The Chilly Pencil

“No!” Walter is panting when he calls out and jumps to the edge of the bed, wings jutting out and nearly knocking over an unlit table lamp. Shaking his head, his clawed hands curl around his temples, trying to shake the strobe lights from his mind. There’s too much. A thousand atrocities from a thousand lifetimes—and now he’s projecting into the future. With a soft huff he leans against the mattress, ignoring its squeaks of protest (too much like the screams of the innocent) then slowly props himself up to a standing position. Yellow eyes flicker to the clock. It’s 8:30 at night, and Barbara is still at work.

Thank the stars. She has enough on her plate.

A small knock on the door catches his ears, and he starts.

The door creaks open a little. “Hey, you ok?” A boys soft voice floats through the slit.

Ah, right.

“Young Atlas,” he clears his throat, voice gruff with fatigue. “ I keep forgetting you are here. “

“Yeah?” The door opens further, and the hall light floods into the room, clashing with Walter’s own inner glow. “Well, It’s only been two days. I still can’t believe it myself. Getting used to being up during the daylight again is hard.”

The changeling offers a knowing nod, and straitens the ties of his loincloth.“I’ve been there. Give it a few weeks. You’ll adapt.”

A brief moment finds the two staring at each other through the warm but awkward silence. Jim’s studying him, he realizes. It’s the same look his mother gets when she’s trying to assess a wound.

“You had a flashback, didn’t you?” The boy cuts right to the point.

“Er-” Walter falters, pausing long enough to switch the lamplight on--more for the boy than for himself—before scratching at the side of his neck. “Yes Jim, but you needn’t worry.”

“I’m getting them, too.”

A cold pang runs through him at the words. “I see. How long have you experiencing this?”

“For a while, really. Pretty much ever since Drall tried to kill me, but it wasn’t all that bad, nothing I couldn’t bear until...until…”

“Until you were corrupted,” Walter finishes the sentence for him, heart wrenching when he looks to see that the boys eyes are watering, half-formed tears glistening in the ochre light of his eyes.

It’s then that the shrill cry of a baby touches his ears, and his horned head turns towards Jim’s old bedroom. “I’d better attend to that.”

“Oh, sure,” Jim coughs and rubs an eye against his sleeve. “We’ll talk some other time.”

“Hold on,” Walter’s deep voice booms just as Jim starts to turn around, stopping the boy in his tracks. “Why don’t you run downstairs and set the kettle going? I’ll be down in a few moments.”

“Yeah, cool, okay,” the Trollhunter scratches the back of his head, then points in the direction of the staircase. “I’ll do that. Need me to mix up some formula, too?”

“Talk to me, Barbara. Keep moving.” His gritty voice crackled through the frozen air.

Only one thought kept running through her frigid mind. “I’m s- so cold.” Her voice trembled. “My son…promise me, if I don’t make it.--”

“--I won’t let that happen.”

Whether because of his words or the cold, he could not know, but she made a flustered sound and closed her eyes, brows furrowing in frustration.

“I promise.” He finally croaked as he untied her boots and slid them off. The socks and shoes joined the pile of spent clothing, as did her pants, when he finally managed to unbuckle them with his claws.

Her expression softened, and he jolted in alarm.

“Open your eyes, love.” He said as he hastily removed the last two garments. “Stay with me.”

“Don’t,” she nearly bit her tongue with shivering. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered.

Good, he thought, irritation would spur her.

“Let me see your eyes,” he insisted, then signaled to the ice hound, who came round to him. As he stuffed her clothing into one of the satchels on Horace’s back, he watched her lids flutter.

“There you are,” he said as he folded the cape around her naked body as though swaddling a baby. “Keep doing that. Focus on your son, Barbara. Continue talking to me.”

Bending down, he scooped her up into his long, green arms, and then jumped into the ice-hound’s saddle. The dog growled and leapt into action, heading in the direction of the valley below. Stickler squeezed her as tight as he could against the bracing wind.

“I need you--” his keen ears heard her warble, despite the noise, “I need you to change,” her voice fluttered, faltering. She tried to clear her throat, “into a human. Please.”

Swallowing thickly, his yellow eyes closed. “I can’t yet. Not until we find shelter. I’ve a contact in Nepal, but night is crawling upon us. I know this body is cold. We’ll stop soon, I promise.”

For a while, all she would hear we’re Horace’s thundering paw-beats, mixed with her own rapidly weakening pulse. Numbness began to set in to the point where she almost felt warm again. A part of her was relieved by this, the other knew it was a bad sign.

“Tell me about Jim,” his trollish tone rumbled, searching for a way prompt her voice. “He has a lion’s heart, that boy. Was he always like that?”

“Yes,” she said through a breath, “yes.”

When she didn’t say more, he nudged her further, “focus on him Barbara. What was he like as a child? Did he always enjoy cooking?”

.....

***

(few scenes later)

When Barbara woke she was on a floor near a small, stone fireplace, covered in wool and fur blankets.

The cadence of long, steady breaths caught her attention., and she looked over to see Walter’s human form flickering in the shadows of the meager room. At some point, he’d fallen asleep against the nearest table, arm splayed to serve as a makeshift pillow. Dawn had not yet struck, and the pitch black outside suggested it would be hours until it did. All was quiet, still.

“Oh,” she huffed softly, and rubbed at her searing eyes, wondering if she’d managed to encounter an ember.

The changeling woke in an instant, dazed expression quickly morphing into surprise as he met the doctor’s gaze. Her irises and pupils had merged into twin orbs of cerulean light, projectingthe same glowing blue that powered Jim’s transformation.

Everything came back to him in a flash of icy water and a lady’s pale gaze:

“You were never created for darkness.” The ancient voice lingered in his mind. ”You are a child of light.”

“Your eyes,” his low voice trembled with incredulity.

“Walter.” Barbara spoke through a weighted breath. Blinking, she caught a wavering blue glow in the reflection of a silver ash bucket near her head, competing with the fire’s yellow light. She blinked again, and the blue disappeared. “What happened?” A crease formed between her brows as she lifted a hand to the air. White waves of electricity sparkled through her fingertips. “Woah,” she said weakly.

“Shh,” his clawed hand clasped hers. He ignored the shock waves it sent through his bones. “You need to rest. ”

“I need to find Jim.” Blue eyes fluttered, despite her attempts to keep them open. “We have to keep going.”

“Stay,” he brought a clawed hand to her forehead. “You’re still chilled. Here,” she felt a hand press into her back as he sat her up a little, shifting the pillows to prop her up before swaddling her in something soft and velvety. She opened her eyes long enough to watch him stand, ochre eyes teeming with concern. He left for a moment, ducking into an adjacent room before returning with a small bowl. Bending to his knees, he brought it to her face. A creamy yellow liquid frothed at the top. Sniffing it, she wrinkled her nose.

“What is this?”

“Po cha,” he explained, snorting when her brows furrowed in a way he’d always adored. “Butter tea. It’s a bit intense for the American palliate, but it will warm you.”

Arms trapped as they were beneath the blankets, he brought it to her lips.

“Mmm,” she hummed disapprovingly.

“Please try.” He tilted the bowl a little further and she opened her mouth wide enough to let some of the liquid slip through.

“Oh, that’s different.” She finally said after a thick swallow. “Goat?”

“Yak.”

She narrowed her eyes at the thought, but then he was pressing the bowl to her lips again, urging her with a quiet, “come on then,” as he neatly sidestepped any of the hypocorisms he so often slipped into around her. The respect for her boundaries warmed her, somehow, encouraging her onward. Taking a deep breath, she sipped again, and in this way, she allowed herself to be fed for the next five minutes or so, until she’d finally had enough of the musky liquid. Downing the rest of the contents himself, he set it aside on the floor.

A fire crackled somewhere behind her, slowly lulling her back into a sleep-wanton state. Feeling something shift behind the pillows, she realized that Walter was straddling them behind her,. A warm hand grasped at her shoulder.

“Sleep,” he said, though she was already nodding off. Briefly, she had the revelation that the blankets were brushing directly against her skin.

“I’m naked, aren’t I?” But she never heard the answer, drifting back into the land of dreams before he could supply it.

For every memory Vendel’s incantation had taken from her, his seemed to have increased tenfold. Every impossibly blue wave reminded him of her eyes, every hungry fire of her flame-brushed hair, every tremulous star of her vibrant soul. Much like the water in her namesake, there was no shape he could find that she couldn’t fill, save for the gaping holes she’d left in him.

Every step of his journey, he’d been haunted.

He’d managed to track down a willing candidate to take him to the island. An younger fisherman man with a new family who was in desperate need of a new form of transportation. For the cost of a the motorcycle, he’d found himself sneaking off on a small fishing vessel in the middle of the night. There had only been one small scare with a navy boat, but they’d gotten lucky, and the journey was otherwise flawless. When he’d finally waded onto the perilous sands of North Sentinel’s shore, dry-sacks in hand, and waved his hired hand off, he was met with an eerie silence.

The bustle of the city and the boats had been some distraction, but this..he would never stop thinking about her.

And he hadn’t, not even two months later, no matter how many times he tried to summon Morgana back. Now, by his crackling fire, he thought of her again, and of her son, and of how he’d wronged them. He’d caught wind of Angor’s defeat and Jim’s disappearance into the Darklands in an internet cafe before he’d stranded himself. Oh course the boy had gone alone. Altruism at his finest. He wondered if Barbara even knew, and if she did, god help him.

To these thoughts, he drifted into a sleep-like trance, where the memories always flooded in:

He’s standing in the California breeze, two ice cream cones in hand, searching for her blue eyes in the sea of moving faces on the street.

“Walter!” he turns to see her making her way through a cluster of teenagers. School is out for the afternoon, and the world is buzzing with the excitement of Friday night. Her face is warm and bright as she strides up to him, and he spreads his arms wide to avoid dripping on her lab-coat as she slides her arms around him in a hug.

“Fresh from the parlor,” he pecks the top of her red head before pulling away to lower the cone in front of her. “Strawberry, as the lady requested.”

“I see you got the same thing.” She smiles as her hand wraps around the pointed cone.

“How could I resist?” His tongue flicks out to catch a drop of cream along his own cone, smiling when her pupils dilate.

The next few minutes are spent happily licking away as they walk through the warm spring air, making their way toward the local park.

It’s when they’re walking by the pond, that it catches his eye.

“Dr. Barbara V. Lake,” He reads aloud, pausing to stand in front of her. “I haven’t seen this coat before. What does the V stand for?”

“V for very, very, very happy to see you right now.” She jokes and then bites into the cone.

“Oh, come now.” They both wince as she gets brain-freeze. “Surely you’ll tell me.”

“Hmm, what do I get out of it?” Her smile grows coy.

“Dinner,” he clears his throat, brandishing his own sultry look as he finishes his cone. “Chinese. I’ll buy extra eggrolls.”

“You really know how to woo a woman.”

“I do,” he bites his lip.

“Viviane.”

Something jolted within him—a bit of memory, a quick blur—causing the foundations of his soul to settle, as though they’d been out-of-sorts his entire life.

“It’s beautiful.” He bent low to kiss the space above her ear. “And it suits you.”

He watches as his voice makes her spine shiver shiver, and she almost drops her cone. “Well, I hope so. It was my grandmothers name. I take after her in almost every regard. She was a nurse in the army, you know. Traveled the whole world. I used to listen to all of her incredible stories.”

“I should thank her for raising such an incredible spirit.”

“I wish you could. She’s gone now.” Barbara’s eyes grow heavy, “died right around the time that James left, actually. She would have <i>loved</i> you,” she smiled into his neckline.

“Oh really?” Humor bubbled from his throat.

“Well, you have an intoxicating sense of charm, and she had this massive thing for piano-hands.”

Stepping back, Walter moves to wrap his arms around her from behind as they gaze over the pond. “Couldn’t blame her. I’ve got some rousing sonatas up my sleeve.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it was just about the musical skill.” She chuckles. "Grammy was a fireball."

“In that case, I also have some ‘a’rousing sonatas,” he said in a beat.

They both laugh, melting into the syrupy sweetness of the moment, bodies swaying, pendulum-slow in a half-dance that leads them nowhere.

He woke.

“Viviane” He muttered to the silver-tipped waves, eyes blinking past the moonlight. “I’ve heard that name before. But where?” A scuttling crab distracted his gaze, and then his head fell back against the palm-fronds.

“Hello, Zoe, lovelet, I have an address I just texted to you, can you, uh--” Douxie held the phone to his face , trying to grab a different baby's leg as it floated by, "--do you mind popping by? There's a bit of a situation."

“What situation?” came her voice from the other end

The child escaped the Wizard’s grasp, babbling gleefully while wearing a tricorne.

“Waltolomew Jr, get over here this instant!” Barbara went chasing after the baby with outstretched arms.

“It’s a bit hard to explain…” Douxie’s voice trailed off as three other babies crawled after the doctor, sparks flying out from behind their knees like toy race cars.

“It’s mutiny, I tell ya!” NotEnrique came scurrying into the room, body covered in roots and flowers. “they’ve been savin’ it all for the big day! Oi, Jazz Hands, you mind givin’ me some help here?”

“I’m a little busy at the moment.” Douxie said as he fiddled with the gauntlet. “C’mon, c’mon...” he grumbled to the mechanism. “Ah! There.”

Geometric shapes of light appeared along the floor, bursting out and upward in a cacophony of blue. The babies who were airborne dropped to the ground, and Douxie watched as Walter lunched to catch two or three with his wings.

A thud upstairs indicated that another baby had dropped, followed by a piercing wail.

“Hold this,” Barbara said, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and Douxie found himself with a sudden armful of Walt Jr. as the doctor bounded up the staircase, NotEnrique went scurrying up behind her, shedding petals and brambles in his wake.

“Ah, hello mate,” Douxie quirked a brow as he looked down to the child in his arms, “so you’re the chip off the old rock here.”

(Douxie tries to cast a few spells with some success. For a few moments, the chaos stops and all of the floating babies come back to the floor. Strickler filters back into the room.)

He heard Walter snort, and then yelp as the first baby lit itself on fire again. The children nestled in his wing began to cry at the sudden flash of light.

“I thought you put a stop to this.” Walter growled as he held the baby away again.

“There are limits to my powers,” Douxie asserted, “I’ve got the airborne babies under control, but the other one’s will take longer. “

The changeling grabbed a crystal from a pouch along his loincloth and held it to the baby’s chest, cradling the child in his arms while the others remained in his wing. He muttered something that sounded low and quick, like snapping coals, and extinguished the baby once more. Not seconds later, a different baby with bows in it’s hair shot a beam of frost towards Walter’s head, covering his hair and horns in snow. Uttering, he tried to shake it away.

“They all have different abilities,” Douxie remarked in wonder as he stepped closer to the changeling. “We have fire, frost, earth--” the lights flickered above them, “--electricity,” he added, “and who knows what else? Heaven help us if one of them is in tune with Shadowmancy.”

“Shadow magic I can deal with, to a degree,” Walter’s golden eyes fell on the boy, “I am a creature of shadow, after all. It’s the others I can’t handle.”

Douxie laughed, something wry and time-worn passing across his gaze. “You’re not made of shadow magic, pal.”

“Come again?” his wings tensed.

“You may have been exposed to it in the Darklands, but the creation of life...that requires light.”

Walter stared at him for a long moment, gaze flickering in the dim.

“Shadow magic is what Gunmar was using to create his mindless drones, you’re not that.” Douxie went on. “I may not be as all-knowing as Merlin, but I know that much.”

“Forgive me for having a hard time believing you.” A baby was pulling in his tusks. Gently, he patted it back down. “But I have known nothing else.”

“You’ll see one day,” Douxie offered pale and knowing smile. “I don’t doubt it.”

It was then that Barbara came back onto the scene, hair completely unraveled and soaked, toweling her face.

“Oh dear,” Walter quirked a brow.

“She’s in the bathtub, living it up.” Barbara sneered. “Imagine a baby with a super-soaker.” Water still dripped from her arms. “NotEnrique’s entertaining her for now. I had to change twice.”

The sound of a motorcycle entering the driveway caught their collective attention, and Barbara gave Walter a curious look.

“That’ll be Zoe,” Douxie explained as he headed for the door. The moment he opened it, the power went out, and with the sun setting, the house became shrouded with darkness.

“Fuzzbuckets,” the wizard moaned through the burbles and gurgles and wails.

(Zoe walks up, fascinated to know what the heck could be going on. There’s some light banter, then Douxie introduces them to Walter and Barbara, who are surrounded by babies.)

“Remember the Trollhunter?” Douxie gestured to the couple. “Well, these are his parents.”

Walter tensed, “Er, well, I’m not actually Jim’s--” his words trailed off when Barbara put an arm on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, honey.”

Looking between the two of them, Zoe cocked a brow. “Well, there’s a story." It was well known that changelings couldn’t reproduced and equally known that they didn’t pursue relationships with...well, anyone.

“One we don’t have time to unpack, I’m afraid.” Walter said, curling a wing into a makeshift hammock before adding three or four babies to it.

.......