chance to come back, maybe, probably. He knew damn well that he wouldn’t. How could he do that to them, leave them, orphan him and Douxie once more? Sometimes if Krel thinks about it too hard, the anger returns, but nowadays it mostly remains deep, bone-aching grief.

But here on the battlefield, it’s easy to turn the anger outwards, to blame the rest of the world. It’s easy to bring the rage to his fingertips, to let hell rain down on a once vibrant city, to send enemies and allies alike screaming. People are scared of him. He can see it in their faces, hear it in their voices, the way even Lamorak’s face shone with wary hesitation. Even Gawain fears him – he should, because if Krel does lose control he will be the first to die – despite his awe at Krel’s power.

In the back of his mind, he knows he fears what he is doing, what he is becoming. How different is he from Gaylen? No one knows why Gaylen fell into his own murderous rage. Perhaps he too lost someone as important to him as breathing and just as impossible to imagine life without. Perhaps it’s not possible to have this sort of power and still get to love people, because maybe if Krel hadn’t loved Toby so much he wouldn’t become a monster.

But then he thinks about his best friend dying and the fury surges like throwing new logs onto a fire and Krel kicks away the Gumm-Gumms hacking at his ankles. It takes next to nothing to crush them to dust beneath the heel of his armour. They deserve it for killing Toby. He sees Morgana in the sky, fighting Claire and Mordred. Oh, Mordred is out of jail. Probably Douxie too. Better be Douxie too. Krel doesn’t think he’d survive losing Toby and Douxie at once, thinks his core would simply shatter and leave only shards behind. This new thought is enough to cut through the rage again and he stumbles. Wouldn’t Douxie be up there with Mordred? Why isn’t he? Why – why isn’t he?

He starts frantically scanning the battlefield for his brother and the rest of his friends, panic settling in. It isn’t like Douxie to allow Mordred to face off against Morgana without him. He spots Alex first – no Douxie, still, also strange – still fighting beside Sir Bedivere. Steve with King Lot – and there’s Jim, running up to them. Okay. Okay. Now where is his brother, where is Douxie?

After several heart-stopping moments, he finally catches sight of him in the sky fighting a fae. Closer inspection – shit, that’s Lionel. Ooh, Krel wants a piece of that bastard, but he also knows Douxie has a bigger bone to pick so he just keeps a careful eye on the fight. Lionel’s arms are sparking with blue electricity – looking back, he doesn’t know how they didn’t immediately realise that Lionel sabotaged the daxial array of Iros’s ship. Douxie needs to be careful, and Krel needs to make sure he doesn’t lose his brother. Watching the fight helps to keep him grounded as well, allows him to focus his attacks. Glancing around at the city – yikes. Krel hopes most of this wasn’t him.

He grabs a handful of Gumm-Gumms and crushes them. It’s sickeningly easy. He uses their remains as projectiles, throwing them at fae on the ground and in the air, before returning to his blasters. A second later he deactivates them. Uncle Mort wouldn’t want him to risk destroying Camelot further. Toby wouldn’t want him to risk it. Toby died for this damned kingdom.

It’s not fair.

There’s no time to think about fair, not in battle, so he focuses his attention on the fae in the sky. Drawing their attention from the battlefield will help, right? It may not have been the fae that killed Toby but they have hurt Krel’s family all the same. He snatches the nearest one out of the air and snarls at them. They struggle in his grip. Oh how easy it would be to smash them like a bug, but this time instead he throws them to the ground hard enough to leave a crater in the muddy ground. Another fae roars and flies straight towards Krel’s face. This one, he bats away with ease.

He refocuses his attention on Douxie’s fight as it gets closer to him.

“You got Lancelot killed!” Lionel is hissing. “You’re going to get Mordred killed! You’ve poisoned him against me!”

“You did that yourself,” snaps Douxie. “You claim to care about them, but you attacked them! You know N- Lady Viviane is resting still because of how injured she was in that fight? That’s on you!”

Lionel howls and lunges towards Douxie. Before Krel has a chance to intervene, Lionel has grabbed onto him and Douxie’s form lights up with electricity. Douxie screams. An animalistic shriek tears from Krel’s throat as he lunges to catch Douxie as he starts to fall. He grabs Lionel too. For his own sake, he better hope he didn’t just kill Krel’s brother. Krel rapidly shrinks to normal size, panic clawing at his core. When Lionel moves to get up from the ground, Krel snaps a sharp glare at him and tries to think of a way to restrain him. He shifts his foot, not even meaning to, and just like weeks ago, the Earth responds to his unspoken command. Lionel sinks like he’s been caught in quicksand; not all the way, but enough to restrain.

Krel doesn’t have time to deal with this, snapped back to attention when Douxie groans. He falls to his knees beside him, eyes wide as he takes in the damage. Douxie has a hand covering his left eye. Nasty, nasty burns spiderweb across the left side of his face and the left crest on his head in Akiridion form. Further down on his right side, where Lionel’s other hand had been positioned, more burns shoot out from his collarbone.

“Douxie,” he pleads. “Are you okay? Douxie, talk to me.”

Douxie grits his teeth and lets out a sharp breath, then another. “Fuck. Holy – why am I – not dead?”

Krel would like to know that as well. Electricity is incredibly dangerous to human hearts, Krel knows this from Steve’s many rants about him tinkering in human form and nearly electrocuting himself. So why is Douxie–

“You don’t have a heart,” he realises in a whisper.

“Gee, thanks,” Douxie manages. Cardiac problems or not he’s clearly in a lot of pain. Burns are not fun. Krel can attest. His own scars twinge in phantom sympathy pain.

“No,” Krel says. “Literally. In this form, it’s – it’s weird. I have bones, and blood, and I’m a lot more biological than your average Akiridion. I know I have lungs, I think maybe some other organs. But I don’t have a heart. Why would I, when I have a core?”

“I’m not – Akiridion,” Douxie grits out. “I’m human.”

“Not right now you’re not,” Krel murmurs, stunned. He shakes his head. “You need a healer.”

“I need to get back up there,” grunts Douxie, pushing himself up with his lower set of arms. He moves his right arm down, no longer covering his face. Krel sucks in a gasp. “What?”

“Your eye,” he says carefully.

Douxie smiles wryly. “Figured it was fucked up since I can’t see jack-shit out of him. Help me stand.”

Against his better judgement Krel does so, hands shaking. Douxie is alive. Douxie is hurt, badly. But he’s alive. Krel hasn’t lost him, too. He can feel the night weighing on him again, now that he’s slowed down once more, the inevitable crash creeping up on him. He scrubs at his face as tears slip free despite himself.

“We’ll save Toby,” Douxie says softly, so earnest that Krel realises that somehow, whoever told him didn’t get him to realise that Toby really is gone. Krel lets out a weak sob. “We will. The fae are tricky bastards but–”

“Douxie, we can’t save Toby.” Krel chokes on the words, more tears slipping free and mucus clogging his throat as they do. Stupid, stupid biological processes he never had back in the day. “He’s gone.”

“No, no,” Douxie says. “That’s what they want you to believe. We’ll find him and save him. He’ll be fine just like Alex. We just–”

“Stop!” Krel snaps, far harsher than he meant, the growl echoing in his voice. Douxie staggers a step back. Krel swallows. “Stop. He’s gone, Douxie. Don’t try to give me false hope. You need to go to a healer. Now.”

“I’m fine,” Douxie says, voice flat.

Krel almost says something more, but… well, Krel’s no doctor but the wounds aren’t going to kill him. Not in this form, and since the initial damage is done, probably not in his normal, human form either. Krel’s ignoring his own injuries, though they feel little more than paper cuts, even now that he’s normal-sized again.

“Fine,” Krel says. He turns back to Lionel. “You. You almost killed my brother. You betrayed your own family.”

“I was trying to protect them,” he hisses.

Krel can’t bring himself to feel sympathy. He crouches beside Lionel. “I am only telling you this because we are going to kill you. Thoroughly. But you betrayed more family than you know.”

Lionel is scared of him. Krel sees his red glow reflected in the man’s wide, blue eyes. Good. He should be afraid.

“In another world, we may have known you as uncle,” Krel says softly. “But instead, Mordred never told us about you. Because you betrayed him. Because you killed his familiar – oh, maybe it wasn’t you specifically, but it was your fault.”

“I don’t understand,” whispers Lionel.

“You said you would do anything to protect your family,” Krel murmurs. “So will I.”

He forms a blaster and shoots, point blank. Then, because he doesn’t know what fae can come back from, he keeps shooting, until he’s certain Lionel will not be back. Maybe Mordred will be upset, if he finds out. But then again, it’s good Krel is the one to have done it. Douxie could not handle Mordred being angry with him. Krel can. Sometimes, Krel is still angry with Mort. So why not even the odds?

He turns away from the smouldering remains. “Come on. We’re done here.”

Douxie still stares, or as much as he can; Krel is sure his depth perception is completely wrong now. Toby’s was. The thought nearly knocks him off his feet, and he tries not to get superstitious about it but can’t help the fear that rises in his chest. Maybe he’s cursed. Maybe he will eventually lose everyone.

“Come on, Douxie,” he bites out.

He takes to the air and lets himself breathe, tries to let go of his anger as he stares out across the battle and the destruction. There are houses destroyed like they were stepped on – by him. There is no one else that large. Krel lets out a shaky breath.

What has he done?

He shakes himself off when he spots Alex and Bedivere again. “If you won’t see a healer, I know Sir Bedivere has magic. Please, Douxie.”

Douxie purses his lips, next to him in the air, before giving a short nod. The two of them dive and land with a stumble next to them. Bedivere startles, but Alex’s face goes through several different emotions at once – delight, relief, fear – before settling into fretting as he rushes to Douxie’s side.

“Oh my god,” he says, horrified. “What happened?”

“Got in a fight,” Douxie says with a wince.

“What the fuck,” mutters Bedivere.

“Sir Bedivere, are you any good at healing?” Krel asks. Bedivere blinks at him. “Oh, ah, it’s Krel and Douxie. Hi.”

“I can try, but he’s going to want the healers,” says Bedivere, shaking his head and apparently deciding to take this in stride. Krel takes a moment to shoot an approaching Gumm-Gumm. “Looks like lightning, and lightning can do some nasty stuff to you.”

“Oh, I’ll be dragging him to Steve as soon as possible,” Krel says, because even without a heart to throw off with electricity, a core can still be affected. Steve knows how to heal Akiridions. Too bad they don’t have a core reader.

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” Alex grumbles, no heat behind it as he takes one of Douxie’s hands. He presses a kiss to Douxie’s uninjured crest and Krel has to suppress an eyeroll. Really? Must they? In the middle of battle?

“I’m going to get out there again,” Krel says. “Thank you for your help, Sir Bedivere.”

“You guys have a lot to fuckin’ explain after this,” mutters Bedivere, but Krel just takes it as a “you’re welcome”. He nods to the knight then shoots back into the air. Douxie is alive. Alex is alive. Claire is alive, he sees her still. Steve is likely in the healers’ tent, one of them anyway, out of harm’s way. Jim – shit, he’s lost track of Jim. Toby would want him to protect Jim, right? Seklos. He is already failing Toby.

He stays in the air and continues to rain blaster-fire down on the Gumm-Gumms and fae, careful to avoid the knights. He keeps his eyes peeled for Jim – hopefully alive, but… Krel isn’t dismissing any possibilities.

It’s because he’s paying such rapt attention to the battle that he sees the arrow pierce Aunt Iros’s chest.

Krel lands so hard next to her that he has to step out of the crater he created to run over to Iros’s side as Ikram lowers her gently to the ground. Krel crashes onto his knees, eyes drawn to the arrow, to the flecks of her form floating into the smoke and ash of battle. Ikram locks eyes with him and nods, before standing and falling into place to defend them. Krel appreciates her more than she’ll know for a very long time.

“Iros,” he chokes out. “No, no, no.”

He knew, logically, that Iros would die in Camelot. Mort had always been tight-lipped about the details, but he knew she wouldn’t survive past the fall. Still, that never clicked until now, until he’s watching her form disappear just like Papa, like Mama, and with the positioning of the arrow he’s not sure even a pod would do her any good.

“Don’t go crying over me, Akraohm,” she jokes weakly.

He swallows and shakes his head. “It’s – it’s Tarron. Not Akraohm. My name is Krel Tarron.”

“Tarron,” she mumbles. “Unity. What a fitting name. You look like your father.”

“And here I was thinking you weren’t as smart as me,” Krel says, but the tears muddle the teasing tone. She huffs out a pained laugh.

“I knew there was something up,” she says. “Hisirdoux… is not a very Akiridion name.”

“No, I guess not,” Krel agrees. “Iros, I…”

“You are Gaylen’s heir,” she whispers, even as more and more of her body vanishes. “We have waited… for you… a very long time.”

Krel gasps a broken sob. “What good does it do anyone?”

“I know you, Krel Tarron,” she says, taking his hand, since hers has yet to go. “You… are to be exactly… what we need.”

“This isn’t fair.” He leans down to press his forehead to hers. “Lancelot, Toby… now you too. What am I going to tell Mordred?”

“That he is… so loved…” She moves her hand to cup his face and smile. “That he is my chosen son, and he is so loved. And you are too, nephew. You are so loved.”

Her voice echoes as she fades away. Krel is left with a dark, empty core, the arrow that killed her still embedded in it. He tears it out and throws it aside, cradling her core to his chest. He weeps. He knew this was coming, he knew, and it still hurts. And he’ll have to tell Mordred. Seklos, he has to tell Uncle Mort another of his parents is gone. Krel can’t – he can’t–

“Krel.”

He doesn’t turn, shoulders tensing at Ikram’s familiar voice. He can’t read her tone, doesn’t know if she’s planning to execute him now for being – not human, not fae, but something other and humans don’t like other.

“I don’t know what you are,” she admits. “But at this point I don’t care. We need you out there.”

Krel stands and lets out a long breath. He looks down at Iros’s dark core and knows he can’t protect it, but if there’s anyone he trusts to protect her it’s Ikram. He turns and holds Iros’s core out to her.

“I want to bring her home,” he says softly. “So she can rest with her family. But I – it will be a long time before I can. I – please. Can you protect her?”

Ikram takes the core gingerly and nods.

“I promise,” she says. “I’ll return this – her – after the battle.”

Krel smiles sadly. “It will be some time after that. You will – you’ll know. I trust you.”

He sets his lips into a firm line and closes his eyes. A few more tears slip free. How can he be exactly what anyone needs when the people important to him always die? Arthur, Lancelot, Iros. Mama and Papa. Seamus. Uncle Mort. Toby. Seklos, Toby can’t be gone.

Within moments, he’s grown in size again. If he ever stopped glowing red, the sickly, bloody colour is back again.  They all bled and bled and bled and Krel couldn’t protect them, Krel couldn’t be exactly what they needed. What good is being a god if he cannot change fate?

So he throws himself back into battle, because at least then he can stop thinking about it. Never mind the fact that the battle will eventually end. He shoves it behind a locked door and lets himself sink into ruthlessness, lets himself become a cold, calculating weapon, just like Ultios would have wanted him to be, just like Grandfather may have dreamed of.

He will push off his breakdown until it’s safe.

 

 

The battle continues well past dawn, with Morgana stretching the shadows to allow the Gumm-Gumms to linger. Krel is exhausted and injured, but he knows he fares better than most of his friends. Most of his remaining friends, anyways. Seklos. He still can’t believe it. He still can’t think about it without that all-encompassing rage returning and threatening the kingdom as much as its foes.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to tell Mordred about Iros. He doesn’t know how he’s going to handle everything after the fires die down.

He tries to find people. He lost track of Claire at some point. She’s no longer in the air. He thinks he spots Jim, and he’s able to locate Alex still near Bedivere. He sees Mordred and Douxie fighting Morgana because of course Douxie is right back to the fight. Morgana is strange, in this time, almost unrecognisable. The Aunt Morgana back home is still a bit feral and evil but mostly domesticated, like a cat. This Morgana is wild and angry and wants to kill everyone. Alright. Krel can help with that.

He stalked over, reaching out and catching her in a hand with a snarl. She snarls right back and struggles in his grip. He throws her hard to the ground. She’s resilient and he knows it, so he isn’t entirely worried. Douxie dives to intercept her before she can leap back into the air. Krel is about to join him when he finds his wrists caught in whips of fire. His eyes widen and before he can stop himself he shrinks to escape.

He finds himself face to face with a group of fae. Krel immediately forms a shield as they blast fire at him, like humanoid flamethrowers. He tries desperately to calm the angry buzzing of his core. Fire! Why did it have to be fire?

“Krel!” Mordred yells. He lands next to him and skids. Krel forms a blaster and shoots at the fae. Mordred screws up his face to focus and surprisingly successfully forms a rudimentary blaster with his magic to mimic him.

“Nice job!” Krel praises, before fire whips catch around his ankles and his breath catches.

“I don’t know what you are,” the fae growls, “but at least fire has an effect.”

The flames can’t get past the metal of his armour, but even magic Gaylen armour is metal that can get heated up. Krel stumbles to his knees and Mordred leaps in front of him to defend him. In all the overwhelming emotions of the day, Krel’s eyes well with tears at the idea that this younger version of Uncle Mort is defending him.

But he fears it won’t be enough, that they’ll hurt Mordred too. But just when he thinks the fae is going to fire-blast Mordred in the face, Toby’s hammer knocks the fae clean out. Jim runs over and helps Krel to his feet.

“I gotcha, buddy!” he says.

“Jim!” Krel exclaims. “Seklos, is it good to see you!”

“Sir Jim!” Mordred gasps in relief. “You’re back, you’re okay!”

Jim accepts a quick hug from each of them before brushing his hair out of his face with a hand. He doesn’t look too much worse for the wear, or, at least, no more than Krel thinks they all are.

“The Gumm-Gumms are starting to retreat,” Jim says. “Hopefully the fae will follow.”

“We should find the others,” Mordred manages. “Our friends. I lost track of everyone. I – I know about Toby. But we should find Steve and – is Claire okay? Oh, Seklos – and Iros–“

Krel sucks in a sharp breath.

“Mordred,” he says carefully. Mordred turns to him with wide eyes. “Iros... she didn’t make it.”

Mordred’s eyes widen and well with tears. Krel takes his face in two hands and presses their foreheads together, his own tears slipping free. He remembers the first time Mort told him about Iros, when he first officially, semi-legally adopted Krel. Krel had been astonished to be... wanted. Maybe that was cruel to his parents, who certainly loved him but certainly showed who their favourite was and it wasn’t him. But Mort had proposed the adoption, and when it was finalised, he had taken Krel’s face in his hands, just like this, and pressed their foreheads together like any Akiridion parent might do with their child.

“You are my chosen son, Krel Tarron-Penn,” he’d murmured in fluent Akiridion. “And it brings me so much joy to have that honour.”

What had followed was a long discussion on Iros and also on Krel’s own trauma, why that had hit him so hard. But that day will always, always be one of Krel’s most treasured memories.

“You are her chosen son, Mordred Pendragon-Ventis,” Krel whispers. “You are so loved. And I can say with certainty that nothing brought her more joy than having the honour to call you hers.”

Mordred chokes out a sob and throws his arms around Krel’s neck. Krel pulls him into the hug, letting out a shuddering breath.

“Why?” Mordred gasps. “Why?”

Krel wishes he had an answer to that, the very same question he’s asked of his own life. Mama and Papa. Seamus. Uncle Mort. Toby. It's not fair.

It’s not fair.

A shockwave the colour of all three of their nightmares sweeps across the city. Mordred flinches closer to him and Jim takes on a more defensive position, even as the fae start fleeing. Even Morgana vanishes through a shadow portal. The battle is over.  It fucking took Merlin long enough. The city is in shambles, but Camelot has not yet fallen.

Not today.

There’s a thud as Douxie lands next to them, splashing mud and blood from the battle on their legs. Jim spits out a Trollish curse, eyes wide. “Jesus, Doux, what happened to you?”

“Got electrocuted,” Douxie says dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. I’m fine. Are you guys okay?”

“Iros,” whispers Mordred. Douxie’s eyes widen and dart to Krel. Krel shakes his head with a grimace. He’ll explain to Douxie later, assuming they get a later. With the battle ending, he’s hoping things will calm down. They just need to get Mordred out of here now.

“I see,” murmurs Douxie. He comes over to Krel and cups his cheek. Krel hisses as his fingers brush an injury he didn’t know he had. Oh, well. Krel expected injuries. Of them all, Mordred looks the least injured – this isn’t surprising. Mort had scars, Krel has even seen some of them, but not enough that he thinks they need to be worried he’s hiding an injury or something.

“Lads!” Krel stiffens as King Lot runs up to them. The man’s eyes widen as he takes notice of Krel and Douxie’s distinctly non-human forms. “You know, I saw Hisirdoux earlier and I honestly thought I was hallucinating.”

“We were truthful about not being fae,” Douxie offers.

“Being human, on the other hand,” Krel says wryly, shoulders tense. “If you try to hurt Mordred–”

“Easy, Krel, he broke us out,” says Douxie. “Thank you, by the way.”

“You are welcome, friend, but I fear that aid won’t last long if all three of you don’t get out of here quickly,” says Lot grimly. “Anna is… not pleased.”

“What, did our fighting on your side not convince her we’re not evil?” Krel scoffs. It figures. Anna Pendragon is as stubborn as Aja ever was, he expects, and it’s not to her benefit. He gets it’s hard to admit to putting your trust in the wrong person, but Seklos and Gaylen, Mordred is her little brother!

“I will be talking to her,” Lot promises. “But for now, you should–”

“YOU!”

Too late. Queen Anna stalks up to them in full armour, blood down the side of her face from a head wound and an angry snarl on her face. Lot grimaces. Krel and Douxie both immediately position themselves in front of Mordred. Anna falters as she reaches them, furrowed brow shifting to confusion and fear at the sight of them.

Lot intercepts her, holding her shoulder and arm in an attempt to keep her from getting close. “Anna, love, breathe. They aren’t going to harm us. They fought on our side.”

“They’ve lied to you, Lot!” she snaps. “Look at them! I don’t even know what these – these things are!”

“Hey, now!” snaps Douxie, crossing his lower set of arms. “We aren’t things. We’re Akiridions!”

“I saw the monster unleashed on my city,” she hisses. Krel flinches despite himself, despite knowing it’s true. “I saw Mordred and Hisirdoux’s ‘fighting’ with Morgana! Funny how Lady Claire is laid up in a medical tent and neither of them are!”

“Anna, does Douxie look uninjured to you?” Lot says, baffled. Jim looks furious that she would bring Claire up.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Krel exclaims. They’ve started to draw a crowd. There’s betrayal in Gawain’s eyes, as if he thought them allies or even friends before he found out Krel was in the league with the people he holds responsible for his sister’s death. “We’re on your side! Can’t you hear the truth in our words?”

Her gaze hardens. “My senses can be fooled.”

“Are you seriously that far up–”

“Douxie,” Krel says sharply, before scowling at Anna. “But he has a point. Does Merlin truly have you so convinced that you can’t listen to your own senses? You know your brother.”

“I thought I did,” she says softly, eyes lingering on the heartbroken Mordred behind them. “Knights. Arrest them. Lot, we must check you for spells.”

“I am not spelled!” Lot protests. “Anna, you’re making a mistake.”

Anna’s face screws up for a second, some emotion Krel can’t read, before she turns to her husband. “Sir Lot. I am not speaking to you as your wife but as your queen. Stand down or you will join them.”

Lot takes a half step back, dark eyes wide.

“Knights!” Anna yells. “You heard me! Arrest them!”

Krel is so tempted to fight back, though no knights come forward, perhaps too intimidated by the monster they saw before. Anna snarls, curling her features into something ugly and hateful. She surges forward herself, and one look at the despair and pleading on Mordred’s face prevents Krel from doing anything to stop her as she wrestles his hands behind his back and starts tying them with rope. Rope won’t do anything, but Krel’s love for the boy that will one day choose him to be his son will. Gawain stalks forward to do the same to Douxie, and a knight Krel doesn’t recognise takes Mordred. His expression doesn’t change. Jim is pale and wide-eyed, and Krel manages to make brief eye contact and shake his head subtly before returning his attention to their captors.

“I thought you were on our side,” Gawain mutters to Krel, though he refuses to look at him.

“I am,” Krel says softly. “I told you I would fight for Camelot and I did.”

Anna yanks his arms harshly and he grimaces. She shoves him forward. “Silence, creature. You three will burn at nightfall, and your pyres will light the city while we rebuild from the horrors you have wrought upon us.”

Krel will come back. He thinks. He hopes. It’s still fire, it’s still one of his deepest fears since that fateful summer. Yet as much as the flames scare him there is nothing more terrifying and looking over to see Mordred’s numb, broken face, a boy who has accepted death so thoroughly Krel has to wonder if they truly did mess everything up. They have to get out of this.

Krel cannot see Mort die again.

 

Notes:

this too went places i didnt expect! my akiridion lore is a lot of "ehhhh that'll work" and then it all comes together uwu
I really enjoy exploring the consequences of Douxie's core. it's very very fun

Also fINALLY the battle is OVER. i am never doing a battle that many chapters again istg. do not let me

I hope you guys enjoyyyyyyyyed
I love y'all!!

Chapter 51: Plotting a Prison Break

Notes:

TW: eye trauma, death and injury

As the enemies finally flee, Alex sinks down to his knees in the mud and grime and lets out a shaky breath. Bedivere rests a hand on his shoulder, firm and comforting despite the blood staining his once-gleaming armour. Looking around the city he feels sick to his stomach. There are buildings on fire, smoke rising into the still-lightening sky. No matter what direction Alex turns, there are dead bodies in the street, fae and human and the stone corpses of trolls. The city has survived but only by the skin of its teeth. The streets of Camelot run red with blood.

“We’re alive,” he whispers.

“We’re alive,” Bedivere echoes. “Fuck. That was – that was a bad battle.”

“Everything hurts,” Alex says.

Bedivere snorts. “God, tell me about it, kid. Alright, up we go, lad, let’s check in with the healers before anything else.”

“I need to find Douxie,” Alex argues, his husband’s burnt face flashing across his vision. Whatever happened to him was clearly bad and it terrified Alex because it looked like lightning. Electricity can seriously fuck someone up.

“I healed him as best I could,” Bedivere says. “God willing, the lad won’t die. Healers first, then we go looking for your Douxie.”

Alex purses his lips but, sensing his friend is too stubborn to persuade, he nods and lets Bedivere pull him to his feet. He grimaces and stumbles on his bad leg. Bedivere wraps an arm around his back.

“Your arm's sparking to hell and back,” says Bedivere.

“Yeah, I think it’s officially shot,” Alex says, which sucks because it means he’s going to be armless again, probably until they get home and Krel can build him a new one. He knows better than to try taking it off without Steve present. Knowing him he’d fuck up what’s left of his arm even worse and that would be just what he needs.

“Let’s see if we can’t find Healer Steve,” says Bedivere. “Come on.”

Alex limps along with him. His face is aching again, but at least he doesn’t think he split the barely healed injury. It’s hard to tell since it’s been raining on and off all night, so his face feels wet from the water. He’s cold and tense, the smell of blood and death too reminiscent of the cave. The twitch in the corner of Bedivere’s lower lip and the way his eyes dart around almost frantically tells him his friend feels the same.

They have to pop in a few tents before they finally find Steve, directing the other healers like he’s been working with them for years. He spots them and pats another healer on the shoulder before walking over. She seamlessly takes over shouting commands.

“Man, am I glad to see you,” he says. “Come on, I know damn well you’re both hurt. Let’s get you triaged. I’ve been going from tent to tent hammering out a triage system, by the way.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Alex says fondly.

Steve grabs each of their hands and cleans them with a rag and some magic-cleaned water before pricking a finger each for the healers’ paper. He reads over them and nods. “Technically since you’re both walking you’re both green but Alex, with your knee, I’m marking you yellow. I need to get back to helping the reds. I’m gonna have Bedivere get you outside to one of the cots we’ve been setting up.”

Alex nods, albeit reluctantly. Steve gives them a tight smile and passes them their healers’ papers before disappearing back into the hectic fray. The knights’ battle may be over, but the healers’ has just begun. Bedivere supports him as they leave the tent and a young apprentice directs them to an area shielded from the rain with magic. Alex is sure magic was also used to clear the area of mud and other potential hazards. Blankets have been laid out in a row, side by side, and another apprentice helps Bedivere guide Alex to one.

“Let me take a look at you,” she says. “We apprentices are taking care of the, um, yellow folk. Healer Steve is the one who came up with the colours.”

“It’s common practice back home for mass casualty events,” Alex says because he did learn some stuff from his mom.

“It’s clever,” she says. “May I have your paper?”

Alex passes it to her. The sooner she’s shoved potions at him, the sooner he can go find Douxie. Sure enough the first thing she does is feed him a couple potions. Then, the apprentice taps his prosthesis, frowning.

“This needs to come off,” she says. If she’s alarmed by the Akiridion tech, she doesn’t say so. “Do you know how?”

“I can guess,” Alex says. He is glad Krel didn’t install any pain receptors or something in them for this prototype. He feels along the top until he finds a button he hopes will help it detach. Sure enough, the pressure lessens and he’s able to tug the arm off. He grimaces at the resulting pain, so either he did it wrong - as predicted - or it was just fucked up enough from the battle.

The apprentice removes his pauldron then his cuirass and then sets to work on unwrapping the stump. Even with the dark fabric Alex can see blood on it, so he cringes and looks away, surveying the other injured. He’s grateful that most of the injured are knights, which is strange but he knows his brothers and sisters-in-arms knew the risks. The youngest he sees are probably around Mordred’s age, squires still. Alex hopes none of the young squires died, but he knows better.

“Okay, I’m going to take a look at your knee now,” says the apprentice. Alex nods. Now that the adrenaline of battle has fully worn off his knee is absolutely killing him, so he has no complaints about getting some healer. “Hm, some spells. Your work, Bedivere?”

“Aye, lass,” he says. “Alex here didn’t wish to see the healers mid-battle. Did what I could to keep him on his feet.”

Alex’s face heats up but he does send Bedivere a grateful look. “Thank you. They were already overwhelmed.”

“Our job is to help our knights,” says the apprentice, rolling the healer’s paper to thwap him on the head with it. “That means you come to us when injured.”

Alex has too much experience with his mom and Steve and even Elaine to try to argue. The last thing he needs is a lecture from a teenager. Bedivere laughs at whatever expression he’s making and sits beside him.

“You don’t have to stick around,” Alex says. “I’m sure you want to find Lamorak.”

“Nah, I’m not gonna leave you, kid,” Bedivere says. “Lamorak will be okay till we can find him together.”

Alex would like to pretend that he’s not touched that the older knight is staying with him, but the whole battle is starting to crash down. Douxie, badly injured. Toby, dead. A choked sob slips free. There’s been so much death today. Alex has never seen this much death up close and personal before. Bedivere pulls him against his side.

“We’re safe now, it’s okay,” he whispers. “Let it out, bud. That’s it.”

“I want to go home,” Alex chokes out, not caring if it’s childish that he’s crying. He wants Mami and Dad. He wants Douxie, some kind of assurance his husband is okay, isn’t dead somewhere and Alex doesn’t even know. He wants to be able to curl up in bed and pretend none of this ever even happened. He adores Hilde but doesn’t she deserve a parent who isn’t a traumatised mess? Elaine would have done better by her.

But there is no going back, there is no pretending this didn’t happen. It did, and now Alex is short an arm (and hopefully, god, hopefully not a husband) and has gained a daughter and PTSD and – and god, he wasn’t ready for this.

“I’ve got you,” Bedivere promises. “I’ve got you.”

Alex wipes at his eyes, awkward with only one hand. It’s not like he hasn’t seen tragedy before. He saw the devastation from the raid on Hilde’s home, he watched as Akiridion-5 exploded and millions, billions of Akiridions were killed by a madman. But maybe everything is catching up. God, Alex wants to go home.

“I fear everyone in the city has someone to mourn tonight,” murmurs the apprentice.

“Aye,” agrees Bedivere. “We’ve lost a lot of good knights and friends. What we must do now is live to avenge them.”

“Toby,” mumbles Alex. Bedivere grips his shoulder and gives him a grim, apologetic look. Alex sucks in a shaky breath. “I’ll have to see if I can find the others. I – I really hope they’re okay.”

He manages to get his sobs back under control as the apprentice wraps his knee in bandages and then carefully splints it. Bedivere looks out over their fellow knights, limping, sitting, but all alive out here. Alex tries to see who all he knows and especially if any of his friends come by, but he doesn’t see them.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” she says. “Use a walking staff or cane if you must go walking around. You need to stay off that knee as much as possible.”

“Thank you,” Alex says softly. He fumbles for his serrator, glad he brought that too just in case, and nods to Bedivere. “Help me up?”

Bedivere’s lips thin but he does. Alex activates the serrator into a tall spear and leans on it, relieved that he still has the arm he needs to support himself. The two of them give shallow bows to the apprentice to thank her once more, before Alex starts crutching forwards. Bedivere stays at his side.

“Where to?” he asks.

Alex looks across the smoking city and lets out a shaky breath. “To Douxie.”

 

 

Unfortunately, the universe just loves to stop Alex from getting what he wants. Getting to Douxie proves nearly impossible because it turns out Anna caught him, Krel, and Mordred and they’re once more in the dungeon. Instead he and Bedivere help out getting more injured knights to healers. Steve is at an entirely different tent the next time they come across him. This one is less busy so he beckons them over. Alex sucks in a breath.

“Claire!” he exclaims.

“Alex,” she says, voice relieved. Her eyes are covered in bandages; Alex knew she took a bad hit but that’s really not a good sign. “Good to know you’re okay. Jim’s safe, if you’re wondering. Steve just told me.”

“He had to help the trolls get settled underground in the tunnels beneath the city,” Steve says. “So they don’t, you know, die.”

“There are tunnels beneath the city?” Bedivere asks, eyebrows shooting up.

“Glad to know we weren’t the only ones alarmed,” mumbles Steve. “Alright, Claire, I’m going to remove the bandages now. There’s… definitely damage and scarring to your eyes. So… be prepared.”

She nods grimly. Steve carefully unravels the bandages and sets them aside. Alex winces despite himself. Morgana’s lightning was ruthless to her. She blinks several times, which Alex is sure must be a product of magical healing. Steve carefully prods at the scarring.

“Any pain?” he asks. She shakes her head. “Good. Any feeling though?”

“Yes, I can feel your poking,” she says, but her lips twist down, troubled.

Steve nods then sighs. “And what can you see?”

“I – not really anything,” she admits. “I can sort of tell it’s daytime. Like it’s darker when I close my eyes. But…”

“Not unusual,” Steve notes. “I’m sorry, Claire. We can try more potions and stuff, but…”

“I kind of guessed,” Claire murmurs. “Figures that bitch had to take one last thing from me.”

Steve grimaces but rests a hand on her shoulder. “Have you got aura sight?”

“No,” she says.

“Then my main prescription is meditation and lots of it,” he says. “I’ve heard of wizards developing aura sight after losing their regular vision and I’ve heard of wizards accomplishing aura sight with plenty of meditation whether they were born with the affinity for it or not. And there’s Alex’s weird ass.”

“Guilty,” Alex says. He takes Claire’s hand and squeezes it. “We’ve got you, hermana.”

She gives him a small smile. “Thank you, Ale. How are you holding up?”

“Eh,” he admits. “Alive, somehow. I – I’m sorry about Toby. I should have... I should have done something.”

“Alex, please,” she whispers. “I can’t right now, I’m sorry.”

Alex flinches and nods. “Yes – yes, I’m – I’m here for you if you need me.”

“I know, hermano,” she says, squeezing his hand again.

“Claire!” He hears Jim before he sees him and only has just enough time to move out of the way when he rushes to his fiancée’s side. “Claire, I’m here, I’m so sorry.”

“The trolls needed you, it’s okay,” she says. “Are you hurt?”

“Am I hurt – am I hurt!?” Jim blurts. “Claire!”

“She’s going to be okay, Jim,” Steve says. ‘Now sit, I’m scanning you. Alex, sit too. Get off your knee before I have to fix it again.”

Alex shakes his head. “I – we need to find Lamorak.”

“Well, you’re in the right place,” Steve says with a sigh. “Next tent over. He should be awake. If you must, go sit there, okay?”

Steve gives him a tight smile before he turns his attention on Jim. Bedivere jerks his head to the tent entrance and they both head out. Alex’s hands are shaking – hand. He’s so frazzled he forgot. It feels like he has two trembling hands, like he could hold up both and watch them, unsteady and bloodstained. He tightens his grip on his serrator and they keep walking.

Lamorak is awake on a cot when they arrive, partitioned behind some fabric for privacy. Alex’s shoulders slump in relief at the sight of him. Okay. That’s almost everyone accounted for, in terms of people he was close with. He hasn’t heard anything about Iros yet, but… well, he has a sinking feeling.

Lamorak perks up when they approach, waving away his healers.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says. “Leave me to talk to my friends in peace!”

“Don’t let him try anything, Sir Bedivere,” says one of the healers, as if she knows Alex would probably be a bad influence. That’s fundamentally untrue. Alex’s mother is a doctor. Alex is a great influence.

After they leave, Lamorak flicks his wrist at the curtains. “Privacy wards so we can talk freely. Thank the gods I get to see you both again.”

Bedivere walks over and takes his hand. Alex sits on his other side, eyes trailing him for any other injury and lingering on the dip in the blanket where his leg disappears. “How are you feeling?”

“About as well as I can be,” Lamorak admits. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Yeah.”

“Scared the shit out of me,” Bedivere says. “You’re insufferable, dear friend.”

Lamorak laughs. “Ah, yes, quite insufferable. Always have been.”

Alex blinks as he stares at the two of them, suddenly feeling like he’s intruding on a very private moment. Huh. Okay. Alex sees what’s going on here. He can’t help but smile. He’s going to miss these two, when he gets home. He hopes they get a happy ending.

“Alright, Lex,” says Lamorak, startling Alex out of his thoughts. “I have to ask. What are Krel and Douxie?”

“Ah,” Alex says. “They’re kind of… sort of… from another planet? But that is not common knowledge so please don’t go spreading it.”

Bedivere runs a hand down his face. “And they’re blue. Jesus. Like – what, from Mars?”

“Way past Mars,” Alex says, blinking. “Wait, you know what Mars is?”

“Yes?” says Bedivere, baffled.  “I’m not stupid, kiddo, I do know the planets that orbit us.”

Alex opens his mouth, closes it, then grimaces. “May I interest you in a lecture on heliocentrism?”

“Nothing you say ever makes sense,” Bedivere sighs, the same way Mami sounds when she’s so done with Alex and Lillie’s joint bullshit. The tone almost brings him to tears, but he takes in a breath and shakes it off.

Lamorak shifts. Bedivere helps him sit up better. Alex tries not to feel guilty – he was either going to die or lose the part Alex cut off anyway. Still, it makes him feel a bit sick to his stomach to remember the smell of burning flesh and his friend’s blood on his hands.

“What are the odds you can make me a fancy leg like your arm?” Lamorak asks, gesturing to the still-sparking arm that Bedivere has been carrying for him.

“I’d love to, if we’re around long enough,” says Alex. He winces. “I’ll need Krel’s help, though, and he is… currently slated for execution with Douxie and Mordred. Fuckin’ – it’s a mess right now.”

“I’ve heard the trolls have ways of creating new limbs,” Lamorak says. “I’ll ask them if you don’t have the chance before you leave. Oh, but I’ll come find you, one day… whenever Arcadia is.”

Whenever. Not wherever.

Some of his surprise must show on his face because Lamorak grins. “I’m smarter than I look, lad.”

“Are we that obvious?” he asks.

“Toby said something that tipped me off,” Lamorak says. His face falls back into a frown. “I’m sorry, by the way. About Toby.”

“I’m sorry too.” Alex reaches up to brush some hair out of his face. His poor locs. Between the rain and the battle and getting thrown in the lake they’re in sorry shape, and Alex mourns the connection to Elaine he loses with them. “About Tristan, I mean.”

“He’s with his Iseult now,” Lamorak says with a sad smile. “And he wouldn’t want us to be too sad. You knew him. He tried to be cheerful even in the face of loss.”

“It’s not always healthy,” Alex murmurs. “I just – I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Lex.” Lamorak reaches out to take his hand. “I don’t know what happened, but I know Tristan wouldn’t want you to blame him.”

Alex sniffs, tears welling up again. No, maybe Lamorak is right, but he doesn’t have the full story, doesn’t know who killed his beloved squire. Alex doesn’t know how to tell him either, doesn’t know how to process everything that’s happened. He’s aware of the way Lamorak and Bedivere are watching him worriedly.

“Lex?” Lamorak says.

“It is my fault,” he blurts, pulling his hand away. “It’s my fault because I was the one that killed him.”

He avoids their eyes, tears slipping free as he looks pointedly away. He clenches his fist in his lap, swearing up and down that it’s covered in blood and glass and dark, dark sand. He wishes, selfishly, he’d had the chance to talk to Toby about this feeling, to talk to Mort about this feeling. What kind of normal therapist can handle this kind of stuff?

“I was – controlled,” he admits. “So I know it’s not – it wasn’t me. But if I’d just been able to resist – if I’d just fought it off – maybe Tristan would still be alive. So I – I'm so sorry, Lamorak. I know how much he meant to you.”

“Lex,” Lamorak says. Alex squeezes his eyes shut. “Alexander. Look at me.”

Alex does. Lamorak’s eyes are bright with unshed tears but he smiles gently at Alex anyway, reaching out with both hands to hold Alex’s tightly.

“It was the greatest honour of my life to train Tristan, and he was like a son to me,” he says. “But every single knight of Camelot knows the risks they take. Did he die a heroic death?”

“He saved Douxie,” whispers Alex.

“Then that is exactly how he would have wanted to go.” Lamorak squeezes his hand. “We must celebrate his life – you and I both know Tristan of Fowydh would rather we throw a party than a funeral.”

Alex laughs wetly. “You’re right.”

Toby would too, but that's hard to think about right now, with his death being so incredibly fresh and raw. Alex should have been able to prevent that, too. Krel said it himself. Alex was supposed to be looking out for him.

The three of them let the conversation fall back to more pleasant topics when Bedivere nudges him and asks about this whole lecture he promised. Alex shoves his guilt and grief down so that he can get through the day, allows himself to launch into an animated lecture on basic astronomical principles.

Grief can wait.

 

 

Later that day finds several of them camped out in Jim and Claire’s room. Steve is clearly grumpy about Alex and Lamorak being on their feet – he rants at both of them for a solid minute when they arrive, Alex with his serrator as a walking staff and Lamorak with a pair of magical crutches, before directing them to sit their sorry asses down before he makes them. Claire laughs at them even though she can’t even see their faces. Lamorak’s abashed expression is kind of funny, though.

Because Lot took the blame for the breakout, Alex, Steve, and Bedivere have escaped suspicion for now. Merlin still hates them and very clearly suspects Alex had something to do with it, but he has no way to prove it, thankfully. Jim looks flat-out miserable when he explains the arrest, the way Anna had accused Douxie and Mordred of faking a fight with Morgana, about how she all but threatened Lot with the dungeons himself.

“There’s not long before sundown,” Bedivere is saying. “I’ve heard tales of wizards who can stop the sun from sinking, but – well, I’m thinking it’s a myth now anyway. Alex told us about the sun not orbiting us.”

“You’re trying to break stuff at this point,” Steve says flatly.

“Listen, it’s painful,” says Alex. He shakes his head. “Okay, so we know there’s going to be more security this time, because there’s no battle going on and because they were broken out before.”

“Why doesn’t Krel just... go Gaylen again?” asks Jim. “There’s no way the dungeon could hold him.”

“Krel and Douxie both would never do anything that could make things worse for Mordred,” Alex says softly.

Jim winces. “That’s true. Okay, so we need a plan that doesn’t involve just destroying the dungeons then.”

“I have access to all the guard rotation shifts,” says Lamorak. “I likely can’t get you lads assigned, but I can at least arrange for a pair of less experienced knights. A simple sleep spell should get them out of the way.”

“You guys will need to high-tail it out of the city afterwards,” says Bedivere grimly. “Anna will be out for blood.”

“Should we be worried about you two?” Claire asks.

“Lamorak and I have been knights before she was even born,” Bedivere dismisses. “And she would lose a lot of loyal knights if she turned on us.”

“While I don’t quite share Bedivere’s optimism, it is true that we are in a much better place than you four.” Lamorak sighs and runs a hand through his grey curls. “Anna would have made a good queen. Perhaps one day she still can, if we can turn her away from the paranoia and fear-mongering Merlin seems prone to fostering.”

“Grief does funny things,” Steve says softly. He clenches his fists in his lap. “I think it runs in the family. Anger. Maybe that’s why Arthur was so happy – he was choosing not to be angry.”

Lamorak inclines his head. “He feared ever becoming like his father. Uther was a hateful, hateful man.”

Hateful isn’t a word Alex would use to describe any of the Pendragons-slash-Penns that he knows, aside from maybe Anna – and even then, he doesn’t think that’s right. But angry? Yes, he knows both Mordred and Anna have the capability for rage. He knows Douxie and Krel do too, adopted or not; Krel laid waste to the whole city because of Toby’s death, after all. He has to wonder about Steve, with how little he knows of the Steve before he met him, but something in his voice says he understands too well himself.

In his adulthood, Mort projected a sense of calmness that Alex fell for easily, but he thinks back to the look on his face when Ultios’s men came to take Krel away and he knows that some part of Mort never outgrew the Mordred Alex saw at the lake. Still, maybe it isn’t a propensity for anger but for passion, for an intensity of emotion that carries them away.

“You good, lad?” Bedivere mumbles.

“Fine,” he says softly. “Just... thinking, is all.” Then, louder, for Steve, he adds, “I’m not sure it’s the anger, just – the height of the emotion is all.”

He tries to communicate without saying that whatever Steve is thinking about himself is wrong. He’s come to see the guy as a younger cousin through Douxie, maybe even a brother figure, bonded over their time captured by Ultios and putting up with the Penn brothers’ shenanigans. He would hate for Steve to be thinking badly of himself. Lamorak catches his gaze and his brow furrows, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Once we’re out of the city it should be mostly smooth sailing,” says Jim. “We can bring Mordred to Lady Viviane. She’ll keep him safe, and hopefully she’s figured out a way to get us home by now.”

“She has,” Alex confirms. “She told Douxie before we left.”

“Damn, leaving that soon?” says Bedivere. “We’re gonna miss you kids around here.”

“My wife and husband are already gonna kill me, man,” says Steve. “An angry Aja is a scary Aja. She’s going to kick my ass.”

“And Krel’s,” Alex says, amused.

“You say that like your mom isn’t going to find the most creative way to tie you to a hospital bed and never let you leave,” Jim teases.

“You say that like Dr. L won’t do the same to you,” Alex shoots back.

Jim groans. “They’re probably collaborating right now in the hospital breakroom on how to yell at us.”

“I think I’m the most worried about my brothers,” grumbles Claire.

“Lucan would certainly have my head if I vanished for months like that,” Bedivere agrees. “He let me off easy this time since I got tortured and all.”

Alex glances out the window as the sky has started to very slowly take on oranges and pinks. Time is running out. The flames won’t kill Krel, and they may not even kill Douxie, but Alex doesn’t want to find out nor does he want to put Krel through that again.

“We need a plan,” he says. “Has anyone got something yet?”

“If you’re willing to make a run for it and blow up any trust Anna has in you, we can arrange an attack as they’re brought to the pyre,” Lamorak says. “Open air will mean those of us who can fly can carry the others to safety quickly, but it will be dangerous. Otherwise–"

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

Steve grumbles but goes to the door to open it. His eyebrows raise. Alex leans forward to catch a glimpse of King Lot at the door. He’s surprised despite himself – hopefully Lot is here to help, since he did help with the first breakout. But given Anna flat-out threatened him… well, that and Merlin. Who knows if Merlin did something?

“May I come in?” he asks.

“We’re a little, uh, busy,” Steve says.

“Please,” Lot says. “I believe that I can be of some assistance.”

“Let him in,” says Lamorak. Steve nods and does so, closing the door behind him and reinforcing the wards. “Say your piece, your majesty.”

“My wife has gone off the deep end,” Lot says bluntly, or at least he says something that translates about like that. “I – I hardly recognise her. How dare she – how dare she! Arthur must be rolling in his grave.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” mutters Jim. “Thanks for agreeing with us, but that’s not really assistance, man.”

“Jim!” hisses Claire. “He’s still the king!”

“It’s quite alright, Lady Claire,” says Lot. He rubs his forehead. “I will not allow her to burn Mordred. Not only is it just – wrong – but she would also, ultimately, never forgive herself. And I won’t allow her to burn Hisirdoux or Krel either.”

“We are trying to plan,” Lamorak says carefully, “but it’s not the easiest. We’re thinking of striking as they’re brought to the pyre.”

Lot nods slowly. “That’s not a bad idea, but I fear we won’t be able to shelter any who are seen involved.”

“We’re leaving ASAP anyway,” says Alex.

“Ah-ess-ah-pay?” mumbles Bedivere.

“As soon as possible,” Jim translates. Alex gives his friend a sheepish look for once again throwing future slang at him. It’s a coin toss what will be translated how. Apparently acronyms aren’t.

“I do have an idea,” says Lot, “but I fear none of you will like it.”

Lamorak runs a hand down his face. “Go on, lad.”

“We frame either one of the Tarron brothers or Mordred,” says Lot. He was right. Alex does not like this. “Everyone is saying the mind control looks like eyes glowing the colour of another’s magic. We simply illusion the eyes of whoever is performing the rescue with bronze, blue, or white.”

“Absolutely not,” says Bedivere as Alex says, “Are you fucking insane?”

“If it’s convincing enough, it will protect those involved,” Lot insists. “Anna already believes the worst of them. What more could this do?”

"We do need more help," Jim says reluctantly. "Of the four of us, only two of us can even fight right now. There's no way we can rescue them alone and I really don't want to ruin things for any of you guys."

Steve’s lips press in a thin line. “We ask them about it first. And not Mordred. That’s my vote. If Douxie and Krel are willing to play the villain, we can do that. But they have to be on board.”

“If they’re in agreement, who will perform the rescue?” says Bedivere. “It can’t be Lamorak or Alex, obviously.”

“Wait, why not me?” Alex asks, unable to prevent the pout he feels forming. “I’m perfectly capable of rescuing my husband.”

“You’re supposed to be off that knee,” Steve says flatly. He nods to Bedivere. “You’re so reasonable. I’m going to miss you.”

Bedivere laughs at this. Jim taps his legs. “Not Claire either.”

“Yeah, I’m not used to… not seeing,” she admits softly, fists clenched in her skirt.

“I will volunteer,” says Lot. “She already fears me controlled. Let this confirm her paranoia if we must. Sir Bedivere?”

“I hate this plan,” warns Bedivere. “But fine. I’ll play along. Steve, perhaps? We could argue that he wants to confront Douxie and Krel as to their reasonings for betraying humankind or some bullshit, and when he and I go down there that’s when we get ‘controlled’ so to speak.”

“That’s perfect,” agrees Lot. “I shall arrange for that visit. I do not think Anna will deny it if Steve is guarded. I will have Sir Ikram go with you; I trust her.”

Steve’s shoulders relax a little at the mention of Ikram – she’s trustworthy for sure so that will make things easier – and Bedivere nods. “Very well. We’ll keep working on a backup plan, in case the lads aren’t up for this.”

“To get Mordred out of prison and safe from the pyre?” Alex murmurs, chest tight with anxiety. Here is the true problem, the worst part of this situation. Douxie would make any sacrifice for Mordred Pendragon. This, Alex knows is more true than most anything else. He glances up and meets King Lot’s eyes. “They’ll do anything.”

Notes:

SURPRISE another OC centric chap bc i adore them
Only three more chapters after this guys I cannot BELIEVE
And then a whole 'nother fic because I have no self control and I know at least one or two people will read it and you know who you are I love you
And I love all of you!!!

Chapter 52: The Ashes of Home

Notes:

TW: the usual blood and violence and discussion of death

What is it with Douxie having aunts that try to kill him? Not that Morgana tried to kill him as directly as Anna is trying, but still. It’s an alarming trend. He hopes he’s fresh out of aunts.

He’s impressed by Krel’s restraint as they’re dragged back to the dungeons – with the way his brother has been snappy and snarling today, Douxie expected him to fight this. Then again, neither of them would want to risk Mordred, and neither of them will hurt Anna when Uncle Mort still loved her so dearly. He tries to imagine it, loving someone who knowingly hurt him like this, but it only brings him back to Toby. Toby, who he once tried to kill to avenge his little brother. Toby, who is... who they say is gone, but surely isn’t. But that’s different anyway. Toby wasn’t himself. It wasn’t Toby that killed Krel, it was Ultios. Douxie can’t imagine any of the ones he loves betraying him like this.

He all but growls as he’s shoved into a cell. He stumbles to the ground with a grimace. Bedivere healed him as best he could, but Douxie is still feeling the effects of the lightning. It’s - strange, in this form.  He’s decidedly not thinking about what Krel said, the implications, but it’s undeniable that injuries feel different like this. He’s shaky and weak but the initial burning pain is gone completely. It shouldn’t be.

“Hey!” he hears Krel roar. “Don’t you fucking dare–”

Douxie’s head snaps up just in time for the iron shackles to close around Mordred’s wrists. The hopelessness in his face breaks Douxie’s heart (“You don’t have a heart,” Krel whispers in his mind) as his expression doesn’t even flicker with the pain from the iron. Douxie is grabbed next, hoisted to his feet then brought to the stone wall. He resists fighting for the moment, knowing now is not the time to escape, not yet, and lets them chain him to the wall, arms above his head and feet barely touching the ground. If he was in his human form he’s be dangling, but thankfully this form gives him some height. His other arms are shackled behind him. The iron mutes his magic, but he can still feel the life energy brimming in the guards – it would be so easy...

No. It would be too easy, to kill innocents just following orders. Douxie doesn’t want to do that, doesn’t want Mordred blamed for that, so he just glowers at them as they lock his cell. Krel must be thinking the same, because for all he shouts and curses at the guards he still lets them chain him up too. His Gaylen powers aren’t magic, aren’t touched by iron.

“Tell her majesty she’s a coward!” Krel screams as the guards start to leave. “The only monster here is the woman willing to kill her own brother!”

The knights don’t bother to reply to that. Krel curses them a few more times in both English and Akiridion before falling angrily silent. After a few long moments, Douxie hears a quiet sob. He’s alarmed to realise it’s come from Mordred, and once the first break free he can’t seem to stop. The tears are as quiet as he can make them, but Douxie can see the way he trembles and hear the little gasps he makes.

“Mordred...” he manages.

“I think your future-sight is wrong,” Mordred chokes out. “There is no happy future waiting for me. Anna is making sure of it.”

Douxie opens his mouth to respond but ends up quickly closing it. He isn’t sure what to say. His own vision blurs. It hurts to see Mordred like this. To see Mort like this. He’s starting to fear they did do something wrong. They’ve been operating like they can’t change things, but what if that isn’t the case? What if they have changed things? What if they’ve messed it up so badly that Mordred does die?

No. He can’t let that happen.

 

 

As the hours pass, Douxie starts thinking up contingency plans. He was relying on Anna changing her mind – surely she must have, right? – but now Douxie isn’t so sure. So they need to escape, and they need back up plans too. If they’re all taken to be killed together, then Douxie is sure he and Krel can bust themselves out and grab Mordred. But if they’re taken one-by-one? That’s trickier. That depends on who’s taken first. If it’s him or Krel, they can cause enough commotion and the other can grab Mordred and get the hell out. But if it’s Mordred first they won’t be able to cause a commotion outside to distract the guards. Not ideal.

“Any ideas there, Doux?” Krel asks in Akiridion.

“Plenty of ideas,” Douxie says. “All of which are heavily dependent on how this goes. Powers still good?”

“Not even touched,” Krel confirms.

“Good, because we’ll need them,” Douxie says. “Normal magic is out but I’ve still got the dark magic. Our best bet is if they take us all at once. More space.”

“True,” Krel agrees. “That would be helpful so we can get aerial. We’ll need to watch out for arrows.”

“Yes, but easier than close quarters fighting off guys with swords.” Douxie taps his fingers against the wall, the ones chained behind his back. “We’ll want to go to the lake. Mordred will be safe there.”

“And the others will know to find us there,” Krel says. “And Steve says we can’t make plans. We’re great at plans.”

“Eh,” Douxie says. “I’m not sure if you can call this a plan. More like... the vibes are there.”

Though he can’t actually see him, Douxie knows Krel shrugs at this. “You say potato, I say... that joke really doesn’t work in Akiridion.”

“I’m sure they’re planning too,” says Douxie. “Alex and Steve are better at plans than us.”

“Marginally,” Krel stresses.

“Ouch, hurtful,” says a familiar voice, also in Akiridion. Both of their heads snap to him as Steve walks in with Sirs Bedivere and Ikram. Douxie’s shoulders slump in relief.

“Steve,” he says.

Steve kneels in front of his and Krel’s cells and lowers his voice. “We have a plan but it hinges on a lot. We’re going to get you out on the way to the pyre, but we also don’t want to get our knightly allies in trouble.”

“Shouldn’t our team be enough?” Douxie asks. “I mean, more back-up is nice, but like – there’s four of you.”

Steve winces. “Two in fighting shape, actually. No, we need them. Lot came up with a plan, but I doubt you’ll like it.”

“Steve,” says Bedivere lowly.

Steve nods to him, then turns back to them, eyes firm. “Douxie, Krel, do you think one of you can pretend to mind-control me, Bedivere, Ikram, and Lot? Anna already thinks Lot is being controlled. I can do the spell to make our eyes look the part but I need you to act it.”

Douxie swallows. Steve is right. He doesn’t like this. He can see that Mordred’s head has jerked up in horror. But if only two of their friends are in fighting shape – and Douxie saw Jim so it must be Steve and Jim, and he worries what that means for Alex – they do need the help and Douxie doesn’t want to get the knights banished or worse.

“I could do it,” Krel says softly. “I have no qualms playing the villain Anna thinks me to be.”

“Okay,” says Steve heavily. “Okay. Well, now it’s time to stage a confrontation between us, I guess. This’ll be when you ‘control’ us.”

“Oh, fun, I get to yell at you,” says Krel. Douxie can hear the teasing smile. He’s glad one of them isn’t freaking out about this. His core buzzes uncomfortably in his chest. He wonders how long it will be now before the transduction he activated in battle wears off. Will it be before the pyre? Will the iron prevent it? Aura suppression did, he remembers, when Krel was taken by Ultios’s lackey.

Steve rolls his eyes and makes a show of standing and stumbling backwards, face pained. Bedivere catches him with a long-suffering sigh.

“You call that an explanation!?” he shouts, way too dramatically.

“What do you want us to say, Steve?” Krel snaps, easily falling into the act. “You humans are all the same!”

“I really thought you guys were good,” Steve says. The forced voice crack is a little much, in Douxie’s professional opinion.

Krel scoffs in response. “And I thought you had a brain in your head. Clearly I was wrong.”

“Healer Steve, we should leave,” says Sir Ikram, watching them with sharp eyes. Douxie wonders how much she really trusts them. If she agreed to the plan she must at least trust they mean Camelot no harm, but...

“You’re right,” Steve mutters. “Clearly there was no point in coming here.”

“I’m sorry, lad,” Bedivere murmurs, glancing at each of them in turn – he, Krel, and Mordred. Mordred quickly averts his eyes.

The three of them leave, Bedivere with an arm around Steve’s shoulders as if comforting him. Douxie lets out a shaky breath. Great. Fantastic. And all they even know of the plan is that Krel has to pretend to be evil. Gods above, Douxie doesn’t like this.

Douxie really doesn’t like this.

But it’s what going to happen, apparently, so he groans and leans back and tries to glare at Krel through the wall. This can only be a huge mess. They’re essentially ruining any of Mort’s chances to come back and he just – it makes him feel sick. Are they part of the reason that Mordred Pendragon went down a villain in history?

“We really can’t convince her,” Mordred mumbles bitterly. “My own sister.”

“I’m sorry,” Douxie whispers, helpless. Mordred turns his head away and says no more. Douxie wishes he could curl up like that, make himself as small as possible. His arms don’t ache like he think they should, and maybe that’s because of the form. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the defeat in Mordred’s any longer.

They will get out of here.

Douxie just fears the cost.

 

 

Nightfall comes sooner than Douxie would like. Several knights arrive in the dungeons, none of which Douxie knows as friendly, two of which he recognises from that fateful summer of apocalypses. Gareth and Gawain, he thinks, and he’s sure he’s right by Krel’s low growl.

Douxie is tempted to lash out now, as they undo the shackles holding him to the wall, but he lets them re-chain him, now both pairs of arms behind his back. He could kill them easily, but they need to be outside for any escape attempt to prove successful. Gods, Douxie hopes Steve and the others have worked out the finer details of their plan. Krel makes a show of struggling but doesn’t give away how much power he still has access too. Mordred remains silent and numb, even as one of the knights – Gawain – shoves him roughly forward.

“I can’t wait to see you burn, traitor,” he hisses.

Mordred doesn’t respond. Douxie seethes but the second he opens his mouth to say anything he has his head yanked back by his crest and instead a yelp escapes.

“Keep silent, creature,” orders the knight holding him. “We aren’t interested in your nonsense. Don’t try anything.”

The flash of red in Krel’s eyes is all that tells Douxie just how furious his brother is, because for once Krel doesn’t speak up. Douxie swears his heart is pounding, no matter what Krel claims, as they step into the last rays of sunlight, into the ruins of the city that had once accepted them whole-heartedly. There is a crowd gathering. How morbid, to take such a torturous form of execution as entertainment. Then again, how human – throughout history people have always delighted in others’ suffering.

Mordred only looks up once Anna comes into view, eyes pleading as he tries to meet hers, but she resolutely avoids his gaze, face hardened into something cruel. Douxie wants to start crying, wants to demand an explanation from his aunt, from the woman Mort had always spoken well of. Instead of time healing his wounds, it deluded Mort into pretending the wounds were never there, into forgetting how bad she hurt him.

Douxie will not forget.

“People of Camelot,” Anna says, voice carrying. “My people. The past night was one of tragedy and loss. Our kingdom has suffered greatly since the death of my father, the king. Prince Mordred and his accomplices stand before you today, guilty of high treason. The punishment for such is death.”

No one cheers and Douxie is relieved by that, at least. Some of the people in the crowd look uneasy. Good. They should be. Mordred is a child.

Merlin finally steps up beside her, a cruel glint in his ice-blue eyes the only hint of his true feelings; his face is a sombre mask of grief and resignation as if he is mourning the boy that was once his pupil. He rests a hand on Anna’s shoulder, the picture of a comforting father figure, but she brushes him off and steps forward.

“Do you have any final words, traitors?” she asks, eyes scanning over all three of them and lingering finally on Mordred.

“Anna,” he whispers brokenly. “Please.”

Something shifts in her face and Douxie swears she wavers, swears her brow twists from fury to sorrow, but the fury is back too quickly for him to be sure. She turns pointedly away from her brother. Douxie can’t stop his upper lip from curling into a snarl.

“I have a few, since you offered, your majesty,” Krel snaps out, voice dripping with venom. Merlin’s mask slips for just a moment and he looks like he bit into a lemon. “All the suffering your kingdom is going to face when it falls – you have brought that upon them. Your father would be ashamed of you.”

Some of Anna’s careful control vanishes, replaced with rage. “How dare–"

“Oh, and another thing,” Krel says, eyes flashing red and a sharp grin stretching across his face. “You don’t have us nearly as contained as you think.”

That’s Douxie’s cue – he hopes – so he grabs hold of the life energy of the knight holding him, careful not to take too much, and uses it to form a sharp spike of dark magic behind him to cut through the iron. It works, thank all the gods and Seklos herself, and Douxie is quick to get Mordred’s shackles off as Krel grows several sizes beside him. His shackles are missing now too.

Merlin’s face twists and he launches into the air, but within seconds Steve is up too, meeting the wizard’s staff with a stolen blade. Douxie can see the fake mind control – the way Steve’s eyes glow an eerie white and he keeps his face perfectly blank. Lot, Ikram, and Bedivere all leap up to help them fend off the other knights, the same blankness carefully crafted.

“Traitors!” snarls Gareth.

“No!” another knight yells. “Look at their eyes! That monster is controlling them!”

Douxie takes the confusion as a chance to pull Mordred to him. “We’re getting out of here, come on. Krel will be right behind.”

“I can’t, I – this is my home, Douxie,” Mordred pleads.

“I’m sorry,” Douxie manages, voice choking, “but not anymore.”

He scoops Mordred up – he hasn’t been eating well, has he, he’s so light – and then takes to the sky. Krel and Steve are distracting Merlin so he takes off in the other direction, ignoring Anna’s furious shrieks.

Mordred’s eyes go wide. “Douxie, watch out!”

It’s not enough time for Douxie to react before sickly green chains wrap around his ankle and jerk him backwards. He glances back – goddammit, Merlin got past Steve. Douxie sees him unconscious – hopefully unconscious – near the pyres.

“Mordred, go to the lake,” Douxie says urgently. “Don’t worry about us, okay? We’ll meet you there.”

“Douxie–”

“Go!” Douxie snaps, throwing Mordred into the open air and just hoping he remembers he can fly and catch himself. He whirls around and forms a battle-staff, using it to send a sharp blast of magic at Merlin.

Merlin dodges and seconds later he’s right in front of Douxie, the chains whipping around him and pinning Douxie’s arms to his torso. He growls, struggling to get free. Merlin only tightens the magical chains.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side for long enough,” he hisses.

“Trust me, I’ll be a thorn in your side for a very long time still,” Douxie bites back, strained. Merlin snarls and forms a dagger. Douxie cringes and squeezes his eyes shut, anticipating what will probably be a killing blow. Fuck, Alex is going to be heartbroken.

It never comes. Instead, there’s a choked, pained sound from Merlin and when Douxie opens his eyes Mordred is suddenly between them, bronze dual swords formed and one of them straight through Merlin’s torso. Douxie’s jaw drops despite himself.

“You are not killing another person I love!” Mordred growls, tears dripping down his cheeks, and for a second instead Douxie sees Mort, desperately protective for reasons Douxie never fully understood until now, until seeing what Mordred has gone through, how much he’s lost in such quick succession.

“Apprentice,” Merlin breathes out, eyes narrow.

Mordred rips his sword free – Merlin should have known his armour wouldn’t protect him, just like Arthur’s didn’t - and Merlin crumples a little, one hand going to the bleeding wound. Douxie wishes they could kill him.

“I am not your apprentice,” Mordred seethes. “I never was, was I? All this time – all this time that I looked up to you, that I idolised you – I’ve always been a pawn.”

“You always were more trouble than you were worth.” There’s something sharp in his gaze that Douxie doesn’t like. “But you’ve certainly proven your sister right now, haven’t you, kingkiller?”

“Wait–” Douxie blurts as Mordred’s scleras turn black. Too late; he surges forward with a furious roar, swords forgotten, to wrap his hands around Merlin’s neck. Merlin smirks and then puts on a show of struggling – bastard isn’t even hiding it, not up here, the show is not for them.

“Merlin!” he hears Anna shout in alarm.

Douxie lurches to grab Mordred and try to pull him away just as Merlin sends out an unformed blast of green magic that throws both of them backwards. They’re closer to the ground than Douxie realised. He barely has time to twist himself so he takes the brunt of impact instead of Mordred, biting the inside of his mouth hard when he hears a hard crack from his shoulder and feels fiery pain erupt from that general area. Great. So not only does he have a broken arm he’s been holding together with magic and a prayer – Steve was already so mad about that but they didn’t exactly have a cast ready – but now probably something else broken. He stays down, dazed, for a long moment, maybe too long.

“Douxie?” Mordred asks, panic lacing his tone.

“M’okay,” Douxie manages with a groan. “Ow.”

“Trebuchets!” Anna yells. Bedivere is suddenly at their side, helping Douxie stand. He takes a brief moment to break his act and wink at him before ushering him and Mordred forward while Douxie wonders what the hell a trebuchet is.

He doesn’t have to wonder for long. His head snaps back when Krel yowls and stumbles backwards, a hand going up to hold his ribs. Ah. Giant catapults.

Ah, fuck.

“Krel!” Douxie calls. He lurches back into the sky, wobbly with pain. Mordred joins him. “We’ve got to go!”

Krel abruptly shrinks back to normal size – a smaller target in the dark, good – and flies to join them. He whirls and forms a blaster to shoot at the trebuchets. Douxie grabs his arm, and Mordred’s too for good measure, and puts on as much speed as he can figured out how to do while woozy and in pain. He hears Anna’s shriek of fury but he doesn’t dare stop or turn around.

Unfortunately, they don’t get as far as he hoped before his exhaustion catches up and he starts careening downwards. Mordred and Krel both support him to the ground, still just inside the ruined city walls.

“Are you okay?” Krel asks urgently.

“Concussed,” Douxie guesses. “Surprised it’s not you this time.”

Krel’s alarm melts into a deadpan glare. “Haha. Clearly you’re fine, then.”

Mordred drops to his knees, sobs bursting forth and shoulders shaking. Krel kneels beside him and carefully pulls him into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbles. Douxie sits as well, too dizzy to stand right now. They’ll be found eventually, but hopefully the others are causing chaos.

“What do I do now?” Mordred chokes out. “Camelot’s the only home I’ve ever had.”

“You will rebuild,” Krel whispers. “You will rebuild.”

Douxie stares back into the smoking city. The knights will chase them, and they will have little trouble finding the three of them here. Douxie isn’t sure he has another fight in him. All he wants right now is a nap and some Advil. And also Alex and also, especially, Archie. He’s never gone this long without his familiar. It’s a deep, emotional ache that he’s gotten accustomed to over time – but it’s still there, and it will still be there until they get home. 

“We have to get moving,” Douxie manages. “If they catch us, we’re dead.”

“They wouldn’t have a clue how to kill us,” says Krel, and the way his eyes linger on Douxie – on his new injuries – tells him that he truly means the us this time. He shudders, unwilling to imagine it.

“We can’t risk Mordred,” he says instead.

“The others,” Krel says.

“They’ll be fine.” Douxie hopes they will, anyway. “We won’t. Help me up?”

Krel reluctantly does so. Mordred stands as well, wiping his eyes. Krel narrows his eyes, focusing on who-knows-what. Douxie wants to make fun of him because his expression is almost goofy in its focus, but now is neither the time nor the place.

Krel about doubles in size, though he wavers when he does and stays his regular blue, the red having faded with his fury as he comforted Mordred. He gives Douxie a smug look as if he wasn’t already the annoyingly taller sibling, then hoists both him and Mordred over separate shoulders.

“Ow,” Douxie protests.

“You can’t fly in your state,” Krel says. “I’ll get us out of here. Hey, this actually is pretty handy.”

“I told you to figure it out years ago,” grumbles Douxie, “but no one ever listens to me.”

A week ago, their banter would have elicited a giggle from Mordred. Now it doesn’t even get a smile from the shell-shocked boy. Douxie wishes someone had invented proper therapy sooner. He is certain, now, that Mort never did heal from this winter, that it haunted the rest of his life. Douxie doesn’t know his parents and his grief and love for them has always been strange and disjointed, but now he finds himself hit with an overwhelming sense of gratefulness towards them for helping Mort in a way he thinks Mort hadn’t had since, well, now. But until then, Mordred will have to live the next several centuries.

And won’t that be the hardest part?

 

 

Nan is visibly terrified when they land on the lake shore, all injured and Mordred all but catatonic. She gathers all three of them in her arms as Krel shrinks to normal. Mordred collapses into sobs again. Nan pepper kisses across his forehead, then does the same to Krel and Douxie, much to Douxie’s surprise. Mordred doesn’t seem to notice.

“Papa,” he sobs out, but he can’t seem to get any more words to form. To speak it is to make it real. That’s something Douxie understands all too well.

So Douxie takes over for him, voice choked. “I’m sorry. Lancelot didn’t make it.”

Nan makes a wounded sound, holding them tighter as her own tears form. They melt right back into her body, since she isn’t made of flesh and blood quite the way they are.

“I’m sorry,” Mordred gasps. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, shh, my dear,” she mumbles. The heartbreak paints her voice as it breaks and wavers. “It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you have returned to me.”

She meets Douxie’s and Krel’s eyes in turn. It warms him that even now, before she ever truly knows them as family, she loves them just as dearly. Nan always did tell him she’s loved him even since Mort was a child – at the time, Douxie had thought that was just a funny way she expressed her love. He’d always happily replied that he’d loved her that long and longer. Now he knows both things are true.

“Where are the others?” she asks as she pulls away. Her brow furrows. “They’re not...?”

“Toby is – Toby is gone,” Krel chokes out. “As far as I know the others are okay. We – Queen Anna sentenced us to death. We had to get out fast.”

He says her name with so much venom that even Douxie winces. Nan gasps, hand covering her mouth. Mordred clenches his fists and looks away.

“Let’s... let’s get you all healing,” she says after a moment. “Let me just...”

She steps towards the lake and parts it to reveal the opening to her nexus. She whistles, and then there’s the sound of running. Hilde practically flies out onto the beach and barrels straight towards Douxie when she sees him.

“DOUXIE!” she yells, the shrill tones of a child receiving the best surprise of their life. Nan stops her before she can tackle him.

“Careful, he’s hurt,” she warns. “Be gentle. Can you help me keep Douxie and Krel sitting still to be healed?”

“I can help!” Hilde agrees. “I’m a good helper, Mama said so all the time.”

“Alright, squirrelly, come here,” Douxie says fondly. She sits beside him and looks around with wide eyes. He ruffles her hair and breathes a sigh of relief. He knew she’d be safe, but... well, maybe this is what being a parent means, to worry even when there’s nothing to worry for.

“Where’s Alex?” she asks, lower lip jutting out anxiously.

“He’s okay,” Douxie promises. “He’ll be here soon. Um, they sent us ahead because we were more hurt. So N- Lady Viviane could heal us.”

“Ohhhh, okay,” says Hilde.

Douxie would have sit still without her, but he can admit she’s a comforting presence as Nan starts to work taking care of them. Fae magic is different in many ways than human magic, and fae healing is no different. She’s less reliant on potions and more so on spells both spoken and unspoken. Whatever she does for his concussion leaves Douxie immediately feeling loads clearer, at first, but ultimately that clarity fades into the background.

Douxie is starting to get groggy, and as the adrenaline high is winding down he’s definitely starting to feel his injuries more. It seems like forever before they hear the crunch of snow underfoot that tells Douxie the others are arriving. It must not be forever because they’re still being healed, but, eh. Long enough. With the amount of injuries Douxie himself has gathered he’s not even surprise.

“ALEX!” Hilde shrieks, up from Douxie’s side in an instant to tackle Alex. Douxie breathes a sigh of relief to see him alive and – less harmed than he feared. The way his knee is splinted and he leans on his serrator as a spear is new. But he’s alive. That’s the important part.

Lamorak and Bedivere are with them; the lower half of Lamorak’s left leg is completely missing, but it’s supported by some kind of pseudo-prosthetic and a crutch. Huh. That doesn’t look fun. Lamorak has a spell going carrying something – Douxie leans to get a better look and immediately regrets it.

Toby.

Completely stone and – he's really gone. Douxie had hoped, had thought maybe, just maybe it had been a trick. He’s always been spectacular at denial.

“Toby is coming home with us,” Jim says firmly, no room for argument, though none of them would dare argue. “He will take his rightful place in the Hero’s Forge.”

Lamorak releases the spell and sets Toby down. Krel looks away, blinking rapidly as if to hold back tears. Steve all but stomps over to them.

“Okay, where are you hurt?” he demands.

“N- Lady Viviane healed us,” Douxie says.

“Started healing,” Nan corrects.

“Are you okay?” Krel asks softly. “You went down hard.”

“Nothing a couple of concussion potions didn’t mostly fix,” says Steve, the hypocrite. “Alex! Lamorak! Sit your asses down or so help me–"

“You’re hurt!” Hilde gasps before scowling and putting her hands on her hips. “Healer Steve is right, sit your asses down–"

“Hildita!” Alex exclaims. Bedivere covers his face to hide a very obvious snort as Alex gives Steve the worst death glare Douxie has ever seen from him. “Do not go teaching her those words, Steven!”

“Do not go teaching her to ignore the healer, Alexander,” Steve shoots back. “Sit. Now.”

Knowing now that all his friends and family (the ones left, anyway, but he can’t think of that) are safe again lets the last of the adrenaline drain out of him. He sways, suddenly dead exhausted. It’s over. It’s over now, they can go home, Mordred is safe and the future is safe.

Oh, wow, the world is spinning, or what of it he can see now that his field of vision has so drastically changed. Nan fixed most of the concussion but for whatever reason he’s feeling like shit again. His broken bones are throbbing, his electrical burns are, well, burning, and he can feel the way his life energy is lower than it should be. He lets up on using it as soon as he realises but without that boost he suddenly lists to the side.

“Douxie?” says Alex’s voice, worry coating it.

“I think,” Douxie says faintly, “that I’m gonna nap now.”

He barely catches Mordred’s noise of alarm and Hilde’s cry before he slumps into the sand and falls into the comforting darkness.

Notes:

WE'RE ALMOST DONEEEEEEE
This chapter was fun, what took me so long was the next chapter (also done though!). I hope y'all enjoyedddddd <3

Chapter 53: Destiny is a Choice

Anna Pendragon is a scary woman when she’s angry. She paces in front of what would have been Douxie, Krel, and Mordred’s pyres, fury radiating off her so hotly that Jim swears it’s turning the cold winter evening into a summer night. He kneels near a waking Steve, watching anxiously as one of the wizards scans him. Thankfully Merlin is out – he played off Mordred stabbing him well until he actually did pass out because immortal wizard or no, he does still need his blood in his body. Is Jim smug? Maybe just a little.

“It looks like the control spell was only temporary,” says the wizard, lips pressing into a firm line. “We’ll keep each of you paired with another knight or two for a few days though. Sir Jim…?”

“Me and Claire have got Steve,” Jim says, brow furrowed in very real worry from the dazed look in Steve’s eyes and the dried blood in his hair. “Can we have a healer look at him now?”

“Should be safe,” she confirms. “I’m going to go confer with the others.”

He nods and watches her leave. Lot is holding his head, though Jim doesn’t think he’s actually hurt or anything. Bedivere is being held by two knights, the picture of stunned, horrified realisation. Man, Jim wants to recruit him for the next community theatre show. Ikram is just glaring at everyone, but that’s normal when she doesn’t like a situation and it really was hard to get her to go along with this. She only agreed because she felt that it was wrong to persecute innocents who tried to help Camelot, regardless of their species.

“I knew there was something wrong, Lot!” Anna hisses. “What if they had made you hurt Gaheris? We’ll have to be more careful. We’ll need better protections against mind control.”

Jim tunes out her ranting to rest a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Concussed, but I’ll live,” Steve says. “Ow. Seklos, don’t get thrown out of the sky.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Jim says. “Let’s get you healed up. Come on, up we go.”

He shifts to troll form and lifts Steve into his arms. Taller though Steve may be than him in human form, he’s laughably easy to pick up when Jim’s a troll. Steve closes his eyes and rests his head against Jim’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey, no sleeping,” Jim says.

“That’s a myth,” Steve mumbles. “And m’not anyway. Tryin’ t’focus in the dark s’not helping. I’ll be good once I got the ‘cussion posion.”

“If you say so.” Jim isn’t totally sure he believes Steve but then again, what does he know about healing? He finds his way to the healers and thanks his lucky stars Merlin is unconscious, even if the man is probably being dragged there himself. Anna fell for their trick hook, line, and sinker. Merlin, he knows, did not. But if there’s one person Anna probably won’t believe him on, it’s Lot, so she probably won’t believe Merlin at all when it comes to their guilt.

“Giving us a right heart attack, laddie,” says one of the healers, tutting as they help Jim sit Steve on one of the makeshift cots. “Aye, that’s a concussion, there. We’ve got potions for that. Gonna scan you for other injuries or side effects from the mind control.”

Steve offers a hand with few complaints for the scan, which is genuinely impressive coming from Steve. Claire sits next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder, her lips pulled into a worried frown. “I can’t believe they’d do that to you.”

“Can we not talk about my brother-in-law betraying me right now?” Steve says tightly.

“If you’re going to harass my patient, you can very well get the hell out,” says the healer primly.

“Lautilde,” complains Steve. She shoves a potion in his hand and he downs it. “They’re fine. Eugh. That’s gross.”

“Potions usually are,” agrees the healer. “Well, I’m not seeing any lingering effects from the spell. Sir Jim, sit down, has anyone checked you for effects from that witch’s magic?”

“Not a bad idea, Jim,” Claire murmurs, so Jim does sit and let the healer fuss over him. He’s still in some pain from the battle but most of it has faded to the background, the weight from the battle settling onto his shoulders. He fears now that it’s well and truly over and the only thing left is to go home that he will crash and – well, Toby’s stone face keeps flashing in his mind.

They just need to make it home. Then he can fall apart.

Then he will fall apart.

 

 

The next few hours pass painfully slow. Jim is beginning to worry about how they’ll be able to leave when Alex solves the problem for them by asking Anna permission to return to Hilde in Fowydh. Anna immediately agrees, and despite her misgivings about them leaving so soon, she does let them go, along with Lamorak and Bedivere. Merlin seems less than thrilled about it, but Lamorak cements the plan by heavily telling Anna that Sir Tristan’s little brother Seamus was regrettably killed in the siege and that he’d like to inform his mother in person. Jim immediately feels guilty. He didn’t even know Tristan had a brother. Probably, Lamorak and Bedivere will split from them once they’re out of the city.

They have little to pack, ultimately. Jim hesitates before donning his armour – Camelot’s armour. He will leave this place as Sir Jim, Knight of Camelot, not Jim the Trollhunter, the boy who never learned how to outgrow his destiny. He has to honour Toby’s request and make his own destiny now. He guides Claire as they leave and meet the others at the castle entrance. Anna and Lot are waiting there with little Gaheris.

“I wanted to see you off,” Anna says, although her smile is strained. “I figured Sir Alexander may stay in Fowydh, or perhaps return to Arcadia, and wasn’t sure if the rest of you would too.”

“Probably,” Claire says softly. “We’ve lost so much. We don’t want to separate now.”

Alex links his arm through Claire’s free one. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, hermanita.”

“I figured,” Anna admitted. “I wanted to thank you for your service to Camelot. You will always be welcome.”

Jim bows. “Thank you, Queen Anna. I’m sorry we weren’t more help.”

“You did what you could,” she says softly. “Perhaps the events that transpired here can at least protect your kingdom, now that you know of the treachery in your midst.”

Jim grimaces and inclines his head. Alex looks away.

“Perhaps so,” Claire murmurs.

“We should be going, my lady,” Lamorak says, leaning heavily on his crutch. The kind-of-prosthetic the healers fitted to his leg looks uncomfortable at best. Jim has to wonder why he doesn’t just hover or something. “The battle may be won but the war still rages. It still is not safe to sleep in the woods at night and I’d like to cover good distance before we must set up camp.”

“Very well,” she says. She bows shallowly to them and Lot does the same. “Be well, my friends.”

“You as well, Queen Anna,” Jim says.

They set off. Jim lets out a shaky, relieved sigh.  Homeward bound. Lamorak leads them through the ruins of the city. Jim isn’t sure why they’re going the long way when the man is visibly uncomfortable walking on the glorified stick attached to his leg, but he realises quickly as they come upon Lamorak’s magical shield. He falls to his knees, unable to hold himself up as he sees Toby’s still form again.

“Jim?” Claire says worriedly.

“Toby,” Jim chokes out. Lamorak drops the shield and Jim crawls forward to cup Toby’s face, shuddering at the feeling of cold stone instead of warm flesh. Claire kneels beside him and Jim helps her bring her palm to Toby’s cheek. She lets out a shuddering breath and bends over, forehead resting against Toby’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, crumpling on Toby’s other side and resting a hand on his chest. “Toby. I knew but – I didn’t want to believe it.”

Jim allows himself several minutes of silent tears, holding Claire as she sobs and watching Steve’s face go blank and numb, before he finally stands on shaking legs and turns back to the rest of their group.

“He’s coming home with us,” he says firmly. “I’m not leaving him here.”

“I assumed as much,” says Lamorak. He waves a hand and sunny yellow magic surrounds Toby’s body and lifts him off the ground. Bedivere levels him with a pointed look. “Oh, don’t give me that, it’s a simple levitation spell.”

“If you pass out I will kick your ass,” Bedivere says, but he doesn’t forcibly make him stop. Jim has figured out that from Bedivere that’s a glowing approval.

“Thank you, Lamorak,” Claire manages, voice hoarse from crying.

“There is nothing to thank for this,” says Lamorak. “Sir Tobias was a good knight and even better friend. He deserves to rest at home, not here.”

There is no world where Jim wouldn’t be bringing Toby home, so he’s glad Lamorak is making it easier for them. AAARRRGGHH!!! is going to be heartbroken. So will Nana and Vex. Jim’s heart, after all, is already in pieces. He keeps Claire close to him as they set off again, terrified of letting her go and losing her too. Thank god the lake is only a few hours’ walk. If the fae decided to attack again, with half of them injured, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Are you headed to Fowydh after we get to the lake, then?” Jim asks Lamorak, trying desperately to distract himself.

“Ah, we may,” says Lamorak, lips falling into a deep frown. “I need to give word to Tristan’s mother about his passing.”

Alex stiffens his shoulders but doesn’t say anything. Jim winces as he remembers the vague outlines of that fight and immediately feels bad about reminding both of them about the death of their friend. Not a good subject change, Lake.

“And his brother, right?” Jim adds anyway.

Lamorak tilts his head. “That’s right, you weren’t here. No, Tristan did not have a brother. That was Krel in disguise.”

“And he went by Seamus?” That seems completely out of character for him, like Jim using Draal’s name for a disguise when even now the loss still aches.

Steve grimaces. “I panicked, okay?”

“Tristan's family is Cornish, not Irish,” says Lamorak, visibly amused now, which is better than sad. Jim hadn’t meant to upset him with the reminder. “You could have at least tried something more in that area.”

“I didn’t know any Cornish names,” admits Steve. “I know Toby suggested Rhys after the fact.”

Jim’s next step falters but he pointedly ignores it. “Is Rhys Cornish?”

“No,” says Lamorak, rolling his eyes. “But it would have been better than Seamus, probably. Luckily, not many knew Tristan’s heritage. Irish worked as well as anything, I suppose.”

“Look, we had a whole debate about what to call him before we left,” Steve says. “He wanted to be Legolas.”

Claire laughs despite herself. “Legolas?”

“I believe Aragorn, Frodo, and Samwise were all also suggested,” Alex says. “I vetoed Aragorn. Douxie vetoed the other two.”

“What in the world kind of names are those?” mutters Bedivere.

“They’re from a book,” Alex says. “You would like it. Or at least the movie.”

“Every time you open your mouth you say something more inane than the last thing,” Bedivere grumbles.

Jim watches them start to bicker – Alex has clearly let go of any care about Lamorak and Bedivere knowing the truth because Jim knows at one point he hears the word “future” get thrown in. Did they find out or something? Man, Jim really missed everything. Claire leans her head on his shoulder. He lets out a sigh and turns to kiss her hair.

It feels wrong that such a peaceful, moonlit night follows the gruesome, bloody battle from the night before. Jim closes his eyes and breathes in the cool air, the crickets chirping and leaves and mud crunching and squishing under their feet. Toby would have loved this kind of night. It reminds him of the crisp fall air on nights they would spend patrolling instead of sleeping, even though they both had classes the next day. They never did regret their nights spent out under the stars, even the one time Toby fell asleep during a pop quiz in Calculus or the time Jim almost crashed his Vespa before he almost fell asleep driving to rehearsal. He wishes Toby could be here now, in this peace.

“Promise me you’ll live your life,” Toby had begged him. “Promise me you’ll be happy.”

Jim doesn’t know how. Not yet.

But he’ll be damned if he won’t try to learn.

 

 

They reach the lake long before dawn. Jim is so ready to go home at this point, to hug his mom, to see the rest of his friends, to finally be truly safe again. Maybe a Trollhunter in peacetime will feel aimless, but Jim won’t take that for granted again.

“ALEX!” little Hilde shrieks as she leaps over and tackles Alex. Jim can’t help but smile at the reunion, but also at the fact that Douxie, Krel, and Mordred all made it here alive. Douxie still looks the worst of the lot, fried like he was struck by lightning. He watches his eyes land on Toby, though if he can see out of both Jim would be surprised.

“Toby is coming home with us,” Jim says firmly, although no question was asked. “He will take his rightful place in the Hero’s Forge.”

Because that’s what Toby deserves. Trollhunters, not Trollhunter. Logically, he knows he won’t be able to do that, not exactly – it’s a selfish wish, and with the dangers that have come in their lives they’ve discussed, briefly, what they wanted if they were to die and Toby wants to follow Jewish tradition. Still, he needs to be brought home for that, Jim thinks, and he really just hopes he’s not fucking up by insisting on that part. And then maybe they can at least make a statue for him.

As Lamorak releases the spell and Steve rushes over like a hurricane to take care of Krel and Douxie, Jim kneels and rests a hand on Toby’s still, stone chest. Claire kneels beside him, head falling onto his shoulder.

“I wish I could wake up and find out all of this was a dream,” he whispers.

“Me too,” she mumbles. “Going home... it’s going to make it real.”

“I know.” Jim closes his eyes against tears. “I would have died for him. Given the chance.”

Claire lets out a shaky breath. “You would have and he would have never forgiven you.”

“But he’d be alive.”

“Sir Jim, if I may,” says Bedivere’s voice from behind him. Jim turns his head just enough to look at him when he sits carefully beside them. “What ifs and would bes will only hurt you, in the long run. I may not have known Tobias as well as I would have liked, but I know he loved you and Lady Claire. Let that love be what matters. Let that be what you cling to.”

Jim takes a few deep breaths and glances over to them. “Love didn’t save him.”

“No,” Bedivere agrees, “it doesn’t tend to. But it made his life worth living, and that’s the important part.”

Jim traces the curve of Toby’s cheek, the scar from nearly a decade ago still visible through the stone. Bedivere is right, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less, just like knowing that Toby wouldn’t want them to hurt doesn’t make his loss painless. He takes more deep breaths.  He needs to calm down until he gets home and he can curl up with his mom and just… process all this. It’s not that easy.

He hears little Hilde let out an alarmed cry. After spending enough time helping his mom with the changeling babies, it’s instinct to all but rush over to her just in time to see Douxie faint. Alex manages to catch him. Jim immediately looks over him for signs of injury and proceeds to regret it – Douxie looks like total shit. Viviane falls to her knees beside him and starts checking him over.

“Douxie?” Mordred asks fearfully.

“Hey, hey, he’ll be okay, buddy,” Steve says gently. “He’s just stupid. Tell you what, let’s let Lady Viviane take him to heal in the lake? Yeah? She’s good at that. Miss Hilde, that sound good?”

She sniffles and looks up at him with big, teary eyes. “You promise he won’t die like my mama and daddy?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” murmurs Alex. “Come here, he’s gonna be okay.”

Hilde scrambles into his arms as Viviane gestures for Steve to pick up Douxie and follow her. Jim watches them go, mouth dry. He and Douxie may not have started off on the best terms – entirely Jim’s fault, really – but since then he’s come to consider Douxie one of his closest friends. He knows Claire adores him after training her magic with him and Mort. He prays Alex is right because he cannot lose any more people to this damned time travel. He watches Viviane gather him into her arms and she and Steve both disappear back into the lake.

Jim leans his forehead against Toby’s again and Claire takes his hand, squeezing it and lifting it to her lips for a gentle kiss.

“We’re safe now,” she whispers. “All that’s left is going home.”

Jim keeps his eyes closed, despite the tears that start slipping free and dripping onto Toby’s face.

“All that’s left is going home,” he repeats numbly.

 

 

By sunrise, Steve has returned to heal any other lingering injuries.  Krel and Mordred receive most of his attention since the rest of them were checked by healers in Camelot. As soon as Krel is given the all clear, he makes his way over to them. Jim moves out of his way, allowing him access to Toby, and Krel kneels and presses his forehead to his friend’s. He murmurs something soft in Akiridion, before adding, voice barely above a murmur, “Thank you for being my best friend.”

Jim clasps a hand on his shoulder and Krel looks back at him. He manages a tight-lipped smile and a grim nod. Krel leans back and with some hesitation, leans against his side as well. Jim vows silently to look out for him a bit more – it’s what Toby would want, after all. Jim knows how close they were.

By mid-morning, Viviane returns with Douxie. He looks a lot better than he did, though he’s still in Akiridion form. Jim definitely needs to ask but he’ll save that for Arcadia, too. Mordred runs to him for a hug and Jim politely pretends not to see the way his friend tears up as he hugs the prince back.

They stay a couple extra days after that with Lady Viviane so that everyone can finish healing, or at least somewhat close to that. Jim doesn’t like postponing their return and by extension his best friend’s funeral, but there’s not really anything for it. Viviane is on high alert, but no one tries to breach her realm this time. He supposes there’s none left who could, even though Anna must know that Mordred has fled here.  He wonders if this is her idea of mercy, an exile from his home instead of burning him at the stake. Still, it’s a relief that they’re safe for now. There’s nothing standing in their way of getting home anymore.

The day they leave is frigid but sunny. Icicles drip from the trees and a light wind rustles the leaves around them. Jim spends the morning feeding squirrels at the edge of the forest, Claire leaning up against his side, while the others who were closer to Mort Penn use their last chance to dote on the boy that will one day become him. The morning is almost idyllic and Jim wishes Toby could see it too.

“You are all welcome to stay as long as you like,” Viviane says as they gather together to leave, “healing or not.”

“Thank you,” Claire says softly, “but the sooner we can get home, the better.”

“I thought you might say as much,” Viviane agrees. She holds out two runestones. Douxie carefully takes them, eyes widening. “Just one should get you home, but I made an extra… just in case.”

She winks at them. Jim leans over Douxie’s shoulder to peer at the stones. Close up, he recognizes them as identical to the one that brought them here, right down to the glow of them. His brow furrows in confusion at first before it hits him.

Ah.

Nope. He’s not going to spend any more time thinking about that. He’s not even the science guy and the paradox stuff is making his head hurt. Douxie manages a small smile and nods.

“Thank you for everything,” he tells her.

“Next time we see each other,” she says, “may be a very different world indeed. But I look forward to it.”

“You’re leaving?” Mordred asks, face falling and rushing to clutch Douxie’s arm. “Already? But – already?”

Douxie kneels and takes Mordred’s hands. “I’m sorry, Mordred. We have to go home.”

“But – but what am I going to do now?” Mordred asks miserably. “I can’t go home. Anna wants me dead. I – can I come with you?”

“I’m sorry,” Douxie repeats, voice breaking. He pulls Mordred into another hug. Krel surges to join them, eyes squeezed shut.  Jim looks away, unwilling to intrude further on this final goodbye they’re getting to their father. After all, Jim gets to go back to his family – to his mom and Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!!, even if he’s bringing horrible news. He gets to see them again.

He supposes Toby gets to see his parents again, too.

Steve rests a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. “Ready to go home for real this time?”

“Yeah,” Jim says with a tight smile. “I sure am.”

Lamorak and Bedivere are coming with them at least part of the way. Jim is kind of grateful for the extra protection since apparently the two knights know about the time travel stuff anyway. Jim has to wonder if that’s going to break the future. He then has to wonder if breaking the future is even possible. He thinks, maybe, this was all meant to be. This was all destiny.

He doesn’t know how he feels about that.

The walk goes more calmly than Jim expected. He was sure they’d run into some evil fae or something but the only other creatures they see are squirrels, birds, and deer.  Little Hilde is practically skipping, dragging Alex along with her as she holds his hand. It’s hard to process this calmness and peace after the battle days ago that stole Toby from them. 

Douxie stops. Jim doesn’t recognise this part of the woods, but, then again, trees are trees. Still, Douxie looks around and nods, kneeling by one of the trees and placing a runestone down.

“A closed causal loop,” Krel mutters. “Makes sense. Frustrating, but makes sense. We really couldn’t have changed anything.”

“Makes more sense than assuming we could,” Alex says. He and Krel then start talking physics mumbo-jumbo that Jim won’t even pretend to understand. Douxie rolls his eyes at them. Bedivere somehow looks even more done than the rest of them.

“Alright, alright, nerds,” says Steve, who has turned into a nerd himself over the years so Jim thinks he has no room to talk. “It’s time to go home.”

“Hear that, Tobes?” Jim murmurs, trying not to let tears crop up yet again. “We’re going home.”

“It’s been an honour to know all of you,” Lamorak says with a shallow bow. “I do hope that perhaps one day we can meet again. Perhaps by then Bedivere will be as grey as I am!”

“Nah, I’m never going grey,” Bedivere jokes. His smile turns sadder. “But maybe by then. Is Arcadia a true kingdom?”

“Arcadia Oaks,” Alex confirms. He hugs each of them in turn. “Be safe. Don’t do anything stupid. We all know this war is far from won.”

Lamorak inclines his head. “So it is. Be safe yourselves. I do not know the danger your future may hold, but I expect you to take care of yourselves.”

“Don’t worry, Steve and I will make sure of it,” Claire says with a grin. She shakes her head. “Man, that’s still a little weird to say.”

“Hey!” Steve protests.

Lamorak laughs. “Alright, we’re headed out to Fowydh. Safe travels, my friends.”

Hilde runs over to give them both hugs before they leave. Jim’s sure the poor kid is nervous, leaving everything she knows behind. Jim understands to a point – leaving for New Jersey at sixteen was kind of scary, even if he ended up coming home not long after.

Once Lamorak and Bedivere are definitely out of range – don’t want to accidentally kidnap them to the future too – Douxie turns the runestone over in his hands. “Okay, everyone huddle close. Don’t want to risk leaving anyone behind.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Krel asks.

“It’s a rune stone, should be simple,” says Douxie. He winces. “Nan said it’ll take us back to the right year, but not the same date we left. So… we’ll have been gone for a while.”

“Aja is gonna kill me and Steve,” Krel groans.

“I managed to tell her we’re alive,” Steve offers. “We – there was a time travelling cave-room. I had service. Yeah.”

“A – I miss all the fun stuff,” Krel complains. “Alright, alright. Take us home, Doux.”

The group of them huddle closely together. Jim wraps an arm around Claire and lets out a breath as Douxie focuses in on the stone. Home. They’re going home, where destiny can be his choice again – maybe for the first time, because for Toby, Jim will make the choices instead of simply following the rules of the game and losing.

There’s a bright light. Jim closes his eyes and sighs in relief as the magic swallows them whole.

 

 

Jim wakes to the sound of birds chirping, followed by several loud notifications from several phones. He sits up, rubbing his head, watching the others do the same before Krel scrambles for his phone and starts to laugh.

“We made it!” he exclaims, holding his phone in the air. “We’re home!”

“We’re home,” whispers Claire in relief.

Jim grabs his phone and lets out his own relieved laugh, scrolling through the wall of notifications from his friends and family. He turns and leans his head against Claire’s, tears welling up, and she grabs his cheeks and kisses him, missing his lips at first but they adjust. He can hear the distant sounds of a nearby highway and after so long in the past the air smells wrong and somehow, that’s reassuring, because this is the world he grew up in.

“We just gotta get back to Arcadia now,” says Steve, relief dripping off his voice. “Jim, think you can text Blinky for the Gyre?”

“I’ll give a call and see if he answers,” says Jim, dialling the old phone in Blinky’s library. It rings a couple of times before he hears Blinky answer, something about being too busy for calls right now, but Jim can’t pay attention from the way the tears blur his eyes.

“Hello?” says Blinky when Jim says nothing for too long. “Is this a pranked call?”

“Hey, Blinks,” Jim chokes out. “We’re back.”

There’s a sound like Blinky nearly dropped the phone before his equally choked up voice comes through again: “Master Jim?”

“We, uh, figured the Gyre isn’t where we left it anymore,” Jim says. “Can you – can you come get us? Please?”

“Absolutely, oh, Master Jim, it is good to hear your voice!” Blinky exclaims. “Where are you? As you humans say, we’ll be there in a flash!”

Steve uses his phone to pull up the GPS and rattle off some latitude and longitude numbers for them – Jim didn’t even know the Gyre could be programmed that way, but he relays them to Blinky anyway. His hands are shaking. He should mention Toby but – no. Not over the phone.

So instead Jim hangs up and they wait. Hilde amuses herself by jumping in puddles and mud and Alex and Douxie are going to get walked all over raising her because they don’t bother trying to stop it, even though she’s making a mess of her dress. Both Douxie and Krel return to their human forms, just in case there’s a hiker or something. Jim leans against a tree, closing his eyes and reminding himself that it’s safe in these woods, that the Gumm-Gumms are gone and the fae aren’t an issue in the twenty-first century. He suddenly feels out of place, dressed in medieval armour – Lamorak insisted their armour was theirs and should stay with them – and out of step with the rest of the world. He has no idea what’s happened in the months they’ve been gone – World War III could have started, for all he knows!

His head snaps up when he hears the Gyre arrive. He’s running to Blinky before the troll is even on solid ground, slamming into him for a tight hug. He lets out a rough sob as Blinky holds him close. More than anything this is proof their home. This is his Blinky, who’s like a father to him, who’s always been there for him.

“Oh, my boy,” Blinky murmurs.

Jim hears a sudden, heartbroken roar and knows AAARRRGGHH!!! has seen Toby. He clings tighter even as Blinky looks up in alarm at the sound. With a hitch in his breath Blinky sinks them both to the ground, and Jim knows he’s seen, too. After a long moment Blinky pulls back and cups his cheek with a hand. Jim leans into it, letting Blinky wipe away his tears.

"We’ve got you now, Master Jim,” he promises gently, giving Jim a gentle smile despite his teary eyes. “You’re home. Everything will be okay now.”

And Jim almost, finally, believes it.

 

Notes:

AAAA the last non epilogue chapter of this fic!!! Heads up the epilogue is a doozy I accidentally made it 8k
But for the like three of you sticking with me still, not to fear! Wizfic verse isn't over because the election of a fascist racist prick and his unelected Nazi idiot has introduced me to new an exciting forms of depression, fear, and ways to cope with it! By tormenting the blorbos!

I'll do a longer message after the epilogue but to those still reading what's now mostly just self indulgent, thank you and I love you more than you could ever believe <33333

Chapter 54: Epilogue

Toby’s funeral is a private affair. His family, his closest friends. The rabbi they have for the service is an old friend of Nana Domzalski’s, a kind man Jim has met only once or twice through Toby. Jim doesn’t understand all the prayers and the service is a lot shorter than he expected – his grandfather’s lasted like two hours, he remembers, but that was a Christian funeral so he guesses that’s the difference – but he thinks Toby would have liked it.

Afterwards, they find their way back to Toby’s house, the one that used to be Nana’s and is now hers again with her grandson’s passing. Jim prepared a bunch of food the night before to ensure there was plenty. He’s not sure that deep-fried cassette tapes are kosher, but AAARRRGGHH!!! is popping them like candy while he cries. Vex is comforting Nana over on the couch. Krel is sitting numb-faced on the floor, all four of Aja’s arms wrapped around him even though it’s clear the amount of comfort she’s offering is minimal. Mom is standing off to the side with Strickler and the Nuñezes. Jim sits between Claire and Blinky, fresh out of tears for what feels like the billionth time since Toby died.

“He’d hate us being like this, you know,” Darci says. She and Mary flew back on a red-eye flight to be here for the funeral. She and Toby had remained close, after the break-up, and Jim is glad she could make it.

“Yeah,” Claire agrees, wiping her eyes. “Too sad for him. He’d probably want, like, a dance party.”

Steve laughs weakly. “That does sound like Toby.”

They fall silent again. It’s difficult to think about joyful things like that right now, even if they’re right that Toby would prefer it. He was weighed down in different ways than Jim, quieter ways; on the surface he was always a cheerful man and it was something he loved to spread to others.

“Promise me you’ll live your life,” he had pleaded with Jim even as he died. “Promise me you’ll be happy.”

“Nana,” he says softly, looking up to meet her red-rimmed eyes. “I wanted to – I would like to have a statue of Toby made and placed in the Hero’s Forge. He’s a Trollhunter as much as I am, as much as Kanjigar and Deya were, and – and he deserves it. But... I want your permission to do it.”

It’s been an idea since they rebuilt Trollmarket – specifically for Draal – but he hadn’t broached the subject yet with anyone other than Blinky. For his part, Blinky was all for it but hesitant about the reactions of the more conservative trolls. By the way he’s nodding, he agrees with Jim and it’s finally time to bring it up.

“Oh, Jim,” she says softly. “Of course you have my permission. Toby would be honoured.”

Jim jerks his head in a facsimile of a nod. Claire squeezes his hand. Maybe – maybe they can make a platform for a group of statues, one day, so that eventually all six of them can stand together as Trollhunters watching over the Hero’s Forge. It’s a nice idea in his head, anyway. He may or may not be the last official Trollhunter – even Morgana doesn’t know how her changes to the amulet might affect its inheritance – but he likes to imagine that they can be a source of inspiration to the next generation anyway.

The next few weeks after their return pass quicker than Jim expects or wants. He and Claire opt to stay with Mom for a bit rather than return to their apartment yet, not when Toby isn’t there. For their parts, Mom and Strickler are happy to welcome them. Jim is just relieved to be in one of the safest places he’s ever known.

Mom and Dr. Swift team up to drag all of them to the hospital for check-ups the day after Toby’s funeral, and then Steve, the traitor, decided to bring in some Akiridion doctors and one of the troll doctors that doesn’t scare him, just to cover their bases. Jim isn’t thrilled about being poked and prodded in both forms, even if he admits it’s probably good to get checked over by modern doctors and not just medieval healers.

“Well, for being stuck in the Middle Ages, your healers did a good job,” Mom acknowledges. Steve preens. “Your wounds are healing nicely, overall, no signs of current infection.”

“Past infection is a different story,” grumbles Dr. Swift. She says something to Alex in far too rapid Spanish for Jim to understand, but Claire hides a laugh and Alex looks properly abashed.

“As for Prince Douxie and King Krel,” says the Akiridion doctors, ignoring the face Douxie pulls at being called a prince, “all core functions are in healthy range. There is some minor damage from the electricity for you, Prince Douxie, but that will clear up on its own with rest.”

“I still want a few scans,” Dr. Swift says. “EKG, EEG, probably an MRI for soft tissue damage...”

“Mamá Isa,” Douxie whines. “I was scanned by the healers.”

“You were scanned by Bedivere, who is not a healer,” Alex says.

“And Nan!”

Alex and Dr. Swift give him identical unimpressed looks and he deflates, apparently giving into his bad fortune. Serves him right for getting himself electrocuted. Jim is so glad he escaped that fate.

“And for Hildita here,” says Dr. Swift, attention turned away from Douxie for a moment, “I’m afraid we have a whole host of immunizations. Do you know what that is, cariño?”

“Um, no,” says Hilde, wide-eyed.

“It’s how we keep you from getting sick,” Dr. Swift says. “I’ll tell you all about it, okay? We’ll get you scheduled down at the clinic.”

“At least you two didn’t bring me home a surprise grandkid,” Mom mumbles to him and Claire. Jim manages a small smile at this. Mom rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. “I’ll take care of getting you two appointments with your therapists, okay?”

“Thank you,” Claire says softly.

“Walter and I are here for everything you need,” Mom assures them. “We’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“i know you will, Mom,” Jim says, leaning against her side. She stands on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. He relishes in every moment with her, after being worried he may never see her again. He’s relishing a lot of moments he didn’t before now.

Getting used to the twenty-first century is taking some doing, for all of them. Jim is jumpy, seeing fae in the shadows and expecting an attack from long dead Gumm-Gumms. Claire keeps moving to smooth down her skirt even though she’s been wearing nothing but pants since they got back. Little Hilde seems to be in awe of literally everything, from cars to TV to Reese’s cups, which she has quickly become obsessed with. Alex and Douxie dote on her. Jim thinks they’re gonna regret it when she gets too used to it. He remembers when Enrique was her age and he shudders to think of another first-grader as spoiled rotten as he was, not that he blames Claire and her parents. Mostly Claire. Almost all Claire.

It’s a relief to be safe again. Suddenly all the mild problems that Jim had considered boring and mundane feel like a breath of fresh air. Catch a rogue gnome? Sure, count him in. Negotiate with Fragwa – er, the current Fragwa – about goblin rights in Trollmarket? Easy-peasy. Play diplomat with a visiting group of foreign trolls? Honestly, kind of fun. Toby would be proud of him, he thinks, watching him settle back in and stop itching for risk and adventure. Or – maybe – finding adventure in what he has instead of hunting for a new war to keep him useful.

Yes, it’s good to be home.

The day Toby’s statue is placed in the Hero’s Forge comes sooner than Jim expected it to, but Toby was well-liked in Trollmarket so it’s no surprise they banded together to sculpt a tribute. Jim hasn’t seen it yet, though he has seen the one sculpted for Draal – apparently that had already been in the process of being made and no one thought to tell him.

Nana holds each his and Claire’s hands as they wait for the reveal. It’s the first time since the funeral they’ve all been able to get back together, with Krel and Steve’s responsibilities on New Akiridion and Alex and Douxie trying to get Hilde settled and made into a legal citizen and all that. Jim beckons Krel to his side and grabs his hand too.

“You know he loved you,” Jim murmurs. “We’ll have to hang out more, you and I.”

Krel gives him a small smile. “I would like that.”

One of the sculptors clears her throat. “Ladies, gentlemen, trolls, humans, and Akiridions. We gather today to honour Tobias, son of Ralph, one of our brave Trollhunters fallen in the line of duty.”

It’s been long enough that Jim doesn’t tear up at the mention. Nana squeezes his hand and he squeezes back.

“I daresay this is our finest work yet,” another sculptor says. “I hope it does Trollhunter Toby justice.”

He whips the sheet off of the statue and Jim’s breath leaves him in a sharp huff. Yeah, it does Toby justice, captures him grinning in his armour, war-hammer held proudly over his shoulder. It’s how Toby would want to be remembered: a hero. Jim blinks back tears and sees Krel doing the same out of the corner of his eye. Claire is smiling but there’s wetness on her cheeks, even though she can't see the statue herself. Toby deserves this. It shouldn’t have happened so soon though. He and Claire always suspected that they’d both outlive Toby – Jim as a changeling and Claire as a powerful wizard – and Krel likely did too. But not like this, not so early on. But then, Jim supposes, Trollhunters don’t have a great track record for longevity.

Jim breaks free of Nana and Krel’s hands and steps forward, reaching out to run his fingers down the scar engraved into the statue, the one Jim gave him over a decade ago.

“I promised you I’d live my life,” he murmurs. “And when we meet again, I hope you’ll be proud.”

He turns back around to face the crowd of trolls and his friends and stands tall, taking in a deep breath and pressing the amulet to his chest. It’s the first time he’s donned the armour since they got back.

“Destiny is a gift,” he says, voice sure and strong, stronger than he thought it would be, “and a burden all the same. We’ve been free of the war with the Gumm-Gumms for almost a decade now, and if my recent experiences have taught me anything it’s that I’ve taken that peace for granted.”

He takes a deep breath. Claire gives him an encouraging smile.

“I haven’t been the best Trollhunter since the war ended,” he admits, holding up a hand to stop the protests from the trolls of Trollmarket. “No, it’s true. I didn’t – don’t know how to be a Trollhunter in peacetime. And I worry Trollmarket has forgotten how to live in peacetime, too. But we’re going to figure it out.”

A quiet rumble passes through the crowd, thankfully just considering and not getting mad at Jim or something. He surveys the crowd, taking in faces he saw back in Dwoza and the faces he’s always known here that weren’t there. He still barely sees whelps leave the safety of their parents’ dens, and he’s never met an elder here.

“After seeing what we had in Dwoza,” he says, “I want that here. I want to see whelps running around in the markets, to care for our elders and learn from their stories, to expand our trade and alliance with the humans of Arcadia. We have peace like we haven’t for centuries. If we had that life in a time of war, we can have it now if we work together to make it so.”

Blinky beams and walks to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Well said, Master Jim!”

Jim leans against him as the chatter starts up in full, excited first. Blinky adjusts to wrap two arms around him and Jim lets out a slow breath. Claire joins them and takes his hand again, kissing his cheek, as AAARRRGGHH!!! comes to pat the top of his head.

“Make Wingman proud,” he says.

“Yeah,” Jim agrees, turning to face Toby’s statue again and finally managing a real smile. “Yeah, we will.”

 

 

Alex has never appreciated his mother’s cooking more than he does now, back home after fearing he was going to die in the past. It’s been a couple weeks since they got back and his parents have all but insisted they eat dinner with them every day so they can get to know their new grandbaby.

“I got my first immunination today!” Hilde is telling Lillie as Dad serves up their plates to bring to the table, pointing to the Moana band-aid on her arm. “It hurt a little but it’s gonna help the little knights inside me fight off the sicknesses!”

“That’s right, chiquitina,” Mami says. Alex is still impressed she managed to describe the immune system and vaccines in a way a five-year-old from the Middle Ages could sort of understand.

“It’s sooo cool here,” Hilde says. “Alex! People don’t die of phthisis here!”

“She can say phthisis but not immunisation?” Lillie mumbles to him, visibly amused.

Alex still isn’t sure what phthisis is but he offers Hilde a big smile. “That’s right! Healing has come a long way, hasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” she agrees.

“Alright, kids, soup’s on!” Dad says. He places a bowl in front of each of them before sitting himself. “Shouldn’t be too much spice in this one, Douxie, just delicious seafood.”

Douxie laughs. “Thank you, it’s appreciated.”

“Man, I feel like I haven’t had mariscada in years,” Alex says. It seems like his parents are breaking out all his favourite meals. He’s certainly not complaining. “Thank you.”

“Oh, yummy, fish!” says Hilde. “We had fish all the time! We lived by the ocean.”

Mami laughs. “I used to live by the ocean too. This is my mother’s recipe.”

“Wow,” says Hilde. She takes a bite and makes an exaggerated “mmm!” sound. “This is really good!”

“Just wait until your bisabuela makes it for you when you visit,” says Mami, shooting Alex a look as if Alex wasn’t well aware that his extended family would be chomping at the bit to meet Hilde once they knew about her.

“Lils, tell Alex about that competition you won,” Dad says, gesturing with his spoon. “The, uh – the art one.”

“The art one, really, Dad?” says Lillie. She glances back at Alex. “It was the one I told you about, the one where we got to make our own watercolours?”

“Oh, yeah!” Alex says. “You won? Ay, that’s my hermanita!”

“I got scholarship money, too,” she says smugly. “So that’ll be nice if I get into CalArt.”

“They’d be stupid not to take you,” Douxie says. “Too much talent for them to say no.”

Hilde gasps. “Maybe you can paint like the kings and queens and stuff!”

Lillie chuckles and reaches over to pat her shoulder. “Not many openings for that nowadays, kiddo. Besides, there’s only one princess I would want to paint.”

“Really?” Hilde says. “Who?”

Lillie grins. “Why, you, sobrinita!”

Hilde giggles and kicks her feet under the table. Alex can’t help but smile, glad his family has so easily welcomed her. Logically, he knew they would, but he knows it had been a shock to see them return, Alex without an arm, both of them more scarred, and toting a child with them. They haven’t asked about the arm yet or for details about their scars or about Hilde’s presence, but Alex knows it’s coming eventually.

Still, Alex basks in the warmth all of dinner, like he’s been doing since they got back. Douxie is smiling like he hasn’t in months, Hilde is settling in with few issues. Alex isn’t stupid enough to think there won’t be hiccups – there will be and have already been between his own PTSD and Hilde initially being terrified of cars – but things are going so smooth that he’s sure whatever hiccups there are will be easy to handle.

They’re cleaning up from dinner when the doorbell rings. Lillie – eager as ever to get out of dishes – runs out of the kitchen to go get the door. Alex rolls his eyes fondly as he takes her spot at the sink.

“Good to know she hasn’t changed in the past few months,” he mumbles to Douxie, who hides a laugh.

“Oh, Mr. Devier!” he hears Lillie say. He and Douxie exchange confused looks. What is their old history teacher doing here? “Er, I guess Misters Devier. Come in, hi. We just finished dinner.”

“Then it’s a good thing we brought dessert,” says a far-too-familiar voice. Alex sets down the dish he was working on almost too hard in the sink and hurries out to the living room. The familiar faces of his high school history teacher and his husband are there, as expected, but what Alex wasn’t expecting was just how familiar they would be.

“Lamorak? Bedivere?” he blurts in shock.

Mr. Devier – no, Lamorak turns to smile at him. “Good evening, Lex. We heard you were home.”

Bedivere grins and holds up a box, printed with the logo from his bakery – a bakery, yes, that makes total sense for him. “Like we told Lillie, we brought dessert.”

“You – but – history teacher!” Alex stammers, pointing at Lamorak.

“I do happen to be quite knowledgeable about history,” Lamorak says mischievously. “One might even call me historic myself.”

Alex launches forward and hugs him. Lamorak laughs and returns the hug – Alex shouldn’t be surprised. He did say they’d meet again. He wasn’t sure. Mort made it nine centuries, but Mort was fifteen. Lamorak and Bedivere were old enough that Alex wasn’t convinced. They do look older now, Bedivere’s hair has finally gone grey and the smile lines around Lamorak’s eyes are deeper. He can maybe get why he never saw it back then, but now that he knows it's impossible not to recognise them.

It’s nice. To have them here too.

“Whaaaaat is going on?” says Lillie.

“Uncle Lamorak! Uncle Bedivere!” Hilde exclaims happily, sprinting over to hug Bedivere. He picks her up and kisses her cheek.

“Oh, look how big you’ve gotten!” he says.

She giggles. “You just saw me.”

“Ah, well, I remembered you smaller,” he teases.

“I cannot believe you two,” Douxie says with a laugh. He makes a face. “I can’t believe us either, not recognising you in Camelot. Seriously, though… Ben Devier?”

Bedivere shrugs. “Better than Mordred did. Mort Penn. When I tell you Cam – Lamorak – about had a heart attack when he figured out who your dad was.”

“Wait, how many people in this town are secretly from the Middle Ages?” Lillie says.

“I think you’ve met all of us now, Miss Swift,” Lamorak says, in that familiar teacher voice of his. “Your brother was a fine knight, back in the day.”

“Was he, now?” Mami asks, arms crossed as she walks into the room. Did Alex avoid mentioning that he specifically put himself in danger? …maybe. She and Dad are already freaking out about his arm and Douxie’s new Lichtenberg scars, after all, and he doesn’t want to upset them any more than he already has, at least not yet.

“Alex is the best knight!” Hilde says proudly.

Alex chuckles. “I’m not a knight anymore, mija. But thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“It was an honour to serve with your son,” Lamorak says to Mami. “I’ve said before you should be proud of him, but you have truly raised a brave man.”

Dad rests a hand on Alex’s shoulder, smiling in that warm way of his that has always made Alex feel like everything is right in the world. “We’re very proud. Although we did think he’d chosen a less… dangerous path for his life than being a knight.”

“Ay, we thought we were so lucky, he wants to be an engineer, engineering is so safe and it makes good money and we don’t have to worry,” grumbles Mami. “But no, no, he winds up in the Middle Ages and loses an arm! Me estás sacando canas, mijo, ¡me estás volviendo loco!”

“I’m not in the Middle Ages anymore?” Alex offers.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find another way to get into trouble, Alex,” Lillie teases, elbowing him lightly. “You and Douxie can’t seem to stay out of it.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” mutters Bedivere.

“Don’t worry, Mami, it’s all research and engineering from now on,” Alex says. “I have a lot of interesting magical theories to start looking into, I want to expand on some things we discovered in the past…”

Bedivere purses his lips and glances to Douxie. “You’ll be supervising him, right? I vaguely remember what he’s talking about, but it sounds all but impossible."

“If anyone can do the impossible, it’s Alex,” Douxie says with a smile. Alex blushes despite himself. Hilde giggles at whatever his expression must look like. Lamorak laughs and shakes his head.

“Ay, Lex is a… determined man,” he says.

“Stubborn bastard, more like,” grumbles Bedivere.

“Little ears!” Dad says quickly, gesturing to Hilde, just as Lamorak adds in, “Well, I can’t call my former student that!”

Alex laughs. Hilde reaches her arms to him and he takes her from Bedivere, adjusting his hold so he can give her a quick kiss on the cheek. She beams and hugs him around the neck. Alex closes his eyes and lets out a small, happy sigh, listening to everyone settle in the living room. Lamorak and Bedivere bicker like an old married couple – which they are now, apparently – and Lillie teases Douxie about something or other. Mami sits beside him on the couch, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“I love you, mijo,” she murmurs.

Alex tilts his head to lean on hers, soaking up the warmth of home. “I love you too, Mami.”

 

 

Douxie sits on his shins, the dry winter grass crackling under his weight. He hasn’t been back to Mort’s memorial since he got back to the present. It’s almost strange, suddenly, taking in the holographic image of him that Krel set up, surrounded by flowers and books and protected from the elements by magic; he almost expected to see Mordred, still fifteen, instead of the grown man he knew all his life.

“Hi, Uncle Mort,” he says softly. “I, um, I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while. But, then, I guess you… can figure out why.”

He awkwardly rearranges some of the flowers, just to have something to do with his hands. His eyes are already suspiciously wet. Gods, he misses Uncle Mort. Alex’s parents are wonderful and treat him like one of their own, but they aren’t him.

“I feel like I barely even knew you before,” he whispers. “I know – I was a kid most of our time together, so you wouldn’t have put that on me. But I think I understand you more now. And I think I finally understand why you did what you did.”

He sniffles despite himself and wipes his cheeks because the tears started up without his permission.

“You know, you can’t make fun of me for not figuring you out,” he says. “For one, did you know Sir Lamorak is Mr. Devier? I bet you didn’t. I got my obliviousness from you, old man. And, um, I guess you… didn’t know that I was Hisirdoux Akraohm, huh?”

Sometimes when he comes here he almost expects Uncle Mort to respond. He can pretend that the hologram is simply a video call, maybe, that Uncle Mort is visiting Krel on New Akiridion and the connexion isn’t great but they’re still chatting like they used to. He’s smiling in his memorial – after a life so long and lonely and sad, Douxie prays that Mort is happy in death.

“I wish I could ask you if you ever figured it out,” he admits. “I – haven’t told Alex, but I’m angry at Lamorak and Bedivere. Cam and Ben, they said, now. They never warned us and – future be damned, Toby died, and I – so I have to tell myself you didn’t know. I don’t want to be mad at you too. You would have said something. You would have.”

He takes in a shaking breath and shifts positions, left leg already too sore to keep sitting like that. He finds himself lost for words, tears continuing to well over and all he wants is a hug from his dad.

There are footsteps behind him, and then Aunt Morgana sits on the grass next to him. Douxie glances over at her and inclines his head. She gives him one of those gentle smiles that always surprise him because he thinks she shouldn’t be able to be gentle.

“You know, I didn’t put things together until you got back,” she says. “I am sorry for trying to kill your husband.”

“I’m sorry for cutting off your hand,” Douxie offers in return.

She laughs and holds up her green prosthetic. “An arm for an arm is a fair exchange, I believe. I do hope Alexander won’t hold it too much against me.”

“Probably not. He’s forgiving, usually.” Douxie tucks his knees to his chest. “I don’t – it was weird. Seeing you like that after knowing you here.”

“I regret my actions of that time,” she says, voice honest. “I could make many excuses, but I will spare you that, nephew. But I will say this: grief and power are not friends. You and your brother know this, I think, but it is a good reminder.”

“Is that why? Grief for Grandmother Morgause?”

“In part, perhaps,” she says. “I will not pretend to be… what you would call good, even now. The injustices inflicted by humans today in many ways eclipse those that sent me to the fae and Gumm-Gumms, and sometimes I do believe burning it down isn’t such a bad idea, hm? Oh, but you would hate that, and you and Krel… you are all I have left.”

“We’re a lot alike,” Douxie murmurs, hating that it’s true. He likes Aunt Morgana. He never wants to become her.

“We are,” she agrees. “Sometimes when I look at you and Krel, I see myself and Morgause. She would have loved you both very much.”

“I wish I could have met her,” Douxie says. “Her and Guinevere.”

Morgana’s face falls. “Gwen – yes. Now that I know more, she is my biggest regret.”

Douxie almost asks, but decides instead that he isn’t touching that right now. Instead, he asks, “Why did Morgause leave?”

“Hm,” Morgana says with a small, sad smile. “I don’t know. I don’t think she actually wanted to be a mother. She and Arthur, they were a marriage of convenience. Anna and Mordred were children of convenience. But she never said it out loud, so I can only speculate. I suppose it wouldn’t make sense to you.”

“No,” Douxie says. “No, I can’t – I already love Hilde with all my heart. I can’t even begin to imagine it. I know Mort never would have left me.”

Except that he did, and Douxie’s eyes are drawn back to the memorial. That is an unfair thought but Douxie can’t help but linger on it.  Would he leave Hilde to save her life? To save the world so she would have one to live in? Knowing how much it hurts, how could he?

Except, how could he not?

“He loved you so dearly, you know,” Aunt Morgana says, green eyes misty as she stares at the hologram of her nephew. “You made him so happy, Hisirdoux. You and Krel were his whole world.”

“He was never afraid to tell us as much,” Douxie says with a small smile.

“He got that from Arthur,” she says.

Douxie chuckles and nods, but his smile slips slowly over the next few moments. He lets out a soft breath. “I wish he was here. Uncle Mort.”

“Yes,” Morgana murmurs.  “As do I.”

They fall silent together. Douxie closes his eyes as a gentle breeze sweeps through the clearing. The air here smells strange compared to Camelot – lovely pollution from LA nearby – but it’s home. He’s so glad to be home, even if it’s without Uncle Mort, even if he still has to figure out his whole crisis of species and learn how to be a parent at the same time.

They sit together until the amber hues of sunset start to filter through the trees. Morgana is the first to stand, but she offers a hand and helps him to his feet. Douxie takes one last glance at the image of Uncle Mort before following Aunt Morgana out of the clearing, letting her chatter something about making a cake as an apology to Alex.

They part ways somewhere between the forest and downtown. Douxie beelines for Benoit’s where Nim and Ikram are waiting for him; Nim waves as he approaches and gestures to the seat across from her.

“Hisirdoux,” she greets.

“Zoe,” he says.

“If you’re gonna call me by my first name I’m gonna start calling you by your middle,” she grumbles.

“Oh my gods, do not,” Douxie says with a laugh. “You know my middle name is Mordred, right? That’s too weird.”

“Okay, Mordred,” she quips.

Ikram laughs and shakes her head. “Hello, Douxie. How are you settling back in?”

“Not too badly,” he says. “Boy have I missed stuff like running water. And the internet. Some of the internet. Hilde has discovered Baby Shark.”

“You deserve it,” says Nim. “I remember what you were like as a kid.”

“If he was anything like his father…” Ikram says.

“I was,” Douxie says regretfully. “Spending time with baby Mort was karma, I think. Definitely karma.”

“I am still stunned I didn’t put things together sooner,” Ikram admits. “My memory is still spotty after Merlin’s control, but… I am sorry. I would have warned you, I think.”

“You’d think Lamorak and Bedivere would have too,” Douxie says wryly. “But I don’t think we could have changed things. We didn’t… try.”

She inclines her head. “Fair enough.”

He has to believe they couldn’t have changed things, made things better for Mort, because if they could have and they didn’t even make the attempt – no, he has to hold to the immutable nature of time for his own sanity.

They continue chatting over lunch, catching up. Douxie really has missed Nim, and the Ikram he knows too, the one that is less wary of him and closer to some kind of aunt to him. One that won’t try to kill him. Ikram is the first to excuse herself, citing something about flying to Oregon because she “has something she needs to get from her apartment” up there. Douxie continues picking at what’s left on his plate.

“So what’s with the face?”  Nim asks, gesturing vaguely in his direction. “You gonna do something about the mess you’re calling your hair right now?”

Douxie grimaces and reaches up to poke at the scars that creep up his scalp, leaving his hair patchy in that area. “Well, my cousin tried to kill me but my core saved my life, I guess.”

“You have cousins?”

“Well, Grandpa Lancelot had a cousin,” Douxie says. “Close enough. He was an ass though.”

“Hm,” says Nim, before leaning forward with a grin. “Want to do something about the mess you’re calling your hair?”

Douxie grins right back and lets her drag him to the shop with one brief stop on the way to get her hair supplies. He trusts her to have good taste, so he doesn’t bother giving her direction except “don’t you dare shave me bald, Nim!” which he should hope she would have known anyway. She breaks out some blue dye, a similar dark shade that he used to like. Mort always agreed with the whole hair is just hair thing, so he never had an issue with Douxie dying his, at least in his teenyears. Looking back, Mort was very chill about a lot of things most modern parents seem to have issues with. Douxie will let Hilde dye her hair if she wants. When she’s older. Five is a bit young for all the chemicals.

“I wonder if that transduction stuff would work as like, temporary dye essentially,” Nim muses as she combs the dye into his hair.

“Given it can change me into a whole-ass Akiridion, I wouldn’t be surprised,” he says.

She leans over his should with a bewildered look. “It can do what now?”

“Yeah, that was a thing,” Douxie says. “Probably part of why Uncle Mort never realised. He thought I was an Akiridion.”

“Huh,” she says. “That’s pretty cool.”

Is it? Before this he was so sure that he was still human, just with a core now. Just a little different. Now he isn’t so sure. He hasn’t dared to let anyone scan him in Akiridion form, let alone the Akiridion doctors, so afraid of what they would find... or what they wouldn’t find. He rubs his chest absently then rests it there until he can pick up his heart beating beneath the buzz of his core.

“Doux, you good?” Nim asks.

“I’m okay,” he says after a moment. “I’m still human.”

She pats his shoulder, undoubtedly leaving a blue handprint on the towel covering his shoulders. “An annoying one, but yes.”

He quirks a smile at her before she straightens back up to finish his hair. After the waiting and washing and conditioning and drying, she brings over a hand mirror and puts her hands on her hips.

“Alright, what do you think?” she demands.

“It’s perfect, Nim,” he says, poking lightly at the side-shave she gave him and smiling. It’s different, for sure, he’s never had his hair quite like this before. A small, self-conscious part of him balks at the way it almost highlights his new scars, but the rest of him is proud to have survived again. Somehow.

“Your man’s gonna be speechless,” Nim teases.

“I hope he likes it,” Douxie says, brushing his hair behind his ear. It’s short, now, maybe chin length on that side.

“He will,” Nim says. “And your new kid is probably going to be all over the blue.”

“She’s not dying hers till middle school,” he says automatically.

Nim snorts. “Okay, Mordred.”

“Oh, shut up,” Douxie says.

“I gotta take off, though,” she says. “I promised my girlfriend we’d go see that new horror movie that came out recently.”

Douxie waggles his eyebrows at her teasingly and she shoves him, almost pushing him off the chair. He laughs. “Yes, yes, you go have fun, Nim.”

He stands as he watches her head back upstairs to leave, then wanders over to the bookshelf full of picture frames and old books. He picks up one of his favourites, a photo of Uncle Mort, himself, and Krel at an amusement park, the grins blinding on all of their faces.

“I hope I’m making you proud,” he murmurs. He sets the frame back down and grabs a couple of his old kids’ magic books for Hilde, tucking them under his arm and leaving for home.

 

 

Krel has been buried in bureaucracy since he got back to New Akiridion. Apparently, the king going missing for several months creates paperwork. So much paperwork. Aja, after her initial relief to see him and Steve again, has been complaining about being left in charge. Krel thinks about threatening to leave Varvatos in charge next time, but the idea of that is too much even for him. At the very least, things seem to have remained fairly calm while he was gone. There was an earthquake near New Arestios but the damage was minimal – just alarm from the Akiridions who had never experienced such a thing. Krel feels a little bad because he wasn’t really thinking about plate tectonics when he made New Akiridion. Still, one quake in three years isn’t so bad. Well. They haven’t finished exploring the planet. Krel mentally moves that up his list of things to get done before putting it out of mind entirely.

He gets out of his fifth meeting of the day – fifth useless meeting, by the way – when one of the guards pulls him aside to let him know that he has a visitor. He hopes it’s one of his friends. He’s getting a little tired of doing all this king stuff. It was almost nice to have a break from that, except that it came at the cost of losing his best friend. Krel will take the boring day-to-day bureaucracy of ruling a planet over losing anyone else.

The guard directs him to the permanent wormhole to Earth, though, so Krel figures it’s probably a friend or maybe Douxie and Alex. To his surprise, Sir Ikram is standing there, looking unsure of herself. She’s never visited New Akiridion before, and Krel frankly didn’t think she ever would. Space travel is still somewhat uncomfortable to her despite the fact she’s been a Star Trek fan since it first aired. He waves as she approaches.

“Ikram, I wasn’t expecting you,” he says with a smile. “Do you want me to get Aja or someone?”

She laughs. “Krel, we’re in a public place.”

“I will follow your lead in this, then,” he says, inclining his head. He can admit his knowledge of the different Earth religions is rudimentary and surface-level at best. “What brings you to New Akiridion?”

“Ah,” she says. “Perhaps something more… private. And Aja should probably be there, honestly.”

His eyes are drawn to the bag she’s holding, a small one just large enough to hold… oh. He nods grimly and gestures. “Follow me. I’ll reach out to her and tell her where to meet us.”

Ikram nods. Krel quickly shoots his sister a message to meet them in one of the meeting rooms. Meeting Room B, he decides as he’s texting, because it has an extra-large window overlooking the city. She sends back an affirmative and she must have been close, because she’s there and waiting when they arrive, pacing impatiently outside the door. She blinks in surprise at their unexpected guest.

“Sir Ikram, welcome to New Akiridion,” she says. “Will you be staying long?”

Ikram shakes her head then adds with an amused smile, “I wouldn’t even begin to know what direction to pray in here.”

“Well, you will always be welcome,” Aja says, a bit baffled because she knows even less than Krel does about various human cultures at the end of the day. She ushers them inside the meeting room. “What brings you, then?”

“I made a promise a long time ago,” she says softly, meeting Krel’s eyes. “It’s time I finally keep it.”

She passes Krel the bag as gently as she can. Krel lets out a shaking breath and carefully pulls Aunt Iros’s core out. Aja’s eyes widen and she sucks in a breath.  “That’s – that’s an Akiridion core.”

“Iros Ventis,” Krel confirms softly. “I – thank you, Ikram. I knew I could trust you with this.”

“Knowing about my mind control, it was a lot of trust,” she says, just as soft.

“No,” he says, “I knew you weren’t under constant control. I knew you would keep her safe.”

“This is Aunt Iros’s core?” Aja whispers. “But – it was lost.”

“I got to meet her in Camelot,” Krel says, feeling the smile creep up despite how misty his eyes are getting.  “You would have liked her, and she you. She was a lot like you, a fierce warrior till the very end. I entrusted her core to Ikram when she died so that one day, she could rest with our family.”

“Papa would be so happy,” Aja says, voice choked. She turns to Ikram and immediately hugs her, throwing her upper arms around her shoulders. Ikram smiles and returns the gesture. “Thank you.”

“There is nothing to thank me for, not for this,” Ikram says.

Krel watches them with a smile before bringing Iros’s core over to the window. He knows that even if she was alive in her core, she wouldn’t be able to see anything, but it’s the thought of it that counts. She never got to see New Akiridion – and thankfully never had to see Akiridion-5 fall – but some part of him wishes she could have, wonders if she would have liked this blend of planets he so carefully crafted. Earth was her home as much as it was his, after all. He thinks she would have liked New Akiridion. He lifts her core up to press his forehead to it.

“Welcome home,” he murmurs.

They spend the next couple of delsons reaching out to the few remaining people that would have known Iros in order to invite them to the old palace for her funeral. There aren’t many, mostly because there aren’t that many Akiridions left. For all that they evacuated as many people as they could, total evacuation just wasn’t possible. Even besides that, Iros’s generation had already begun to die out. Akiridions live a long time, but they aren’t immortal. Iros was already well and truly middle-aged when she died. Still, there are a few left, and more still that knew her when they were kids themselves, like Varvatos. She was well loved.

They stick to tradition for her funeral, even if a part of Krel wants to add something from the planet she had called home by the end. Douxie and his family are invited, since they got to know Iros well and Iros was in many ways one of Douxie’s grandmothers. One of Krel’s, too, in a way. That is a strange thought. Hilde is respectfully quiet throughout the funeral, a child far too used to death – but then, he supposes, death was a simple reality of the Middle Ages even without a magical war.

Iros’s core is brought to rest next to Grandfather’s. He wonders how long it took him to realise his sister was gone. He’d said he was going to send reinforcements. Did they get there only to find an empty ship and no sign of Iros? Did they search for her at all? Or did they decided it was a lost cause? It’s a wonder Grandfather didn’t declare war on Earth, or maybe the galactic laws about first contact stayed his hand. All Krel had known until Mort was that she was lost on a mission. He’s not even sure that Papa knew where that mission had been.

Krel eventually falls back into the swing of things. He and Steve rebuild Alex’s arm, better than before since they have full access to his lab. He’s kind of their test dummy for their prosthetic project, but Krel thinks they’re well on the way to fine-tuning things enough to be expanded for use in the Peace Fleet missions. Aja, for her part, is relieved to return to these, now that she doesn’t have to play queen anymore. Krel did, mostly jokingly, ask her if she wanted to keep the position, but the glare she sent him could have melted a full spaceship. He has briefly considered trying to change things to a democracy – it would make more sense, probably, but there’s been so much upheaval that he puts a pin in that idea for later.

He finds himself laying on his back on the roof of the palace one night, staring up at the stars before the rain that’s supposed to come later tonight. Despite the dust left over from Akiridion-5, they can actually see the stars from New Akiridion. It’s something Krel has been careful to preserve, already thinking of ways to limit light pollution. They’ll have to be more careful than their ancestors, who bled every planet dry before Gaylen created Akiridion-5. Krel wasn’t as careful as he was, but then, Krel was building a planet for a much smaller population.

He hears a grunt then a thud and glances over as Steve flops into a sitting position next to him. He offers him a smile.

“Evening, Steve,” he says.

“You’re gonna fall off this roof one day,” Steve says, amused. “Last thing you need is another concussion.”

Krel snorts at this but shakes his head. They fall into a comfortable silence again. Krel’s eyes wander back up to the sky. The constellations are familiar, remind him of both his parents and of Seamus, of quiet moments spent looking at a digital version of this view. Future generations will have the real thing, as long as Krel is able to ensure it. Maybe they’ll even find their own, new constellations. He knows some were lost to time, after all, so why bring new stories to the night sky of a new planet? Maybe Krel can even find a way to put his lost friends up there.

“Do you remember,” he says, dismissing his musings for now, lips twisting up into a smirk, “that you gave me my first concussion?”

“I did not!” Steve squawks. “You’re full of shit, Tarron!”

Ah, Krel loves getting a rise out of his brother. Steve sounds so funny when he’s indignant. It’s great.

“I mean, it wasn’t ever diagnosed,” Krel teases, “but I’ve had enough hits to the head since then to recognise the symptoms–”

“You are full of shit,” Steve says. “So I punched you in the face, barely. You still ran off chasing Stuart!”

“Keep making excuses for yourself.” Krel would continue heckling him, but he can feel his smile shifting to something more subdued. “Could you have ever imagined, back then, everything that would happen?”

“Not even a bit of it,” Steve admits.

“Me neither,” Krel says. “Back then I thought we’d get back to Akiridion-5 and then I’d have to be content with my future as an advisor or something to Aja.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Steve says.

“I think,” Krel says, softening his voice and weighing his words, “despite the bad parts, I’m very glad things didn’t turn out that way. I’m glad I have the family and friends I have now.”

“Same.” Steve lays down next to him, arms behind his head. He turns his head to face Krel, fond warmth in his eyes. “Knights of the Vaguely Oval-Shaped Table, right?”

“Right,” Krel says, smile turning sad. “Except it’s just the two of us now. What did you call us?”

“Heir Squad, but you made it nerdy,” Steve says.

“Heir Squared,” Krel says. He stares up at the constellations above them and sighs. “I miss him so much.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Me too. He’d want us to keep living life to its fullest, though.”

“And so we will,” Krel murmurs.

Steve reaches over and grabs his hand. Krel squeezes it, blinking back the wetness stinging his eyes. Losing Toby will be hard to heal from, he knows, but he will heal. He always has. He never would have changed his friendships with Toby and Seamus, never would have changed being adopted by Mort. The joy outweighs the sorrow, in the end; Krel can never regret knowing and loving them, can never regret the pure light they brought to his life. Maybe he is meant to keep losing the ones he loves, but that will not stop him from continuing to love.

A quiet rumble washes over them, distant thunder, as the first drops of rain begin to fall. They should probably head inside, but he wants to stay just a few more minutes. So Krel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the cool night air, absorbs the gentle sound of the wind and nocturnal animals, and lets the cold winter rain remind him of Earth and all the people he has loved and lost there.

Notes:

IT'S FINALLY COMPLETE
I'd say I'm free but apparently I cannot let this series and world go so.... 4quel. There is gonna be SO much worldbuilding and lore in 4quel. I am so excited.

Thank you so so much to everyone who has read my silly little series so far, especially those of you who made it this far. I know it's pretty self-indulgent now but it's made with a lot of love, for the characters but also for y'all out there reading. I cannot express my gratitude enough. Every kudos and comment makes my day and I love you guys very much. Thank you for sticking with me through half a million words <3 <3 <3

Notes:

We're in for an exciting ride :3

I couldn't resist doing time travel. Chance to write baby Mort? Sign me UP! I hope you guys enjoy the Arthurian world I've built for this story that liberally references real characters and is in NO way, shape, or form accurate to any of the existing lore. I do what I want here and I'm sorry. I am also sorry for the time travel and any inconsistencies of that - at the very least I did some medieval research unlike canon!

Hope y'all enjoyed the first chapter and can't wait to see you next time! <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of The Ones Who Stayed 'Verse