#ch13!

“Right.” said Vendel at last. He turned to Shuri and said, “Take her to Heartstone. I’ll have to inform the Trollhunter. Come on you.” he added with a click of his staff to the ground at Strickler - waking him from darker thoughts.  

Strickler knew he was walking, but it felt more like a distant experience, observed from elsewhere outside his body. He winced at the neon light of the main medical ward, but didn’t wait for them to adjust - instead he felt himself move toward Barbara’s direction.

Her pained simpers speared through his ears and dug at his heart.

Vendel’s staff intercepted the changeling, a sour faced and all.

Strickler didn’t have any quips left, the wind out of his sails. He had other things to care about. Leaning to the side, and with a hand floating up curl gingerly around the sling, he said, “A blanket. The..heartstone it’ll be warm, I suppose, if the staff felt warm to me, but…” Walter Strickler took a step back and croaked, “What have I done?”

Sympathy was not found in the old troll’s eyes, nor as he inhaled slowly through his nose. “Enough. I’d say you’ve done enough.”

The changeling didn’t move, but watched misty eyed as Shuri carried a groaning Barbara out a side door.

“A funny thing, consequence.” Sniffed Vendel. “You will have plenty of time to think of that soon - for now it is imperative the bond between you is broken.”

“What if the heartstone won’t work?”

“Changeling, are you listening?”

Walter’s mouth felt dry, his throat lumpy and in need of clearing, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so. “Gumm-Gumm magic. The bond is made by Gumm-Gumm magic…”

Vendel gave the changeling a look that was the closest to the trollish equivalent of a dryly delivered, ‘no shit Sherlock.’

Strickler continued, “I had Angor carve it into totems...what I’m saying is - they’re could be backfires - erm,” he paused to think of a better word, his fingers snapping quickly as if it’d help speed up his mental search “side effects.”

“Heartstone is more powerful than anything you, your kind, and your Gumm-Gumms could possibly divine. I have faith in it, and so should you.”

“What, cause my blood glowed? Sound thinking, that- sure. No further research needed - case closed - treatment : Glowing rock, side effects: hopefully tickety-boo.” to which Strickler crossed his fingers at Vendel and smiled gruesomely. “While we’re at it why don’t we rip out the entrails of a dead rat and see what the horoscope for the month will be, hm?”

Vendel looked down his nose at the changeling, and said nothing. Then with a tap of his staff and a gesture of his arm, had the changeling walk in front of him - where the Trollhunter and others were waiting.

//

It was during one of these moments that a pair of trolls hurriedly crossed to the other side of the road tugging at a child in hand. Unfortunately the child stumbled in Strickler’s path.

The trolls held their breath, as if anticipating a sort of bomb to go off.

Strickler slowly turned his head to look solemnly down at the young troll. Their eyes were wide. Their breath quickening in horror. Looking up into the face of the flesh and bone creature that had heavy unblinking eyes.  

But Strickler didn’t act, or move, or did anything - he just waited, either for the troll to pick themselves up, or for someone to help them up. He even took a moment to look at Blinky to see if he would do anything, but the troll seemed momentarily distracted with a bookseller.

When nothing happened Strickler sighed upward, unable to refuse his teacherly paternal like nature, and leaned leaned forward with an outstretched hand. The bare minimum, really.

The young troll flinched away, covering their face as if that would cast the pretend troll out of existence. They tried hard not to think about what it must feel like to walk with a soft outside and rocky inside - and she tried not to think about how strange this fleshy creature walked without a sound without rattling with the bones inside…surely bones rattled, right? Or were they more like trolls but with their insides stretched on their outside?

Curiosity getting the best of them, the child peaked through their fingers. Eyeing the offered soft hand with hairy knuckles.

“Are you inside out?” asked the little troll.

“Not presently, no.” said Strickler “But the future is full of possibilities.” and then he gave a small ironic sort of smile.

The little troll removed their hand from their face and, found themselves smiling in return. Then slowly…hesitantly…reached towards Strickler’s hand.

//

And onwards they continued. They moved discreetly through a winding stretch that became more desolate with every step, tented carpets, and around a wall of piled televisions which Strickler couldn’t guess the reason of it being there for the life of him. If the circumstances were different, he might have asked Blinky.

There were less neon signs near the stronghold, as if preserved in an area that found light and electrical currents moderately suspicious at best. Not that either Blinky or Strickler found this to be a problem, the slow decline of lights helped in favor to their eyes adjusting. Sharp greens and screaming purples and icy blueberry blues diminished - replaced by one tone browns, a splash of yellow, and perhaps the idea of orange.

The trolls guarding the threshold were at shoulder height the same size of an average moose, and frowned with the grace of a snarling gargoyle as they passed.

Here, none of the guards seemed surprised at the sight of the changeling. Their primary reaction being a tighter grip on their halberds, and a low growl that rippled bear like past their jagged yellow teeth.  

“Cheerful.” commented Strickler dryly, “Like being greeted by sadistic bellhops.”

“Show any sign of a trick, and I don’t think you’ll enjoy their version of asking for ‘a tip’.”

Strickler held his wounded arm closer to himself with a dry gulp, “Well, I give shoddy advice at best.”

“No not that kind of-!” Blinky turned and looked at the deceptively calm expression on his face - patient as an iceberg. Blinky’s frown deepened. “Oh, you’re joking.”

The changeling gave an ironic, serviceable bow.

//

And that’s probably it for sneak peeks until the chapter is released (maybe)

“Life is a series of poorly planned trench warfare tactics. You gain ground, you loose ground, celebrate, cry, and march on. What counts are the small moments in between that help you keep marching forward.”

Jim squinted, and despite the shuddering eerie sensation that Strickler probably lived through trench warfare combat at some point, Jim was unsure he was following. 

Strickler gave another patient smile, and reframed his advice in a more frank level, “When this is over, and your mother is safe, go dancing with Claire, Jim.”

“But- Angor-”

“Isn’t going to barge into Trollmarket without a plan. Plans take time. Something I’m sure you can trust me in knowing about.”

Despite himself, Jim snorted. The laugh tasted bittersweet. “Alright, you got me there.”

“You can use that time worrying yourself sick in circles, or dancing. It’s alright to take a step back, a small bit of indulgence can be refreshing. Helpful even.”

Jim frowned thoughtfully. Slowly rubbing his thumb over Barbara’s hand. Unable to shake off his guilty feeling at enjoying himself dancing while his mom could still be suffering even after the binding spell is broken. He wanted to dance, liked the idea, and yet...

Strickler, too, looked over Barbara’s face. Watched as her brows knitted together, and her pale skin almost illuminated under the Heartstone light, and perspiration. 

Guilt can only be mentioned so many times. Yet the changeling felt it every time of every passing second, and more as his eyes slid back and forth between Barbara and Jim. The family his presence caused so much chaos in. 

Jim looked full of frowns and worry. Again, Strickler’s heart ached. Experience informed the changeling that a dance would help. But he could insist only so many times. 

Walter Strickler gulped, and licked his lips. Yet when he spoke again his voice croaked. “For all sad words of tongue and pen. The saddest are these, ‘it might have been.’ ”

“Are you talking about my mom again?” asked Jim flatly, “Making this about you?”

A hurt smile grew over the changeling, though really he was in no place to deny that wouldn’t be something he would have tried to do. Walter Strickler wondered if he should be worried about Jim’s new found cynical bone. Regardless, the changeling felt responsible. In an attempt at looking at the bright side the changeling thought, ‘if cynicism can one day save my favorite student to live another day..’ His thoughts trailed in a vain worry the cynicism won’t absorb Jim completely. 

Instead of addressing it, however, Strickler smiled at Jim. In that patient fatherly way Jim had grown bittersweet and angry about. That reminded Jim of how he once thought of his favorite history teacher, and the pain to see that expression in the face Jim barely trusted. 

At the risk of sounding overly paternal Strickler said with a gentle insistence, “Go dancing with Claire when you can, Jim.”

“I don’t-”

“-Doesn’t have to be at the school.” said Walter Strickler intuitively. After all, after so much commotion, loud places filled with other people who wouldn’t understand what Jim was going through aside from a select few, probably didn’t sound too appealing. “You can dance anywhere, Young Atlas.”

“Anywhere...” repeated Jim thoughtfully. And with a pause, an idea slowly crept into the teen’s head. 

//