[fic] [Tales of Arcadia] First Romances 4/5

[sakon76]

First Romances
by K. Stonham
first released 6th March 2022

His soulmate isn't talking to him.

With a shuddering sigh, Douxie accepts that he has fucked up. He doesn't know if it's the reincarnation thing, or the soulmate thing--he thinks it's not pyrobligst, Carter had looked like he was enjoying watching that--but either way, the result is the same. After their very short conversation on the subject they'd turned in for the night, Carter facing away from him in the shared bed.

Carter had been crying. But every time Douxie had tried to reach out and touch him, to offer comfort or even just ask what was wrong, he'd been brushed off and Carter had inched farther away, until he was right on the edge of the mattress. Swallowing down hurt, Douxie had eventually left him alone and retreated to the opposite edge.

No one, he thought, except Theo, had slept well.

After they'd all gone home early through Claire's shadow portal (Jim decidedly limping), Carter had politely thanked Jim and Claire, and left for home.

He hadn't even looked at Douxie.

The person Douxie would usually go to for advice is currently on bed rest and painkillers. And he can't do anything to change Carter's mind right now.

So Douxie spends the weekend burying himself in work. Both school, and... other.

There's a fine, fine line he has to be careful to tread, if he doesn't want to be stuck as an eternal sixteen-year-old. Which he doesn't. Dodging CPS and truancy officers for the next several centuries is not in Douxie's plans. So he can't power through things the way he could in his last lifetime yet. He has to creep along, silent and quiet as a mouse, cautious of his magic use lest he push it too far.

Simply using magic to either summon or pinpoint the location of Excalibur's sheath is out of the question.

No, Douxie has to do research.

He's never actually seen the scabbard in question. But he knows it exists. Merlin used to grumble about Arthur's folly in casting it aside. Arthur, as king, had apparently felt that using a magic sword was fine, but a magic scabbard for it that kept him from being injured? Oh, no, that was rank cowardice and fit only for women or cowardly sorcerors.

(A millennium separate from Arthur's court, Douxie can recognize toxic masculinity and literally fatal stupidity in action. But it's not his problem and he remains, as ever, glad of Arthur's death, not just once, but twice.)

So Merlin had taken back the scabbard, half of the magical gift of Nimue, and hidden it away from his king.

Looking back at it now, Douxie wonders if Merlin studied the piece, used it as inspiration for the Trollhunter amulet. Because the intensity of magic that Merlin had used to create the amulet was certainly reminiscent of the sheer level of power involved in Nimue's creations. And armor, like the scabbard, was a protective entity....

The point is, Merlin had hidden the scabbard somewhere. But if it had been in the odd little pocket of space-time where he'd stashed the Genesis Seals, Douxie hadn't seen it.

So, logic.

Merlin would not have wanted to put such a powerful piece away where someone else might have found it and used it to become invulnerable. No, he'd have kept it close. But for all his trudging through his memories, Douxie simply cannot recall ever having seen it in his workshop.

Merlin had, at the end, entrusted him with the location of the Genesis Seals. Had as much as implied that Douxie was his heir. So surely the scabbard is his by rights, too? To pass on to Merlin's Trollhunter?

Which self-justifications absolutely do not help Douxie at all, if he can't find the bloody thing.

He sighs and tilts his chair back on two legs, absently clicking his pen open and shut.

He knows Camelot has been rebuilt from its ruins, and that it's hiding in the sky somewhere. Only Krel's tech and Claire's shadowmancy give access to it. He knows, too, that Arcadia Oaks High School seniors get to spend a week's field trip there as part of their educations. But Douxie's not a senior yet, won't be for several months, and definitely doesn't want to wait almost an entire year for that trip.

His chair thumps back down onto all four legs. "Claire," he says, making her look up from where she's feeding Theo slices of banana, "Can I go to Camelot?"

She blinks. "Why?"

Douxie sighs. "I need to ransack Merlin's workshop," he explains. "I want to get Jim Excalibur's scabbard, so that things like yesterday don't happen to him again. And I know Merlin had it, but I don't know where he put it."

She hums. "Well, I can get you there. But his workshop's locked and warded. Even I can't get in."

Douxie blinks. "That... surprises me," he confesses. "When did he do that?"

Claire shrugs. "Sometime between when he stuck Jim in that crystal and when he came back to Arcadia for you? It was locked up when I was helping Krel shift the sections around to rebuild Camelot, anyway."

"He hardly came back for me," Douxie grumbles, crossing his arms. Merlin's disregard of his abilities is still a sore point, seventeen years and an entire lifetime later.

"Nana!" Theo demands.

Claire obeys, feeding her daughter another slice. "I guess if you want to go there, we can. I'm just not sure you'll be able to find what you need, Douxie."

He sighs. "If there's anyone the locks will open for, it's probably me. But if they don't, I can't magically force it yet."

"Well, Jim can survive without a magic sword sheath for a few more years if needs be." Claire glances up at the ceiling. "Speaking of which, I'm going to check if he's awake for more painkillers or not. You're on banana duty." She deposits the bowl of banana slices into Douxie's hands and heads for the stairs.

"Nana!" Theo demands again, her mouth full of mashed up banana paste.

"Not until you've swallowed that," Douxie tells her.

His sister's eyes well up with tears and her face screws up into a pout. She's getting ready to wail.

"You cry, no more bananas," Douxie warns her.

She sniffs, still pouty.

"Swallow."

Grudgingly she obeys.

"Let me see."

She opens her mouth wide like a baby bird.

"Good enough," Douxie decides, and brings the bowl close to her, letting Theo pick out her own slice.

She grabs a fistful of them and shoves them all into her mouth at once, triumphant.

---

Come Monday homeroom, Carter is still not talking to Douxie. Which causes a hollow feeling in the center of Douxie's chest. He's fucked up good, and... doesn't know how to fix it. How can he fix it, when his soulmate won't even tell him what's wrong? Is it the reincarnation? The soulmate thing? The fact that Douxie's chest-deep in a world that Carter barely knows exists?

He couldn't fix any of those things, even if he knew which of them was the problem.

His soulmate stiffly ignores him in the halls and has gone back to sitting alone at lunch, rather than share a table with Douxie.

"What's up with him?" Baja asks.

"We've... had a bit of a spat," Douxie confesses. "You should probably go sit with him. He needs the company more."

Baja studies Douxie's face, then waves to catch his brother's attention and directs Waja to go sit with Carter. Waja shrugs and obeys. Baja doesn't move.

Douxie picks at his lunch aimlessly.

"I thought he was going on a trip with you to Trollmarket over the weekend," Baja says.

"He did. Jim got hurt, I told Carter some things, now he's not talking with me," Douxie lists tonelessly. He looks unseeingly at his lunch, then shoves it away.

Baja swoops in to claim it, and takes a bite.

"I guess I'm one straw too many," Douxie says, looking at the scarred tabletop. "The time on the streets, the therapy, the freakish magic, everything. Guess I'm just too much."

"You know," Baja says, Douxie's fork held up in the air, "the self-pity thing really doesn't look good on you. Take some time apart. There are other fish in the sea. Etcetera."

"Other fish for you," Douxie says bitterly. "Not for me."

Soulmate.

---

His feet trudge on the walk home. Sparring practice is cancelled with Jim today, and probably for the next few weeks as well, while Jim recovers.

"Hey," Jim says when Douxie walks in the front door. "I have made the discovery of a lifetime. Daytime TV programming is the absolute worst."

Douxie doesn't reply.

Jim looks at him. "Come on, sit with me," he invites, patting the sofa cushion next to his. Douxie obeys. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Carter's not talking to me," Douxie dully reports, fingers fiddling with the hanging loop at the top of his backpack. "And because he's not talking to me, I don't even know why he's not talking to me."

Jim blinks. "Okay, that's a little more serious a problem than I was expecting," he admits. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Give him his space," Douxie reports. "I can't make him talk to me." His voice drops to a whisper. "I can't make him love me." He scrubs at his eyes, trying not to cry. "Why'd I have to tell him everything?" he whispers, berating himself for being a fool. "It was all going so well."

"Hey." Jim leans gingerly forward and places a hand on Douxie's shoulder. "He's your soulmate, right? He'll come around."

Douxie gives a watery laugh. "It's not guaranteed. Soulmates end up sleeping with and marrying other people all the time. Just because your heart wants its perfect match, doesn't mean it gets it. People often settle for 'good enough'."

Jim sighs and tugs Douxie in. Douxie goes with it, leaning against him. "Doux, you literally died and came back to life to have a chance at this boy again. Giving up at the first little bump in the road is not like you."

Douxie sniffs. "It's not, is it?"

"Give him some time, give him some space, give him something shiny."

Douxie blinks and looks at Jim. "Something shiny?"

Jim shrugs. "Something to go with his interests."

"What shiny thing did you ever give Claire?" Douxie asks. "Well, bar a wedding ring, I suppose."

Jim cracks a grin, which looks hideously painful now that the bruises on his face have truly begun to bloom. "I tried out for the school play that she was in. And then I made good on my word and rescued Enrique from the Darklands."

"Ah. So, not literally shiny, then."

"Nope. Or you could ask Toby for advice if you want. He's loads better than me at the traditional romantic stuff."

"I'll... pass for now," Douxie hedges. "But I shall keep that option in mind." He thinks about it, really tries to think. Because what does Carter even like? People talking to him in ASL, but that's kind of covered at this point. He likes swearing, but that's not really something Douxie can wrap up and give him as a gift. Well, maybe Blinky could recommend a book on comparative curse words or something...?

Douxie's going to have to think about this.

---

The week passes with more of the same. Baja and Waja trade off which of them gets Douxie and which gets Carter. Everyone else kind of quietly ignores everything; they've known Douxie longer, but Carter is the more fun of the pair of them, if only for all the cool ways he can teach everyone to talk back under the parental radar. Carter continues to ignore Douxie.

Finally, Friday evening rolls around, and Claire portals Douxie to Camelot.

It's... not what he expects.

There's blue-glowing Akiridion tech everywhere, presumably keeping the castle skyborne. Half the buildings are missing half their walls, with the gaps made up by blue high-tech force fields.

And it's so. Freaking. Quiet.

Unnerved, Douxie makes for Merlin's tower, Claire beside him. Maybe once he's inside and doesn't have to see the changes, he'll feel better about them.

Halfway up the tower, he thinks it's a good thing he's on the track team, because he'd forgotten how absolutely winding the stairs are; he almost has to stop and catch his breath, but he powers through and finds a second wind by the time he gets to Merlin's floor.

Where the solid oak door is closed, locked, and most likely barred on the inside as well.

"Well?" Claire asks from behind him.

Douxie huffs air out through his nose. He has to trust that if Merlin truly meant for him to be his successor, there's a way for him to get past the wards that he can sense line not only the door, but the walls of the workshop itself.

"Well, simplest way first," he says with a shrug, and tries the handle.

Locked. And it doesn't unlock at his touch.

He knocks at it and calls "Master, it's me. Can you let me in?" like Merlin's still alive and Douxie's just come up the stairs with his arms full of requested ingredients. Nothing.

Ramming his shoulder into the door only gets him a sore shoulder.

Irked, Douxie pulls a spell to his hand and casts it. But causa crepitus just splashes off the door like it's nothing more than glowing blue water.

Stumped and frustrated, Douxie slumps down across the opposite wall. "Maybe he didn't mean for me to enter his sanctum," he says lowly as Claire sits down beside him. "I mean, he locked it up back when he still thought I was a stupid apprentice, right?" His laugh is bitter. "Why trust me, when I only ever screwed things up."

"You know that's not true." Claire puts her hand around his shoulders. "He said the greatest thing he'd ever done was saving you, remember?"

"Yeah, but that was after."

"Douxie." She waits until he looks at her. Claire brushes his hair out of his eyes. "Jim and I have done some pretty awesome stuff, right? Taking on Bular, and Gunmar, and everything else. And you know neither of us are all that fond of Merlin. But I'll tell you something: we both agree with him, one hundred percent, on this. Saving you is the greatest thing we've ever done."

Douxie can't help it. His heart hurts. He wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her shoulder. "Love you, Mam," he whispers, sniffling.

Claire embraces him back. "Love you, mijo."

They stay that way for a while, until Claire, still looking at the door, says speculatively, "If Merlin did want to make sure that no one but you or him could get in, how would he do that?"

"Well," Douxie says, straightening and wiping at his eyes, "the simplest way's a magic lock. It would only open to his sorcery or mine."

She hums. "And does throwing a spell at the door count as that?"

Douxie's eyes widen. "No," he says, clambering to his feet. "It wouldn't."

He crosses to the door again and lays his hand on the handle. Then he closes his eyes and draws his magic forth, letting it sing across his skin.

Under his hand, the door unlocks.

---

Stepping into Merlin's workshop is like stepping back in time. Absolutely nothing has changed, save Douxie himself.

He runs fingers along the wood grain of the great octagonal table in the lower section. There's no dust. "I spent years of my life here," he murmurs. He feels like if he just turns around quick enough, he might catch a glimpse of Merlin or Archie.

"Good years?" Claire asks, coming up beside him.

"Mostly," Douxie says. But as he looks at her, he realizes that for all that he spent longer in Camelot... it's not his home. That honor is reserved for a small house in Arcadia Oaks. Where for three years he's felt loved, and valued.

It's not a place that makes a home, he thinks. It's the people.

"So," Claire says, looking around, "where would Merlin hide a magic scabbard?"

"Ugh. God only knows," Douxie says, looking at the thousands of volumes of magic theory and instruction. There are bestiaries, a whole section of scrolled-up maps, hints and techniques and treasures unknown to modern man, all waiting to be discovered. He could lose himself and study here for a year and a day, and not get through it all.

Merlin only knows where Merlin left a clue.

"He'd keep it close," Douxie reasons aloud. "He wouldn't want anyone else just coming along and picking it up, so it must be here somewhere."

"Well, where would he put something valuable?"

"It's all valuable," Douxie complains, but Claire has a point.

"Valuable things... get put in safes," he says, turning to look at the vault embedded in the wall. "But Merlin's safe is magic, it has literally hundreds of different correct combinations opening to different things."

Claire puts her hand on her hip and looks thoughtfully at the vault. "So how do we open it to the right one?"

The thing is, Douxie has no idea. He could spin the gemstones around the safe for days, trying different combinations. If I end up doing that, he thinks with a grimace, I'd better get some parchment and ink to note down what I've already tried.

"Merlin," he thinks aloud, "was all about efficiency. Practicality. What worked, and what didn't. He would have written it down somewhere."

Claire looks around the veritable library of books, doubt written all over her face. "I can read Trollish," she says. "But Wizardese is still beyond me, Douxie."

He's already gone to the closest wall of books, perusing the titles. "Better reading all the titles than trying all the combos," he says.

"Do you even know what you should be looking for?"

He shoot Claire a grin. "Not a clue. But hopefully I'll know it when I find it."

---

It takes hours, by which time Claire has resorted to playing games on her cellphone, because she really cannot read twelfth century Welsh, let alone some of the older, odder languages Merlin had read. (Douxie has to pause and laugh softly to himself when he starts finding the volumes written in Ancient Draconic, because, really? But after that, he starts fervently hoping that the secrets he's looking for aren't buried in any of those tomes.)

In the end, the book he seeks is tucked between two treatises on astronomical influences on the growth and harvesting of magical plants. He almost misses it because it's a slim volume. But once he pulls it out, he knows this is it. "Eureka!" he crows, catching Claire's attention as he starts flipping through the book. Merlin has, of course, added another layer of security - all his notes are in Gnomish. Most people, by which Douxie means wizards, don't even know that gnomes have their own written language.

But Douxie knows Gnomish, and his finger flies down the pages as he searches.

Finally, about halfway through, he finds the item he's looking for. "The scabbard of Excalibur," he reads aloud. "Also called 'Avalon.' Gotcha!" He notes the combination and snaps the book shut before striding over to the safe, full of confidence.

His bracelet lights up as he reaches for magic and uses it to spin the gemstones.

And the safe opens, revealing the sheath that will keep Jim safe.

Douxie picks it up reverently. "For Jim," he says softly, giving it to Claire. The sheath looks like it's made out of supple silver leather, the same as Douxie's bracelet. But the tooling on it is much more intricate. There's a strap included, so that the scabbard can be worn either slung across the bearer's back, or at his hip.

It's been separated from its sword for a very long time.

"Thank you," Claire says, her voice intense with meaning.

Taken aback, Douxie looks at her, at the sheer relief on her face. She has, he realizes, been incredibly worried about Jim. Who is not getting any younger, but... well, he's the Trollhunter, and will be until he dies.

"I will do everything in my power to protect him," Douxie promises softly.

Claire grins and reaches up to ruffle his hair. "I know you will. But don't forget you're not immortal either. Yet."

"Believe me," says Douxie, "I am well aware of that."

As he turns to close the safe, he realizes there is one other thing in it: a sheathed silver dagger with a lightly carved bone haft. He takes it out, wondering what it is that Merlin felt it worthy of keeping with Excalibur's sheath. With a wave, he summons the little tome back to his hand and flips through it, searching. "The blade known as 'Little White Hilt'," he reads. "Also rejected by Arthur. It may have some ability to... cloak itself or its bearer in shadow?" He looks at the knife with new respect. "Claire, perhaps this should be yours," he offers.

But she's already shaking her head. "Shadowmancer, remember? I don't need it, Douxie."

He should put it back in the safe, he knows. Leave it with Merlin's other treasures. But....

...but he keeps thinking of the switch knife Carter keeps hidden in his shoe.

And maybe it's foolish, giving such a priceless magic artifact to a teenage boy who's nearly ignorant of wizardry.

But this is his soulmate. And Jim had said to give Carter something shiny, something aligned with his interests.

"Do you think," he finds himself saying, "that I might give this to Carter?"

Claire blinks. "Do you think he'd like it?" Which is kind of the opposite of no.

"I think he already has a knife," Douxie says.

She smiles and puts her hand on his arm. "Then I think it would be a great gift," she tells him. Claire glances around the room. "You do know that everything in here is yours, right?"

"Mine? But--"

"But you're Merlin's son," Claire tells him. "As surely as you're mine and Jim's. He claimed you. I was there. I heard it. So everything inside this tower, and arguably all of Camelot itself, is yours, Douxie."

"Have you talked with Krel about that?"

"Pfft." She waves off the question. "Getting this place flying was a project for Krel. He certainly doesn't think it's his. We just let the high school use it because, well. Wizards. Magic. All that stuff."

Douxie's mind is reeling. "I will... think about that later," he decides, and waves the safe shut and the book back to its hiding place. "For now, let's go home."

"Home," Claire agrees, and walks out of the workshop. Douxie closes the door behind them, then hesitates before reapplying the magical lock.

"Claire," he says, "can I have your hand?"

Her expression questioning, she nonetheless offers him her hand.

"Summon a bit of magic," he tells her.

He sees the instant she understands his intent. "Douxie...."

"I'm not going to let anyone else in," he says softly. "I'm certainly not offering this to any of my cousins. But in case anything happens... I want you to be able to get in here too."

Her expression is still dubious, but she nods and summons her black-violet sorcery to her hand.

Douxie ties her into the spell's matrix. The only people who can get into Merlin's workshop are now himself, and Claire.

"Done," he says, finishing. "Let's go home."